Knight Hunters: Project Shine

Friday the 20th, 2400
​


The final agent arrived, touching his hat by way of greeting with a muttered "Molotov."

In the semi-darkness, Aya took a seat on a bar stool next to the laptop and opened up Kritiker's conference channel. The cold light of the screen was sudden and harsh; suitably metaphorical- it occurred to Aya to wonder if it was supposed to be... But it was more likely his own former handler had simply made a habit of turning out the lights to get Yoji to stop staring at her legs and pay attention. The director's office appeared on screen, his chair turned away from the camera to preserve his own anonymity- as it had always been in the past.

Aya was struck by a sudden wave of nostalgia mixed with anger at everything the scene represented; at and on behalf of both the new director and himself, for what Weiss was giving up to drag Kritiker back together again. For these people who were just as trapped, even if they were responsible for their own actions- whatever it was that brought them here. It was as unsettling as it was comforting to know who was issuing the orders this time around.

"Good morning Charlie." Wild Turkey drawled.

A muffled, electronically distorted chirp of static came through the speakers no one would have pegged as a laugh if they didn't know how often the director had been party to that joke himself over the years. There was a moment of silence and Aya rubbed his eyes. Some things were universal constants- God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change and all that rot- but it wouldn't reflect well on Kritiker if the Director couldn't keep it together.

"Hm, yes, that's what it comes down to isn't it?" The speakers crackled. The Director's accent was lost in the filter, aside from speaking in English, he sounded exactly the same as his predecessor. "For those of you present who are familiar with how this works, welcome back. Wild Turkey? Welcome to Kritiker. You may walk away at any time without fear of repercussion, but I would advise doing so now, before you become involved. We simply do not have the resources to protect our retired agents."

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. Weiss had never been given an honest out; it soothed Aya's nerves (and what was left of his conscience) that the new Director was making a point to lay the cards out plainly.

"The freight ship 'Le Soleil Méridional' is currently being used in the transport of illegal immigrants from various countries into the United States of America. While this is not normally something Kritiker would become involved in, we have reason to believe the majority of these people are victims of kidnapping. They are charged exorbitant sums of money for safe passage, but once on board become prisoners to be sold to the underground slave market."

Aya took the pause as his cue to pass a manila folder with photos and information about the ship to the table. He wondered, and assumed the Director was debating on whether to keep to the traditional dramatics his uncle was so fond of.

"Knight Hunters: Stop them."

Aya could live with a happy medium. God knew it was the least painful compromise he'd had to make in a long time.

The image cut out, but Aya knew the sound was probably still on so he could listen in. He'd always wondered how the former director had managed knowing what equipment they decided they needed when he had used a pre-recorded video tape; Aya supposed their handler had been bugged. He turned the lights up. The shades were drawn, and it wasn't unusual for businesses to clean after hours; he wasn't particularly worried.

"Le Soliel Méridional left Hong Kong two weeks ago. Their usual route will bring them into San Fransisco harbor Thursday night. We believe the captain keeps records of his 'transactions' aboard. He and the crew are your secondary targets; your primary objective is to retrieve information pertaining to who he's doing business with. Decide what you need to accomplish this and the resources will be made available to you this Tuesday. Payment will be wired to your usual accounts Friday. Any questions?"
 
All the time the meeting was going on, something else was happening near a certain apartment building...

Yohji Kudou carefully leaned forward, his forehead touching the smooth surface of the white door he had just been knocking on. A sigh ripped from his lips, sounding too much like the final rasp of a dying animal. He stayed like that for a few minutes, almost an eternity to him, before he finally pulled his fist back and began to beat on the door with new fervour.

"AYA!? MAN, OPEN THE DOOR! I swear if you're just sitting in there ignoring me I'm going to bust this freakin' door down and kick your butt up between your shoulder blades." The last part of the threat came out more like a pathetic whimper rather than the promise of bodily harm Yohji was intending it to me.

One more weak thump against the door and his fist slid down the surface to rest by his side once again. Obviously Aya was not in there. Despite how terribly silent and unfeeling the man seemed to be, he'd never do something like this to Yohji. Especially since he hadn't heard from him since...

Yohji clenched his teeth, wishing he could simply will himself to merge with the door and fade into nothingness. The only thing that kept him from his downward slide to his knees to puddle at the floor in a mess of raw nerves and anguish was the sound of a chain lock jingling and the slow turn of a doorknob. Warily Yohji straightened and cast a glance over his shoulder as the door to the opposite apartment opened cautiously. A young face pressed against the small open space the chain lock would allow. First glance made him think it was a little kid staring back at him with equal wariness, but the voice proved him wrong.

"He left a long time ago..." It was definitely a young woman about in her mid twenties, but she was so short she could have passed for a girl at the tender age of fourteen. "I bumped into him in the stairwell..."

Yohji sighed, "I'm sorry for being so loud... It's just he's my half brother and it took a long time to track him down. We're not exactly on good speaking terms, he won't take my calls or even mail... and I was hoping to catch him home so we could smooth things out finally." He lied.

The young woman looked him up and down, as though she were inspecting him for any sign of truth or dishonesty in his words. Something struck a cord, she soon allowed a faint smile to turn her lips upwards. "You two look a lot alike now that you mention it. But I don't think telling him you're going to kick his butt up between his shoulders is going to win you any brownie points."
The door closed suddenly and the sound of the chain sliding could be heard again. The young woman then emerged again, stepping out into the hallway while tightly holding her housecoat closed.

"Yeah you're right. I guess this is all my fault anyway, I lose my cool with him a lot." Yohji chuckled and shrugged in a sheepish manner, yet the whole time he was fighting a twinge of irritation. Why do people trust a man like him when he lies, he kills, he does such horrible things and yet he can say anything with a smile and they just believe him. This lie had also worked on the reality people he contacted to track down Aya. This whole thing about being his brother was something he randomly pulled out of his butt because people are too stupid to look closely at them. They simply see two men with Japanese features and absently think 'yeah brothers' and never question it.

"Not that you two look very much alike physically I mean..." she quietly added, ignoring the tremor she saw run through him when she stated this. "It's just you both have that same look in your eyes. Saddness. Or something very much like it. I don't know if you're really brothers but I believe something connects you two because you look very much alike." She motioned for Yohji to follow her to the window set at the end of the floor a few feet down from the apartment doors.

For a moment Yohji couldn't help but just stare at her, usually he could lie right through his teeth and no one would catch on for a number of reasons. It was even better when it was a woman because he could just flash that smile and turn the charm on... This was the first time he had been called on it, and it felt a little too much like she was reading his mind in some way. Maybe he was simply just tired and unable to keep up the act. That was most likely it. He simply gave up with a sigh and followed her to the window.

"Normally I wouldn't talk about something like this, but if you go out here..." She pointed at the fire escape the window opened onto before she continued, "you can reach the edge of his window from the platform there it will be a trick but you can do it. I've had to get into my apartment this way before. But I'll warn you right now, I have a big dog that will bite your face off if you try to come in my window... so don't try anything funny."

"No, ma'am, I wouldn't dream of it..." Yohji just laughed as she let out a little 'hmmph' and turned on her heel to leave, the little cherry petal printed silk house coat billowing out behind her as she disappeared behind her door and locked it up again.

"Thank you..." He added absently knowing she was gone already and wouldn't hear him.

"No problem, just don't tell that man I told you." She called back through the door.

A shiver ran down his spine as he opened the window and swung a foot out to the platform, 'starting to think she really is psychic or something... she should hook up with Crawford.' he chuckled at the thought.

It was indeed hard, Yohji was going to have to lean out across open air to try and pull the window up without falling and breaking his neck three floors down. Unlocking the thing would be a hideous task as well, but despite how well he knew Aya and his habits, Yohji gave the window an experimental little tug upwards.

"Of course not..." The window stayed secure and Yohji was left feeling even more irritated with the whole thing.

Sure Yohji could whip out something very McGyver like and carefully get into Aya's perfect little apartment, but that didn't feel as good as sloughing off his jacket, wrapping it around his elbow and smashing the living crap out of the pane of glass. A quick flip of the lock and the window easily slid upwards and he was happily climbing inside.

Never mind the fact that Aya in all his pristine glory would have a kitten when he got home and saw this whole mess.

A few minutes of standing quietly in the dim room instantly told him that he was exactly where he needed to be. Everything screamed Aya Fujimiya from the titles of the numerous books in the bookcases to the collection of unique swords decorating the walls. Even the fact that the little lamp was on in the corner near the door told Yohji that this was the place. Aya was just like this... books, swords, and extreme caution. Even the layout of the apartment screamed 'this is perfectly positioned for a quick exit.' He let out another sigh, "You're going to be ticked, and wanting to know exactly what happened..."

Yohji closed his eyes, fighting back the urge to relive everything that had happened on his horribly failed mission. "You'd think it would get easier..." he whispered as he ran a hand through his hair grimacing at the greasy feeling. "Well, man... I'm using your shower... here's hoping you don't pull a Norman Bates on me when you get back."
 
"A shipboard environment, possibly lots of noncoms that may wander into the crossfire, and lots and lots of steel for full metal jackets to ricochet off of." I muse, rubbing my chin. The last time I was in such an environment was when some Somali pirates took a tanker and held it for ransom. Chief put the fear of God into them with his tape face mummy routine and his symphony with that 'sixty he loves oh so much.

Honestly, you'd think a group as elite as DEVGRU would use as little fire as possible on a tinder box that is a tanker ship.

Then again, I've never questioned Chief's aim with the Pig.

"If you've got 'em I'm going to need a P-90 with silencer, a MIL-1913 rail for optics, and lots of SS-190J subsonic rounds, just so I don't blow through more than one bulkhead." My reasoning is very sound.

The P-90 is compact with a capacity unmatched by weapons in the subgun category. It's extremely uncontrollable in full auto, however an experienced shooter can put every single round on point.

I prefer double taps with SMGs and three point bursts with carbines. It makes more sense to do so. I've had plenty of insurgents burn through entire mags on full auto Rock and Roll and hit nothing but air. Sure Beiruit Offhand works nicely for suppression fire but when you actually want to hit something you want to take it nice and easy.

Lonestar, our sniper, taught me that you really just have to take it easy. You have to look the Devil in the eye and not blink. Take a deep breath and relax. Get your sight picture and when it comes you take the shot. Easy Day.

Then again the only easy day was yesterday.

Besides, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.
 
Aya thought he probably blinked a bit vapidly at Wild Turkey's almost knee jerk assessment and rapid fire- oh hell he really needed to stop these 36 hour days- supply list, but his brain picked out the key words and filed them away under "to do by Wednesday" with ease born of long, monotonous hours doing inventory.

He nodded. "As long as you do not harm the civilian passengers. This is a fairly standard American military protocol, correct?"

Well, aside from the whole Black Lillies debacle. The trouble was that the American military hadn't supposed to have left their embassy, much less be out dropping planes on people's homes to cover up... come to think of Weiss never had known what they were trying to do. Between Omi and Ken being bleeding hearts about the kids and Kritiker breathing down their necks to kill each other or Manx's life was forfeit Aya hadn't really been paying attention.

It wasn't as though Aya had never had to obtain weapons for missions before, Weiss had usually been responsible for procuring and disposing their own, but purchasing guns off the underground market and ensuring they were reasonably untraceable (...ha. When people say 'nothing is completely untraceable' they really have no idea how true the statement is.) was new territory for him. He didn't want to involve the Crashers but Queen might at least have some advice...

"Shine is funded by Kritiker, you may pass requests on to any employee working here If you have some kind of emergency, call this number. As re-activated agents," And this part was more for Wild Turkey's benefits the others would have heard this from their previous handlers, some more often than others... "you understand you are not freelance, and Kritiker will hold you accountable for any damage you commit against people or property you are not under orders to engage." Ken had absolutely hated that part. "Any personal grudges or wrongs you feel need to be righted are to be brought to Kritiker."

He turned to leave. "Oyasumi. Meet back here Wednesday," He paused at the door with a frown, pulling a business card with nothing but his call phone number printed on it from his wallet. "Well, you can meet here any time to discuss the mission, but your requests will have been processed by Wednesday. If you need a day job you can work here. If you have an emergency, call this number. We can back you, but don't get arrested. Kritiker doesn't post bail."
 
Glaive

Glaive sat, silent during the meeting and didn't drink a drop of alcohol. In fact, the others had probably forgotten all about him until the very end, when he stood up. He had a few words he needed to share with Weiss. He paused only long enough to grab his hat and found Weiss walking away from the bar.

"Weiss." Glaive didn't wait for the man to stop or turn or recognize he'd heard him in anyway. He was running after him. He slowed once he was beside him. "Forgive my boldness but there is something I need to ask. Before Kritiker went ... silent ... my mentor and I parted ways. We kept in touch for awhile but I have heard nothing of him for sometime. Agent Pureshadow. How is he?"

Glaive didn't bother to ask where he was or what he was up to. All he wanted to know was that his old friend was alright. He knew asking anything more was useless.
 
I pour myself another shot and down it, listening to Aya's spiel. I'm going to admit, I've been spoiled by the Navy's weapons stockpiles. All that ready access.

It means I'm going to have to risk acquiring the supplies I need through multiple trips to stores all over the place.

The Navy always had stockpiles of C-4 and SEMTEX readily available, however something tells me these guys don't have the same ample stockpiles.

"If you don't mind I've got a grocery list of supplies I need to pick up." I say politely. "Just in case we come across something the standard issue ball ammunition doesn't cut it." I take my leave, checking my Sig as soon as I get back into the alley. I'm taking a very big risk shopping for what boils down to household chemicals in all the right proportions.

Seriously, I have no intentions of winding up like the Unabomber.
 
Martini kept pace while Aya worked, stone faced, to put together a satisfactory answer.

He had always favored the bruta... honest approach, but honestly, things were so scattered at the moment that to be perfectly honest, Aya had never heard of agent Pureshadow. And if he was a locally based operative, Omi would have mentioned him- the new director had been up for almost forty hours straight stuffing Aya a mission folder himself, throwing in everything he could find trying to fill the holes in Kritiker's data.

Aya stopped, choosing his words as carefully as he could. It should have been simple. 'He's active.' Would have belied both Martini's concerns and any further questions. And it was a secondary objective at this point- they had a possibly functioning team- missing agents could safely be presumed dead thanks to Vermouth's betrayal, but...

Dammit.

When he looked at Martini, he saw Yoji; chasing after a woman who was dead though she was walking, determined to find out what happened, determined they could still save her. Aya sighed and rubbed his eyes, knowing Martini was waiting for an answer. He couldn't prove Pureshadow was dead. He hadn't been able to prove Botan's daughter was dead, either, it didn't change the probabilities.

But then again the doctors hadn't been able to prove Aya's sister was dead, so perhaps there was some hope left in the world.

"I don't know anything about agent Pureshadow." Aya settled on tiredly. It was the barest flicker across Martini's face but Aya caught it. "But as long as you do not compromise Shine you are welcome to any of Kritiker's resources to locate him. Nan-"

English. Back up.

"...I"ll see what I can find. The last time you spoke with Pureshadow; how long ago was it?"

Hopefully, even if they had lost Pureshadow's file, they would have something on one of his recent projects. Kritiker tended to assign operations progressively; if one investigation led into another, it was more practical to assign it to the same agent (if possible) rather than brief a new one. It was likely some kind of information trail had survived the crash. They could start there.
 
Sunday Morning, 0200; Pier 13​

Cities like San Fransisco- cities like Tokyo, New York, Budapest- never really slept. There were always lights, there was always activity, life stepping over the bodies of the drunk and the homeless and the dead, flowing on around buildings now condemned and buisnesses long since run into the ground...

This particular warehouse, this particular dock, this particular pier; a single rusted yellow lamp hanging over the side entrance was the only light for blocks. The place was dead. Kritiker had insisted and Aya had made doubly sure the place was absolutely deserted. It felt wrong to feel so alive in the darkness, but leaning in the shadow of the open door where the light couldn't touch him Aya felt anything but numb in the morning cold. hell, his ribs didn't even hurt.

Yoji had been and gone by the time Aya had managed to get back to his apartment for some honest sleep. A broken window, half his beer gone and a note in japanese, 'know you're running a tab anyway. off to self medicate, see you in hell. XX ~floozy' It was strange; how familiar little things could be enough to make the thought of sleep possible again. Yoji was a pain but he was Weiss, if he decided it was safe enough to break Aya's window and leave it- even if Aya disagreed on princible- it couldn't help but leave that impression behind.

He saw a shape in the dark strolling near and recognized the first of his new team reporting for the night shift. Aya sidestepped out of the shadow and nodded to the gaping dark of the warehouse door. "Everything is in place, inside. Help me with the hanging doors."

The odd looking helicopter had been driven in by covered truck to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but they would need to roll it back out and finish unstrapping it before they could get it flight ready. Aya didn't recognize half the things Shine had requested, but he was pleased; the Director was serious about making sure they got what they needed to complete their mission.


 
Musical Score: Vodka - Korpiklaani

The Dark silence of the pier was breached slowly at first, by the sound of boots on concrete, then soft muttering in Russian as Molotov sauntered into the warehouse, the piercing the darkness itself with the lit end of a large cigar, the thick smell of the smoke that wafted from the Russian's lips clinging to every part of his clothing, another reason some of his fellows in 'the company' chose to avoid him.

Although his night vision was partially ruined by the cigar, the former Soviet pilot strode over to what looked the most like another human being, one hand clasping the cigar, the other drifting to the Tokerov at his hip

" так, где птица?" (So, wheres the Bird?) he grumbled in Russian as he drew near, recognizing the slightly familiar form of Aya, in particular, the familiar silhouette of a sheathed sword.
it took him a few moments to remember that Ay didn't speak Russian and so he repeated the question in English.
 
Molotov repeated the question in english, helping Aya with the doors. He gestured to the oversized diesle rig parked in the warehouse; it was attaached to a custom bed, flat, heavy tarpulan stretched over a skeletal frame. Not a terribly unusual design, but perhaps a bit larger than normal. Or maybe trucks were just larger in America, it wasn't really Aya's department.

"We'll strip the tarp and remove the frame before we drive it out, the sound of the engine will help cover takeoff."

But otherwise they worked in relative quiet, loosening straps and pulling down tarps- they didn't bother to fold them, someone would get yelled at for the mess come monday, but Shine would be long gone by then.

The helicopter was strapped down to the bed in front, and behind, just to keep it from being jostled during transport. The roter was aligned lengthwise and wrapped in canvas to prevent any damage and there were four large, combination locked tool boxes strapped down at the end of the truckbed, where they would have fairly effectively blocked any prying eyes who might have tried to get a look in the back. Aya jumped up to the bed and took a guess what the combination might be. They wouldn't all be the same, but they were numbered: knowing Omi it would be something any of the Weiss would be able to figure out, a familiar number or or set of numbers- thereby eliminating the chance of it be intercepted in communication- but not something easy for other Kritiker agents, or obvious to someone who might have information on Weiss or access to their dossiers.

The dial were letters, though... three for the first box, six for the second, three again for the third, and five for the last. It wouldn't be their names; 'ken', 'Omi', 'Yohji'... unless Omi put in both of Aya's names but that was too weak. And it couldn't be their codenames... oh.

Aya almost chucled to himself and scrolled through the letters: the old- but absolutely off record- Weiss complaint, just in english: 'g-o-d', (and the first one clicked open- he moved ono the rest.) 'd-a-m-n-e-d', 'c-a-t', 'n-a-m-e-s'.

And there was the rest of the requested equiptment. What wasn't there would be in the helicopter.

He paused, and turned to where Molotov was unwrapping the roters. "Your file says you have experiance flying helicopters." He had a bad feeling he couldn't quite shake; something Yohji had been complaining about Ken after on his answering machine. "I want you to stay within emergency response distance. Radio silence, but if this goes south I want the team out in two minutes. Is that possible?"


 
Aya's question made Molotov chuckle darkly, blowing a large cloud of smoke before answering
"Da, a Simple operation, in fact we used to practice such operations as part of basic spetznaz training" he answered, pulling the canvas away and heaving the rotors into position, before tightening the bolts that would hold them in place
"But first we shall have to do a thorough check of parts and equipment, preparing such a bird for flight is no easy task with no electrical engineers or ground crew" he muttered, climbing dowm from his perch atop the helicopter and moving to do a general pre flight check of the exterior systems.
 
After taking my leave of my new place of employment I set out to begin supply procurement. After a quick stop at the corner grocery for some very necessary chemicals I remember the girl who first gave me a tip on employment. I dig into the left breast pocket of my BDU jacket and withdraw the flier she wrote her number on.

I then remember what Chief said about women when we were in Rota, Spain.

Do not poke your nose under the tent unless you know the carpet's clean

Then I remember this is America, where 'the beautiful people' are obsessed with their health and beauty. I don't fall under that category because I poison my body with oh so many things, all of which make me feel oh so much better.

Alcohol and women among them.

I dial her, trying to remember her name. Now you can't tell me you haven't had that happen. You're calling someone you're supposed to know but you can't remember their name worth a shit. She answers after the fourth ring, sounding like a fatbody that just ran ten feet.

Yes, I'm a jerkass. But I am in posession of a heart of gold.

"Hey, it's me, the guy who's number you scrawled on that flier you gave me." I say.

"Oh yes! I was expecting a call!" she replies. I'd have to use my toes to count the number of times I've heard that from a woman who passed me their number at any one of the bars on Virginia Beache's strip. They see a toned man with a healthy tan and hear a voice that, irony of ironies, lures them into motel bedrooms like sailors to a siren's song.

When I look in the mirror I see a god.

Okay, maybe not, but when I look in a mirror I see a well tuned killing machine in the guise of a sex machine.

"I hate to ask but since our first encounter was so brief would you mind telling me your name again?" I ask, barely turning my charm on.

"Oh, it's KurrrrrrrRoulette." So the boss' errand girl has a callsign too. Fine by me. Most women I've been with used stage names instead of their real names any way.

"Then you can call me Wild Turkey. I would have gone for Captain Morgan but I got out as a Second Class Petty Officer." I reply. She giggles on her end. This is all too easy. Much easier than that time I seduced a YN1* when she wouldn't process my leave chit because I hadn't filled it out right.

Ten minutes of talking and I had her, hook line and sinker. An hour later I was railing her in the Team armory. Apparently she was the type to wear a faux crew neck shirt under her utility blouse, which made getting to her ample bossom all that much easier.

Ah, to be young again.

Wait, I'm only thirty two and I as twenty four when that happened. God, where has the time gone?

"I was wondering, Roulette, if you were busy in, say, an hour?" I've played long enough. I'm a hungry predator and this talking to my prey is making me very ravenous.

"O-oh, no, not really. You want to do something?"

"How about we go to my place and see which neighbors we piss off?" Based on the sound I hear from her end she's just as ravenous as I am.

"Could you tell me where you live?" she asks, her fake composure cracking under the pressure. I give her my address then we say our goodbyes.

I almost walk past my apartment building.

An hour later she shows up in what can best be described as a hooker dress. Low cut, very short skirt, and tight enough that I can see the lines of what has to be a thong.

"So good to see you." I say. I decided to go with a pair of UDT shorts and an Underarmor shirt.

Said shorts are more the kind of thing you'd see on Daisy Duke than on a SPECWAR bad ass.

Of course if you joke about them to said SPECWAR bad ass then expect to have your spine pulled out your ass and your ass pulled out your ear, sigmoid colon and all.

"You must be pretty brave for shorts like that." Roulette tells me right off the bat as I let her in and close the door.

"It's not so much bravery than it is that I figure I may as well match the amount of skin you're showing." I reply. She wastes no time in slipping the dress off then giving my mouth her full and undivided attention.

I'm suddenly reminded why it's bad to stand at attention when wearing UDT shorts. The reminder is fleeting as my shorts join her dress on the floor.

------------------------------------------

Pier 13
Sunday
0230, US PACIFIC TIME...

I stroll up to the warehouse, my two compatriots working to get a Sea Hawk in operational order.

"I hope I'm not late." I say looking over to Molotov. The Spetsnaz I've had experience with are crazy mother fuckers.

"So, did my weapons request process?"



*YN: Yeoman. Navy secretaries, basically.
 
Wild Turkey came strolling out of the dark with all the body language of someone who belonged anywhere he damn well pleased- a tactic that worked obcenely well a rediculous majority of the time. Aya nodded once to him in greeting and went back to flipping through frequency channels for the provided ear pieces.

"I hope I'm not late."

He was, in fact, but not enough to matter, so Aya only shrugged. The space of a couple minutes before a mission weren't nearly as important as timing during- Aya could think of more than one instance showing up late had saved lives. The element of surprise didn't always mean showing up early.

"So did my weapons request process?"

Aya cracked the third box, then the forth. While this was primarily an information retreval job it never hurt to bring an army. This was... a bit excessive though. "Take what you can carry, but if the others don't have any experiance handling this kind of equiptment I don't want them carrying this. We need the ship to make harbor so the immegrants can be questioned by the pollice." More information to compare to what they already had. The SFPD databases were pathetically lax about their firewalls compared to Tokyo.

And he didn't want to be scraping agent lasanga off his jacket before the end of the night.
 
I look over Aya's shoulder, taking a look at what we've got.

All of it I've used. You use a lot of guns in the Teams, NATO and Warsaw Pact weapons.

I can use, shoot, and maintain the M-16, M-4, AKM-47, AKS-74U, OC-14, M-60E3, PKM, MG-3, RPG-7V, AT-4, FIM-148 Javelin, SVD Dragunov, M-82A1 Barret, M-40A3, Vintorez, PPsh-41, M-9, Sig P-229, Makarov PKM, Stetchkin, P-90, MP-5, M-134, M-2HB...

I've had more trigger time in eight years than most soldiers get in one year.

"You mind if I check this gear right quick? Old habit." I say, picking up a P-90. Before Aya can say anything I start tearing the futuristic gun down.

"You know your way around that thing." he says to me.

"In the Teams the Gunners Mates aren't stuck with the task of weapons maintenance. Everyone takes care of the guns. Unfortunately since I was the only Culinary Specialist I was the one who fed them." I say as I disassemble the bolt carrier and take the firing pin out. "Like they say in the Navy, 'you choose your rate, you choose your fate.'"
 
Martini and Jack Daniels turned up within minutes of each other and went to work. The younger man looked tired, but Jack Daniels had that energy to his movements that suggested he had been looking forward to this all week.

Aya watched Wild Turkey check his weapons, impressed and... perhaps a touch jealous. Kritiker- or the former director, anyway, had always liked to claim they upheld the law even while working outside of it. Under Japan's strict gun control laws Aya could count the number of times Weiss had been allowed ballistic weaponry... forget one hand; Once. He knew psychologically it was dangerous to grow dependant on any kind of projectile weapon- hell even Omi had missed, but his blade had yet to fail him... but it was still a comfort, tucked against his spine under his jacket.

He wished it hadn't taken him six goddammed years to get ahold of one. Wild Turkey worked quickly and efficiantly, and Aya turned to the newly assembled team. "Unless there's anything else, let's go. Primary target is the Captains business records, ship's crew are collateral but try not to injure the passengers. "

"They're having a bad enough day." Jack Daniels muttered.

Aya nodded to Molotov. "It's your show now."
 
Musical Score: All Within My Hands - Metallica

Molotov nodded and moved over to the Weapons table, grabbing a few extra 5.54 and 9mm magazines for his AK-74SU and Skorpion respectively

"Everybody on the bus!" he called out as he clambered into the helicopter and stowed the ammunition in pouches on a set of webbing
"Turkey, i need copilot or extra eyes in front, that means you" he said to the former navy man from the pilots seat as he per5formed a pre flight check of the interior systems.
"Stingray-1 Ready for flight comrades" he announced as he started the engine and the helicopter shook as the Rotors started spinning, faster and faster until the helicopter rose off the flatbed and into the night sky, a small blur of faint red light all that announced its presence as the Helicopter flew low to the water and at high speed towards the tanker.

Fifteen minutes later

"One thing i forget, if going to throw up, outside of helicopter please" he said as he jerked the control stick and flung the helicopter upwards, the interior light having been dimmed to nothing as the Helicopter within five miles of the target, Wild Turkey and Molotov having been wearing Night Vision capable helmets since the start of the flight, this was not so much of a problem.

The Helicopter rapidly gained hight and was soon floating above the Vessel
"Attention Passengers, this is captain speaking, we have arrived at our destination, dont forget to thank your flight hostesses on the way out, and don't forget to bring back some wodka!" he said with a chuckle as the team prepared to disembark.
 
"This is my stop, tovarisch." I say to Molotov, taking the flight helmet off and undoing the four point harness keeping me in the copilot's seat. I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"До победного конца, жизнь или смерть." he says to me. I turn back then shake his hand.

"ерть для них. Победа и жизнь для нас, товарища." I then join Aya at the starboard door, pulling a balaclava over my face.

"You do this before?" he asks me as I grab the thick, vinyl rope.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" I reply before jumping out. When fast roping you use the lower hand, the one that gets driven into your ass, to control your descent. The upper hand is used to keep your balance and also partially for control. I know Specialist Twombly, one of the Rangers involved in the infamous Battle of Mogadishu, made all the more infamous by Black Hawk Down, book and movie, bit through his tongue because he wasn't fast enough to get out of the way when the next man came down.

As soon as my boots hit the steel nonskid I am out of the way, P-90 shouldered and field of fire established. Jack Daniels and Martini are next. No sooner does Aya touch down then the rope is severed from the helo and Molotov takes the bird out. As per training I pick up the line and throw it over the side.

If you're on land you collect the ropes to clear the LZ. Out here we can't leave any trace that we've been here. Easy day.

Problem is the only 'easy day' is yesterday.

"Ready to rock, bossman..." I say, weapon tucked back into my shoulder.
 
"Ready to rock, bossman..."

Aya nodded, motioning to Martini and J.D. to head down the starboard side of the Southern Sun. They were to the rear or the ship, away from the cabins- or the offices- Aya didn't know what they were called- at the opposite end of where the Captain's quarters would be.

A ship the size of the Southern Sun didn't rock much in the water, and it was a calm night, but Aya tested his boots against the deck anyway, making sure he wasn't going to be unbalanced by what subtle movement there was. He nodded to Wild Turkey to come with him, ducking around the metal storage containers stacked two high between them and their target.

From the vantage point of the helicopter there had been no one on top, so they wouldn't have to worry about anyone shooting down at them, and between Martini and J.D., and Wild Turkey and himself coming down opposite sides of the ship they wouldn't have much chance of sounding a warning. He doubted there would be anyone guarding the topside crates anyway, there wasn't likely to be anything incriminating in them.

Aya shut down into business mode, adjusting his night vision glasses- a last minute request he was glad he caught in time to patch through, closing out his thoughts in favor of his senses. The sound of the ocean, irrelevant; Weiss discarded it as background noise. He listened into the ship, to the barely perceptible sound of his teammates moving down the other side. He couldn't hear them, in fact, but he knew how fast they would be going and the echo of their steps came up from beneath his feet like a ghost sense.

The first corner was clear and he saw the heel of Martini's boot disappear as they moved on. Wild Turkey took point and checked the next corner.

Something was wrong. Weiss held up a fist to stop Wild Turkey before they entered the halo of the light cast by a yellow clamp light attached to the railing where the raised cabin began.

He got the feeling there ought to have been some sign of crew here towards the lighted areas... He couldn't pin down why. At this hour the normal hands would have been asleep, but there should have been someone.

"Captain's quarters are to the front, our side." He said low. "But one deck down. Martini and J.D. should have the halls clear but don't hurry." He doubted he had to tell Wild Turkey any of this anyway- the man probably had more experience in the field than Weiss did collectively- but he did anyway.

They got into the halls and Weiss' eye caught on a darkened stairwell. He called up the blueprints of the Southern Sun and double checked that, yes, this would lead directly down to the main cargo deck, where Kritiker had it confirmed the immigrants were being held. But there wasn't a door, there wasn't a guard, there wasn't a sound. There was a sign on a chain reading 'Do Not Enter', but the chain was broken. Broken but not rusted. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

"I'll meet you there in three minutes."
 
Down below the cargo sat huddles around what little light was available. Weak with hunger and from poor ventilation many couldn't stand. In the dark depths a soft clinking sound was heard. The a loud bang as one of the crewmen opened fire closely followed by a gurgling scream. Heads turned towards the sealed door, many shifting in fear some in hope. But was it a rescue, or one fate replaced with another or was it something that would simply blow over, a squabble a among the crew perhaps.

Silently the bots crawled down the walls or suspended themselves from the ceiling. The first anyone were the sprays of blood, followed by a human stampede with nowhere to go an screams echoed throughout most of the ship. On deck however it might have been a cry of a gull.

In the captain's cabin one of the bots moved up behind the little girl, her father's voice coming from the machine. "There are agents aboard, the captain has failed me and is of no further use. Come home."
 
On the ship, in a small, cramped cabin, a blonde-haired little girl and a burly Frenchman stood, facing each other. The blonde-haired girl was dressed in old clothes and her face was streaked with dirt. She had a satchel she was now holding in front of her, the leather was old and worn.

The burly Frenchman had stubble on his cheeks and a hard glint in his beady eyes. His clothes were stained with sweat under his arms and he smelled like he hadn't taken a bath in weeks.

"You better not go back on your word to Doctor Soulstein. He doesn't like it when people disappoint him," she said coldly.

"Ohohoh, so he sends a child as a messenger! A stupid idea! I've killed men stronger and larger than you, little girl!" he snorted as he turned to the cabinet behind him. He pulled out a bottle of vodka, and a shot glass so he didn't catch something appearing out of nowhere behind Selene.

The bot whispered something to Selene. Her face changed from haughty to something that could only be defined as cold professionalism. "There are agents aboard, the captain has failed me and is of no further use. Come home." The Captain turned and saw something ... a blur, a shadow? But then it was suddenly gone and he was convinced his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"You idiot! Those agents are here to mess up his work! He's not going to be very happy!"

"Listen, you stupid little girl," the Captain growled. He suddenly crossed the distance between them, grabbed her by the arm with one hand and began to shake her. "I am the Captain here. And you--you are stuck here, your stupid Doctor is miles away, and it's time I showed you how I treat insolent little bitches!"

Selene pulled away as he released her and went staggering backwards. She glared up at him. "You will regret that," she hissed.

The power suddenly went out. The ship was plunged into darkness. The Captain wasn't in the least bit phased.

"Ha, your little tricks don't scare me! Where are you, you little brat?!" The Captain stepped forward and began moving his arms around in the general direction he remembered the blonde girl had been. He stopped when he heard something, like something metallic striking the floor, as if someone had dropped coins on a steel plate, and it was close. "Huh? What are you up to?"

A light suddenly went on in front of him. It was low to the ground and it looked like a flashlight--no, wait, an eye! The Captain squinted at it. "Huh? What the--?" The lights suddenly flicked back on and the Captain found himself staring into a strange machine, that looked so much like a giant cat. It was its eye he had seen in the darkness but now he noticed the strange barbed tail it flicked behind it.

The Captain was reaching for his gun tucked into the back of his pants when the machine struck. It severed the hand holding the shot glass with only its tail. He cried out in pain and clutched his arm, staggering away from it in the small, cramped cabin. He began to swear in French.

Selene stood as Snuggles turned its head to her. She smiled and patted it. "Thank you, Snuggles!" She looked at the Captain and that smile disappeared. Snuggles turned away from her and fixed the Captain with its glare. "Now kill him."

Snuggles lay low to the ground and suddenly pounced!

... And the cabin walls splattered with blood.

***
Martini stuck close to the walls and sneaked down corridor after corridor. He kept all his senses on full alert and chanted the mission objectives over and over in his head. It was easy to forget them in the heat of battle, a gunfight goes haywire, lives other than yours are quickly put on the line. It was so very quiet here. He had the sneaking suspicion he was being watched and yet ... nothing.

***
Selene sneered down at the captain's remains. Ha. There wasn't even enough of him to call a body. Just shreds of meat and blood ... eh, a bone or two. That's what you get for messing with her father. She patted Snuggles on the head. The giant robot vibrated slightly as if purring. The shadows took form. The ninjas were back.

"Come, Snuggles. We've wasted enough time here." She waited for Snuggles to turn back into a ball, then picked it up and put it back into her satchel. She turned to the ninja and climbed onto its back. It was time to return to her father and give him the bad news.
 
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