archive - bullets

[ 001 ]
THE SEVENTH HEAVEN

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The police hovercraft made its steady landing upon the asphalt, a mere few strides away from The Seventh Heaven. Though the main doors had been barred shut and the place was eerily devoid of music, the neon sign that bore its name flickered ever so vigorously, blaring a melancholic glow upon the sight before it: the streets, littered with carcasses—limbs bent at odd angles, blood and metal peeking out of freshly inflicted lacerations. It was the city painted in red, but in only the most gruesome fashion.

- THE MISSION BRIEFING -
08.25.82

≫ S I T U A T I O N.
The Seventh Heaven hotel-bar is on lockdown, with an estimated 400 hostages within the establishment. The target was last seen entering through the main lobby, but beyond that, authorities are unable to track the target's current whereabouts. Surveillance cameras were disabled prior to the attack due to unknown causes. Authorities believe it is a malicious system attack.

≫ T A R G E T.
Identified as Dixie Ives, a 27-year-old female living in the suburbs of Nevada. She has no known criminal activity and was a citizen of good standing. She had a steady employment up until two years ago when she fell off the grid. Her motives remain unknown.

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Street surveillance shows that the target is equipped with unregistered augmentations such as prosthetic razor blade arms. Authorities believe that the target carries or is augmented with more lethal weaponry and thus urge the Fireflies to proceed with the utmost caution.

≫ M I S S I O N.
This mission has two objectives: arrest the target, and evacuate all civilians. The plan is to tighten the noose around the target by splitting the team up into two groups, with the first group entering the establishment from the lowest floor while the other group goes in from the rooftop.

The first group, which will be entering from the ground, will be composed of Fran DeConinck, Lucas Hsieh, Seina Kyrenel, and Wayland Turing.

The second group will be composed of Leona Saunders, Rebecca Cain, and Wyatt Harper.

≫ C O M M U N I C A T I O N.
The two teams are expected to communicate with one another and the NVPD* using their comm devices throughout the course of this mission.

≫ S U P P O R T.
The NVPD has secured the surrounding the area, and much of the neighboring establishments have been evacuated. Paramedics are on standby. Hovercrafts will be sent to the rooftop to escort stranded civilians to the ground, where they can be treated.

*NVPD - New Vegas Police Department
 
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Wayland
TURING​

Codename: Watchdog Location: The Seventh Heaven [Lobby] Status: Alive
With: Fran DeConinck (@Pahn ), Liberty Cox (@sweet. ), Lucas Hsieh (@darkflames13 ), Seina Kyrenel (@RaineSensei )
Interacting with: Leona Saunders ( @FieryCold )

The Seventh Heaven was one of these fancy hotel bars where youngsters went to with too much money to spend, wishing to get drunk on euphoria and sugared drinks. It was one of these places most of the Firefly members wouldn't be able to afford themselves in their previous lives. Unfortunately for Wayland he wasn’t on the invite list this time either.

“Fancy,” the male whistled as he entered the lobby with his team. Hands in the pockets and looking around nonchalantly there was nothing that screamed urgency from the lad. Only his uniform betrayed the purpose he was here for. Everyone recognised a Firefly member, and everyone knew that when Firefly showed up it spelled nothing good had happened. “Can you grab me a drink from the top bar, Leona?” Wayland pressed down the button of his device, a smirk playing over his face. “I will meet you halfway," and he ended the conversation with a snicker. Coming to an halt in the middle of the lobby he made a turn, as if admiring the place. However, his eyes were working hard in the meanwhile. Scanning the area to look for anyone hidden. Despite his careless air Wayland did take the mission seriously, to a degree.

Tilting his head the male shot an eye over to his colleagues, a smirk forming over his face as he sauntered over to the info desk. Putting his hands on the table the male suddenly hauled himself over, hanging upside down as he yelled into the space underneath. “Boo!”

Immediately a pair of hands clawed into the metal part of his face, accompanied with high pitched screams of fright. Letting himself be pulled to the ground Wayland grabbed the wrists of one of the women, stopping her attack. “Christ almighty, I’m sorry!” the man exclaimed, his ears ringing and the remaining flesh of his face throbbing because of the abuse. “I’m here to help, geez!” he pulled at his uniform to proof a point, calming the women down slightly. Crawling up he waved over to his colleagues to help him.

“I don’t think they like me much,” he remarked dryly, head nudging towards the trembling figures of the victims.
 
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LEONA SAUNDERS

The sirens wailed relentlessly in the background as the hovercraft descended, flashing a faint blue against the otherwise bleak rooftop of the thirty-storey building. Leona equipped the last of her gear: a vest that hugged her abdomen, encasing it in a bullet-proof shell. It was far from perfect, but it was her best defense, and it allowed her a generous amount of freedom in her movements. Then, she slipped on her fingerless gloves, concealing the map of scars that ran all the way up her arms with the dark material.

The hovercraft hardly made any sound upon touchdown, but Leona could feel the sensation that they were no longer midair. She looked at her companions for what seemed like the first time since they left BioTech's headquarters, and her face was not a very friendly one.

It was hard to tell if the look of perpetual disdain that she graced them with was discriminatory in nature, or if this was simply her normal day-to-day expression. It was as if the lines on her face were etched onto her skin permanently, hardened by both war and grief so that she might never learn how to smile. The venom in her stare seemed to bleed into her words as she addressed them with an abrupt: “Get ready. We’re here.” The door slid open as she snapped her goggles into place.

She was the first to leap out, unsheathing her gun. Bellowing a cry to announce their arrival, Leona forced her way into the building. The topmost floor was a quality bar, decked with intricate neon lighting all over the walls and across the floor. There were power stations--wires and poles that encroached from the ceiling all the way down to individual tables where guests could recharge themselves--literally--after a long day; glowing liquid of all colors in glass cups, some left untouched and others half-empty; lights that touched upon the empty dance floor with its neon glare, swaying this way and that to the beat of a long-forgotten song.

People cowered underneath the tables, knowing that something had gone awry but confused as to what the commotion was all about. Leona gestured at her companions to check the rest of the area as she walked the length of the room, peeking underneath the tables to see if any one of them matched the target; facial recognition technology processing each and every face in a matter of seconds.

At that precise moment, Wayland's voice broke through the static of her comm device: "Can you get me a drink from the top bar, Leona?" Came the dog's lazy drawl. The mere sound of his voice was enough to provoke her. "I'll meet you halfway," he continued. Leona didn't respond; in fact, she pretended she had never heard him. Wayland treated the entire world as his playground, but sooner or later his antics were bound to catch up with him.

Once Leona was done canvassing her part of the area, she gave a firm nod to the rest: "All clear."

With: Ansgar Staudinger (@Rax Rosetta), Grit Jadel (@rissa), Kole Jett Blaque (@Justin), Rebecca Cain (@EmperorsChosen)
Mention: Wayland Turing (@Nemopedia)
 
Name: Rebecca Cain

Codename: Killstreak

Location: The Seventh Heaven [Rooftop]

With: Leona Sanders @FieryCold , Grit Jadel @rissa, Kole Jett Blaque @Justin,

Interactions: Leona Sanders @FieryCold


This brought back memories. The Seventh Heaven, a fancy hotel and bar some of her former clients frequented. She had a few meetings here, though never any gunfights or—whatever the hell this was. Butcherings? Maimings? Were those words? Regardless, it was a gore-fest on the ground. The top appeared to be untouched, though. That meant ole Jill the Ripper was either down on one of the lower levels or had bailed. Shrugging at her commander's statement, Wayland wasn't the only one who was going to be annoying her. "What gave you that idea? For me, it was the fact all the prissies here aren't strung up like turkeys," She remarked as she stared at some of the frightened onlookers with unconcerned eyes. Slowly her gaze found its way to the bar and with a hum she advanced on it.

"Nice stock though... They wouldn't miss some vodka, right?" With that said, Cain began to dig around the stocks of alcohol, murmuring off various brands and types. Occasionally one would catch her interest enough to be raised and the bottle examined. Looking back to Leona, the woman was probably burning a hole through her head with a glare. "I mean, we are the only thing standing between these civies and dismemberment. I'm sure a few of'em wouldn't mind donating something to me. Right? What about you, cyclops?" She inquired to a frightened looking bartender with some kind of a visor over his eyes.

With a concealed smirk and a shrug, she stepped away from the bar and patrolled along the civilians, eyeing each of them. The only thing stopping her from loading up on some of her favorite kinds of booze was the CO in the room with a distaste for any nonsense. With a sigh, Revy knew that her fun wouldn't be appeased. Still, she paused again at another terrified patron. Giving them a few pats on the head and an "It'll be fine," she then leaned close. "I'm not kidding about the booze... Absolute. Oh, or sangria if these fuckers have any of it bottled."

Finally, Revy stepped away as if nothing else was said, regrouping with the rest of her team. "So, what's the plan? We can pincer the bitch; team one goes up, we go down—We'd run into her eventually if she's still in the building."
 
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CODENAME: FrankenSing LOCATION: The Seventh Heaven Lobby STATUS: Alive WITH: Wayland Turing (@Nemopedia), Liberty Cox (@sweet.), Lucas Hsieh (@darkflames13), Seina Kyrenel (@RaineSensei)



This place... Feels familiar. Fran looked around the extravagantly decorated entrance hall, from the tapestries to the polished floor. With the lights turned off and any other augmented visuals turned off, the place looked like picture from one of those history books, from when this place was called Las Vegas. Fran didn't know much about history, but they had a taste for refined decoration. They had been here multiple times in the past, half a lifetime ago, to perform in front of hundreds of fans. Somewhere in a foggy part of their mind, Fran remembered the sheer thrill of performance, their nerves throbbing through every limb and threatening to make them throw up.

The singer was pulled out of their reverie when Rebecca Cain began talking loudly through the comms and shared the clanking noise of bottles being moved around. Ever since being with the Fireflies, Fran had been clean - no alcohol, no drugs. They weren't about to break out of habit because of some idiot.

"Killstreak, now's not the time for fun and games." Fran muttered in a childlike voice, taking some of the hostages by surprise. Eyeing them with a smile, Fran spread their arms and bowed. "Nothing to be worried about, ladies and gentlemen. We'll get you out of here safely. We just gotta find the bitch that went crazy and to clear the sector. Thank you all for your cooperation, we value your safety." Fran had used yet another modified voice, sounding this time like a TV news anchor. Some of the hostages clearly found some comfort in that tone of voice, visibly relaxing and whispering to each other that everything was going to be all right. Unless a certain Dixie shows up...

Pressing on their comm, Fran took their normal voice and walked around the place, eyeing the damage and checking if anyone was visibly hurt. "FrankenSing here. Got anything that needs blowing up? Safes to be cracked? Doors to be busted? Gimme something here. You all know how I feel about..." Fran took another voice, like a small terrorized waif, "Guns and stuff!" The artist chuckled and kicked a piece of trash on the ground.


 
Coda; Share Tech; Iceland; Roboto;


Lucas Hsieh
> Codename: Falcon
> Location: The Seventh Heaven - Lobby
It felt weird knowing that a place usually bursting with life could ever be dead with silence. Death tends to do that, he silently told himself. Upon entering the establishment, Lucas settled himself off to stand at the side out of everyone's way and began to observe the place--it was what he did best after all. Lucky for him, Leona wasn't with him. He could just imagine the disapproving look she would've given him if she saw that he was 'slacking off', which he really wasn't.

Lucas kept silent as the other Firefly members communicated through the comm. His input was unnecessary and besides, he wasn't really sure what they were talking about. He remembers Wayland making a remark about alcohol, but after that he pretty much tuned out of the conversation, focusing instead on his surroundings.

There was another hall leading towards a different area in the hotel. Although there was no signs or anything indicating where it led to, Lucas was fairly certain that was the way to the dining area.

The lobby itself wasn't in a state of great disarray as he originally expected to see as he read through the mission brief on the way. There's surprisingly far less blood than he would've imagined. It didn't seem like a slaughter house like outside, there was hope that some civilians could be hiding there. At least he now knew that trying to look for them in here wasn't going to be a complete and utter waste of time.

Satisfied with what he now knows about the area, he turned his head to see what the rest of them were doing. Just as he did, he caught sight of the mischievous look on Wayland's face as he walked over to the info desk. What he did and what happened earned a silent chuckle from Lucas. A few seconds later he sees him waving at them, beckoning for help.

As Fran stepped forth to calm down the frightened civilians, Lucas left his place at the side of the room to stand beside the Watchdog. He gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, "There there, Wayland. Some people just don't appreciate your humour."

With the civilians in the lobby taken care of, Lucas thought it best to move on. It was clear that Dixie wasn't in here anyway. His eyes darted to the hall leading to the dining area and then towards the elevators. He had no idea where Dixie could've run off to but if he were to guess, it'd be wise to clear this floor before moving on. Without a word, Lucas silently left to explore the next room.
> With:





 
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Name: Cy Valles
Callsign: Tailor
Location: The Seventh Heaven - Rooftop
With: Sergeant Sanders @FieryCold, Killstreak @EmperorsChosen, Jackal @Hjorthorn


The purples and blues of neon were tantalizing, in their own way - sirens that called the Tailor to the dance. He had been here before, though he could not remember the specifics of the place, the edges of its architecture; sobriety was strange in that way, casting an unfamiliar light over all his old, hazy memories. The feel remained close to his heart, however. Even clear of mind, free of illicit influence, he could feel himself pulled, to the left, and to the right, and back again, and back again, and back. He felt the vibrations of a swaying dance, even as he remained perfectly still in his section of the top floor, away from Killstreak and the Sergeant.

It reminded him of the more philosophical, less scientific, aspects of the poison; some were addicted to the chemical, others the sensation.

Killstreak’s brand of cavalier tirade pulled him from his contemplations - of others, and all their various poisons: the Sergeant and her eternal disdain, the Watchdog’s nonchalant musings, and Killstreak’s incessant mockery. Tailor himself, and his endless need to think and think and self-monologue. They were all being true to their nature, or perhaps running contrary to it, and both were their own brand of toxin.

“All clear.” Tailor noted in imitation, extending his even-keeled, calming voice over the various club-goers. Very few of them would be pacified, but perhaps some would barely require it, still anesthetized by the dim and dull of drink and dance.

He followed Killstreak’s lead, joining both group and diatribes of strategy - Revy, as ever, hid a pragmatic wisdom beneath her irreverence. It was the Sergeant, however, who led them - hardened, venomous, to the point, human. At least in theory. “With respect, Sergeant, we’ve no mental profile on the target. Being cornered by our numbers could lead her to inflict heavy collateral.”

She was doubtlessly aware of the fact, Tailor mused, questioning why - then - he had even brought it up. Perhaps he was worried.
 
Name: Oscar Riktof
Callsign: Anvil
Location: The Seventh Heaven - Lobby
With: Wayland Turing @Nemopedia ,Fran DeConinck @Pahn ,Lucas Hsieh @darkflames13

Oscar stomped through the front door of the building, his massive frame momentarily blocking the outside lights and casting a long shadow in front of him. Looking around as he joined the other Fireflies, Oscar grumbled impatiently. "Fuckin pussies, all scared cuz they know they cant fight for shit. Woulda been more fun if the bitch cut em all up instead of hiding." Almost a head higher than all the other Fireflies, Oscar was an imposing sight. He carried his large caliber machine gun with his right hand along with the support of the robotic arm attached to his torso, the red dot from the mounted laser sight briefly landing on each cowering civilian before moving on. In Oscar's left hand he gripped his custom combat axe, his fingers drumming an erratic beat on the handle.

Walking over to a nearby bar, Oscar propped his axe against the counter and examined the various drinks. "Lotta top class shit though, getcha wasted pretty good." He inspected various bottles of liquor, tossing them to floor with the sound of smashing glass after he was finished with each one. Finding a bottle of whiskey, Oscar crushed the top half of the glass bottle with his fist and dipped a finger into the amber liquid. Holding the whiskey coated finger under his nose, Oscar closed his eyes and took a long sniff. "Mmm...thats good alright.." Wiping off his finger on the bar counter, Oscar picked up his axe and rested it over his shoulder.

"So whatsa plan? Just kick down doors till we find the bitch then kill her? Would be fun if I could take a crack at her, those arm cutters look pretty sweet." Looking over at Frankensing, Oscar rolled his eyes at their comments. "Yo skinny you gonna play pretend the whole time or actually do somethin? Fuckin around with your voice aint helpin."
 
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JACKAL
SEVENTH HEAVEN - ROOFTOP
FEAT. TAILOR @Shizuochan; SAUNDERS @FieryCold; KILLSTREAK @EmperorsChosen


Jackal walked tentatively across the rooftop, taking in the sounds around him. The soft splashing of his boots on rooftop puddles, the buzz and popping of flashing neon lights, the white noise of gentle rainfall. Somewhere below, the cacaphony of motors, horns, and sirens. The soundscape of a city always calmed him - such an artificial environment making enough sounds to rival that of a tropical jungle. A concrete ecosystem.

He steels his thoughts. The Fireflies had not come here to daydream, and the ever-present pressure of the helmet reminded him of Biotek's obligations wrapped around his neck in the form of plastic explosive. Jackal had a job to do, and he intended to do it well.

"All clear," came Saunders' voice as he followed his squadmates down the stairs. Killstreak promptly began babbling about her desire to drink, noise which Jackal immediately tuned out as he moved to locate an angle left uncovered by his team. Moving away from the main social area of the bar, Jackal opens a steel service exit and peers down the plain cement service stairwell. Below him fell many stories of dizzying handrail spiral, lit by harsh fluorescent light, but no movement and no blood. Somewhere below, he heard whimpering.

He straightens up and returns to the striking colour of the bar, still shifting and flashing in time to music that wasn't playing.

"No indication of target presence in the access stairwell," Jackal reports, disinterested voice slightly filtered by his helmet's microphone - it was like he was perpetually speaking through a walkie-talkie. He steps up to his Sergeant and remains at attention. "I heard whimpering, though; there may be more survivors hiding there."

Jackal whips his head around as Tailor spoke. He agreed with the man - a lack of mental profile posed a considerable risk. However, to Jackal, the solution was easy.

"I'll be covering us, always,"
he explains, patting a rifle on his back. "If the target makes a move on us, I'll open fire. What worries me more, however, is that our report only talks about the target's lethality. We have no idea what kind of defensive measures or armour she may possess."

Jackal swivels his head back to the Sergeant, itching to keep moving. Every minute spent standing still was another that the adversary had to prepare, and impatience ate at him like maggots. "What's our game plan?"
 
Name: River Knight

Callsign: Surgeon

Location: The Seventh Location - Lobby

With: Wayland Turing @Nemopedia, Fran DeConinck @Pahn, Lucas Hsieh @darkflames13, Oscar Riktof @Dunruffle

In behind Oscar came River, or as most of the team knew him "Surgeon". He clipped the final strap on his chest rig that held 12 gauge shotgun magazines, and medical supplies. He was a medic as his name implied, but a very angry one at that. If people did stupid shit to get themselves hurt and he had to operate on them, he would hiss and spit the whole time.

He cut a much more terrifying figure in some ways. His eyes were icy blue, and the collapsible blade in his right arm kept extending at his behest like a reflex. Every minute or so it would pop out, River would inspect it, and it would slide back in.

Surgeon took heed of Anvil's comment about the target and plan, although it was not directed to him. "For once I agree with Anvil. What's the strategy? She might have augs beyond the razor arms, something we need to be prepared for. She also might have explosives set up, meaning all those hostages could die as soon as we breach. Along with us." Surgeon said this very coldly. As though the hostages were objects, not living people.
 
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fran-banner-name.png

CODENAME: FrankenSing LOCATION: The Seventh Heaven Lobby STATUS: Alive WITH: Wayland Turing (@Nemopedia), Lucas Hsieh (@darkflames13), Oscar Riktof (@Dunruffle), River Knight (@UnrealNox)





Fran turned around slowly when the sound of broken glass resonated through the otherwise eerily quiet hall. Bottles of liquor were being thrown to the ground, shattering and spilling their contents and creating a nauseating puddle of alcohol. The artist's eyes focused harder and they grit their teeth when they recognized who was making the mess. The dumbshit meatshield Anvil.

"What the fuck is your problem, dumbass?" Fran's voice had taken a deeper, more menacing tone and they moved away from the group of terrified citizens. A woman was shaking violently as neon lights reflected in the puddle of booze, bright pinks and greens tinted with the blood from earlier. "We're not here to fuck shit up. Grow up." An expression akin to a snarl made their face ugly but Fran didn't care.

Reaching for their comm, the small button was pressed and Fran confirmed their intention of going to the elevators to see if they could hack into the control panel. Everything was electronic these days, even in this old ass building from the time before. The fugitive might've blocked it, and if they wanted to have any chance of controlling the situation, the elevator was going to be a priority piece on their end of the board.

Fran used their enhanced sight to spot Falcon going into another room. Jogging to catch up to him, they poked their head in the room, noticing a corpse with their guts spilled out. The room smelled of blood, despair, and... was that gasoline?

"Uhh Falcon... I say we get the fuck out of here. Smells like bad news and brains on the ground."
 
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Coda; Share Tech; Iceland; Roboto;


Lucas Hsieh
> Codename: Falcon
> Location: The Seventh Heaven - Dining
The dining area was massive. Buffet tables lined one end of the room. Plates of half eaten dinners laid on just about every table. One of the plates near him even had untouched salmon on it. The sight of it was making him quite hungry. On the same table however, he saw a plate of fried chicken and immediately any appetite that was building was lost. The other end of the room had yet another bar. Lucas couldn't help but roll his eyes at it. Although he knew that the place was a hotel-bar, he still finds there to be an awful lot of bars in it. If he recalled correctly, there was one at the lobby as well.

Just as he was thinking this, he heard the loud sound of bottles breaking from the other room. Lucas frowned and looked back at the direction where he came from. What the fuck is happening back there? He knew for a fact that it wasn't their target breaking the bottles. If it was, he would've probably heard about it over the comm. Coming to the conclusion that it was just one of their rougher teammates, Lucas turned his attention back to the room he was in.

It didn't take long for him to notice the corpse. A gruesome sight like that was hard not to notice. Either Dixie passed by here or one of the hotel guests turned psycho killed other, he was willing to bet it was the former. While it wasn't a positive thing too see, it was still a clue that could help them with catching their target.

Lucas was about to get a closer look when a voice stopped him. Turning around, he saw Fran poking their head in to see what he was up to. When they mentioned how the area smelled bad news, he inhaled deeply planning to make a joke out of it. Cracking a joke flew out the window the moment he got a good whiff of gasoline. That was not normal.

He looked back at the room they were in. Perhaps Fran was right but... "If it's smells like bad news, then all the more reason we should check it out." Without waiting a response from his companion, Lucas stepped further into the room, making sure to stay wary as he did.
> With:


Tags: @Pahn
 
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