| From: | shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam) |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Don't try this at home, Kidz... |
| Date: | Tue, 09 Apr 1996 00:18:49 GMT |
>>>>>[Figured I'd save everyone time and upload this direct, since everyone
who actively wants me dead right now will get versions of this from
somewhere else anyway.
+++++begin trideo
The view fuzzes, then stabilises: it seems to be from an airborne platform,
maybe a spotter drone, orbiting a decent-sized house in a nice area, early
morning from the long shadows and the dew-covered cars. The view zooms in and
out, studying two men by the driveway entrance and two more - those, carrying
HK227s - walking the grounds.
"No obs from the house, shutters still down. Mani's in their Matrix, alarms and
cameras down. Prowlers behind the house in ten seconds, there for two minutes.
Anytime, baby." A drawling female voice. Two clicks of the mike are the answer.
A pause, the camera still orbiting, then a red convertible swings into the
drive - two Amerind men in it, the passenger leaning out to talk to the two
suited men at the gate. As he reaches out to show them something, one bends to
look: the other stays a little back, alert and ready.
The driver blurs, bringing up a weapon and firing: the watcher falls,
convulsing, something smoking and sparking in his chest. The guard bending over
by the passenger is framed in a millisecond white pulse that flares out the
camera for a second, and as he staggers back the driver shoots him too.
"Gate down." The passenger vaults over the side door, reaches back into the
footwell and comes out with a suppressed MP-5K, then the black holdall that it
had been concealed in, and finally a pair of black-mirrored aviator sunglasses:
it's either Lynch, or someone who knows his style well enough to counterfeit
him well.
As the driver swings the car around, off the drive but facing out ready to
leave fast, his passenger moves to the side of the house and waits, the view
still in longshot to show the two prowler guards - still unaware of trouble -
strolling around the back of the house and rounding the corner.
"Around the corner. Clear shot, anytime." Lynch leans out and fires, two short
bursts that drop both guards where they stand before they can react. He moves
to them, the MP-5K's suppressor still trained on them, and checks both bodies,
Ty-Wrapping their wrists and disabling their weapons, his companion doing the
same to the pair by the gate.
"Gate secure, both okay."
"Prowlers secure, both okay."
The woman's voice returns. "Entry point Echo, as planned, target as briefed.
Joining on the car to cover."
The view switches to headware video - the passenger's, you're looking over
the sights of his MP-5K as he moves to a shuttered window, glances back to his
partner - crouched and covering with an assault rifle - before quickly and
expertly laying a ribbon charge around the window.
"Fire in the hole!" he calls quietly, double-timing back and lying prone:
reaching down to change the magazine in his submachinegun, from a clip of soft
orange gel rounds to black-jacketed hollowpoints, as his vision shudders with
the shock of a small explosion, then whirls and blurs as Lynch moves in,
tearing the remnants of the windowframe out and covering the room.
The aiming mark of his smartlink roves around the smoke- and dust-filled room -
a spare bedroom - as his partner throws himself in past Lynch and through the
window. "In. Move." Lynch follows, moving to the doorway.
"Two outside your door." says the woman's voice. The driver reaches into his
jacket and throws something through the door, both men flattening back as the
door blows off its hinges and more dust and smoke roll out, then Lynch is
coming around the frame, muzzleflash flaring to his side as he fires at a
staggering silhouette, the ammo counter in the corner of his vision marking off
the rounds, then scans the corridor - first on visual, but bringing in a
thermal overlay that cuts through the dirty air.
"Clear! Front door, stairs!"
"Clear. Three doors."
"As planned."
Lynch throws four grenades fast, down the corridor, and moves rapidly back into
the bedroom as the muffled thumps of his grenades exploding shake his view
slightly. Coming back out, the whole corridor is ablaze, cutting it off
completely: shouts of alarm - in Spanish - show someone didn't like that much.
As Lynch, crouched, moves to the base of the stairs, his partner fires two long
bursts up them.
"Prep the door!"
"Rog." Lynch sets a housebrick-sized object, wasp-striped in yellow and black,
on the wall next to the front door. "Done!" More gunfire behind him, several
weapons, and Lynch turns to spray a burst up the stairs himself.
"Only one upstairs, boys, target alone, be quick - nicely done, Blade." as the
body of the gunman at the top of the stairs falls limply into view, Lynch
sprinting up to the landing and hurdling the body to crash through a door -
slivers of construction plastic flying - and settle the sights of the MP-5 on
a middle-aged man in the corner, by a blazing waste-paper basket.
The man is rising and turning with a pistol in his hand, then dropping it as
the targeting mark settles on his arm and a short burst smashes it.
"Sergeant Hermosa, you're under arrest, and you don't have any rights."
"Jason, you still surprise on occasion, but I fear I laugh at your expense
here." The man comes to attention, clenches his jaw, and a goodly-sized part
of his head vanishes in a red spray.
"FUCK!" Lynch upends the trash, beating the flames out with a pillow and
gathering the charred papers.
"What?" Blade appears in the door, changing magazines.
"Fucker blew his fucking head off with a fucking cortex bomb. Motherfucker! Why
the fuck did the stupid fuck do that?"
"Enough with the Tarantino, Lynch, let's get the goods and go!"
"Yeah, yeah. Lilith, Orchid is down, repeat Orchid is down, moving on the
goodies. Sitrep?"
"All quiet on the Western front, boys, I'm half a block away and just waiting
for the cavalry to come and play with me. Their ETA, ninety seconds." Lynch is
rapidly setting charges on a small safe, as Lilith speaks.
"Let'em come, then take them from the rear. Fire in the hole!" The charges are
small and well-shaped, and Lynch and Blade between them manage to wrench the
door off the safe, revealing trays of datachips which both men rapidly remove
and stow.
"Company." Lilith's voice, her drawl deeper and slower. "One van. Pulling
up
outside the house."
The camera switches to an exterior view, as an unmarked white van skids to a
halt in the driveway and six men pile out, all in armour jackets and armed with
HK227s. As they fan out and surround the front door, a good-sized chunk of wall
blows out, throwing two of them some distance amidst the rubble. As the four
others open fire, spraying the holed wall with automatic fire, a blur of
movement at the gate catches your eye: a tall, lithe woman, long auburn hair
flaming in the morning sun, leaning over the gatepost with a Kalashnikov-series
rifle.
She says two curt words: "Engaging, now."
One of the guards goes over forwards, never knowing what hit him, as the
others turn to fire back at this new threat. The van suddenly shudders and
sparks, glass flying as it - and the two men using it for cover - are riddled
with gunfire, Blade ducking back out of view to change magazines. He must have
gone out through the guest bedroom to flank the arrivals, you think, as the
last is kicked sideways, the source of the fire appearing as Lynch emerges
through the breach in the wall.
"They didn't touch the car." says Lilith, moving to the driver's seat and
plugging a datalead behind her ear.
"Then let's go and see what we got." replies Lynch, he and Blade piling in as
Lilith spins the wheels and sprays grass and earth, accelerating away and out
of view.
+++++end trideo
Would have been nice to get Hermosa alive, but that wasn't really what we
were after.]<<<<<
-- Lynch <00:32:42/04-09-57>
