| From: | James Dening james@************.force9.co.uk |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Messy Work: Ouch |
| Date: | Mon, 10 Apr 2000 10:30:52 +0100 |
>>>>>[ Here's what happened from our end. Who *were* those fraggers?
And thank Phoenix from me..
+++++ BEGIN VIDEO
+++++<SysDiag:InitCPU Ranger Arms SM-3, OS ver 3.21B. TargAcq software
licensed from Ares Macrotechnology (C) 2058-61>
+++++<SysDiag:Init (Mem, Mag, AutoFocus, AmCount)>
+++++<SysDiag:FindingHeadware. . . . . . . .Headware found. User acquired. Hello,
'God'.>
+++++<SysDiag:StatusReport: 20 rounds APDS loaded. Last diagnostic
21:42:02/04-01-61.>
+++++<SysDiag:MainSafety:ON>
+++++<SysDiag:InitScreen>
The screen flickers once and spread out in two dimensions from a white
spot. A grainy, green/white image comes up, looking down from a great
height onto urban wasteland. A group of some three or four people are gathered
by the side of the street.
+++++<SysDiag:IncMag003>
+++++<SysDiag:ReinitAutoFocus>
The image zooms in, closer and sharper.
+++++<SysDiag:IncMag004>
+++++<SysDiag:Crosshair003:ON>
+++++<SysDiag:InitTargParams(TargSigFile004("Metahuman"),
DamageLevel=MAXDmgLvl,
FriendlyFireOveride:ON)>
+++++<SysDiag:InitTargAcquire>
+++++<Working.....>
The figures are now pinsharp and even closer, and a crosshair drifts from
figure to figure, leaving a glowing red cross over each one, either head or
chest, depending on what can be seen.
A voice sounds in the quiet."Green One, Blue One. I make two more
guards joining the party."
A moment passes, then a second, male voice replies. "Confirmed, Blue
One. Be ready to move. Gold One, Gold Two, you're up. One, take your
shot when you're clear. Two, be ready to follow up."
+++++<SysDiag:InitNetwork. . . . . . .1 other gun(s) found. >
+++++<SysDiag:LinkToNWGun ('Cypher'). . . . . . .Link established. Master
Gun is 'Cypher' . 2 node(s) linked. >
+++++<SysDiag:InitNWTargShare>
On the screen, a small diagram of a second gun appears over the image, in the
top left corner of the screen. It's coloured blue, and one by one, approximately
half of the marked figures on the screen switch crosshair colour to blue. As more
people come out of the building, so they are marked with either a red or blue
crosshair.
"Get into position. They're moving out in force now. I count six...no, seven.
There - Darkblood's outside. Okay, people, switch to team freaks. Use
the command freak only to respond to me. Gold Team, it's your show."
A tall elf emerges from the building and mingles with the group, others
shifting to accomodate his presence in their midst. The cursor drifts across
to him and locks on, a blue cross marking his chest with a a small '1'
marking his as the prime target.
+++++<SysDiag:MainSafety:OFF>
Twin clicks sound as the snipers make a certain mental command through
their headware, and in the display, a large red icon flashes on. The guns are
now live.
One car, followed by another and a large van pull into the field of view and
after a second, the blue representation of the other gun flashes bright
white for a second.
+++++<SysDiag:NWShot:'Cypher'>
Almost immediately, the sniper pulls his own trigger twice, initiating the first
two programmed target shots stored in the gun's memory.
It takes approximately 250msec for the shots to arrive - an eternity for the
enhanced reflexes of the snipers, who spend the time waiting, letting the
gun track the trajectory of the first shots to modify the next shots if
necessary. The first bullet arrives and is met three feet from the target's
head by a coruscation of white light. The second and third bullets meet
the same fate.
+++++<SysDiag:CancelTargAcquire>
+++++<...Off.>
"Bastard! Some sort of barrier - stay on him, I'll take the soldiers."
"Yes......Agreed....." comes the reply from the other sniper.
Working manually now, the sniper lines up one of the soliders, who's crouching
down, weapon raised, looking for the source of the shots. With a dull
'Phuttt', the SM-3 fires again, shot almost inaudible over the cacophony of
small arms fire that has erupted at ground level. The soldier pitches over
backwards, blood erupting from his chest. Two other soldiers still
in evidence are already down and the sniper switches his attention back
to the main group, standing closely around the tall elf - Darkblood they were
told his name was, at the briefing.
The gun jerks again, the sniper working methodically, trying to wear down the
bullet barrier, or to find a weak point in its coverage. A shimmer goes across the
screen as suddenly a bullet is stopped early. Puzzled, the gunman pauses
for a second, trying to identify the screen artifact.
"Frag.....Cypher...Phoenix...INCOMING. Stealthed flyers, two o'clock!" The gun
display shifts and centres on a section of sky. A slight shimmer moves towards
the POV, indicating that *something* is there. The onscreen cursor moves
aimlessly, the gun trying to tell the user that it is merely empty sky. The sniper
pulls the trigger once, twice, three times. A flicker of vision and a figure goes
plummeting earthwards, spraying blood from where its left arm used to be.
The sniper pans the gun sideways, looking for any other anomalies when all
of a sudden a huge impact throws the POV reeling. Glimpses of stained concrete
bounce across the screen and the POV comes to rest, facing across a rain-soaked
balcony showing a figure in a Ghillie suit flat on his back, dazed, picking himself up.
A short gutteral laugh and a comment in Sperethiel is heard and the gun's POV
shifts once more as the unseen assailant picks the weapon up, training it on its
former owner.
+++++<SysDiag:FindingHeadware. . . . . . . .Timeout. No HeadwareFound..>
+++++<SysDiag:InitiateSafetyOverrideOn>
+++++<SysDiag:InitiateAutodestruct: Countdown:TWO SECONDS, SILENT>
+++++comment: Seraph, at this point I've switched to my headware. You'll see why.
The sniper sees the man in front of him, almost invisible, with some sort of stealth
shrouding him, looking like a nearly transparent glassine figure, pick up the sniper
rifle from where his landing had knocked it from his grasp. The attacker points the
gun at him, and with an incomprehensible comment pulls the trigger. Nothing happens,
and the man looks at the trigger mechanism, searching for a safety. Then, **BOOM**.
All the remaining rounds trigger their propellant at the same time and the resulting
spray of shrapnel sends the invisible attacker flying back over the edge of the
balcony.
"Hope your flying mojo ain't kaput, chummer..." mutters the sniper under this
breath.
He turns to the balcony to his left, to check on the rest of Gold team but a thump
from the other end of his balcony warns him that his attacker wasn't on his own. He
spins, drawing his Predator, but even his modified reflexes can't do it fast enough,
and with a rattle of automatic weapons fire, a huge hammer blow hits him in the
small of the back, and his spin is turned into a grotesque parody of a pirouette.
The top of the line Milspec Security Armour under his Ghillie suit works excellently,
exceeding all its design parameters with the first, second and even the third bullet.
The next one punches into the wad of massed metal already in place in the energy-
dissipating mesh of the armour and forces a hunk of burning metal through the cotton
underclothes the sniper is wearing. He doesn't, however, have time to feel his skin
burning as the last bullet then smashes through the hole, scattering the shards of the
previous rounds asunder as it slices through his back, deflating the right side
of his lungs and exiting out of his chest, where it's remaining energy is stopped by
the armour. An silent moment of red heat bathes his vision, and with awful
clarity he hears the splash of his own blood spattering against the window
next to him as he tumbles to the ground.
The newest arrival on the balcony steps forward - his stealthing device -
Ruthenium, thinks the sniper, memory welling up from some unknown depth - has
been better set up - even standing right in front of him he can hardly see him - just
the barrel of a large calibre assault rifle, still smoking slightly as the gunman moves
forward to make certain of the kill. The sniper starts to reach again for his pistol, but
his arms won't move. He smiles, thinking of the irony of a sniper actually being killed
by close-range gunfire when all of a sudden the attacker moves. Move straight up, into
the bottom of the balcony above, where his trajectory is stopped with a thud and
a sickening sound of bone breaking. He shoots back down, arms and legs waving
feebly, to the floor, accelerating into the unforgiving concrete. This impact is met with
a scream as his legs splay outwards in opposite directions, at least one broken badly
at the femur. One last time he shoots up, reaching a seemingly impossible speed in
such a tight space and with this impact, the ruthenium controller is broken, and
the broken figure of an elf tumbles to the floor, helmet and head beneath smashed like
an eggshell. There's a moment's silence, broken only by the dripping of blood from the
dark patch on the ceiling joining a spreading pool around the body beneath.
The sniper looks at this, wide-eyed, amazement only broken by a cough that fills his
mouth with blood. Then, arms are underneath him and the mage is pulling his through the
doorway. A rail-thin figure is standing there, sniper rifle connected by a lead to his
headware
firing single shots into seemingly empty space.
"Let's......go......."
<blackness>
+++++ END VIDEO
They got me out of there, then patched me up - think Phoenix had recovered a bit
by then to do some mojo on me. Glad to still be alive, to be honest.
Later...]<<<<<
-- God<11:32:23/04-10-61>
