| Jan 8, 2016 0:02:58 GMT -5 |
Post by Tino Väinämöinen on Jan 8, 2016 0:02:58 GMT -5
●●●
Cause darling I'm a
nightmare
dressed like a
daydream
Tino could feel the anger ripe in his chest, simply boiling and burning in his veins as the car moved. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, sloughing off the tight, restrictive material before nearly tearing the pressed shirt and tie from his neck in frustration. Of course, he was not shedding his shirt and attire to leave himself undressed. No. Tino was a paranoid individual, if that wasn’t obvious by his strict profiling tendencies, the way he calculating how to kill an individual upon meeting them, or how he played up a fake personality depending on what the situation called for.
Cordelia’s party was no different, and underneath the layers of polyester and cotton laid his uniform, his customized dragonscale bodysuit.
Dragonscale armour held a fantastical name, but in reality it had been constructed years ago. By overlapping discs of hardened Kevlar, the suit lived up to its name. Each ‘scale’ overlapped with others, allowing the force of a bullet, and impact of force, to be distributed out and over a wider surface area. It provided immense protection, and while Tino had left the battery attachment at home, it still offered more protection than a bulletproof vest ever could.
Cordelia’s party had a vast array of guard’s posted, but radical individuals followed the motto ‘if there’s a will, there’s a way.’ Wearing his armour meant he could take a bullet to the chest and walk it off (likely painfully, but alive. His head however, was completely unprotected and he was forced to leave it as such). The last thing the agent expected to see at the party was a gunman, and he had prepared himself accordingly.
Tino couldn’t even begin to describe the shock at spotting Alfred Fitzgerald fraternizing with the elite members of Arachnida. Tino nearly tore the zipper in his pants as he ripped them off with such anger. Fucking Alfred Fitzgerald. The man knew, he knew Tino had put a lazer on his back and refused to talk. The man knew Tino was serious, and still refused to comply. And this man, this Alfred ‘Jones’ played with a match around a gasoline tank.
Enough was enough. Alfred Fitzgerald was too much of a liability to bother keeping him alive, and Tino would kill him before he had the chance to spill his guts to the Freedom Fighters (to which Tino was very certain that Alfred was connected to, he just didn’t have evidence yet).
“Stop here.”
Tino got out of the cab, slipping the man a generous handful of rubles before walking down the alleyway. The building adjacent to the conman’s was another apartment, and Tino had taken the luxury of stashing articles and supplies in the half-renovated room that the landlord had dried up on funds to continue to fix. Tino escalated the fire escape, before unlatching the window with his pocket knife and climbing in.
The room was untouched. The door handle was still tipped at about a 15 degree angle off the horizontal, and there was a layer of dust elegantly coating all surfaces in the room (Tino would be sure to erase all traces that he was there and hope that dust would settle once more before the room was cracked open). The agent quickly strided over to the cabinets, pulling his cloak and hood from the space and replacing it with his crumpled suit. He tied it over his shoulders, before taking the gasmark and securing over his face. He clicked it on, watching through tinted lenses as the electronics came online. 11:48 pm. He had minutes to get over to the other building in time to beat the conman to his residence. Tino pulled up his hood and reached into the cabinet and took a single gun, screwing on the silencer in advance at this point.
No mind games today. Tino would ask once more for information, before terminating his useless, uncooperative spy. His eyes slid to the sniper rifle, which was an option, but the tantalizing prospect that Fitzgerald might squeal was almost too good to pass by.
He stuffed the gun in the loop of the cloak, before sliding back out of the window.
Time was of the essence as he stepped along the snow, thankfully that the weather was offering him cover. Fresh snowfall meant his tracks would be rapidly concealed, as well as low visibility; no one would be able to see him slip in and out of the conman’s apartment. Scaling the fire escape as quickly as he could, Tino reached Alfred’s apartment promptly.
He peered inside, impatient to clean up this mess of a situation as quickly as he could. He had a clear view of the alarm. He didn’t have time to go around and infiltrate through the front door, so Tino merely raised his gun and with a little -pop, his gun fired, spreading spidercracks the window before sinking into the heart of the alarm.
It didn’t go off.
Tino wrenched the window open using his knife as a lever, sliding the broken structure up before crawling in. His eyes darted around, but he saw no dog. Hm. Fitzgerald must have left it with a friend for the evening.
Tino had another moment to glance around before the doorknob began to twist and unlock. Tino didn’t hide this time; he wasn’t in sight of the cameras in the hallway from this angle. He raised his gun when the door opened, and spoke before Alfred had the chance to scream for help.
“In. Now.”
Cordelia’s party was no different, and underneath the layers of polyester and cotton laid his uniform, his customized dragonscale bodysuit.
Dragonscale armour held a fantastical name, but in reality it had been constructed years ago. By overlapping discs of hardened Kevlar, the suit lived up to its name. Each ‘scale’ overlapped with others, allowing the force of a bullet, and impact of force, to be distributed out and over a wider surface area. It provided immense protection, and while Tino had left the battery attachment at home, it still offered more protection than a bulletproof vest ever could.
Cordelia’s party had a vast array of guard’s posted, but radical individuals followed the motto ‘if there’s a will, there’s a way.’ Wearing his armour meant he could take a bullet to the chest and walk it off (likely painfully, but alive. His head however, was completely unprotected and he was forced to leave it as such). The last thing the agent expected to see at the party was a gunman, and he had prepared himself accordingly.
Tino couldn’t even begin to describe the shock at spotting Alfred Fitzgerald fraternizing with the elite members of Arachnida. Tino nearly tore the zipper in his pants as he ripped them off with such anger. Fucking Alfred Fitzgerald. The man knew, he knew Tino had put a lazer on his back and refused to talk. The man knew Tino was serious, and still refused to comply. And this man, this Alfred ‘Jones’ played with a match around a gasoline tank.
Enough was enough. Alfred Fitzgerald was too much of a liability to bother keeping him alive, and Tino would kill him before he had the chance to spill his guts to the Freedom Fighters (to which Tino was very certain that Alfred was connected to, he just didn’t have evidence yet).
“Stop here.”
Tino got out of the cab, slipping the man a generous handful of rubles before walking down the alleyway. The building adjacent to the conman’s was another apartment, and Tino had taken the luxury of stashing articles and supplies in the half-renovated room that the landlord had dried up on funds to continue to fix. Tino escalated the fire escape, before unlatching the window with his pocket knife and climbing in.
The room was untouched. The door handle was still tipped at about a 15 degree angle off the horizontal, and there was a layer of dust elegantly coating all surfaces in the room (Tino would be sure to erase all traces that he was there and hope that dust would settle once more before the room was cracked open). The agent quickly strided over to the cabinets, pulling his cloak and hood from the space and replacing it with his crumpled suit. He tied it over his shoulders, before taking the gasmark and securing over his face. He clicked it on, watching through tinted lenses as the electronics came online. 11:48 pm. He had minutes to get over to the other building in time to beat the conman to his residence. Tino pulled up his hood and reached into the cabinet and took a single gun, screwing on the silencer in advance at this point.
No mind games today. Tino would ask once more for information, before terminating his useless, uncooperative spy. His eyes slid to the sniper rifle, which was an option, but the tantalizing prospect that Fitzgerald might squeal was almost too good to pass by.
He stuffed the gun in the loop of the cloak, before sliding back out of the window.
Time was of the essence as he stepped along the snow, thankfully that the weather was offering him cover. Fresh snowfall meant his tracks would be rapidly concealed, as well as low visibility; no one would be able to see him slip in and out of the conman’s apartment. Scaling the fire escape as quickly as he could, Tino reached Alfred’s apartment promptly.
He peered inside, impatient to clean up this mess of a situation as quickly as he could. He had a clear view of the alarm. He didn’t have time to go around and infiltrate through the front door, so Tino merely raised his gun and with a little -pop, his gun fired, spreading spidercracks the window before sinking into the heart of the alarm.
It didn’t go off.
Tino wrenched the window open using his knife as a lever, sliding the broken structure up before crawling in. His eyes darted around, but he saw no dog. Hm. Fitzgerald must have left it with a friend for the evening.
Tino had another moment to glance around before the doorknob began to twist and unlock. Tino didn’t hide this time; he wasn’t in sight of the cameras in the hallway from this angle. He raised his gun when the door opened, and spoke before Alfred had the chance to scream for help.
“In. Now.”
Alfred F. Jones ● 919 words ● Play with fire and you're going to get burned
MADE BY VEL OF GS
