Phase Two was a work in progress. Right now it consisted of “stay hidden” and “kill quietly.”
However, it was not lost of Bravo One that he was dealing with human beings here.They tended to notice things like missing comrades and conspicuous pools of blood in the place where they’d last seen one of their friends. The timer was ticking away, and the longer this took, the more likely this engagement would lead to one of his failure conditions.
Speed and stealth. Speed and stealth. Sort it out later.
He thought the words like a mantra, attempting to subsume his doubts and second guesses, so they could be reexamined later when he wasn’t on the clock.
He stayed hidden, slinking within the deep shadows cast by the truck’s high beams and following the group of three that had split from the main gaggle of thugs to check for interlopers.
Unfortunately, the trio stayed pretty tightly packed together, making engaging with them from afar risky, especially since the subsonic rounds in Joseph’s magazine weren’t powerful enough to make the assault rifle function automatically. With every shot Joseph would be forced to take the weapon out of pocket, rack a new round, then reacquire another target. That was too slow if he didn’t want shouts and gunfire and super bird men in the air.
Furthermore, the guy this group had in the back of their little formation, a well built, younger man with facial hair that rode that precarious stubble/beard line, probably had some kind of military training, judging by the way he moved, his trigger discipline, and how he diligently kept his eyes scanning their group’s six. Whatever happened, this one’s reactions were going to be quick, and that put his death at the top of Joseph’s to-do list.
The other two members of this group were less than impressive, exaggeratedly waving their pistols this way and that, letting the sights of their weapons do the looking for them instead of just using their eyes and keeping the guns at the ready. Bravo One wouldn’t be surprised if they were aiming down the sights of their weapons exclusively with one eye, shrinking their zone of awareness significantly and making what remained predictably limited. It was a nasty habit most likely acquired from watching cop dramas or too many video games.
These two were the weak links in the chain as far as combat was concerned, but they were also the most likely to start firing into the dark if they got spooked enough. They were at once the least likely to hurt Joseph but the most likely to botch his mission. Their deaths would need to be sudden and close together.
An opportunity presented itself after a minute or two of Bravo One shadowing the group as they filed deeper into the lines of defunct rail cars. The trio were making their way down the tracks away from the super, checking under and inside the rusting old train cars that boxed them in, but the rectangular metal box shape of a connex was wedged diagonally across the alley, blocking the way forward. The bikers were being thorough enough that Joseph was reasonably sure they would at least check it when they got to it. That means opening the container from this side or go around to continue their sweep. Either way, they would have to break up their spacing, and that would create a small window to strike.
It wasn’t an ideal plan. Lots could go wrong, Joseph knew. Then again, the timer was ticking. Someone would have thought to go back to the central courtyard by now, and it was only a matter of time before they noticed how curiously depopulated it was.
Speed and stealth. No time for indecision.
Bravo One forced his body to relax at least a little as he crouched down next to the coupler hitch of a flat car and used it to steady his weapon for his next shot. The group was being agonizingly slow, checking under and on top of everything, even places a person couldn’t reasonably hide like under a clearly visible stack of pallets.
You can clearly see the stack is flat, you jackasses. Hurry up.
All the while, Joseph imagined armed men streaming out of the warehouse where he’d lured them and making their ways curiously over to where they’d left their leader and their overwatch.
Come on. Come On.
He felt his muscles starting to bunch up again, tensing for a fight or flight response that would be counterproductive given the circumstances. He inhaled a long, slow breath through his nose and blew it out through his mouth.
One thing at a time, Joseph.
He sighted in on the rear guard, the alert one with the stubble, letting the sights of his rifle bob up and down as the man shuffled along behind his comrades with his pistol at the low ready. The men at the front seemed almost surprised to get to the connex after the show they put on “clearing” every other damned spot on their route. They stopped suddenly and swept their weapons up and down the thing like insects feeling a foreign object with their antennae. The tunnel vision theory Joseph had been harboring just got another data point in its favor. He couldn’t fault their enthusiasm though.
There was a brief discussion, which the rear guard also participated in without turning his head, of course, then the point man finally started working the handle for the metal container’s door. It popped open with a bang, and the two front men rushed inside, leaving the rear man by himself for the first time in minutes.
It was now or never. Bravo One exhaled and slowly increased the pressure on his rifle’s trigger, raising his aim slightly to compensate for distance and the precipitous drop the slower, heavier ammo tended to have. There was a pop as the 7.62 mm bullet left the barrel and a click-clack as Joseph chambered another round, even as the rear guard’s head snapped back and his legs gave out underneath him.
Keeping his weapon trained on the swinging metal door, Joseph rose and approached the entrance to the connex, reaching into his bandolier and extracting a working from one of the yellow tubes. The music from the truck radio was making it hard to understand anything, but he could hear voices now from inside the container as well as a good bit of scuffing and banging. The super was careful to keep out of a direct line of sight, but he was pretty sure he could see a brief glimpse of moonlight through the door, meaning the container was open on both sides.
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It would be better if one set of doors was closed, but this would have to do. He had to be decisive.
Speed and stealth. At this moment, he was favoring the former over the later.
He posted up leaning against the cold metal of the connex to the right of the open door and straddling the downed biker’s body. Then he summoned his fire to burn the flashbang working in his hand, allowing the energy to coalesce into the desired construct until he was holding the familiar little twitching ball of white light in his palm. The adrenaline in his veins and his shuddering breaths made holding onto the thing that much harder. It vibrated and sparked, seeming to amplify all of Joseph’s movements, ready to speed off to fulfill its purpose with the slightest provocation.
Slowly, carefully, Joseph turned his palm outward and hovered it next to the opening where his foes fumbled around in the dark searching for their intruder. Just a little push was all it took, a slight opening of the hand and a little gesture to propel the construct forward. The little miniature sun zipped off into the container. Then an incandescent burst of brilliant light erupted from the metal box’s open door, and there was a muted *FWOOMP* as the shockwave impacted the walls of the connex, bowing the thinner, more rusted parts of the box outward momentarily before the construct fizzled and the darkness was allowed to rush back in. The open door flung itself wide on its hinges and met the adjacent train car with a clang before wobbling to a half-closed position on the rebound.
Reseating his rifle, Bravo One charged inside, the apertures of his goggles adjusting to the deeper dark of the connex’s interior instantaneously, but if not for the thermal sensors on his rig, Joseph might have missed the two men in his initial sweep. It looked like a hurricane passed through this little metal box. A ridiculous amount of detritus was strewn about on the floor from shredded plastic tarping to rotted wood to crumpled blue crates with some kind of fiberglass insulation spilling from their exposed interiors. The two men were on the floor, buried under the stuff. Both clutched their heads, and the floor of the container was wet with fluid trickling from their ears and noses.
He stared down at the two of them as they writhed on the floor. The working must have been amplified by the enclosed space of the metal box, creating an overpressurized environment for a split second. Very overpressurized. Of course that was the intention of the flashbang, but this looked… rough. He reached down and collected the men’s weapons, tossing them out of the connex door.
It was obvious these two were down and helpless for now but not entirely out of the equation. That left him with his first real choice of the night. What would he do with these two?
Of course he couldn’t answer that without dealing with the bigger questions.
Just how much influence did Gull have on these guys? Was he as in their heads as he was with the innocents of Las Almas?
Could Joseph hold their actions tonight against them if there was mind fuckery involved?
Damnit. He didn’t have time to think about this properly. Bravo One needed to move again. This fight wasn’t done yet, and he didn’t want the men in the courtyard to reach their trucks and bring about Failure Condition Two.
He took aim at the closest thug’s head.
It would be easier this way. Cleaner. One shot and the threat would be gone. No need to deal with prisoners or risk complications. It would allow him to go save the innocents immediately and bag his bird tomorrow.
He knew, logically, this was the safest option, but he hesitated, an uneasy feeling spreading from his gut.
Was logic really why he was drawn to executing these people?
Bravo One could question them. There was logic in that. He could find out what they knew and how to draw Gull out. So why was it so much of a stretch to let them live?
Leaving them alive meant having to contain them. That came with its own benefits and pitfalls. He didn’t have anything to bind them or keep them quiet. Nor did he have the inclination to be merciful considering how they’d treated their ‘guests’ just a few minutes ago. How much of that was them, and how much of that was Gull?
Mesmers were such a pain in the ass. Their mere presence muddied up the water. Joseph would much rather deal with the minions that made their own decisions and could be judged accordingly. That was easy, judging a man by the choices he’s made… his choices.
This though- Joseph hated this.
The man looked up at Joseph, his eyes unfocused and threatening to roll up into his head and the blood running from his nose turning his cheeks into a red mess. His arm weakly reached up to bat at the barrel of Joseph’s rifle, but the motion was too much for him, forcing him to turn to the side and vomit into the trash where he lay. When he was done he let out a pathetic mewling sound through the fluid in his throat.
Joseph sighed, lowering his weapon and backing away. He bolted outside before he could change his mind, closing the door to the connex and sealing it with the latch. Then he climbed up and out of the alley between the tracks and secured the doors on the other side of the container as well, effectively locking the concussed biker’s inside.
Oh well. What was one more ball to juggle in this circus? Those two would be something to be dealt with later. Right now, Bravo One was pressed for time.
He took off on the most direct route he knew would take him toward the courtyard.
“Talk to me, Overwatch,” he said softly between breaths.
All five tangos are out of the building and headed for the trucks. Didn’t pick it up from the drone, but whatever you did a minute ago at least got their attention. They’re all bunched up and lookin’ nervous.
A new burst of adrenaline shot through Joseph’s system, and his pulse quickened noticeably. He’d made more noise taking out that group than he should have. His hands flexed nervously.
He couldn’t afford to fail, not after the blood he’d spilled tonight.
“What about the town? Any activity?” Joseph asked, a slight catch in his voice. He thought about bringing up the video stream from the drone, but he trusted Overwatch and needed his full field of vision right now.
No activity I can see. The bird is still on the ground somewhere.
He allowed himself a moment to pause, bracing himself against a stack of pallets and taking a couple deep, fortifying breaths to get his mind back on task.
This was Gull. Gull was a sadistic killer. Gull needed to die. Gull wouldn’t die unless Bravo One killed him. If Bravo One didn’t kill him now, Gull would slip away and do what he did, in secret, out of reach. If that happened, Joseph would never forgive himself.
But he hadn’t failed. Not yet.
No room for more mistakes.
Better get movin’ kid. One of the brave ones is getting close to the truck where you stashed the stiff.
Another breath then Joseph was moving again, pumping his legs as fast as they could go, propelling him up and over train cars and across gravelly expanses. He was still in business, but the window to wipe these pieces off of the board was quickly closing.
What’s more, the 44 Reapers knew something was wrong now. They didn’t know the extent of their troubles, but they were beginning to suspect. The engagement had changed.
The mantra of stealth was fast becoming obsolete, so Bravo One cast it aside.
Speed and violence. The chant streamed through his conscious mind.
Speed and violence.