On a dark night. A man in a brown suit closes his umbrella as the rain dies down. A Hobo on the concrete staircase to the factory's entrance looks up and smiles. "Good Evening Colonel Eltwood!" his eyes open wide at the familiar facial structure on the aged man. Without the beard, the middle aged man immediately noticed who he was. "Jesus… Specialist Jack, is that you!?"
Tipping his ragged fedora, the Eltwood gestured for him. C'mon, head inside. We got some leftover food from today's dinner." Standing up, the former Spec Ops soldier could only scratch his greasy and messy unkempt hair. "Ahahahaha, this is why I came here. You know? I've heard you guys do a lot of good for Vets."
Eltwood looked behind him, the abandoned and dilapidated warehouses and factories surrounded the lone well lit building in the wet nightly street. Without the street lamps on the sidewalk, there'd be no visibility on the block at all. "I would if I had expertise in Hospitality. Now, wipe your shoes at the door mat and head in."
Standing up, Jack immediately put his legs together and smiled. "Sir, Yes Sir! Good to see the Colonel who took on Saddam's Republican Guard personally is alive and well!" the former officer just shrugged his head at the memory. "We aren't soldiers anymore, remember? No point in delving into the past. C'mon, we have coffee and some cake. It was Lieutenant Greene's Birthday, you know?"
"Greene? Is he still here? That tankman has a wicked sense of humor. Can't forget it." Smiling, Eltwood shrugged his head as Jack wiped his dirty oxfords on the frontmat. "Ah, he went home early. Wife and kids got a surprise for him." hearing this made the Specialist stand still, looking at both of his hands before nodding. "Yea…"
Entering an old 80s Factory inside the dense city, the night sky illuminated the road which was still heavily wet from early rain showers and the exhaust of an idling car on the opposite side of the road was letting off steam. Parked in darkness, under the shadow of an overpass, the sedan had its windows covered with moist.
Walking inside, they met with a desk and a Security Guard who was obviously busy playing a game on his Desktop. "Hey dimwit. Get the Toaster running. Weren't you looking at the CCTV? Look at who was on the front door." hearing the authoritative yet youthful voice made him stand up. "Oh shit! Sir!... and is that you Jack? Specialist Jack Burton?"
"Hey Sergeant Herrera. Long time. How's the boys from Company B?" seeing his old colleague, the Security Guard who was now overweight, far from his days in the Ranger team hugs the wet and ragged man. "Jesus, what the hell happened to you?!" with a limp body, the hobo just let his old friend toss him around. "Business didn't fly, I've been homeless for a year now. Wife also left be a year before that."
Without even asking anything more, the former Sergeant opens the door to the Security Teams locker room. "Dang, well. Follow me. We got some leftover food in my mini fridge. And heck, why not sign an application form? We need more workers here, you know. Eltwood here would be happy to have someone as good as you in the team." he lowers his head as he walks in, tapping the fat man in the grey security guard uniform of ArmToys Co. "Yea, thanks Arnold. I can see you making good use of your experience guarding HESCO barriers back at the FoB."
"Hahahahah, oh yes I am. But this time, rather than seeing the Republican Guard lurk around the perimeter. It's me and Warzone. Wanna see? Bought it with my last paycheck!"
Putting his right arm over the dirty man. Shaking him as he smiles, meeting a familiar face. "How long have you been stalking around here huh? Knowing you, you've been scoping this place for a long time." and the two enter the locker room, he gets the former Ranger some fresh clothes before unlocking the door to the Guards' Resting Area.
"Come! I'll get you some cake!" as the two head in, Eltwood just kept his distance with his hands behind his back, observing the two. Arnold immediately heated up some coffee as he put a plate and a fork on the steel table. On the wall, the Specialist could see the map of the old factory. Being in the East Wing, it circled and was labeled as "Security and Delivery", having access to large docking bays where only output is allowed to go.
In the front door's main place was the Central Wing, having Administration and Accounting and access to the large service elevator. Most of the factory was part of the West Wing which was for Production and Quality Control. With the 2nd and 3rd Floor having most of its sections dedicated to it. "You know, Jack, we have lots of people here from all parts of the world. Russians, Chechens, Ex-African PMCs, even some former Iraqi soldiers!
Seeing the two settle in, Eltwood waves at them as he heads up the stairs. Smiling and giggling. On the second floor, a man in a fireproof jacket and reflectorized pants in work boots approaches him. "Hey John, production is up the roof. Our latest product is popping! I heard that even the big corporations are looking into teaming with us! Hell! Even Mattel Co. sent a big letter today!"
A smile immediately gushed over him as he looked up the stairs. "Really? Hey, we can finally hire more Vets and expand operations! This is amazing! I'll head up to my office immediately then!" shaking the man's shoulders, the two smiled broadly, the other staff all sharing the positive attitude of them. "Yea, talk to Dave. He told me the good news just now. Mattel might actually fold!"
"Ahahahaha, alright. Keep working with the others. Pump those Action Figures like there's no tomorrow!" the man in the fireproof uniform backs up and salutes. "Copy on all, sir!"
The CEO pats his head production manager's shoulder and gives him a thumbs up as he walks up to the third floor. Even though it was already Nine in the evening, the factory was still alive and well, with a lot of its Staff taking overtime to produce more products as demand went sky high. Dave, another man in a suit but in the style of a striped blue, shakes Eltwood's hand firmly.
"You crazy fuck actually did it. After paying back all of our Loans and clearing our Debts all these years, it's only going upward from here on out. We're making a profit baby!" The Colonel couldn't stop his excitement, spreading his arms and looking up to the ceiling. "Hell yeah! Three long years of just making it even! Ahahahaha! Take that Mattel! I heard they even sent a letter. Looks like they know they can't do anything to us now!"
"Yeah, it has. I already put the letter at your desk. Our most popular product is the Late Two Thousands US Army Armored Battalion. The Two Hundred Soldiers set with the Abrams and Bradleys." he nods as he walks to the large third floor window where the brick walls under the plastering are fully exposed. "What about the Motor Rifle one? I heard it's been making rounds in Eastern Europe lately."
He clicks his fingers as he sits down on the third hand leather chair in front of the CEO's desk. "Oh that one? It's been the talk of the town in Belarus and Russia." he proceeds to cross his legs, pointing his hand at the CEO. "And get this, even the Chinese are buying them. I think it's time for us to tease a PLA Amphibious Landing Group or maybe even a Naval Fleet Set with their new Destroyers and Marine kit."
He then lifts his hand, silencing Dave as he closes his eyes and breathes in. "Alright, alright. Let's calm down first, for now, let's head to my office. "
As the two walked through the third floor, the office staff in their cubicles stood up and saluted Eltwood as they celebrated the boom of their products. Many of them have medals on their desks or photos of when they were still in service.
Its old brick walls were littered with airsoft guns and surplus uniforms put into display and in whatever spare space was left, cool photos of expensive sports cars to tanks, planes, and helicopters were placed while some plaques of recognition and their city permits were next to the CEO's door.
Entering his personal office which was at the other end, overlooking the dark wet streets in front of their building. Next his small central wing office is the Quality Control staff on the West, with the Complaint Desks. The thin walls between the two do not provide much in protecting him from the sounds of the former Drill Sergeant's voice.
His office itself wasn't anything special, other than some photos of when he was still a Colonel in the Army. All he had was a powerful gaming PC and some metal file cabinets and an old 70s wooden office desk.
Sitting down on his wooden chair with a pillow to rest his back on, Dave sits down in front of his desk. The metal chair clanks a bit as it takes his weight. "So John… about what you said about hiring more Vets." the Ex-Colonel smiled as he put his hands behind his back and looked through the blinds of his office. "I already know someone. From the 75th Rangers."
"Nice, I already know a few we can hire. But we also need to hire someone from Korea, a former ROK if we can to expand our figures to Asian Militaries." As he listened to the Second in Command of the factory, Eltwood's attention was on the dilapidated warehouse on the street opposite of them. "Hm, but before that, we'll hire more Vets, expand our factory space, even buy out the one in front of us and connect it via a lifted stairway."
Dave immediately nodded at the suggestion. "Well, I was gonna say the same thing. Hell we should buy that other factory two blocks away and convert it into a factory meant for our Diecast vehicle collection." Rubbing his chin, the Colonel looked at his desk to see the letter sent by Mattel Corporation. "Hmmm… that would be great… our selection of Diecast stuff is pretty wide and broad, having a separate factory for it would ease the mess and increase efficiency… but two blocks away…"
With both his hands, Dave shows their main one and the future new one. "Yea, yea and we leave this building for Action Figure equipment and uniform making." clapping both of his hands, Eltwood knew what he was saying. "Exactly." Turning around, the man then approached his desk, opened a drawer, took a pair of scissors and cut the corporate mail open.
Dave on the other hand stands up and peers through the blinds of the Office. Directly overlooking the entrance of the factory and the road in front of it. "Strange, that black Nissan sedan has been there for a while now." Before Eltwood could read the letter, he swiveled his armchair around and looked at the former Army Captain. "Hm? What about it? It's probably abandoned."
Shaking his head, he lifts his hand and points directly at it. "Yet its engine is turned on." Hearing this, the man drops the letter and picks up the phone. "I'll call Arnold. He is with Specialist Jack right now."
"That Spec Ops guy from the Gulf War and Afghanistan? What's he doing here?" Eltwood nods as the phone rings. "Looking for a job. This profit is amazing for us and lucky for him." In Dave's reflection, a smile was on his face. "That lucky son of a gun. Should've known he was blessed with this trait knowing what he survived back then."
"Yea, the guy's in pretty bad shape. Better prepare the extra cash if he needs rehab. C'mon, pick up." Eltwood's oxfords began to tap the wooden floor as the Captain just stared at the sedan a bit down the road. "No worries, you just gave me my extra check. I'll throw in some cash if it isn't enough." Suddenly, the phone rang, the former Colonel getting an eerie feeling as its sound silenced the office.
Outside, sitting on a road just by the next block, a man inside the Nissan checks the chamber of his suppressed Glock 27 pistol. Confirming that it's loaded, he exits out. Walking in a black full face balaclava with a hoodie and a kevlar vest with cargo pants and combat shoes. He could sink within the shadows if it weren't for his eyes.
Opening the Nissan Corolla's trunk, he brings out a suppressed M4A1. Fully tricked out with a laser sight/flashlight combination complete with a holographic sight, he puts up the dust cover as he loaded his vests' ammo pouches with a bunch of magazines. The final piece was a large black duffle bag that's visibly full of weight as he lounges it to his back with some effort.
After finalizing his last checks, the strange man walks up to the front door. Knocking it with his gloves violently. Inside the Security Room, Arnold and Jack were having a good time eating some leftover strawberry cake as they listened to the news on the radio. "Oh man. This is the good stuff." With the sounds on the door muffled, the guard continued to converse with the former soldier. "Didn't you go through Ranger school? How'd you end up on the street?"
With the knocking becoming more annoying and louder, the security guard shakes his head in annoyance. "Christ. Wait a moment Jack. Another crackhead has walked into the perimeter." skillfully flipping his titanium flashlight, the fat man in uniform stood up and walked to the main lobby. "Be careful! Crackheads around these parts. They usually carry used needles with them."
His concern was just met with a lazy wave. "Yea, this ain't my first rodeo."
Tightening his security belt, he struts along to the front door. Licking some leftover strawberry icing from his fingers. Jack on the other hand stands up and follows him to the door. "Alright! Alright! Go away! We don't have money for your crack!" As he opens the door, the former Ranger looks at the CCTV cameras on the Security Room.
Seeing a heavily armed man on the front door, his eyes widened as he tried to grab the belt of the guard. "ARNOLD WAIT!" The man outside hears this and pulls out his Glock, seeing the silhouette through the stained glass panels on the wooden door, he headshots the guard who was already past the Security desk. Being trained, Jack quickly looks around and sees a belt and a gun case.
Another one of the on duty Security Guards sees the blood splatter on the wall near the security desk and the strawberry cake on their bench. As if already in control of his adrenaline, he quickly calls for emergency services. "Hello, 911. What's your emergency?"; "I am a security guard at Eltwood's Toy Factory at Dorenus Ave, Newark, the one near the Docks. We might have one wounded."
He then unlatches the cover for his pistol. "Alright sir, we're sending a unit to your location immediately. Please stay on the call." as he enters the entrance hall, he is stricken to see his buddy dead on the floor with a hole through his head. He goes into the locker room and sees Jack trying to open the gun case as the window on the door was cracked with a hole. "What the heck Jack?! Is it some gangsters?!"
Quickly pulling the man into cover, he immediately gestures for him to shut up. "SSHHH, One contact, armed, heavily, outside." This made the guard sweep towards the door to see its empty. "What?! Why? Heavily armed? On a toy factory of all places?" he nods as he shuffles through the keys. "Just alert the higher rooms, Davey. This guy is swift."
"O-okay and it's the square shaped key for the gun locker." As he clicks his radio's speak button, a bullet comes through his head and swiftly into Jack's back. Though it didn't kill him, the stranger unloads some more bullets and stays a few seconds to see if he is truly dead.
After not moving and bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds, the man moves up, unslinging his tricked out M4A1 assault rifle. One of the workers who was about to go on a break sees the guy and rather than running, screams from the top of his voice and tackles him. He screamed so loud the second and third floor heard it and ran down, with Eltwood taking his M9 Beretta from his drawer as his hands inch closer to the ringing phone on his desk.
"Leave it! We have to check on the others!" he nods, the two rushing out of the office and down the central staircase.
The armed man starts struggling as the ex soldier punches him to oblivion. The others ran to the first floor hallway and started trying to take his gun away, but he was holding on to it for dear life.
Just as Eltwood was about to arrive at the second floor, automatic gunfire from the adjacent building riddles his factory's second floor. Killing hundreds of his employees in a few seconds. "GET BACK UP! THIRD FLOOR, ALERT EVERYONE! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!" being pinned on the ground as the windows were shattered and the walls were shot to bits and pieces, with sections of brick wall gone, the entire place was full of cloud and floating debris from the attack.
The stranger with a light machine gun in the abandoned warehouse opposite of theirs puts up his smartphone and opens a Secured Chat Room Application. Sending a Thumbs Up sticker.
Eltwood pushes the bullet riddled man from his top and looks around, seeing machines riddled with bullet holes and toy soldiers marked by the blood of the employees who built them with love and care. Three blocks away, a Police Interceptor is in Code 3, its sirens and lights in full blast in the night upon hearing the automatic gunfire.
But its route is blocked by a Garbage truck that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Dispatch, this is Car 32. Is Sanitation active right now? There's a Garbage truck on the way. Tell them to move it out! We're hearing multiple Ten-Fifties!" The gunman walks up to the third floor, guns up and checks the corners. He stops, just short from the view of the men there upon feeling a ringing in his pocket.
Walking back a bit, he opens his phone and into the chatroom. "Multiple people, both left and right of you. Armed with AR-15s and Glocks." He sends another thumbs up and shoots the glass from the stairs, then pulls out some M67 Frag Grenades, throwing one into the partitions through the broken window. One of the men sees it roll near him. "SERGEANT, DON'T YOU DAR-" the man instinctively and heroically jumps on top of it. Letting his body absorb the frag grenade as it explodes.
"FUCK! MAN DOWN!" Two more grenades are lodged at them and three more on the other side where Eltwood is behind the cover of a Scanning Machine in the Quality Control Department. As they explode, shrapnel is thrown everywhere as the wooden desks turn into tiny pieces of lethal projectiles. Medals and Photo frames are thrown everywhere with stacks of paperwork turning the space in a blinding mess.
The gunman emerges from the stairs and starts picking off the dazed and wounded men, though some were able to shoot back, his kevlar vest eats the small rounds. With adrenaline running in his blood, he only flinches from it. Finishing everyone off in the West wing, he looks in the East wing. The grenades he threw there were effective, killing everyone there instantly. Passing over the corpse of a man in a blue suit, he tactically moves from cover to cover. Approaching the Quality Control department. Behind one of the machines, Eltwood is bleeding from the shrapnel and his suit completely ruined as he has palpitations.
"Colonel John Eltwood, Former United States Army CO. Service in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Syria. Just to be left jobless after returning to the states and later after a successful loan, opens his toy factory." with his hand on his bullet riddled chest, he pukes blood before speaking. "Y-yea. That is me..."
He hears the shutter of a phone's camera. "My employers has marked you and your entire Operation for removal. Thank you for making this easy." as the suppressed Glock was pushed up his forehead, the officer looked straight into his eyes. "Wh-who sent you? And trained you?"
As silence came to him, his eyes peered to the bullet ridden third floor and saw one of his toys. A 75th Ranger Action Figure from a Strike Package Set complete with an Oshkosh MRAP and a pair of DAP Blackhawk helicopters on the floor. Picking it up, tears flow from his eyes as he holds it close to his heart. "You should've answered the phone, Mister Eltwood."
With the toy pressed up to his bleeding chests, his eyes began to dim. "Ma… mat…"
Bullets flew from the staircase, shooting the gunman in the back multiple times. Though his vest tanks it all, he drops from the amount of bullets that hit him in quick succession.
On the adjacent building. The other gunman with an M249 SAW light machine gun mounts it on the decrepit window frame. Looking through the sight, he sees a disheveled hobo with a Glock 17. Riddled with bullets, barely alive and walking but somehow managed to walk all the way up to the third floor and even shoot his colleague multiple times in the back.
Jack then faces his pistol to the adjacent building, pointing it directly at the other man. He couldn't believe his eyes as the room was completely dark and the Hobo only had one eye open as his left one was covered with blood.
He takes cover as his position is riddled with bullets till it suddenly stops. Peering through, the third floor was now completely silent with no signs of movement. Bleeding profusely, the former special forces soldier was completely prone, the Glock up to the face of the greasy bearded man. "Where do you live? I'll come for you, even after I die!" Seeing the life slowly snuffing out of the man's eyes, and the lack of energy to pull the trigger, an answer came. "I live in the Five Seasons Hotel on 59th Street, New York, Floor 55, Room 10."
"YOU BETTER-" his eyes then go blank and the hobo falls face first to the floor.
Peeking through the mess, he sees that the former Colonel was dead. Standing up, he puts pressure on his wound as he pulls out a First Aid Kit and patches it up.
Opening his duffle bag, it's full of flame bombs with timers set on them. Now having the factory all to himself, he took his time to plant it on all of the spots, with his floor plan on his pocket, he used the expertly planned spots for a quick and accidental fire.
Walking down to the first floor and into the security locker. Deleting the CCTV footage of that night as he runs into the Nissan with his friend already on it. As they drive off, a white van comes in with hooded figures, running inside and securing anything they can find. Violently throwing it into the vehicle as sirens come closer and closer.
On the third floor, the Colonel breathes his final breath. Blood from his wounds drowns the toy soldier he's holding and sparks ignite, setting the entire factory into a blazing hell. Without any mercy, it turned their lifeless corpses into crisp, eating away at the bodies of once great men from armies all over the world.
Uncaring, unloving, their final moments on Earth were their new duty in the civilian sector, left to the flames were the dreams of the men, lost to time, with only their duty and service to their respective countries to be remembered.
Upon the strike of sunlight, a Detective comes into the stricken factory. The news quickly broke out about the fiery massacre, making the entire city grieve the deaths of the Veterans and newspapers about it being sold around the block. "And here is Colonel Eltwood. Purple Heart and Distinguished Service Cross. He is even in line for a Medal of Honor I heard. We also have multiple other crispy corpses, some are traced back to Russia, others to France, foreign Legion I heard."
Lifting the white curtain draped over the barely recognizable torso, the man in his police raincoat looked away at the sad sight of such a distinguished man. "And CoD?" the man from the coroner points at the holes on his chest. "Multiple GSWs through the right side. Some of the bullets exited to the other side." Nodding, he puts the curtain back on the body. "Anything found on him?"
"Other than a service M9 Beretta, Smartphone, and a wallet, nothing else." The Detective with his unkept beard looked to the foundations of the factory, the entire thing burnt to its very pillars. "Family?"
"Contacted his parents. He is unmarried, though his mother said he was planning on marrying his high school crush when the factory began making profit. Father is a Senator for the GOP, Mom is a stay at home wife." Firefighters were still digging through the piles of burnt soot and debris as the Detective leaned his back on a police cruiser. "Did any drives from the CCTV survive?"
Shaking his head, with his sterilized gloves, the city coroner points at the last evidence of the front door. "CCTV is burnt to the ground, we can't recover anything from that." With a heavy sigh, the police tapes lead towards the warehouse adjacent to the factory. "They found some cases of 556 there. Whoever was firing from there did a sloppy job. Casings were scattered everywhere." Hearing this made him squint his eyes, his hands going into his pockets. "Weapon?"
"Fully automatic potentially, nothing legal in this state that's for sure." The burly detective stands straight up and goes to his jacket. Bringing out a notepad as he wrote some things down. "Anything else?" with a quick side eye to the young coroner, the boy just shrugged his shoulders.
"Everything is burnt. We literally can't go with anything here. Even those bullets weren't made anywhere. No trace or even pattern. This is completely out of the blue too." his oxfords then tapped the wet pothole ridden road in front of the burnt out place. "This was a clean job. Too clean for a random arsonist, I might have to talk to the Chief. I smell bullshit."
"Are you sure Harold? Chief Benard already gave you a hard time last week for that botched operation, didn't he?" His concern was merely met with a shrug and a smirk as he walked back to the old sedan parked at the corner.
A few hours later, "Bossman… Do we have any military exercises in the city right now? I'm seeing three helicopters coming out of Newark with restricted transponders." This made the other Air Traffic Controller look at his radar, on it, multiple transponders for military helicopters were seen, their direction were towards New York. "That's from Newark. Huh…? I'll call the National Guard. No way they'd do this without permission, most of all in the middle of the night."
It didn't take long for someone from the FAA to come over, inspecting the radar. His eyes opened wide at the sight as he opened his phone and called up the US Coast Guard who quickly sent a chopper to intercept the multiple unknown contacts.
Hovering above Hudson Bay, one of the Eurocopters doing their nightly run had to quickly divert. The Trainee Copilot strapped himself in as they gained altitude and followed the GPS location given to them but upon reaching it, there wasn't a single thing amongst the dark skies.
With only a fifty feet difference in altitude, the two pilots were looking in every direction to find the rogue military choppers. "JFK, we're seeing no contacts there." a reply quickly came to them. "These are Army helicopters, they'd be flying with their lights all turned off. Use your spotlights and blind them if you have to. These hotshots did not file nor report their flight."
As they continued to flow the constantly updating ping, the pilot in command flips a switch on the center console, the Coast Guard Helicopters powerful searchlight beams open and they instantly see the tail of a Special Forces MH-60L Direct Action Penetrator Blackhawk. "What the… JFK! We have eyes on them! Three Blackhawks, one Apache in the lead and Littlebird on the left flank! Confirm!"
"Confirm! Try to hail them! They are not cleared to fly into Manhattan's airspace!" Titling the rotors forward, the Eurocopter passes the heavy Blackhawk, the young Copilot leaning in to see the emotionless bodies of the passengers and he could see the four pylons were all loaded with Hellfires and Hydra Rocket Pods. "Uhhhh… Cap, these guys are armed to the teeth and official. Are you sure there isn't some exercise?" looking at the compartments of the choppers, they were all fully loaded with Special Forces Operators clad in black.
Their quad nods were all tipped up, the red light of the interior was the only source of illumination as the Coast Guard Pilot then moved the searchlight at the Apache Attack Helicopter on the lead, it was also fully armed like the Blackhawk transport helicopters, having an assortment of missiles and unguided rockets whilst the smaller Reconnaisse Littlebird were flying with a pair of Miniguns and Hellfires.. "JFK, all helicopters are armed, I say again, are armed to the teeth."
Inside the Air Traffic Control Tower, a pair of men in full camouflage walks in. Taking the microphone away from the FAA Official as everyone just backed away and gave them space. "This is Colonel Davis Harrison from McGuire Air Force Base. Their transponders read to us as the 160th Nightstalkers. Their helicopters all poses pylons to carry an assortment of weapons, I recommend you pull back now, we're dispatching multiple jets to intercept these boogeys."
At the Joint Base South of Newark, F-16s were quickly dispatched. With full afterburner and loaded with drop tanks if a longer length of stay in the air was needed, the pair of planes took off into the dark of the night.
Unbeknownst to them, an Oshkosh M-ATV Mine Resistant Vehicle was driving through the midnight sky, running through the Holland Tunnel Toll Plaza to the surprise of the citizens. Its driver, donning a full Ranger Kit from the 2010s. A fully tricked out Scar-H assault rifle was on the main console as he drove through the empty night street of the city.
After rolling through the neighborhoods multiple times, he comes to pass a large Hotel named Five Seasons. The uppity New Yorkers in their fancy suits looked in a daze as the heavily armored vehicle parked on the curb and a bunch of Rangers were inside, silently and stoically staring at the surroundings.
The pretty lady in the reception area tilts her head forward, seeing the Woodland Camouflage MRAP brazenly parked on their hotel's front sidewalk.
After a few seconds, its engine roared to life and it continued driving down the road. Little did she know it went around and into the alleyway behind the establishment where everyone then hopped out.
Reaching into their backpacks, they then deploy 1/6 sized 75th Ranger Action Figures. "This Alpha Team insertion is complete." The reply came from a voice with a near muffled tone. "Roger Alpha Team. Good luck. We'll keep them busy and looking in the air."
Looking back at them, they've all downsized and returned to their action figure forms, even their clothes looking like the near accurate models put on their figurine bodies.
Inside the hotel's backrooms, one of the bag boys is preparing to call it a night when violent banging came at the alleyway door. This spooks him and makes him run to the front desk to take a look at the cameras. To his surprise, there was no one there. "What is it?" scratching his head in confusion, he leans in at the screens. "Didn't you hear the banging?"
The Guard in charge shrugged his head. "It might just be a Hobo again looking for food. The cameras show nothing. He's probably in a deadzone, eh. Just ignore it." the young boy shakes his head, the sound was far too strong for it to be some random person."No, that banging was way too loud to be normal."
"Hey Sam. Can you escort Scaredy Cat here?" Standing at the door, the guard throws his flashlight up and then catches it. "Copy, that." he then returns to the reception desk and points his finger at the young man. "Boy! if anyone tries to touch you, big ole Sam got your back! Now get your things!" With a smirk on his face, he in reply just sighs as they go into the backroom and towards the alleyway door.
Adrenaline running through his veins. Sam swipes his card on the reader and opens the door first. With the blindingly powerful torch. He first sweeps from left to right and then up at the emergency staircases. "Yep, ain't nothing here. Come one, I'll watch you go to the main road."
Behind one of the trash cans, the AOR Camouflage Action Figures stayed silent as the baggage boy left and hopped into his bike. "Don't get lost now." waving his hand goodbye, the young kid turns left into the sidewalk and away from the dark alleyway and into the well lit road.
With the mission accomplished, the guard closes the door, checking to see if the keycard reader had locked it properly and heads back to his position. Proudly whistling to himself. As he disappeared through the hall and back at the reception area.
All the while, two Squads of Rangers were now inside their hotel. They peer through the hall and look at the Reception area, it has no people as rain starts pouring outside. The Rifleman of the team takes a cloth from the shelf and sneaks up behind the reception lady as the Guard went outside to remove the tarp as the wind was starting to pick up. Unable to scream, she's dragged behind the Reception area, surrounded by four heavily armed and well equipped soldiers. "We need the keycard to Room 10, Floor 55."
Seeing how fully kitted they were, she didn't ask questions and merely nodded. Handing them her key to the vault with the All Access Keycard. Leaving some of the Operators to guard her, the Squad Leaders head to the Security Room, the guard there swinging his office chair around and his face goes pale as green and red lasers hit his body. "W-Woah, what the fuck, who are you people?!"
One of the Operators then walked up to his forehead as the Squad Leaders walked past him and unlocked the small vault safe. Taking the Red Keycard with "FOR EMERGENCY USES ONLY" written on it. He then gestures for them to move forward and leave the woman and guard alone as the Security Guard who was wet from the heavy rain outside grunts, puffing angrily his well ironed uniform is now all wet down to the shirt.
He looked at the Reception area and could see four Operators decked out in AOR Camouflage and armed with SCARs and SOPMOD IIs assault rifles shouting pointing there guns at him without saying a single word. "WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! I HAVE NO DRUGS!"
As he gets zip tied and forced down on the carpet, they take his Taser and Glock whilst checking for the frequency of his radio. "Is there a Drug Lord here? Like, I don't know anyone and anything. I'm just a guard." They ignore him, locking the main front doors. "Hey, Spec Ops guys, can't you at least move me? It's getting pretty cold here."
With the first floor completely secured, they wait for the Elevator, selecting Floor 54. It arrives and they ride it up. The glass gave them a full view of the modern Metropolis, where even at night, so many lights are still on and the roads, although silent that night, would still get the occasional car.
They perform some checks on their equipment after a bit of admiration on the view. Above them, the glare of the afterburners of two fighter jets buzzed a flight of helicopters with their lights turned off as Police Helicopters were now tailing their other colleagues. *Ping!* The elevator arrives one floor below their target and they take the emergency staircase, checking every corner. At Floor 55, they see that Room 10 is on the very end. It was all high rise suites, only meant for the richest tenants of the building.
Moving through the marble tiles of the, their heavy boots echo through the entire hall, approaching Room 10, they plant explosives on the door.
Inside it, the Hitman, who was a Caucasian male, balding and in his sweater and comfy jeans could see the shadows from the light of the hallway from the slit of his apartment door, he immediately closes his laptop noticing that they're about to breach the room from the thud and the collection of heavy footwork stopping.
Jumping behind his sofa, he grabs a USP pistol from underneath one of the pillows and points it at the door.
Bang! The door flies inward towards the room. He immediately opens fire into the hall, after dumping some lead without aiming. Surprised nobody has stormed in, he peeks slightly up just to hear the pin of a grenade being pulled. His eyes quickly darted to the wooden coffee table behind him, flipping it over.
To his luck, a flashbang is thrown into the Living Room, giving him the chance to immediately dash into harder cover, shooting at the front door, changing mags midway before finding his back behind a thick pillar. One by one, lasers pierce through the smoke. "Hm? Green and red? Who the hell are these guys? Did the Order have me marked for death?" He pops out of cover and starts spraying the hall once again, not letting the assailants get in.
Picking up his Laptop, the Hitman makes his way to the Master Bedroom. There, he throws the mattress onto the floor. Revealing a secret cache of weapons underneath it.
Meanwhile the Operators storm into the apartment, with their laser and flashlights lighting up the dark living room. Checking covers, they stop midway. Not walking into the door of the Master's Bedroom. Behind it, the Hitman is armed with an AR-15 and is pointing right at the door. Waiting for the knob to move. Performing hand signs, an Operator plants another breaching charge. On the other side, he heard the thud and ran into cover again.
Bang! His bedroom door is sent flying inwards followed by a flashbang. This time, it was thrown perfectly near the bed frame. Dazing him, he blindly fires while rushing to his balcony. One of the Operators peers out of his cover and shoots him once in the shoulder, wounding him. But thanks to his adrenaline, the Hitman kept going and firing as he reached his pool area.
There, he flips some of the sun chairs and tables. So far, he couldn't get a glimpse of the people after him as he rips his sleeves and uses it to tie up his wound. In an Air Traffic Control center, one of the Controllers spins his chair around. "Uhhhh… guys. I am detecting an unknown aircraft within the Metropolitan Area, it's an invalid hex code. Near the park…" leaning it, the man couldn't believe his eyes as he remembered Eastern SRO Transponders. "Russian?"
This quickly got the Colonel's attention, immediately rushing to him. "Captain! Call the Russian Embassy immediately and have them sent a Councilor here! They have some explaining to do!"
As he hears the boots of the Operators in the wooden floor of his bedroom, he rushes around the balcony, there he could see the silhouette of one of the Operators as they barge into his room. His eyes couldn't believe it. "Rangers?! US Army Rangers?!" He opens his smartphone and contacts someone. "Two, I got Rangers raiding my apartment. Are you sure E's father did not pull any strings?" He moves around into the living room that's adjacent to the Balcony pool as the Operators check the one outside his room. "What? Rangers? Are you sure? Did you make friends with some ISIS bomb maker? The Order shouldn't put much heat in your contracts even with your skill level."
He once again peeks out, his eye just slightly out of cover just to confirm what he was seeing. "No and this isn't funny. These guys are rocking some Tier One Operator gear, I see Scars, HKs, SAWs, and even SMAW anti tank launchers. These guys are equipped for war." he then takes a photo with his smartphone, sending it to his encrypted chat app.
Instantly seen, he puts the phone up to his ear. "Holy… you weren't lying. Well, I suggest just putting your hands up. If the US Government sent in a bunch of Rangers for one guy, then you're sure as dead. Not even The Order would lift a finger to save you."
Frowning, his eyes squinted at the codename of his partner. "C'mon, at least send me a pick up. I don't want to die here, not here." hearing a long hard sigh, a reply he was hoping for came. "I will old friend. Just make sure you reach the parking garage." he then switches his app to a Hacking one and pressing the call elevator button, the Rangers hear the ping of the call button on the elevator being pressed.
Closing his smartphone, the Hitman checks his pocket and chucks a grenade from his cache down to the living room, prompting the Rangers to duck and cover. Not engaging the Operators, he makes a mad dash to the hallway.
Without even looking back, he sprinted for his very life as the Rangers put their weapons up and attempted to catch the man. Rushing out of the apartment room. But having nothing other than jeans and a sweater, the trained Hitman gives them the slip and manages to get into the elevator.
The Operators then call the second elevator, pressing the button once as they take a breather from the fast pace action. "Warhorse to Alpha Team, we're currently in station, over."
"Copy Warhorse. HVT is riding the elevator, care to put a few rounds into him? We've secured extra intel. If he survives, he's just another source of knowledge." a cold hard tone then replied to the Ranger squad leader. "Roger that Alpha. Keep your pants on."
A small MH-6 Littlebird descends upon the hotel's side, getting closer to the elevator the Hitman is taking. He is on the phone, talking to someone when its spotlight shines on him. Blinding the man. "Huh?! AN ATTACK HELICTOPER?!" his partner was just as confused on the phone. "Attack helicopter? No way the US Government would do something this brazen. Are you sure you didn't piss off someone higher up?"
"Well, I am telling you I'm looking at a Littbird with miniguns on its pylons and anti tank rockets aimed right at me…" he just stood there, looking at the eyes of the silent pilots flying the armed chopper. "Yea, I can hear it. Are you sure it's not just some civilian chopper? I can't believe it, an attack helicopter and Rangers, all for you? What else would they send after me? Just who the hell did we kill?!"
The pair of M134 Miniguns underneath the pylons spools up. Riddling the elevator with bullets and killing the Hitman with extreme prejudice. As the elevator reached the first floor, two Operators came and picked up his smartphone from his dead corpse, riddled with bullets and barely recognizable while the two full squads of Rangers began taking all folders, devices and files they could find.
Soon after, they then ran to the top floor where a Helipad was located and the 75th Rangers were soon picked up by the 160th Nightstalkers helicopter. The pilot didn't flinch as the F-16C Fighting Falcon buzzed past them. "Boogey! Identify yourself! I repeat! Identify!" pulling the collective up, the rotors speed up and the chopper takes off from the roof.
"Hunter, we got the all clear. You're green to shoot them down when they're over a body of water, open ground or the park."
The Nightstalker helicopter the Rangers were in got painted by one of the jets, the pilots in control didn't flinch as they pushed the stick down, the chopper then began to violently dive towards the street whilst firing off flares.
Behind them, the AIM-9X Air to air missile was coming in fast, the alarm on the cockpit becoming irritating as the pilots effortlessly swayed the Blackhawk into a street, the missile about to hit them instead of going for a residential building.
Inside, the Rangers were busy shuffling through the files alongside the black clad operators already on the helicopter. It didn't take long for them to find out where the source of the contract came from and the info was sent to another terminal. "Vympel, it's your turn."
"Понял." was all he heard, the Blackhawk there riding on performing another violent yaw, turning into the main street once again where it poised itself on a head-on collision with another helicopter.
Buildings were rattled as both the Blackhawks tilted downwards, heading into each other but no explosion or the loud clang of two metal birds hitting one another at high speed was heard. Instead, down below on the street, a red pick up had the entire 160th SOAR and 75th Ranger Action Figure Box Sets littered on its back. The Operator driving it turned into a dark street and into an alleyway.
Inside JFK International's Air Traffic Control tower, from the Colonel down to the Controllers were all baffled by the sudden disappearance of the Transponders in the center of Manhattan. The fighter jets circling around it now diverted to the two Invalid Hex Codes flying into the outskirts of Newark.
One of the air traffic controllers then sent a picture on Messenger. Opening his smartphone, the man squints his eyes to see a pair of FSB Spetsnaz Mi-17MTV Transport helicopters fully armed and loaded, their silhouettes lit up by the busy city as they flew just above the roofs. "Why are there a bunch of foreign helicopters in the city? Is this why the airspace is closed?"
He quickly showed this to the Colonel who was already busy on his radio by the puzzled Airbases as news came from Kentucky, the 160th SOAR were all accounted for, personnel and pilots alongside their helicopters weren't moved nor given any flight plans and looking at the Messenger of the Controller, he even becomes more baffled by what is occurring. Lifting his hand up his forehead, both eyes wide open. "Message your friend back and ask her where they're headed."
A reply quickly came and it was two words. "Erskine Lake", the Colonel then watching the two jets who were still flying around the airspace began to fly in a certain direction.
On a massive ten bedroom Mansion on the outskirts, sitting by a river. Limousines and expensive cars lined up the large front yard and driveway as cars were heading in and out, some of them seemingly looking more normal and even inexpensive than the others from the underground entrance.
Men and women from all parts of the world, languages of varying types and all sorts of tones were echoing through its luxurious walls and in the sleepy forests just beyond its brick and iron walls, a pair of helicopters were approaching it fast.
Without even giving any warnings, kilometers away still, the pair of Russian choppers unloaded their unguided rockets into the mansion, blowing apart the entire first and second floor as they pointed their nose towards the open areas and the pool in the back.
Unleashing hundreds of high explosive rockets, the post tenants, those lucky enough to survive, found themselves taking weapons from caches, firing back at the helicopters still far away. The Pilots, in their blue VKS Jumpsuits didn't flinch as bullets tear through the air, some hitting the bulletproof windows of the cockpit as they swiveled the thermal cameras at the bottom of the chopper and the edges of the pylons.
Seeing some movements still, they unleashed more precise rocket barrages at the eastern wing of the mansion and then some at the forest where the seemingly rich partygoers were far more trained and calm than expected from such high status people, taking cover and shielding their bodies behind solid materials.
"Они взволнованы. Начало представления, Vympel и Lubeh." Inside the Mi-17, its passenger compartment was fully packed with Spetsnaz, donning the ATAGs camouflage, they all donned tinted gas masks, not a single skin showed through their thick kevlar vests lined up mag and grenade pouches, the ones near the door picking up their ballistic shields as the helicopter soon began to lose altitude.
Inside the mansion, a handsome man in a fine silk tuxedo peers out of the marble kitchen table. With his suppressed SIG M17, he could see the helicopter flying the red star of the Russian Air Force on its back. With both hands tied to his gun and the other, to a wound of a woman, he silently observes it land.
Doors swing open pouring out of its interior were Spetsnaz Operators, brazenly opening fire without a care to the world, not even bothering to throw flashbangs as they riddled the already wrecked mansion with more destruction. The PKP light machine guns and AK-12 assault rifles armed with underslung grenade launchers made short work of any window or cover. "Huh? Russians?"
He then looked at the woman in her alluring crimson gown that showed off her amazing bust, her thin lanky arms holding a UMP-45 submachine gun, she was visibly in pain but forced herself to raise up and peer through their hardened cover. "Da. Those are FSB Teams. What are they doing here?" Looking around, the tall man in his suit presses her down as bullets come flying into the kitchen area, the already dead corpses getting more holes into their bodies as the entire front of the house was hosed with bullets. Behind the Spetsnaz, the Mi-17 took off and began to orbit around the area. Its searchlights on as the other helicopter lands near the pool. The open ground sports complex was perfect for it.
"We need to get out of here. Can you walk, Miss Natasha?" the pale woman nods, standing up as she is helped by him. The two rushing into the hallway as the rays from the searchlight of the orbiting helicopter made them duck and cover occasionally.
Looking at the barely standing front door, the Spetsnaz with the ballistic shield barges in guns blazing, the two behind him opening fire with their RPKs. It didn't matter where or what, ceiling to the walls and the floor, they riddled the place with a bullet hole regardless. Going back to the kitchen, the other team with a shield in front had entered through the place, the operators shooting at the corpses of the partygoers.
This prompts them to head deeper into the mansion, walking into a storage room with a First Aid Kit on the wall, without hesitation, he takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves and taking the suture out. "Hold still and don't make a sound." The long black haired woman though just had a smile on her face. "Hmph. This is going to be an issue if it leaves a scar on me."
"I don't think it's appropriate to make jokes like that, we need to figure out why the FSB is here in the United States and even their helicopters later when we get away." Every now and then, they'd hear shooting and explosions from the halls, if it was not the Spetsnaz shooting at corpses and throwing grenades at every room they'd come across, it'd be survivors having a one sided gunfight against them.
Every bullet sent their way, a reply would come in the form of frag grenades, grenade launchers, and light machine gun fire. Looking around the large storage room, he began to scour the floor as the shooting came closer and closer. The well shaved and composed man looked at the wall, with a precise look at it, he could make out the outline of a door.
Natasha on the other hand looked at the CCTV, waving her gun's flashlight at it. A voice then came from its speakers, a cold and posh one. "Sir Williams, Miss Valentina. Please wait while we get our circuits fixed." walking to the camera, the man brushed his shoulders as he put his jacket back on. "Did anyone from the Order pissed off an Oligarch or something?
It took a few moments for them to get a reply, the secret door opening and armed personnel with kevlar vests peeking out and gesturing for them to head it. "Sorry, Sir Williams, but we are even baffled by this event. Whoever sent these Spetsnaz Kill Teams at us is not from our… contacts in the Russian Government."
Holstering his Sig pistol, he takes Natasha's arms and helps her walk in the room. "Shouldn't you ditch the high heels?" The door then closes as the surface level was soon completely silent, only the rotors of the helicopters invading the space as the two platoons of Spetsnaz FSB Agents went and collected every laptop, smartphone, tablet, and document left behind. Packing it all on their backpacks.
Driving through the nightly forest road, the red pickup swerves violently to the left, crossing the Ramopa River and into the well kept and small countryside road.
Its driver proceeds to open the passenger door behind the driver, on it, a large special edition ArmToys Russian MSV Motorized-Rifle Brigade pack. Complete with T-90M Main Battle Tanks and BMP-2M Infantry Fighting Vehicles and BTR-82A Armored Personnel Carriers, he carefully opens its package and picks up 2 of the APCs and the toy soldiers meant to be riding on top of it.
Down below the Mansion, Williams and Natasha were both in the main lobby of the bunker complex. The receptionist desk had the golden logo of the Order as its walls were lined with fine Victorian wallpaper with pillars made out of pure marble, the symbol, a Snake strangling a Falcon as people from many parts of the world were busy on their phones in their native languages. "I have an Aston Martin parked in the underground garage, what about you?"
"I sadly parked mine on the surface." with a smirk on his dastardly handsome face, the woman knew very well what he had on his mind. She merely raised her lanky arm and her long thin fingers supported her forehead as she leaned down and sighed. "Of course. Is it bulletproof?" he nods. "Though, it might not stop Russian calibers except the windows." She then stands up, ignoring her bandaged shoulder. "Well? Let's get out of here."
Sparkling chandeliers on the ceiling of the bunker then rocked as the main doors opened, more personnel ran towards it alongside some of the survivors, now rocking tricked out assault rifles and machine guns. "Hm? Butler, what is happening?"
Finely dressed and with an astute posture, the young man elegantly held up a silver plate with wine and glasses on it slowly walked to him and then bowed. "Ah, the famous Sir Williams. It's an honor to meet you. Our Security Team had been compromised, the Spetsnaz found out the main door to the complex. We're currently in the process of seeking a solution."
"I already know the Elders plan to burn this palace down. Is the garage open?" the young boy nods. "It is, but I'd like to warn you that a Spetsnaz Team is posted there currently and are seemingly waiting for reinforcements to arrive with bigger explosives." With this, he looked at the elegant lady in the alluring crimson gown with him. "It'll do. Lead the way."
Walking through the finely carved bunker halls, many of the people there, still in their expensive pure silk and velvet suits and dresses found themselves trapped like a rat as they reached the garage, fully lined up with all sorts of luxury armored cars from Rolls Royce to Mercedes Benz and Lamborghinis. The Butler then points at the hardened garage doors. "They've tried using plastic explosives, but luckily, none has worked so far."
"Will your boss allow us to escape?" The lights then turned off, no screams of panic were heard, instead, it was all filled with the echoes of guns being racked and loaded for a fight.
In the darkness, his ears could hear the sounds of heavy boots rushing through the emergency fire exit door. "Natasha!" opening her submachine gun's flashlight, its glow in the dark sign flickering as he makes a bad dash towards it. Breaking the fire hose cabinet's window with his elbow, he promptly borrows the axe and shoves it on the knob.
Some of the well dressed people with flashlights on their guns then help him, unwrapping the hose and tangling it with the axe. One of them then lifted his assault rifle, putting its flashlight into a blinding flicker and leaning sideways to the window, he was quickly shot through it. Bits and pieces of his brain flying in the skies as bullets riddled the heavy metal door.
"Взрывчатка заложена!" Natasha then stands up. "Richard! Duck now!" doing as she said, the heavy fire door explosives inwards as a flurry of bullets riddled the garage, grenades were soon thrown and Spetsnaz operators with ballistic shields and night vision goggles down burst in, though some of them were hit, the inhuman reaction of the soldiers merely shrugged it off and continued firing back.
Everyone then began to retreat towards the door back to the main lobby, those who tried to blind them with their flashlights were promptly met with a bullet, their night vision goggles equipped with screens as one of the cars start, the Rolls Royce Phantom effortlessly shrugged off the PKP's 7.62x54mmR's bullets as one of the Spetsnaz Agents then walks in with a disposable rocket launcher. The woman driving opened her door as the missile hit the engine bay and the following explosion triggered the emergency generators and the fans started.
As the black flames were sucked into the surface, the Spetasnaz Operators promptly followed the retreating party patrons. Throwing more grenades as they marched in with their guns blazing.
Williams then peeks out of cover, the Butler with him and another survivor. Natasha was checking the pulse of the woman who drove the Rolls Royce and she dejectedly shakes her head as the emergency floodlights beam open, giving light to every corner of the garage.
Walking to her, he reaches his arm out which she took without question. "C'mon man, let's get outta here!" Both of them turned around to look at the middle aged man in a golden tuxedo and black bowtie. "Just keep quiet, okay? We'll make it out of this alive." He then brings out his keyfob and the Aston Martin DB12 Volante on the edge of the lot springs to life. "Young man, the garage doors please. Miss Natasha, prepare the smoke grenades I have in the glove box."
Nodding, the Butler runs to the heavy garage doors main panel. Putting his card on the reader, it activates and the Spetsnaz Team on the other side quickly turned around and slid grenades into the small opening made.
As explosions followed, the garage door began to lower. "Вымпел 2, похоже, в гараже остались отставшие. Проверьте, прием." as the main squad shot their way through the lobby, one of the Squad Leaders ordered one of them to check it out.
Sitting inside his top down wide body luxury car, the Butler comes to them all ragged and dirty with soot as he briefly squeezes into the back of the passenger seat. "Sir Williams, I have the remote here." He nods as he takes it from him. "Hm. Good job on surviving, that should've wasted some of their grenades." As he presses down on the accelerator, a hulking mass of an FSB Agent drenched in kevlar and ammo pouches walks out of the door and straight into the LED headlights of his car.
With the massive PKP Pecheneg on its arms, it pointed it towards them, forcing the ones inside to duck as it riddled its front with bullets. Williams immediately opens his driverside door, sideswiping the FSB Agent as he loses control and hits a Mercedes Benz. "Natasha! The wheel!" she nods as he hops out, bringing out his Sig pistol from its holster, with a deadly efficiency and calm demeanor, he unloads some rounds into the Agent as it stumbles into cover.
"Mister Ruskie, please tell the Director of the FSB that he'll be paying for my car." A grenade was then thrown, forcing him to run behind a pillar as Natasha was already driving to the garage doors as she clicked it to open once again.
Williams then came out of cover, just for the mountainous figure of a Slavic man grabbing his pistol out of his hands, squeezing his wrist as he uses his free hand to grab a knife from his back pocket, stabbing the Agent right in the upper torso. To his surprise, it didn't react, its cold and deathly eyes underneath its tinted PMK Gas mask merely seemed perturbed as he was lifted off the ground by a single hand.
Disembarking the red Aston Martin, Natasha pulls the pins on the smoke grenades she had collected, throwing it at the garage doors as she takes her submachine gun and points it at the FSB Agent and shoots at it from a distance, multiple .45 bullets hitting its back kevlar plate, prompting it to lose its grip and Williams taking his knife from its torso and then forcing it on its back.
It didn't scream nor even showed any sign of panic as its head turned around to look at him, though struggling to move, the FSB Agent had a strange mystic aura on it as it found the energy still to stand straight up before promptly falling to its knees.
Without staying any longer, Williams runs to Natasha and the two with their passengers squeeze in the back as he pushes his shoes down on the accelerator and drives out of the underground garage, the Spetsnaz on the other side riddling the sports car with bullets. Nastasha had to move her body as the Agent on her side was the one armed with the light machine gun.
Holes punctured through her doorside as the car gains so much speed on a short distance that it jumps off the arch to the frontyard driveway.
Just in time, a pair of BTR-82A Armored Personnel Carriers ram through the hardened steel gate, its 30mm autocannon swiveling to shoot at the fast and low luxury car as it passed right next to them.
Looking at their back, the APCs didn't follow nor continued shooting at them, instead rolling straight into the opened doors of the underground bunker parking lot where they just came. "Mighty fine work, I find that. Now, may I ask for your name Mister Golden Tuxedo?"
"It's Salami. Muhammad. I own an underground Empire in Iran and Saudi Arabia and I will make the Director of the FSB and the Kremlin pay for this! I will have their children skewered and their wives sold to slavery!" Seeing the Arab with such an energetic flare, Williams then looked at the Butler who was silent. "Boy? How are you?"
"Sir Williams… I believe I've been hit." he turns around to see the young Butler has been shot through the door multiple times, the holes on it letting in the light of the dimming Moon and coming morning at his wounds. "Don't worry, I know a Doctor who will patch you up. Dear, check under your seat." Natasha then unwraps her seat to find a First Aid Kit inside.
"After tonight's harrowing events, the State of New Jersey urges its citizens to remain calm and collected saying that last night's debacle was due to sections of the 160th SOAR performing an unannounced training with the well known 75th Rangers near 58th street." Driving with one hand, on the wheel and the other at a cheeseburger, a hairy hand turns the knob to increase the volume. "In other news, a massive fire started at a mansion in Newark next to the Ramapo River. Though firefighters said the building was luckily empty when the fire raged through the area."
"You hear that Detective? Pretty cool ain't it?" looking at his passenger, the young boy with a Detective badge on his belt had a smile on his face whilst he didn't even care at all. "..." seeing the older gentleman just reply with a slight gruff, the man lifts both of his hands in confusion. "C'mon, you can't always be like this, you know. It's my third training day too, you're supposed to be helping me!"
"Something's not right." Lifting an eyebrow, he proceeds to slowly turn his head away from the older man driving the raggedly sedan. "Something's always not right with you. Come on, you said you'd buy me a free lunch if I had a Felony stop and I did."
"I will. Just help me with this." Knowing something's off, the boy just sighs. "What is it now?" picking up his cheeseburger from the dash, they soon crossed Cleveland Bridge, following the small and scenic tight road that runs alongside the river. "Distract them." Squinting his eyes, he looks forward to their car to see Secret Service Agents manning a checkpoint in the middle of nowhere. "What the…"