It was indeed a rare day when the Yartman International wasn't packed to bursting. However the increased threat of terrorism were indeed making those rare days into more and more of a regular occurrence for the largest airport on west cost. On this particularly day the airport was empty except for a platoon of NOOSE officers, FIB agents, and homeland security soldiers. All heavily armed and tensed as a bowstring. They all looked expectantly towards the incoming plane. Flight 69 from Ireland was already in American airspace and just a couple dozen miles away from Yartman when the terrorist threat had been uncovered, it along with four others were the only planes that would be allowed to berth until the issue had been resolved.
"Steady men." Colonel Sharps ordered his men. "At ready. Take no chances. If anyone gives off even a hint of suspicion terminate them. I would rather a thousand lawsuits than another massacre like what occurred at Yalebon a few months back."
The memory still made him shudder. Jeseburn Sharps had served his country faithfully for half his life. First over in the Middle East then here in the homeland, of the two wars he could accurately say which was more dangerous. During his four tours in Iraq he had seen nothing that could hold a candle to what he encountered on an everyday basis as Officer in charge of the NOOSE Tactical Response Team. It was as if the whole country was going to the dogs. First the cordon of the two bridges which connected the city to the rest of the state as a result of the Influenza epidemic, and now the close of the airports until further notice because of a terrorism threat. If this continued Windpoint City would be completely cut off from the rest of the state. Maybe that was for the best, Jeseburn thought grimly. He half believed that the Queen of Illinois was already beyond saving, no since in it spreading out to the rest of the US and making the whole country look bad.
The NOOSE operative pulled down his ski mask as the plane came in for a landing. Doubts later, it was time to go to work now. He gripped his FN-P90 even tighter and waited. Within ten minutes the plane was landed, he watched through the wide floor to ceiling windows as the passengers disembarked. A couple FIB agents and a dozen of his men were there to meet them, weapons primed and ready. At once the officer began hustling the crowd over towards the main reception area. One braver soul than the others put up a struggle but a vicious gun butt to the head by a FIB agent quickly set him straight. Jeseburn gave an unseen smirk under his mask. Now that was good police work. He stood a little straighter as the crowd came piling in to stand before him in a maelstrom of cussing, cries, shouts, and complaints.
"EVERYONE QUIET DOWN!" Jeseburn bellowed aiming his weapon at the crowd. At once silence settled over the building, the crowd seemed suitably cowed whether from his voice or his aimed weapon was irrelevant. He at once began scanning the crowd for the potential terrorists. None of them really jumped out to him. Frumpy old women alongside equally dull old men, sniveling children tightly clutching the hands of their terrified mothers, executives in their three piece suits who were the ones who raised the most protest secured as they were in their wealth and exalted positions. None of them jumped out as a potential threat…none of them except one. He stood towards the back of the end almost hidden behind an obese old lady who was squawking in a manner reminiscent of an upset chicken. Two things stood out about him. The first was his utter lack of fear. The only emotion that radiated from his youthful face was cold anger. In addition to that was the large vivid green four leaf clover tattooed on his neck. In all his years of law enforcement one thing Jeseburn had learned to do was identify a threat. This man was a threat if he had ever seen one. He coolly dissected and filed away the rest of the stranger, checking out every tiny detail as he had been trained to do.
Broad well built shoulders…six feet one…..approximately a 158 lbs… muscular means he must work out frequently…Clean shaven…..freckles….appears to be between sixteen to nineteen years of age….Brown hair….green eyes….Irish Ancestry certain…identifying marks beside clover tattoo are two scars, one running the length of the right side of his jaw line, and another puckered asterisk shaped scar on the left cheek reminiscent of a healed gunshot wound.
Jeseburn motioned one of his officers over.
"Screen that one extra good," He murmured motioning with his eyes. "I want his insides on the outside before we are through."
"Sir." The man affirmed before returning to his place.
"I know you've all got questions." Jeseburn spoke up addressing the crowd. There was a murmur of consent but he pressed on. "And they will all be answered in due time that I promised. But the short of it is that we've got it on good intelligence that this airport is to be the target of an act of terrorism."
There was a couple of gasps from the crowd at that and a clamoring of voices but Jeseburn continued on raising his voice over the ruckus, almost shouting.
"So for the sake of all involved the airport will be closed until further notice and you all are going to be searched to the bone for anything you may be hiding!"
There were louder shouts and cries of rage and fury but the sound of chambering rounds quieted the crowd once more.
"Now then," Jeseburn said to the now quiet crowd. "If you will please form orderly lines and follow the officers into the different processing rooms one by one."
His name was Connor McDuncan but the handful of people who knew that also knew that he preferred to be referred to by the nickname he had rightly earned at the age of fourteen: Lucky. At nineteen years old Lucky knew that he wasn't the most levelheaded person in the world. Heck, he knew that some might go so far as to say that he had a temper issue. Complete nonsense of course. He simply had a low tolerance for being disrespected and lately it seemed that that was all the world seemed intent on doing. This was another case. Lucky took a deep breath and fought off the urge to do murder as two police officers who gripped their shotguns a bit too tightly and eyed him a bit too beadily for his liking flanked him into the processing room. He arrived just in time to witness a rather nice bodied blond woman tearfully putting on back a pink dress while two FIB agents stared her down with unabashed lust. Lucky couldn't help but join them in their admiration.
"Look at the ass on you." One of them whistled as the woman struggled to pull the tight dress down over her sizeable breasts leaving her nether regions completely open to the officers' scrutiny. Her see-through panties also left very little to the imagination.
"Your husband is a lucky bastard he is." The other federal agent remarked taking a last eyeful as the blond finally won the battle with her clothing and made herself decent. She promptly gave both agents the finger and exited through the door opposite the one Lucky had just entered.
"Step right up big boy." Said the first agent who had been taunting the woman a few seconds before as he finally noticed Lucky's arrival. He was a rather fat man with a drooping mustache. His skin was almost unhealthily pale. In his hand he carried a small metal detector that Lucky was only now noticing.
"Strip." The fat man ordered. "Completely."
Lucky stiffened and at once so did everyone in the room. The two officers who had flanked him in fingered the triggers of their weapons restlessly. All four law enforcement officers eyed Lucky warily as his tanned skin began to dark, a tangible show of the anger that was now ten times the breaking point and only held in check by amazing willpower.
"You deaf boy?" The fat officer growled. "Afraid to show that little pencil dick maybe? News for you if you don't you don't leave the room….alive that is."
Lucky was not getting naked for men. No that was just not going to happen, he would gladly be shot dead first. There was a very likely chance of that occurring too he thought. The fat agent scowled at him and dropped his free hand to the glock 22. At his waist which was almost hidden by his protruding gut.
"Last call boy." He said softly.
Lucky prepared himself to rush forward and tackle the obese policeman. He had not forgotten the two armed officers at his back or the other who was standing beside the fat man watching him like a lion ready to pounce. He knew he probably wouldn't get three steps and he had already conceded that he would meet his end here, in this unmarked room in this shitty city; shot down by stupid useless pigs without ever accomplishing what he came to do. The legend of Lucky McDuncan cut so viciously short by a cruel turn of faith. Even with the knowledge that death could be the only outcome Lucky launched himself forward. If it came to a choice between death and dishonor he knew which he preferred. His move took all of them by surprise. The fat officer yelped and tried to palm his gun but he had forgotten to release the holster. The officers behind Lucky cursed loudly and raised their shotguns, just then realizing that in the enclosed space they would kill their federal counterparts as well. It took their brains another second to simultaneously arrive at the conclusion that they didn't care. However before they could squeeze the triggers a deafening explosion resounded and the building shook as if experiencing a magnitude eight earthquake. Everyone in the room was thrown to the floor.
"Jesus Christ what the fuck was that!" The second FIB agent bellowed. He struggled to his feet and raced from the room his firearm drawn, the two police officers issued similar cries of shock and distress before doing the same. The fat FIB officer was the last to his feet. He shook his head and cursed loudly as he hastened to follow his companions. He was almost to the door when a flash of movement off to the corner of his eye caught his attention. He barely had time to register that it was a fist and didn't even have time to consider avoiding it. The punch connected directly with his right ear sending him staggering sideways with a roar of pain. The sound of this was lost under the sound of general ruckus which was coming from outside. Screams of agony, shouted orders, tramping feet, and frequent bursts of gunfire. Over all this was the loud whooping of the police siren. Still to err on the side of caution Lucky closed the door before turning back towards the policeman who was busy clutching his ear with both hnds, his face contorted in agony.
"You!" He screamed. "You son of a bitch! I can't hear! I can't hear! I'm a fucking kill you!"
"We've got unfinished business pencil dick." Lucky said derisively. "Let's see how big you are now big man. Come on big bad FIB man show me what you got."
The agent bellowed incoherently and fumbled for his firearm. Lucky wasn't having none of that, in just three steps he cleared the distance between them and rammed his fist right into the agent's gut. The rolls of fat were no match for force of Lucky's whole body plus his momentum. The man took a step back blue faced and gagging but Lucky was merciless. He seized the man's lowered face by the ears and held it steady while bringing his knee sailing upwards. It crashed into the officer's chin with a nasty crack. The Irishman then drew back turned his body a little to the side and while steadying the now groggy FIB agent with his left hand, he nailed the officer right in the nose with his right hand giving the blow everything he had. The officer was thrown backwards from the force of the punch and he lay still where he landed, his nose was a pulped and unrecognizable wreck. Lucky stepped to him and spat down on his face before pilfering his pockets with swift practiced motions. His search netted him fifty bucks and a coupon to a free meal from Burger Shot. He also took the chained badge from around the fat slob's neck and with a great deal of maneuvering and effort he managed to manhandle the FIB jacket off the loser as well. He donned both articles of clothing before finally snapping up the man's pistol and holding it down to his head. Lucky couldn't help but grimacing, the oversized jacket reeked of sweat and tacos. Outside the noise was only increasing, it was as if though there was a full-scale war. Perfect. Simply meant that a few more shots wouldn't be noticed.
"No," the fat man mumbled out almost understandably. Lucky noticed that his mouth was filled with blood, the knee to the chin had caused him to bite off a good portion of his tongue. "Three kids."
"They just became orphans." Lucky replied pleasantly before pulling the trigger twice. He turned his head away from the splatter of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter.
Lucky exited the room and was almost trampled by a squad of NOOSE officers who were running all out towards the landing zone. Lucky held his head down and rushed in the opposite direction towards the exit. He wasn't even given a second glance by the myriad of law enforcement official storming the place. He froze when he saw through the glass doors the large crowd which had already gathered. Beyond the yellow tape and the police vehicles were another cordon of news vans and reports. Then beyond that of course were the multitudes of pedestrian. Seeing nothing else for it Lucky shrugged and tucked the gun into his waistband where it was hidden by the extra large jacket. He put his hand in the jacket pockets held his head down and exited the building. Walking fast towards the crowd of civilians he tried to look inconspicuous; letting the clamor and chattering of the thousand of voices wash over him. He was just past the police blockade when famous luck ran out.
"Hey you!" He heard a voice called. Lucky turned to see two officers with their guns drawn pelting full out towards him. "Stop!"
Like that's ever happening, Lucky snorted. He turned and broke into a sprint. Running for all he was worth. He sped even faster when the loud reports of gunshot echoed and he felt something warm pass his cheek. A man in a jogging suit just a few feet ahead of Lucky collapsed in a mist of blood as the bullet struck him directly in the forehead. The crowd screamed and at once panic ensued as people tramped over each other trying to get away. The panic was further increased as the officers callously continued firing, hitting three more people. Lucky slipped right into the fleeing mass and wrestled off the FIB jacket before forcing a path through the crowd, punching and shouldering people aside, as he tried to put distance between him and the deranged law keepers. He watched a terrified woman rush over to a parked blue Buffalo and struggle with the keys, her hands shaking so much that she wasn't able to get it open. A large muscular black man in slacks and a wife beater grabbed her from behind and slammed her head into the roof of the vehicle. The woman slumped to the floor screaming and sobbing as blood gushed from a large cut on her forehead but the black man brutally kicked her in the stomach and snatched the keys from her limp hand. Lucky had seen enough. He changed his direction and made a beeline towards the scene wincing as bullets continued to fly over his head.
"Stop or we'll shoot!" A voice bellowed.
Lucky shook his head in disbelieve. Only cops could ever be so stupid, he thought as he watched the would be robber wrenched open the car door after unlocking it while the woman clutched her gushing head and wept. In a smooth motion Lucky drew his weapon and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, thrice. Each bullet connected with the carjacker in a spray of blood. The first took him through the side and caused him to lean over towards the car. The second caught him in the back of the neck and the final one clipped the top of his head. The man slumped jerking to the ground beside the woman he had just assaulted. A second later Lucky was alongside him. He fired two more shots point blank into the man's chest before snatching up the key and throwing himself into the car. He gunned the engine and floored it. It was not a moment too soon as the persuading police officers were almost upon him. Lucky ducked his head down as a hail of gunfire struck the vehicle, shattering the back window and piercing the vehicle at several points. Twice he was almost hit but soon the car was well out of range.
"Polski was hell it was," Lucky murmured to himself as he finally managed to ease his foot off the gas enough to slow the car down. He ran the last five minutes through his head, disbelieving of all the carnage that had occurred in so short a space of time. "But this place is just plain fucked up."
Off in the distance the sound of sirens increased. The noise actually helped Lucky to relax strange as that was. It was a sound that was comfortingly familiar; it promised him that what he had come to was not anything far off from what he had left behind. Lucky was still trying to decide whether that was good or bad as he continued to cruise.
((So here comes the arrival of our main protagonist. Lucky McDuncan from the fictional city of Polski Ireland that shall be fleshed out some more later on. If you guessed that it will be centered around the Irish American Killers then you guessed correctly though the name I will used is the Irish Mob. To those of you who was reading my other fanfic Grand Theft Auto: A MOB Story I'd just like to say that until further notice it will be put on the hiatus and I'll be focusing on this one instead. Just one more note. For those of you who haven't yet figured it out; Windpoint City is loosely based off Chicago key word being LOOSELY. It'll mostly be my interpretation of Chicago as it would be in a GTA game. :D. Read, Enjoy, Review.))