KIM POSSIBLE: G.I. Joe
I don't own Kim Possible or G.I. Joe, and don't make any profit from writing this. This is my first attempt writing a story, even more so a fan-based one. So please be gentle on the feedbacks. So here goes.
"Normal" normal speech
*Sign* sign language
'Self' self thought
Prologue
July 12, 2045,
35, 000 feet over the coast of Scotland
On board a Lockheed C-130 Hercules, an elite task team is given a last minute briefing by their CO. In the cargo hull, 5 men wearing black military suits and body armor sat while their CO stood in front of them. They have an assortment of weapons at their disposal; from standard rifles, subs, knives, to weapons that probably never been seen before. The largest man of the team has a Gatling gun so big; an ordinary man has difficulty lifting it from the floor. One soldier in particular even has a Ninjatō strap across his chest, shuriken and throwing stars to his holster.
"All right people, the General has given the go. There are a slight change of plans however; we just got confirmation that another team is going in by sea, one of ours, but they don't know we also are in on the game" An African-American man shouts through his headphone, with the rank of Sergeant Major, while pacing side to side. "The orders are; NO fire on the friendlies, avoid them if possible and if shit hits the roof; the General had Covergirl and Wildbill ready on standby in Keflavík base."
Some of them gave out smirks and shaking their heads.
"Why don't we just send her in the first place, CoverGirl alone can level the place to rubble in that Wolverine of hers" a man suggested with a shaggy blonde beard, oblivious of the dark look given by one of his teammates.
"Shut yer trap!" snapped the man next to him slipping a Mississippi accent, a green baklava covering his face, his hand clench threateningly.
"Touchy" holding his hands up in mock surrender, smiling while he did so.
"If we sent her first, there would be nothing left to examine. That where you come in" he explains.
"Intel knows who the other team are and how many?" a young a Caucasion with dark brown hair asked, ignoring the two.
"Intel thinks they are Global Justice; a squad of four, that's all they got in the last minute" the Sargent answered.
"Oh great!" the bearded one exclaims sarcastically, "We need to get better people on Intel here. We are practically coming in blind in the first place, if second hand Intel, now we don't even know anything the numbers from OUR side." He quickly looks at the Sergeant. "Can't we draft somebody from those GJ pencil pushers?"
"I'll relay you're… advisement to the General when we finish this mission" he says, with amusement in his eyes.
"What the man says is true, but that does not make him blue. He wants some female GJ of theirs for romance, yet he does not stand a chance." rhymes the biggest of them all, a bald African-American with a moustaches.
"Hey! Do not… but you have to admit some of those agents are hot" the others shook their heads and laugh.
The fifth and final member of the group, a man cover entirely in black suit and wore a dark visor of his eyes; tap his finger twice over his mic getting the leader's attention. When the man turns to him, he moves his hands and precise and deliberate movement, the leader observes as the man finish.
"Yes, you all will be parachuting in 10 klicks from the target rather than 5, then double time on foot" he answered.
Then the Loadmaster came forward with a headset over his head standing by entrance to the cockpit, holding his hand to the side of the head, walks to the leader. "We are nearing to the drop zone. 3 minutes! Everyone line up!" the cargo master shouted. The cargo bay suddenly switches to red light and pressurize.
The laughter and cheerfulness are replaced by dead silence and professionalism as each and every man wore their helmet oxygen mask and mentally prepares themselves for the mission. The red light added to the deadly professionalism. The silent one checks his sword, shuriken and throwing stars before helping his teammate strapping the Gatling gun to his side.
"2 minutes!" he shouted as he lowers the ramp, cold numbing air rushed into the compartment.
"Final check up!" he shouted.
"Check"
"Check"
The voiceless soldier put a thumb up. "The Zen Master is good to go" the Loadmaster observes.
"Check" final confirmation.
"1 minute!" he straps the safety line and stand at the edge of the ramp.
The light bulb turn changes from red to green.
"That's your cue! GO! GO! GO!"
One by one the soldiers jump off the ramp but not before giving out their battle cry.
"YO JOE!"