The DMV, not to be confused with everybody's favorite sit and wait where you lay around for 3 billion years just to get an application for an extension on your temporary license. Right now, a pile of shit on the lowest level of Hell. DC, Maryland, and Virginia made up the DMV. Manny was from here.

Growing up in Annandale, VA, he had enjoyed many things growing up. Living in the one of the richest counties in not just Virginia, but the entire country. Raised and living in an area that has some of the best Wi-Fi in the world. It wasn't until everything fell apart when people soon realized that it only took the will of one man to change the course of history. While the millions of engineers, scientists, politicians, and bureaucrats; soldiers, sailors, and airmen; policy makers, lobbyists, and other professions may have excelled in this area at some point. When you have to survive, defend yourself, and hope that you see the next sunrise, it puts everything into perspective.

When he wasn't working, which were moments few and far between, Manny enjoyed sitting in his office, looking out of the Blue Room in the White House. One of his favorite things to do when visiting the city proper, was to tour the National Mall. His favorite monuments were the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and the Korean War Memorial. He remembered as he would walk around the latter, early in the morning, so early in fact that he was able to beat the morning traffic. The morning fog would still be around, and the statues of the Korean War soldiers looked like ghosts in the mist.

His father would take him to one of the many hundreds of food trucks scattered around the mall and purchase a funnel cake. He could still remember the sweetness of the sugar, and the massive amounts of oil grease left on the paper holding it.

Things changed so fast. Although his skills as a leader were recognizable, he would be the first to admit that the sole reason for his stature was simple attrition. He had lived longer than most. Whenever he finally laid down his head for some rest, he would often ask himself if the things that he'd ordered, the missions that, in an otherwise normal life be considered next to war crimes, if he had done the right thing. Looking out the window to the Washington Monument to the south, he reached his conclusion.

He had done these things so the next generation of Johns, Peggys, Marks, and others would grow up free and safe to walk around, look at memorials, and eat a goddamn funnel cake.

For the United States of America, he would sacrifice anything.


The small flecks of concrete and gravel made indents in the skin around her knee. Painful to a child, but to her, nothing. Kneeling in front of a small fire, Sarah slowly stirred a can of baked beans, just enough to get it warmed up. The fire, however small it was, increased the already unbearable temperature in the room up a notch. She sacrificed her comfort for warm beans. She did not understand how the British could eat them cold.

Falling over on her butt, she retrieved her spoon to start.

She had just lapped up the last of the can when her comm piece beeped.

"Big Penn to Reaper, how copy?"

Grunting as she stood up, she walked over to her cot. Standing over it, she picked up her piece and placed it in her ear.

"Go ahead, Big Penn."

"You've done all that you can, get back to Rallypoint Omaha, we have work to do."

"10-4, Reaper out."

Taking the earpiece out again, she set about to get ready. Only in daisy dukes, a bra, and some sneakers, she first took off her shorts and pulled on her pants, buckling her thigh holster when she finished. She kicked off her sneakers and slid into her combat boots. Peeling off her bra, relishing the moment of freedom of being topless before she slipped into a fresh brassiere she kept in her bag and put on her shirt right after.

She grabbed her chest plate and hoisted it over her head, allowing it to fall in place. She had seen it one too many times during tours, so she picked up her neck guard and strapped it in place, it could protect against knives and small caliber pistols. To complete her look, she retrieved the tin of camouflage makeup and applied three, diagonal streaks to her face. Holstering her Tactical X-45, she grabbed her M4A1 rifle and slung it to her bag.

Picking up her Tactical M700 rifle, she left the safety of her hideout, and set out for the White House.


Sarah had been walking for just over an hour at a relaxed but steady pace. She got to the intersection of F and 20th when she came across a situation. Hearing a commotion just before, she ran up to a parked, white delivery truck. Peering around the corner, she looked through her scope. Before her, she saw a small patrol of Outcasts. Two Assaults, one Thrower, and one that had a makeshift flamethrower. It appeared that one of the Assault's had some extra armor.

Must be a veteran leader.

Quickly, she retrieved her cluster Seeker Mine. So as not to alert them, she put it down and then used her SHD contact lens to target them remotely. Rolling forth with singular purpose, the mine suddenly broke into its different, smaller brethren. The thrower lost his foot as he was flown into the air, dead before he hit the ground. The normal assault was sent flying into a wall from the concussive force of his blast, cracking his neck. With all her padding, the one with the flamethrower did not die from the blast, but her fuel tank had been hit from the explosion and she shot up like a fucking bottle rocket into the sky.

The veteran Outcast was left standing. Damaged, but standing.

Always one piece of shit left.

Taking aim, she calmly tracked the Outcast as he ran behind a pillar. She waited as she expected him to take some pot shots. He didn't though.

Clever little fuck.

It had turned into a waiting game. Stryker quickly swapped cover to a concrete "bucket" on the sidewalk used to hold flowers or small plants, the shade from the overhanging building gave her eyes a break from the strong sun.

"You're gonna die fucker!"

The Outcast ran to a different cover, just avoiding the round that would've found its home in his heart.

"Fuck." Stryker muttered under her breathe.

Think Sarah, think.

Than an idea struck her. Although her Seeker was really only effective against multiple targets, this Outcast didn't know that.

Taking another Seeker out of the pouch, she threw it underhanded over the cover that he was hiding behind.

"Shit!"

He stood up. As soon as the tone of flesh had jumped into her scope, she took the shot. The Outcast screamed in pain as a .300 Win Mag tore through his soft flesh on his left arm, the shock wave alone was powerful enough to knock him down on his ass in pain.

Slinging her rifle around, she grabbed her pistol, slowly approaching the injured enemy. Quickly looking around the corner, she noticed his AK-M laying just out of reach for him. She turned the corner and stepped on his hand as it tried to grab the weapon. Although she had been in countless battles, she'd never actually done it before, only seeing it in action movies.

"Fuck you!"

Sarah stood over him as he continued to hurl insults at her. She finally had enough.

"Hey!" Quickly shutting him up.

"Have you people ever thought of not being assholes? Seriously, you're worse than the goddamn Hyenas for fuck's sake."

"You don't know what we went through! Herded like cattle! Treated worse! It's the True Sons and the Division's fault that we were!"

"First off, no. You're a goddamn idiot. Let me guess, that bitch Shaw told you that, huh."

The Outcast just stared at her.

"And second, GET THE FUCK OVER IT! Take a good goddamn look around you, you fucking inept troglodyte. Fine, you were treated terribly, okay, cool. If you didn't fucking notice, everyone is going through some shit. You are not the only ones whose whole lives were destroyed from the virus!"

"But…"

Before he continued, he was cut off again. "And you people slaughtering innocents because they what? Didn't fight back against the very much armed and murderous True Sons? If that's the reason, why the fuck didn't you fight back?!"

Finishing her rant, she put a .45 round into his right arm too.

Screaming out in pain, he watched through teary eyes as she knelt down next to him and put her mouth near his left ear. She quietly whispered into it.

"I'm going to leave you. You will know what it is like to fear, what it is like as your life is taken away so unjustifiably."

With that, Sarah stood up and put another round into each of his legs, walked behind him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Starting to drag him to a nearby manhole, she spoke.

"You know, the Underground are very violent. Unlike you or me, they don't fight for some ideological reason, but for blood and stuff. You ever seen one of 'em fuckers with a chainsaw? I have. I even heard they were cannibals."

Peering down into the sewer, she turned and saw the fear growing in his eyes. The realization that with his wounds he won't be able to climb back out of the sewer.

"They live down in these sewers. When they find you, say hi to them for me, won't you?"

Before he could resist, he could feel as she looped a rope around his torso, slowly, she lowered him down the manhole.

At the bottom, he felt a little tension in the rope, than none. A second later, the rest of the rope fell on his face, he realized the end was frayed. She had just cut the rope.

Turning as he heard voices further down the sewer, his eyes like saucers as he trembled in true fear.

"What was that?"

"I don't know, let's go check it out."

"I hope it's another person, I'm getting hungry."


I don't know about anyone else, but when I play, I always forget that I have grenades. Oh and also remember to leave a review. Or don't. Whatever, it isn't like the world is falling apart. Hell, go out and do something, we don't know how long any of has left.