Goddamn. Tried Mission 50 of the Mission mode in Guilty Gear X2, blinked, and I lost. That's just scary. Any ways, thanks for the reviews, which was a lot more than I actually expected. Now I only worry about letting you guys down .
Yeah, I am truly sorrow for coming off as an ass.
A little rant about Zato-1. What kind of name is Eddie to give a shadow demon? Is it like Eddie Munster? Kind of, anti-climatic, but that's just me.
The pub, Dog and Bull, was located in the centre part of Twelve Pint, and was remarkably well built considering the surrounding areas. Twelve Pint, was, essentially, a podunk town. No one much knew about it, nor did anyone much care about it if they did know about it, except the citizens.
And no one would miss if it was sent burning down to the ground, along with the people.
~~**~~**
Captain Anderson!
The boy stood at attention, left arm pointing down, with the right arm intersecting it at the elbows, in the form of the salute. The older, more experience man, garbed in white clothes, in fact, everything about him was white: white hair, white skin, grey eyes, white shoes, it goes on. The one thing not devoid of colour was a chain that served as a necklace, and a black cross dangled down on his chest. Ronald Anderson was a Captain of the Holy Order, something he knew, but never felt. He felt, outdated, and was one of the few who knew Kilff Undersn personally. Nevertheless, he was outdated in his opinion, and was looking forward to his retirement after this mission.
he said, in a feeble voice.
Our mission parameters just came in from Paris, the subordinate said, then laid down the papers in front of Anderson.
Thank you. God grace thee.
God grace thee as well, Captain, the subordinate said, saluted again, and left. Anderson picked up the folder, and opened it. Attached to it was a photo, and three pages of a briefing. Carefully taking them out, he took a look at the photo.
A rather young boy was looking rather surly, hair matted down as if wearing a hat for too long. His eyes show a dull intelligence, of someone not quite stupid, but not quite knowledgeable of the world around him. His eyes were also unique, one seemed to have two different colours, and the other was just plain blue.
He laid the photo down on the table on and began to read the mission and to his dismay, found it to be extremely short.
Captain Anderson,
The subject is believed to have contacts with the Ireland Usurpers, which are a menace to the society of Ireland, as ordered by the Ireland Caretakers a few days ago. We have reports of a suspected car-bombing in the capitol being contemplated, and we are striving to investigate this. In the meantime, we must have this subject under our custody for his suspicious contacts to. We have also attached two coded papers for the Graced Ky Kiske's eyes only, he must see them, regarding Zepp's latest actions. God grace thee
Anderson laid down the letter and pondered it. The mission briefing was obviously rushed, which was unlike Paris, and it just sounded like a complete waste of time. Had he sunk so far in doing officer work?
But, as he thought about it some more, he realised that the easier the mission was, the faster he was going to retire... Maybe move to Ireland himself. He heard about it's virtually untouched beauty, and the thought of living until the last of his days in a green land, a stark contrast to most of the world, appealed to him greatly. He leaned forward and hit a button, where a woman's voice greeted him immediately.
Good evening, Mr. Anderson, what can I do for you?
Hello, Artemis. Please contact the Holy Order superior in Ireland, and put him on for me.
Yes, Mr. Anderson.
A few minutes passed, and all Anderson could think of was sleeping in his warm bed, with not a worry on him.
Hello, Captain. a gruff voice sounded on the intercom.
Hello. We have an assignment for you.
the gruff voice said enthusiastically.
I am forwarding you the mission parameters, with one small change. Instead of 24 hours to complete this, you have 12.
Yessir. God grace thee suh.
God grace thee as well.
Anderson sat back, and let the wonders of technology scan the papers and the photo. He wondered a bit about the boy. Even though he looked like he was at a funeral, something about him just didn't send Anderson the feeling he was a threat, just some typical, unfazed youth. He felt a little bad about the boy, being branded an of a terrorist group was just as much as a death sentence. But there were plenty other people who would gladly accept death, so Anderson felt a little better knowing that death was actually a luxury compared to some people. Anderson had enough on his plate without thinking of any people... Still...
Sorry kiddo... Anderson said to the picture, which just finished scanning. The picture just stared him back, and he threw into the trash next to him. He then rested his head in his hands, and started to think about where the best fishing spot was on Ireland.
~~**~~**
Private Jakob Rawmer yawned as he fought sleep, so far, in a losing battle of willpower. Being an AA gunner was so far, been less than stellar than advertised on the flyer around Dublin.
Stupid Captain Bates.... can't even walk around with that cane of his... I'm bigger... than you...
Hey! Jakob
Jakob mumbled distractedly, then sat up.
Yes this is Jakob, what is it Lexy?
Got an unidentified airship heading your way!
Ah, finally, some damn action round here.
Good luck?
... Was that a question?
Bah damn woman. Didn't have anything in the T&A department, annoying as hell, and generally hard to get along with.
Still, he'd do her.
He opened up a general broadcast frequency, which any ship could pick up, and said in a bored tone, Unidentified airship, please identify yourself.
A static was the only response, until a rather suave voice came on.
Hello there, we are a cargo ship destined for Dublin. We are the Amethyst Rose.
Give me your readings please.
~~**~~**
Give me your readings please.
Johnny paused at this, surprised at the operators efficiency, but recovered.
We have been attacked by pirates, and our reading cloaker is a bit faulty. I'm afraid we cannot accurately display our readings.
The operator yawned. Sure, k, go on ahead. There was a pause, then a rather audible clonk! broadcasted towards Johnny. He looked towards April who was piloting, and shrugged.
I'm gifted with the silver tongue, though, in my case, it may be gold. he chuckled, when an alarm went off.
Johnny blinked and lowered his glasses so he can see what was going on. What's going?
Anti-air batteries have locked on... 5....9....11.... 15 total locks! a crew member yelled.
April yelled back towards him. The operator must have set off the defences!
Johnny mumbled. I suppose we have to do emergency manoeuvres then...
~~**~~**
Sure enough, Jakobs head was resting on a panel that made the automated defences of Ireland suddenly went off. The three settings were Neutral, Fire on Command, and Fire at Will, the latter being on unregistered and airships with similar designs being branded as hostile. It goes without saying that Jakobs days of being an AA operator are numbered.
~~**~~**
Shackler and Axl made their way through the somewhat crowded streets, mostly drunkards, children playing soccer, and gossiping females. Dog and Bull was a popular spot for everyone, and while it was popular, the more seedy people hung out at Alistair's pub, which was also located at Shacklers garage. Shackler liked Dog and Bull because of the classic rock music they always play, some of it he knew, some he didn't, but he liked listening to it nevertheless.
Wow, some place, yeah? Axl said, looking at it. Aside from the General Store, Dog and Bull was the largest building in town, was open almost all hours, and served some decent ale. Shackler nodded in agreement, and walked in.
The place was worn, and not in the sense that it has not been used, the wood tile floor was shining dully, scuffled by years of chairs moving back and forth, shoes, and generally all around wear and tear. The lights were dim, there was a pool table in the corner occupied by two sheep farmers, and the bar was in the centre, a couple of televisions showing reruns of the previous years rugby tournaments nestled in the top corners of the building. Shackler motioned Axl to the bar ahead, when Axl pointed to the speakers above.
Led Zeppelin? he asked.
Shacklers face broke out into it's first smile that day.
You know them?
Practically lived with them! Axl chirped, And if memory serves, that's Kashmir, from the album Physical Graffiti, he said with a smug smile. Shackler just stared.
Axl asked.
Shackler shrugged and just grinned, Pal, you are the first person I know that knows of Led Zeppelin.
Axl laughed. I know of more. Judas Priest ring a bell?
Shacklers eyes widened as well as grinned,
Just for the mention of that band, I'm buying you a drink. C'mon.
Shackler walked and sat down at the bar, with Axl setting next to him to the left. A withering bartender walked over, with a drooping grey mustache and a receding hair line, walked over.
Good evening gentleman, what may I serve you? he drawled.
The usual Barley, Shackler said happily, Whaddya want, Axl?
Axl scratched the back of his head.
... Diet pop.
Shackler choked back laughter, and Axl gave an embarrassed grin. Some other patrons weren't as kind as Shackler and laughed their heads off.
Diet pop! Now that's a goody two shoes Brit for ya! one guffawed, and another fell to the floor. Axl just grinned.
Ehhh... I kinda can't drink, Axl said. Promised my mother... he added. Shacklers eyes just lit up in mirth as he doubled over laughing.
Ah, which reminds me, you are kind of young to be having alcohol, right, Rufus? Barley said lightly, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips. Shackler was still laughing but sobered quickly enough to utter a reply, Yeah, yeah, gimme apple cider then. Barley nodded, and moved away to get the drinks. In the meantime, Shackler turned his head towards Axl.
You said you was here for someone, who? he asked.
Axl grinned confidently. I was looking for someone who has the ability to use electricity at his will.
Shacklers cheer turned to sudden cautiousness.
You have any idea? Axl asked.
I may... What do you want of him?
Axl shrugged. I was just curious, I heard how powerful and wise he was, and how very protective he was of his family and how he saved-
Axl, whoever said that was full of it, I am neither of tho- you son of a... he said angrily as he realised his error, and Axl just grinned like a maniac.
Ah, he was certainly wrong about the wisdom part. Axl said, chuckling.
Shut up.
I just jest, truly. Axl said, stretching his back. Shackler turned his body forward, and accepted his cider from Barley.
Alright, you found me. What do you want?
It's... ah... complicated. Axl replied uneasily, taking a sip of his pop.
Try me, I'm dying for some variety in my life, Shackler said caustically.
Er, alright, I'm just here to warn you that the Holy Order is coming for you.
The Holy wha? Shackler asked, adjusting his cap, and looking at Axl.
The Holy Order. You know, the international police.
I bet. What do they want? Shackler asked, humouring the Briton.
Ahhh... barkeep! Axl called to Barley. Can you change the channel to the nearest news channel? I need to see something...
Barley shrugged, grabbed a broom from behind the counter, and adjusted the knob on the TV closest to them. Some drunk patrons protested, but were silenced by their mugs. Axl turned his attention to Shackler, who was preoccupied by his drink, and nudged him.
Smile, you're on TV, Axl said, a tad more solemnly than his normal, airy-fairy self. Shackler took a quick glance at the television, took another drink, turned face-forward again, then snapped it back to the television.
The hell? Barley, turn the volume up!
The look on Shacklers face was priceless, and if the situation wasn't so dire, it would have been hilarious. But to Shackler, seeing his picture next to a burning rubble of car on television wasn't the kind of image to come home to. Barley fumbled with the controls, and the female reporters voice broke through.
... the perpetrator of this heinous act is this man, Rufus Shackler, as seen by countless eyewitnesses, by diving under the car of U.R.I Prime Minister Bartholomew Dibbins, and setting off a time bomb. We suspect him to be highly armed and dangerous. The motive for this act of terrorism is unknown, though the man was wearing black and orange, the colours of the Ireland Usurpers, who have been recently labelled as terrorists' and no longer considered a party. The Holy Order based in Dublin, Ireland, has released a statement that the suspect may also be a Gear, and we ask for everyone's aid in capturing the suspect. Tom, back to you...
Ahh, you see...? Axl said, when Shackler jumped off the stool, and whirled around to face Axl.
Who the hell are you? Shackler growled. A line of static suddenly jumped off his arm. Several patrons sober enough to recognise the warning signs got up and beat a hasty retreat out the door. Barley ducked behind the counter. Axl held up his hands.
Whoa whoa man, I'm not an enemy! Axl said hastily waving his hands. I came to help you!
Shackler grumbled. You know a hell of a lot. Who are you?
I'm Axl Low, always have been, always will be. I'm here to help!
Shackler remained unconvinced. Can you prove it?
Axl did his routine scratching the back of his head.
Shackler snarled. Thought so. You ain't getting me!
Axl snapped to attention. Wait, wait! I can! Just wait!
Shackler growled and sprang forward. Axl leaped off the bar stool, did a roll, and withdrew his sickle and chains from his belt, and stood up. Shacklers wrench was imbedded into the counter, and he jerked it free.
Man! Wait! Axl pleaded. Shackler paid no heed, and charged again, swinging the suddenly dangerous looking weapon in his hand, and swung hard down towards Axls face. Axl had barely time to block it with the chain, and the sudden impact jarred Shacklers wrist. Taking advantage of Shacklers sudden paralysis, Axl twisted the chains, locking Shacklers hands together, throwing the chain around him, throwing the sickles up and over the rafters, and pulled down, leaving Shackler totally helpless in mid-air.
Axl said hurriedly. I'm not here to hurt you! Your life is in danger! We need to get you out of here!
Shackler asked irritably.
Because you are more help alive, than dead. Axl said through gritted teeth. Shacklers piercing eyes glared at Axl, before going dull.
he said sullenly.
One question, why didn't you use your magic?
Magic? Oh, it only comes on in self-defense, never offence, least for me...
Whatever. Ok. Come on. Axl smiled grimly. He released the chain and sickle, and Shackler came crashing to the floor.
Where do we go? Shackler asked absently, throwing his chains down, and Axl quickly put it back around his belt. Shackler is currently having the feeling which you just know that this was all a dream, a horrendous dream.
Axl said nothing, and looked at the clock. He raised his hand, and slowly withdrew a digit within each second interval.
5.
Shackler could hear the distant roar of something... Large.
4.
3.
It grew louder, it sounded like an airplane...
2.
1.
Oh no...
There was a roar, a deafening sound explosion as the airplane flew low over the Dog and Bull, rattling the ceiling, and shaking glasses off the tables. Shackler looked at Axl, shock and fear suddenly marring his otherwise pan-face.
You don't mean... he trailed off.
Axl nodded, and laughed. Yeah, that's our ride. You have your wrench handy, don't you?
Good, you're gonna need it. Come on.
Axl turned and ran out of the bar, and Shackler trotted after him.
Unbelievable... Shackler thought.
What next, air pirates? What the hell is going on? What the hell is a Gear? What the hell?
He ran out of the bar and looked and saw Axl waving to him.
This way! he yelled, and disappeared into an alley.
What the hell...? Shackler thought aloud.
Authors Notes: I can't write action scenes worth a damn. If anyone could give some pointers, I would gladly appreciate it.
