Chapter 20- A Hidden Agenda
A tense grip tightened on his Machete, McNeil took a step forward and swung the blade from his right to his left, aiming to cut open Ghost's abdomen. The swing was strong and vigorous, but still maintained coordination and balance.
The steel swung through the air with scary velocity, and Ghost knew that he had to act quickly if he wanted his insides to say on the inside. Both of his twin pistols found their way into their respective hip holsters with haste. The Trinity mercenary then dropped onto his back, dodging the flying blade, McNeil only connecting with the air around him.
The masked warrior had to be quick, as he knew that he didn't have time to holster his Machete; his foe was far too swift. He then shifted his Machete into his left hand, holding it as if it were a knife, and modified his stance into one that used one-handed boxing.
The stance was rather awkward, and was thus rarely used, as most regarded it as ineffective. His right hand would have to be used to block his right and left side and to deliver punches as well. It was rather unorthodox, making it difficult to master, perhaps even impossible to some. But Jake McNeil was a man who made the impossible possible.
Ghost regained his balance and swung hard at McNeil, a right hook that wanted to break his chin into many, many pieces. McNeil's right forearm came in between his own chin and Ghost's clenched fist, blocking the blow. The Patriots soldier then responded with three lightning-fast punches; first, two jabs to the face, almost breaking his opponent's nose. He then finished off with a strong right hook that sent Ghost stumbling backward. His knees buckled, and he had to struggle to stay on his feet.
The masked warrior immediately deposited his Machete in its holder on his back and drew two throwing knives. The metal gleamed in the bright light before he proceeded to throw them with great speed towards his foe, aimed to go right between his eyes.
Ghost then executed a backflip to dodge the steel, barely avoiding having his brain tissue end up on the wall behind him, the knives passing mere centimeters underneath his back. His boots gripped the cement wall behind him, and he then complete a forward flip, landing in the position in which he had started.
The knives, meanwhile had harmlessly hit the wall, striking it in a manner similar to the way lightning strikes a tall tree.
McNeil then intended to shatter Ghost's chin, as he had been trying to do, with a vigorous right uppercut. Ghost simply leaned to the left, much like a professional boxer and completely dodged the blow.
After he successfully made McNeil miss, however, he felt an awful stinging in his jaw area. McNeil had quickly rebounded off of the missed punch and dealt a forearm blow to the Trinity mercenary. He spun around towards the wall from the impact and was forced several feet backwards, towards the wall.
Ghost was, however, able to maintain his balance, and continued in the direction in which he was drove, using his forward momentum, and the wall behind him, to his advantage. He ran towards the wall and leapt off of the floor. His boots gripped the cement and he pushed off, back toward his opponent. He completed a 180-degree spin and extended his right foot, aiming to nail McNeil in the jaw with a powerful kick.
McNeil rather easily dodged the blow, merely ducking underneath the strike, and planned his next attack.
The masked warrior knew what was going to happen next. It would take several seconds for Ghost to recover from the missed attack, to get his poise back, which would leave him open for an easy attack.
McNeil's clenched fist cocked back while his opponent was doing exactly what he had predicted for the exact amount of time that he had predicted. Five knuckles impacted against Ghost's chin, sending him staggering against the wall behind him, his vertebrate almost snapping in two.
Ghost quickly reacted and rebounded against the wall, rushing right into McNeil's next attack, a powerful right hook that aimed to finish the Trinity mercenary off. He simply leaned to his left to dodge the blow, much to his foe's chagrin. Ghost then dove in that same direction, acting on instinct only now. The Trinity mercenary completed a forward roll past his opponent and stood immediately, behind his opponent; the two warriors were back-to- back.
McNeil did not expect what happened next, but was still able to react to it and impede upon it. Ghost's leather-clad right leg came up, the two still back-to-back, and aimed to crack McNeil's skull. However, it only connected with bare, rock-hard, tensed muscle as the masked warriors large bicep came up to oppose the would-be hit and push it in the opposite direction.
The setback didn't encourage Ghost to give up, however. His left forearm hooked around, the Trinity soldier persistent in his attack. His attack was once again suppressed, this time by McNeil's left arm.
At an obvious advantage, McNeil promptly attempted to break his enemy's spine in two with a straight kick. The sole of his boot smashed against Ghost's spinal cord, sending him back several feet, forcing him onto one knee. He groaned in agony as he looked over his shoulder and found himself staring down the barrel of an M-17. The muzzle lit up and the gun barked three times. One short burst was enough to kill the toughest of men. Three... easily able to penetrate any kind of armor and tear apart flesh and skin beneath.
But what the Patriots mercenary saw next astounded him. Ghost stood instantly and sprinted towards the wall that he was facing, a mad dash away from the bullets that his enemy had shot at him. He, amazingly, outran every round; each hit the wall, drilling it full of holes. He dove toward the wall, bounding off of it and performing a corkscrew flip over McNeil's seven-foot-tall frame.
He landed in front of his enemy, the two staring into the other's eyes. McNeil then attacked, and Ghost reacted.
The M-17 was swung like a primitive club, aiming to decapitate the enemy. Ghost ducked and shifted around to face McNeil's back, but he was able to spin around in time to avoid an attack on his back, but Ghost was quick as well.
His feet left the floor as he soared in the air and stretched out his right foot, kicking McNeil fiercely in the chin, but not forcing him off of his feet. His right hand, which housed his M-17, was now vulnerable, however, and Ghost took advantage. He hooked the gun and spun around 360 degrees, forcing it out of McNeil's temporarily weak grasp.
McNeil then saw what was going to happen and would not let it go down. He dove straight up into the air and kicked the assault rifle out of Ghost's clutches, and the gun soared high above the two warriors.
McNeil then leapt at least thirty inches in the air; large hands gripped the gun and the man who held it landed on one knee, facing his opponent. His aim was steady, not moving, the laser sight on one small area at all times.
"Don't move!" The deep, gruff voice came from under McNeil's mask.
All of this happened in the span of about ten seconds.
The two then had a staredown, each pair of eyes burning a proverbial hole in the other. Ghost then used one of his favorite techniques, one he loved to use when he was at a direct disadvantage.
"Your clip's dry McNeil... and you know it," he told his foe, a smile slowly forming on his face. He loved getting into his opponents' heads, to throw them off of their game, to make them lose any concentration that they may have had.
"You'd have used it by now if it wasn't," he continued.
"You sure about that?" McNeil replied.
"Pretty sure."
"Then make your move, wise guy."
Ghost then chuckled, staring deeply into the Patriots soldier's eyes. He waited; patience is a virtue, after all. He then made the move that McNeil had dared him to. He drew one of his twin pistols, in his left hand, with a speed that could only be bettered by the likes of Revolver Ocelot.
McNeil pulled back on the trigger of his M-17.
'click'
An empty clip.
Ghost had been right.
He gave a slight chuckle.
"That's a good bluff, my friend. Not many men would have figured you out like I did. Great tactic."
"One of my personal favorites."
"It almost worked."
"Almost doesn't count for shit."
"Sure doesn't."
"That's right. But the question now is do I have any grenades in the launcher?" said McNeil, steadily trying to buy time.
"I'd say you're empty."
"Then press your luck."
Ghost right hand then reached for his other pistol, swift and hasty. McNeil prompted his gun to fire a grenade... and nothing happened.
"You're good," complimented McNeil. "Either that, or you're the luckiest man on this planet."
"Thanks."
McNeil said nothing in response.
Ghost knew that his opponent was at an obvious disadvantage, and let his hands drop to his sides. Each gun slowly made its way into its holder, and the Trinity soldier craned his neck to look behind him.
He spotted a white-haired man, a skull suit covering his slender body. The man was unmoving, either unconscious or dead. He was bloody, his white hair stained a deep crimson hue.
Ghost thought of something, and McNeil might as well have read his mind.
"Don't even think about it!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, moving up towards his foe, pointing his gun despite its emptiness.
The M-17 then flew halfway across the floor and skidded, and McNeil dashed towards the Trinity soldier. Shoulder met soft stomach flesh with enough impact to pick up both warriors well above the floor... and through the wall behind them. The cement splintered as if it were thin, light plastic.
Both mercenaries landed in a seemingly secret room; they fell hard on the metal grated floor.
The room was dank and dark, much like a typical basement. Everything had a bronze tint, the only color present in the room.
One thing, however, differentiated it from a regular basement. Many thick, steel chains hung from the ceiling, swinging back and forth perpetually.
The room was bare excluding a few machinery appliances that did not seem to serve any purpose.
The two warriors lie on the cold, damp floor, McNeil on his stomach, and Ghost face up. McNeil rolled over onto his back and groaned in agony, a pain like he'd never felt shooting through his body. He breathed heavily, his lungs struggling to take in the oxygen.
Suddenly, the masked warrior felt a second wind. He sat straight up and stood on his feet, still breathing heavily, and half-limped his way over to Ghost, who remained motionless. He bent over and his large hands were ready to grasp the dreadlocks that covered the enemy's head and finish him off.
But McNeil did not expect the toe of Ghost's boot to crash against his chin, once, twice. Ghost then completed a backflip, which lifted him up off of the floor, kicking McNeil in the chin a third time. He was forced back, his neck craning upwards from the impact. He ignored the pain, something that he was used to doing.
The two soldiers then stood, both unarmed, each gazing at the other with a stare that would intimidate a hawk. McNeil then spotted something behind Ghost. A Trinity soldier, dying, on his knees. He lifted his gun and aimed it at the Patriots henchman. A dying man is not the fastest one, and he was easily taken out.
McNeil's gun was quickly drawn from its holster on his right hip. He looked through the built in 2x scope and the pistol spat out three hot rounds, the brass piercing the heart of the already dying mercenary. He just helped to hurry up the process.
Ghost then used this perfect opportunity to open fire, letting loose a salvo of bullets from both of his sidearms at McNeil's large, muscular body. They all collided with his chest and stomach area, but it wasn't enough to bring the big man down. He must have been grateful that he wore some body armor.
Ghost then rushed toward the enemy and spun 360 degrees after bounding off of the floor, and kicked an already hurting McNeil in the jaw.
The inhuman soldier remained on his feet, determined not to show weakness.
An infuriated Ghost then walked over to his opponent, heavy steps clanking against the steel grated floor. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fist, and swung harder than he thought he could have, and nearly shattered McNeil's chin. He was finally phased, dropping to one knee. Ghost was not satisfied, however, and sprinted towards the masked warrior, ready to bring the fight to an end.
The ever-resilient Jake McNeil caught him, on the other hand. A large right hand gripped his throat and a left clutched his side and tossed him vigorously into the steel plated wall behind him. He collided with scary impact, denting the wall instantaneously. He plummeted to the floor, his skull rebounding off of the floor with a sickening crash. He struggled to even move at this point, a pain like he'd never felt before shooting through his cranium.
McNeil then dropped back to one knee, taking the time to regain his energy; he had virtually none left after using it all to heave Ghost against the wall.
It turned out that it would take Ghost three full minutes to recover, yet he was still barely able to stand. But by the time he was, his opponent was gone, nowhere to be found. The Trinity soldier stood straight up and equipped his right hand pistol, looking everywhere around him.
He heard a clinking sound behind him, that of a thick steel chain, and fired his gun with disregard for whoever or whatever had made the noise. Numerous rounds drilled a door full of holes. Ghost took his hand off of the trigger and watched the door fall off its hinges with a loud 'bang!'.
Ghost then felt a pistol's barrel bear down on his skull through his thick dreadlocks.
"Freeze..." McNeil didn't bother yelling. He didn't need to. He was able to get his point across without raising his voice.
He held the pistol in place and circled his opponent. McNeil stopped when the muzzle of his gun faced Ghost's right jaw.
That's when he saw something that surprised him. Raiden slowly stood on his feet, his M-4 pointed in Ghost's direction. He was breathing profoundly, gasping every few seconds. Raiden's aim was shaky, but he didn't care. They had Ghost outnumbered, and they were that much closer to completing their mission.
McNeil's pistol then fired a tranquilizer round. The dart went towards Ghost's head with the speed of a bullet... and bypassed it, striking Jack between his left collarbone and his heart. The chemicals inside immediately took effect and rendered him unconscious.
McNeil cocked his head towards the fallen soldier. He put his gun away as Ghost turned around and smiled at the sight of the motionless fighter.
The Patriots warrior walked over to Jack and gripped a handful of his long, white hair and slung him over his right shoulder with ease. He and Ghost walked out of the room.
Raiden had been a victim of deception and deceit... but it wasn't the first time. And it certainly would not be the last.
A tense grip tightened on his Machete, McNeil took a step forward and swung the blade from his right to his left, aiming to cut open Ghost's abdomen. The swing was strong and vigorous, but still maintained coordination and balance.
The steel swung through the air with scary velocity, and Ghost knew that he had to act quickly if he wanted his insides to say on the inside. Both of his twin pistols found their way into their respective hip holsters with haste. The Trinity mercenary then dropped onto his back, dodging the flying blade, McNeil only connecting with the air around him.
The masked warrior had to be quick, as he knew that he didn't have time to holster his Machete; his foe was far too swift. He then shifted his Machete into his left hand, holding it as if it were a knife, and modified his stance into one that used one-handed boxing.
The stance was rather awkward, and was thus rarely used, as most regarded it as ineffective. His right hand would have to be used to block his right and left side and to deliver punches as well. It was rather unorthodox, making it difficult to master, perhaps even impossible to some. But Jake McNeil was a man who made the impossible possible.
Ghost regained his balance and swung hard at McNeil, a right hook that wanted to break his chin into many, many pieces. McNeil's right forearm came in between his own chin and Ghost's clenched fist, blocking the blow. The Patriots soldier then responded with three lightning-fast punches; first, two jabs to the face, almost breaking his opponent's nose. He then finished off with a strong right hook that sent Ghost stumbling backward. His knees buckled, and he had to struggle to stay on his feet.
The masked warrior immediately deposited his Machete in its holder on his back and drew two throwing knives. The metal gleamed in the bright light before he proceeded to throw them with great speed towards his foe, aimed to go right between his eyes.
Ghost then executed a backflip to dodge the steel, barely avoiding having his brain tissue end up on the wall behind him, the knives passing mere centimeters underneath his back. His boots gripped the cement wall behind him, and he then complete a forward flip, landing in the position in which he had started.
The knives, meanwhile had harmlessly hit the wall, striking it in a manner similar to the way lightning strikes a tall tree.
McNeil then intended to shatter Ghost's chin, as he had been trying to do, with a vigorous right uppercut. Ghost simply leaned to the left, much like a professional boxer and completely dodged the blow.
After he successfully made McNeil miss, however, he felt an awful stinging in his jaw area. McNeil had quickly rebounded off of the missed punch and dealt a forearm blow to the Trinity mercenary. He spun around towards the wall from the impact and was forced several feet backwards, towards the wall.
Ghost was, however, able to maintain his balance, and continued in the direction in which he was drove, using his forward momentum, and the wall behind him, to his advantage. He ran towards the wall and leapt off of the floor. His boots gripped the cement and he pushed off, back toward his opponent. He completed a 180-degree spin and extended his right foot, aiming to nail McNeil in the jaw with a powerful kick.
McNeil rather easily dodged the blow, merely ducking underneath the strike, and planned his next attack.
The masked warrior knew what was going to happen next. It would take several seconds for Ghost to recover from the missed attack, to get his poise back, which would leave him open for an easy attack.
McNeil's clenched fist cocked back while his opponent was doing exactly what he had predicted for the exact amount of time that he had predicted. Five knuckles impacted against Ghost's chin, sending him staggering against the wall behind him, his vertebrate almost snapping in two.
Ghost quickly reacted and rebounded against the wall, rushing right into McNeil's next attack, a powerful right hook that aimed to finish the Trinity mercenary off. He simply leaned to his left to dodge the blow, much to his foe's chagrin. Ghost then dove in that same direction, acting on instinct only now. The Trinity mercenary completed a forward roll past his opponent and stood immediately, behind his opponent; the two warriors were back-to- back.
McNeil did not expect what happened next, but was still able to react to it and impede upon it. Ghost's leather-clad right leg came up, the two still back-to-back, and aimed to crack McNeil's skull. However, it only connected with bare, rock-hard, tensed muscle as the masked warriors large bicep came up to oppose the would-be hit and push it in the opposite direction.
The setback didn't encourage Ghost to give up, however. His left forearm hooked around, the Trinity soldier persistent in his attack. His attack was once again suppressed, this time by McNeil's left arm.
At an obvious advantage, McNeil promptly attempted to break his enemy's spine in two with a straight kick. The sole of his boot smashed against Ghost's spinal cord, sending him back several feet, forcing him onto one knee. He groaned in agony as he looked over his shoulder and found himself staring down the barrel of an M-17. The muzzle lit up and the gun barked three times. One short burst was enough to kill the toughest of men. Three... easily able to penetrate any kind of armor and tear apart flesh and skin beneath.
But what the Patriots mercenary saw next astounded him. Ghost stood instantly and sprinted towards the wall that he was facing, a mad dash away from the bullets that his enemy had shot at him. He, amazingly, outran every round; each hit the wall, drilling it full of holes. He dove toward the wall, bounding off of it and performing a corkscrew flip over McNeil's seven-foot-tall frame.
He landed in front of his enemy, the two staring into the other's eyes. McNeil then attacked, and Ghost reacted.
The M-17 was swung like a primitive club, aiming to decapitate the enemy. Ghost ducked and shifted around to face McNeil's back, but he was able to spin around in time to avoid an attack on his back, but Ghost was quick as well.
His feet left the floor as he soared in the air and stretched out his right foot, kicking McNeil fiercely in the chin, but not forcing him off of his feet. His right hand, which housed his M-17, was now vulnerable, however, and Ghost took advantage. He hooked the gun and spun around 360 degrees, forcing it out of McNeil's temporarily weak grasp.
McNeil then saw what was going to happen and would not let it go down. He dove straight up into the air and kicked the assault rifle out of Ghost's clutches, and the gun soared high above the two warriors.
McNeil then leapt at least thirty inches in the air; large hands gripped the gun and the man who held it landed on one knee, facing his opponent. His aim was steady, not moving, the laser sight on one small area at all times.
"Don't move!" The deep, gruff voice came from under McNeil's mask.
All of this happened in the span of about ten seconds.
The two then had a staredown, each pair of eyes burning a proverbial hole in the other. Ghost then used one of his favorite techniques, one he loved to use when he was at a direct disadvantage.
"Your clip's dry McNeil... and you know it," he told his foe, a smile slowly forming on his face. He loved getting into his opponents' heads, to throw them off of their game, to make them lose any concentration that they may have had.
"You'd have used it by now if it wasn't," he continued.
"You sure about that?" McNeil replied.
"Pretty sure."
"Then make your move, wise guy."
Ghost then chuckled, staring deeply into the Patriots soldier's eyes. He waited; patience is a virtue, after all. He then made the move that McNeil had dared him to. He drew one of his twin pistols, in his left hand, with a speed that could only be bettered by the likes of Revolver Ocelot.
McNeil pulled back on the trigger of his M-17.
'click'
An empty clip.
Ghost had been right.
He gave a slight chuckle.
"That's a good bluff, my friend. Not many men would have figured you out like I did. Great tactic."
"One of my personal favorites."
"It almost worked."
"Almost doesn't count for shit."
"Sure doesn't."
"That's right. But the question now is do I have any grenades in the launcher?" said McNeil, steadily trying to buy time.
"I'd say you're empty."
"Then press your luck."
Ghost right hand then reached for his other pistol, swift and hasty. McNeil prompted his gun to fire a grenade... and nothing happened.
"You're good," complimented McNeil. "Either that, or you're the luckiest man on this planet."
"Thanks."
McNeil said nothing in response.
Ghost knew that his opponent was at an obvious disadvantage, and let his hands drop to his sides. Each gun slowly made its way into its holder, and the Trinity soldier craned his neck to look behind him.
He spotted a white-haired man, a skull suit covering his slender body. The man was unmoving, either unconscious or dead. He was bloody, his white hair stained a deep crimson hue.
Ghost thought of something, and McNeil might as well have read his mind.
"Don't even think about it!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, moving up towards his foe, pointing his gun despite its emptiness.
The M-17 then flew halfway across the floor and skidded, and McNeil dashed towards the Trinity soldier. Shoulder met soft stomach flesh with enough impact to pick up both warriors well above the floor... and through the wall behind them. The cement splintered as if it were thin, light plastic.
Both mercenaries landed in a seemingly secret room; they fell hard on the metal grated floor.
The room was dank and dark, much like a typical basement. Everything had a bronze tint, the only color present in the room.
One thing, however, differentiated it from a regular basement. Many thick, steel chains hung from the ceiling, swinging back and forth perpetually.
The room was bare excluding a few machinery appliances that did not seem to serve any purpose.
The two warriors lie on the cold, damp floor, McNeil on his stomach, and Ghost face up. McNeil rolled over onto his back and groaned in agony, a pain like he'd never felt shooting through his body. He breathed heavily, his lungs struggling to take in the oxygen.
Suddenly, the masked warrior felt a second wind. He sat straight up and stood on his feet, still breathing heavily, and half-limped his way over to Ghost, who remained motionless. He bent over and his large hands were ready to grasp the dreadlocks that covered the enemy's head and finish him off.
But McNeil did not expect the toe of Ghost's boot to crash against his chin, once, twice. Ghost then completed a backflip, which lifted him up off of the floor, kicking McNeil in the chin a third time. He was forced back, his neck craning upwards from the impact. He ignored the pain, something that he was used to doing.
The two soldiers then stood, both unarmed, each gazing at the other with a stare that would intimidate a hawk. McNeil then spotted something behind Ghost. A Trinity soldier, dying, on his knees. He lifted his gun and aimed it at the Patriots henchman. A dying man is not the fastest one, and he was easily taken out.
McNeil's gun was quickly drawn from its holster on his right hip. He looked through the built in 2x scope and the pistol spat out three hot rounds, the brass piercing the heart of the already dying mercenary. He just helped to hurry up the process.
Ghost then used this perfect opportunity to open fire, letting loose a salvo of bullets from both of his sidearms at McNeil's large, muscular body. They all collided with his chest and stomach area, but it wasn't enough to bring the big man down. He must have been grateful that he wore some body armor.
Ghost then rushed toward the enemy and spun 360 degrees after bounding off of the floor, and kicked an already hurting McNeil in the jaw.
The inhuman soldier remained on his feet, determined not to show weakness.
An infuriated Ghost then walked over to his opponent, heavy steps clanking against the steel grated floor. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fist, and swung harder than he thought he could have, and nearly shattered McNeil's chin. He was finally phased, dropping to one knee. Ghost was not satisfied, however, and sprinted towards the masked warrior, ready to bring the fight to an end.
The ever-resilient Jake McNeil caught him, on the other hand. A large right hand gripped his throat and a left clutched his side and tossed him vigorously into the steel plated wall behind him. He collided with scary impact, denting the wall instantaneously. He plummeted to the floor, his skull rebounding off of the floor with a sickening crash. He struggled to even move at this point, a pain like he'd never felt before shooting through his cranium.
McNeil then dropped back to one knee, taking the time to regain his energy; he had virtually none left after using it all to heave Ghost against the wall.
It turned out that it would take Ghost three full minutes to recover, yet he was still barely able to stand. But by the time he was, his opponent was gone, nowhere to be found. The Trinity soldier stood straight up and equipped his right hand pistol, looking everywhere around him.
He heard a clinking sound behind him, that of a thick steel chain, and fired his gun with disregard for whoever or whatever had made the noise. Numerous rounds drilled a door full of holes. Ghost took his hand off of the trigger and watched the door fall off its hinges with a loud 'bang!'.
Ghost then felt a pistol's barrel bear down on his skull through his thick dreadlocks.
"Freeze..." McNeil didn't bother yelling. He didn't need to. He was able to get his point across without raising his voice.
He held the pistol in place and circled his opponent. McNeil stopped when the muzzle of his gun faced Ghost's right jaw.
That's when he saw something that surprised him. Raiden slowly stood on his feet, his M-4 pointed in Ghost's direction. He was breathing profoundly, gasping every few seconds. Raiden's aim was shaky, but he didn't care. They had Ghost outnumbered, and they were that much closer to completing their mission.
McNeil's pistol then fired a tranquilizer round. The dart went towards Ghost's head with the speed of a bullet... and bypassed it, striking Jack between his left collarbone and his heart. The chemicals inside immediately took effect and rendered him unconscious.
McNeil cocked his head towards the fallen soldier. He put his gun away as Ghost turned around and smiled at the sight of the motionless fighter.
The Patriots warrior walked over to Jack and gripped a handful of his long, white hair and slung him over his right shoulder with ease. He and Ghost walked out of the room.
Raiden had been a victim of deception and deceit... but it wasn't the first time. And it certainly would not be the last.