Hello Boys and girls. This is it.
It's finally here. The final chapter of this re write. And by final, I mean final old chapter. The end of old shit and the beginning of new chapters.
I don't even know how to describe what it feels like to not have to edit previous chapters more. If it wasn't for my Beta reader Xabiar, I would have probably given up long ago. But they kept me at it and have continued to help me put out chapter after chapter.
PS CHECK THEM OUT THEY ARE AMAZING!
Now this is the longest chapter I have published by far. SO please enjoy, and as always do feel free to leave reviews on whether you think this rewrite was a success or not.
Hope your all doing well and happy reading.
Cheers
Alex Lee
Wednesday, September 7th, 2024
1200 Hours
Hello.
I don't really know how to start this, but apparently I use to write in this book a lot before the procedure. And while I don't exactly know why, after reading it through front to back a few times, it has become incredibly clear to me that this is something I should try to continue to do.
Call me crazy, but something about these pages seems to speak to me. They urge me to write. To put pen to paper, and describe for you both what is going on. How I'm doing; what's new; anything at all, really.
It's almost like you're both still here with me. Living vicariously through these pages right alongside me.
I understand you were both my friends when you were alive. And though I don't remember too much of you anymore, I know deep down we cared deeply about one another, and watched each other's backs.
This journal, this story, it's all I have left of you now. And to leave it incomplete... well that would be a tragedy of immeasurable proportions now, wouldn't it.
I'll try to do my best to continue on as I have before, and keep the promise it appears I made before you both passed.
No guarantees on anything, though.
So. With that all said, let's get down to things.
I think the best place to start would be from the moment I exited the tank...
...
That's right. I verbally ripped his god dam head off, and called him out on being the stuck up asshole he is. And good god did it feel great. Scary as hell, but great all the same.
...
So yah. Because of that, I couldn't move even a single muscle for the longest time. Ok, well, more like a few days, but still. It was tortuous.
...
Because of that, I took to calling it ABBY. And before you ask, yes that is a bit of a dig at Lock. Though for the love of god, don't tell her that. She and I just got back on track. No need for her to know I named the annoying voice in my head after her.
...
And then she told me the craziest thing. She told me she wanted me as a partner! Like, seriously! Come again girl?
...
That's when she was finally as able to bring me the journal. My arms were still buggered, so she had to read it out to me the first time around. That, along with my medical charts and everything else. But hey, beggars can't be choosers.
...
So yah. Apparently the Commander was seriously unhappy with his actions too. And to make things even worse? He couldn't even figure out what the hell the voice was! I mean seriously! What the hell?
...
Which brings us up to present day. Roughly a few weeks after our little night time encounter, and with things settling back into the normal spectrum.
Also, yes Adam, I am aware that saying it that way makes things sound incredibly dirty, but close your face.
Also, training had started up again, and you both know what the meant.
More getting my ass kicked by Lock! That's what!
Speaking of which, I should probably get going pretty quick. Lock will be here any moment to pick me up.
I promise to write more soon. For now though, this is Drew Version Two signing off.
Cheers boys.
Thump Thwap
"Thirty-two to naught."
"Again."
BiffThwap
"Thirty-three to naught. You know, statistically speaking, you should have won at least one by now."
"Again."
ThumpBiffThwap
"Thirty-four to naught. Seriously though, are you doing ok? We've been going at this for a while now, and you are still technically in the recovery stage."
"I'm fine. Just not used to the speed yet. Again."
"All right, if you insist."
Thump Thump Boff Thwap
"That's thirty-five. To naught. A good try though. Just make sure to be a little more careful with those leg sweeps in practice. Our legs can easily cause serious damage, even by accident."
"Roger that. Again!"
I stepped cautiously back onto the practice mat before me. My body fell quickly into a high guard position as I patiently waited and watched for Lock to make the first move.
There! My eyes quickly picked out the initial movement of her left foot shifting forwards in preparation for what I guessed was a punch of some sort.
Reacting as quickly as possible, I brought my guard up to block, and threw a hard right at her head.
I knew the jab had a low chance of hitting anything, but that wasn't the point of it to start with.
The idea was to simply deter her movements forward. Keeping her at a distance, while I figured out an angle of attack that might work.
However, as with the last thirty odd times, I never got the chance.
Lock didn't stop moving forwards the whole time she struck.
Instead of backing away, she simply shifted her body slightly to the left of my strike and effortlessly dodged the punch while stepping immediately into my guard with her right leg raised behind me.
Gripping my shirt in both hands, I felt her right leg connect solidly with the back of my knees, which threw me backwards as she simultaneously used the momentum from her leg sweep to push me downwards with both arms.
Thwap
"Thirty-six to naught." She smirked, looking down on me once more.
"All right. Fine. I give," I grumbled, laying back against the cold padded mat beneath me. "How do I beat you?"
Extending her hand down to me I gripped it and instantly felt myself being jerked back to my feet.
"Simple," she smiled calmly. "Right now, you don't. You're still limited in terms of your physical speed and strength. You probably won't be functioning at a hundred percent for at least another few days. Besides, this is to get you used to the speed you can operate at. It's not about winning or losing."
"Easy for you to say," I groaned, cracking my neck once more in preparation for our next bout. "Though I am beginning to wonder about this voice thingy. She hasn't said anything this whole time. Isn't she supposed to, like, help protect me or something?"
"I have about as much idea of what she does as you," she replied, cocking a smile at me. "Although, that round I went at full speed and you were still able to react. Hell, if I'd been any slower, you may well have even nearly landed a solid hit. So maybe she's helping you out in other ways?"
I shrugged in response. "Maybe. I don't know. She just seems to pop up at random. Like to tell me a fact about something or someone, then boom. Gone for hours on end."
"Well, either way," she continued. "That's still some pretty serious progress from our first day of training."
"Considering the first day consisted of me being unable to even see most of your strikes, that's not saying much." I replied sarcastically, once more taking up my ready position. "Again."
A small smile edged out onto her face as the memory of those victories no doubt surfaced, only to be shoved away by a frown as she took in my ready stance.
"Hold your horses there, cowboy," she scolded, motioning for me to drop my guard, before turning and making her way towards the doors. "I think it's time we moved onto something else. We have a lot to cover today, and I also have a little surprise for you."
Though slightly confused, I still followed her orders. Dropping my guard and chased swiftly after her as she moved out of the sparring room and into the main training facility.
Skipping past the weights and equipment, I watched as she made a bee-line across the facility, and headed straight for the armoury/run-and-gun course on the opposite end, with me in tow.
Her moments betrayed her peppy mood, as she walked right up to the blastproof doors of the armoury, and quickly typed in the security code. She then wasted no time, pushing open the heavy metal just as a loud buzz and the sound of the doors unlocking could be heard.
"Done this a few times I take it," I teased softly, walking past her into the pitch black room before us.
"Only several thousand times," she smirked, reaching across to flick the lights on. "Nothing too crazy."
Dull florescent lighting instantly spilled into the large concrete room, illuminating the small area, and with it, dozens upon dozens of black metal gun racks covering almost the entire room.
Each one, completely and utterly stuffed full, of various firearms.
To say I was in heaven would be an understatement. It was like a gun fanatic's wet dream come true.
Handguns, shotguns, rifles, carbines, SMGs. You name it, it could probably be found here.
"Holy. Shit." I breathed, unable to take my eyes off the sheer amount of fire power on display.
"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" Lock chuckled from behind me, leaning casually against one of the racks. "I couldn't even fathom that they had this much fire power locked away when I first got here."
I quickly swallowed the saliva that had pooled in my mouth, nodding quickly in agreement, before glancing back at her. My brain attempted to process the sheer magnitude of the room I stood in.
"It's ok to touch them, if that's what you're wondering." She smirked, rolling her eyes at my no doubt speechless expression.
I didn't need any more prompting than that.
Now this may come as a surprise to many, but I am, in fact, a bit of a gun nut. Have been most of my life, and continue to be one to this day. So being let lose in this room is probably the equivalent of letting a toddler run free in a candy shop.
Nothing would escape my touch.
"Is this an H&K six fifty?" I mused loudly, pulling a large AR15 variant off the rack before me, carefully examining the action to make sure it was clear.
"Good eye. That was one of the prototype versions that we personally field tested, before the version you know and love was distributed to be the standard infantry rifle," she commented, walking around to me. "We ran that testing mission without the green tip, three hundred win mag rounds to. So you can imagine how well things went, when a god damn Muton showed up."
I grimaced a bit at the thought.
Walking a few racks down from me, she quickly picked up a very strange looking, short barrelled rifle. It vaguely resembled an FN P90, but with a pistol grip instead of the usual thumbhole.
"Know anything about the MP180?" She inquired, mimicking my actions in checking the action before hefting it up for me to see.
Standard Issue SMG. A join project of both H&K...
"Standard issue SMG that was designed by both H&K and FN engineers near the start of the war." I rattled off as the facts as fast as ABBY shoved them into mind. "Nine hundred rounds per minute fire rate. Fires the 5.6mm cartridge. Capable of punching through most conventional body armour at ranges of about thirty meters or less."
A low whistle escaped her as I finished my rambling, prompting several nods in my directions.
"Very good." she nodded. "This baby is actually one of my personal favourites. Of the old conventional firearms, anyways. She saved my ass more times than I care to think about."
I nodded along with her for a second, before her choice of words suddenly hit me. "Wait. What do you mean by conventional firearms?"
A small feral grin emerged as she quickly placed her firearm back onto the rack, and motioned with her head to the back comer of the room. "Easier to show you."
Placing my rifle back as well, I quickly skirted past the weapon racks, to the area Lock was walking towards.
Near the back of the room, and on the opposite end of where we first entered, there lay a small doorway tucked into the corner. Lock stood ready at the door with a large smile on her face.
"Welcome to the P.T. Room." She stated, dramatically opening the door to reveal a small brightly lit workshop.
"P.T. Room?" I asked, raising an eye brow in her direction as I walked past her and into the alcove.
"Performance Testing. Prototype. Personal Torture. There never was a definitive name for it," she quickly explained, walking over to the furthest work bench with me in tow.
On the bench before us sat a large pile of weapons, ammo, grenades and tac gear that seemed oddly familiar.
Gesturing to the pile she smiled broadly. "Say hello to your old/new gear."
A small grin erupted onto my face as her words washed over me, before quickly making my way forwards to examine the pile, in all its old time glory.
Well, somewhat old glory.
Most of it seemed to be my own. Modified a little here and there sure, but it looked just as broken in as before. Though frankly, other than a few added pouches and stitches here and there, it looked mostly untouched.
The chest plate however was definitely the most noticeable change.
Instead of the large Kevlar plate that I was used to, it looked like they had replaced the front and back with nothing but two giant pieces of solid steel.
Lifting it up off the table however, I was quite surprised to find that it felt just as light as before. Maybe even more so.
"What is this witchcraft?" I muttered to no one in particular, as I continued to examine the strange plates.
"That would be Carapace armour," Lock explained from behind me, looking quite amused with my confusion. "It's a combination of ceramic plate armour and the aliens own armour alloys. It can stop anything up to a full sized plasma rifle. Though you may want to duck instead of tanking it head on."
"Most of your existing gear, including your gloves and boots, have been augmented with carapace," she continued, leaning against the workbench beside mine as she spoke. "You know. To protect the majority of your body and what not. I mean, it might not be the most comfortable, or the prettiest shit ever, but after a few shots to the chest, I think you will come to realize why we use it."
True to her word, my knee and elbow guards, drop leg pieces, and even boots, all had small stitch marks, indicating where the armour plates had been swapped from. Though thankfully the stitch work was impeccable, giving me the impression that it would probably be just as reliable as before, if not more so.
Nodding in her direction, I continued down the table to the biggest, and most obvious pieces of gear.
The weapons.
Five of them to be exact. Two pistols, two rifles, and a grenade.
I decided to take a gander at the grenade first, excited to see first-hand the no doubt revolutionary new technology that had been developed and integrated into these babies.
Though sadly upon inspection, it was really just a large fragmentation grenade. Nothing interesting, or worth getting worked up over in the least. Just a larger explosive.
Sighing dramatically at the disappointment, I set it down carefully, before turning my attention to the two pistols they had given me.
At first glance, they too were very simple and ordinary looking. One was a black 1911 that had been fitted with a large compensator, and the other looked to be a fairly high calibre revolver.
Upon picking them up, however, there was not a single doubt in my mind that both of these handguns had been heavily modified, both internally and externally in many, many ways.
Plainly speaking, they were just too damn heavy to be normal versions of these handguns. No doubt this was to help manage the recoil, of the likely absurd rounds that they had been modified to fire.
"The colt is chambered in four sixty rowland, and the revolver is straight four sixty." Lock explained from her seat, confirming my suspicions about the size of the rounds. "Big enough to damage even a muton. Though we nicknamed them the wrist snappers for a reason."
I gingerly placed them back down on the bench after that note, and made a strong mental point to take them both out to the firing range to practice as soon as possible.
No way was I going to take them into combat without testing the recoil for myself first.
With the pistols now checked out, the last weapons left on the table were the rifles. Though unlike in the previous room, neither myself nor ABBY could identify either of them.
Skeletonized would be the best way of describing them. No more than a couple dozen steel pieces interlocked together to form the shapes of both a long barrelled bolt action rifle, and a short barrelled ar15 style rifle.
The insides of these weapons however were the biggest mystery.
You could literally see past the skeletonized frame into the mass of electrical components and wires that were running literally all over the place.
From the stock, to what looked like a chamber for rounds to fit into, all the way to the very front, where no doubt those same projectiles were supposed to come from.
It was almost comical in a way. Almost like they were invented by a couple of high school student's as a science fair project. I mean, it was that or a mad scientist's experimental super weapon...
Hell, someone even went so far as to jury-rig a flashlight to the front of the shorter rifle, using nothing but what looked to be metal zip ties.
I turned, making sure to give my absolute best "What the fuck is this?" expression to Lock, before gesturing to the rifles. "You're telling me this is what has replaced conventional firearms?" Skepticism oozing off every word spoken.
"Yup," she chirped, before registering my confusion and disbelief with her statement. "Oh, right." She smirked. "Should probably explain why they look like a kid's science fair project."
"Probably." I enunciated, nodding slowly a couple times to accent my sarcastic comment.
"Well," she grinned, ignoring my comment fully. "These are Magnetic Rifles. Specifically, a Gauss Rifle and a Mag Sweeper. They use high powered magnetic rails aligned in a double helix, to fire solid tungsten bullets, at absolutely insane speeds."
Pausing the breath, she pointed to the long barrel version. "That as you probably guessed, is the Gauss rifle. It operates very similarly to a standard bolt action rifle, meaning you have to chamber each round you fire. However it makes up for this by being an absolute monster in terms of penetration and power. This beauty can and will obliterate just about anything in its path. Well, anything short of a Muton Elite or Mectoid that is."
"It's also both of our main weapons," she winked. "So you had best get used to it quick."
Pointing to the smaller rifle, she continued her lecture. "That one is the Mag Sweeper. It should be pretty obvious, but it's the SMG version of this tech. Same idea, but scaled down. Less armour penetration due to a lower number of coils they had to use, however to compensate for that it has burst fire capabilities."
Her eyes seemed to light up with each word she spoke. "It can fire three rounds almost simultaneously!"
She paused to glace at me, no doubt making sure I was still listening. "The sweeper will be primarily used on missions where we know there will be very limited vantage points. AKA, hostage situations, base assaults, room clearing, and other such missions."
I suddenly didn't like where this was going. Lock seemed to be driving towards something.
What that was, I did not know yet. And that fact alone scared me. I prayed for ABBY to show up any second to give me a hint at the very least.
"And since your run and gun scores from testing were, in fact, fairly low," she mocked lightly, while motioning for me to gear up. "I think we should take this time to get you familiarized with how this weapon works in those sort of scenarios."
She smiled at me evilly as I began to strap my new armour on.
"I think it's time for you to put a time in on the run and gun course."
Wednesday, September 7th, 2024
1400 Hours
The Kill Box.
XCOM's state of the art, and arguably one of a kind, augmented reality training simulator.
This automated, twelve hundred square foot arena was filled to the brim with dozens of movable walls and set pieces, allowing for the computers or personnel running the system to create an almost unlimited number of different scenarios.
And that's not even the best part.
The arena is also home to over forty sequentially placed 2D projectors that line the walls high above the box itself.
These projectors are able to create hyper-realistic, 2D images of pretty much anything you can think of. And when coupled with a specially designed set of augmented reality glasses, plus a literal room filled with nothing but computers banks, these projections can, and will appear, behave and move like their real-life counterparts.
Enemies will fire back at you. When hit, they display in detail where you hit them, hell even your environmental pieces will being to break apart all around you if hit them with a heavy enough projectile.
Even better still, upon entering any simulation, these same banks of computers will also begin to simultaneously track and calculate everything from accuracy and health, to accurate movement of enemies based on your own movement. Giving you the most realistic, ever-changing, and adapting series of kill rooms possible. To test both yourself, and your squads in.
Each new encounter you go into, is generated based on the solider or soldiers', previous performance; allowing the computers or operators, to steadily ramp up the difficulty as you progress. Removing cover pieces, and amping up the enemy accuracy as you go.
Essentially, the better you are, the harder the computer tries to kill you.
And then there is the shock watch. Or as I like to call it, the hero demotivater.
A small wrist or ankle mounted device, used to indicate to a soldier when he or she has taken lethal amounts of damage during the simulation. Namely by sending around one to two milliamps of electricity straight into your body, via multiple contact points.
This voltage, while not harmful, is just enough to make your muscles lock up, and as a result, put you almost instantly down on your ass.
Make no mistake. This is as close to real combat as you can get without hitting the front lines, and is infinitely safer.
Usually, anyways.
Which brings us to the exception of all this.
The Run and Gun Courses.
A series of set in stone, pre-programmed courses, available for use.
These encounters never change. Ever. Allowing for a solider to run through it again and again in different ways, while attempting to clear the course in the fastest time possible.
It's both a fun competition, a good training exercise, and a good opportunity to test both the speed, and the creative thinking capacity of an individual.
It's also one exercise that almost all soldiers seem to take way too seriously.
To the point where some of them run the course on an almost daily basis.
Though that may have something to do with the leaderboard that was installed a few months ago than anything else...
Getting Drew to run through these courses however, served me two purposes.
Firstly, it got him some dynamic experience with the new weapons. Which to be frank, was very important. Especially for the Sweeper, as it utilizes a unique recoil dampening system, similar to the super V found in the Kriss Sub-machine gun.
Secondly, by pitting him against the times of the rest of the soldiers, I had really hoped to ignite that stupidly competitive side of him, and get him to go more all-in on the exercise. Maybe see him make a couple runs, that were more balls to the wall and risky.
That way I could get an idea of his true potential and style.
Needless to say though, that didn't work out even half as well as I had hoped. Thus watching him make his tenth, extremely lackadaisical run of the day, from the safety of the control booth though, proved to be a rather interesting and patience testing experience, to say the least.
"What in the hell is he doing?" I muttered quietly to myself as he painstakingly worked his way through the second-to-last room.
His movements seemed far too conservative and detailed for a timed course run. Far too tense, and low-key for someone who could at any moment get hit with a few hundred volts of electricity.
It was almost as if this wasn't worth his effort or something.
No. That wasn't it. He had been putting a hundred and ten percent into training these last few weeks. Maybe he was tired then?
Again no. He had, as far as I knew, been sleeping well. No complaints or anything about the accommodations.
Maybe he just wasn't able to take it seriously then?
The shock, after all, would likely amount to nothing in his mind, especially after enduring the tank for days on end. I would also hazard a guess that he endured some sort of combat related trauma earlier in life, so enemies he knew were just digital reconstructions wouldn't scare him much.
Meaning that the only thing he was getting out of this exercise was some practice with the new weapons, which if the way he was running the course now was anything to go by, he may as well have gotten at the practice range.
"Hm," I pondered, watching him easily clear the final room with four methodical and controlled bursts.
This just wouldn't do.
Mentally reviewing everything I knew about him, I let my mind wander, exploring idea after idea in hopes of finding the answer to my issue.
He always seemed to take sparring so seriously. Why not this then?
Granted that was probably because there was a real danger of him accidentally hurting himself or me...
A sly smile slowly crept its way onto my face as an idea began to form.
An evil and slightly manipulative idea to be sure, but an idea none the less.
"Hm. Time for a change of scenery." I muttered absentmindedly, as my plan slowly began to form. Inputting a few new parameters into the system and watching as the Kill Box slowly moved to set up the new scenario.
I had about three minutes before he tried to run the course again. More than enough time to set everything up. As long as I hurried.
"Oh, he is going to kill me for this." I scolded myself, as I ran quietly left the control booth with a shock watch in hand.
Click
The freshly loaded mag slid cleanly into place. A low hum almost instantly after, indicating that the weapon was now primed and ready to fire.
Carefully placing it down on the loading table and checking to make sure the safety was turned on, I then reached for my new pistol.
Click Cha-Chink
Magazine in, safety on, and round now chambered, I slid the now fully loaded 1911 into moulded drop leg holster.
All magazines had now been reloaded and replaced, flash bangs were refreshed, the ear protection that Lock had given me was working wonders, and my armour was finally beginning to settle in.
All in all, I was set to go for another run.
Another extremely exciting, totally not already memorized run.
Seriously. So fun.
Looking up at the leader board I almost sighed in annoyance, seeing Locks call sign splattered all over the top ten list.
If she was number one, then what was the point in even trying? Not like I could do better than her right now. Maybe when I'm back at a hundred percent it would be worth it to...
"Combat simulation changed. Mission parameters changed to timed hostage rescue. Voltage output also increased to max level. To prevent injury, please ensure that your Shock Watch has at least one layer of fabric between it and your skin."
I stared blankly at the loudspeaker.
A Hostage Situation? Voltage Increase? What the fuck was going on?
Quickly double checking my shock watch to confirm that it was still strapped tightly over top of both my pant leg and sock, I made my way slowly over to the control centre where I had last seen Lock enter.
"Lock?" I shouted at the heavily tinted windows.
No response.
Maybe this was a test then? But if it was then wouldn't she have told me if she was going to change it?
I mentally smacked myself for that thought. Of course she wouldn't. She was Lockdown after all. Master of the Mind Fucks.
"Simulation begins in T minus thirty seconds. Please move to the starting zone."
A small crowd of soldiers was quickly gathering near the start zone, as the loudspeaker continued its count down.
"Did it say max voltage?"
"Damn that's like taking a taser full force."
"Guy must have reached a pretty high level to get that added in."
"Wait, didn't someone get paralyzed from that strong a shock?"
"I thought they restricted that?"
"Simulation begins in T minus twenty seconds. Please move to the starting zone."
I felt my heart begin to race as more and more people began to show up.
Seems she was to be pretty serious about this. Which meant I didn't have anything to worry about right? I mean, she said it herself, I'm still in recovery stage. She wouldn't try to kill me or anything.
I quickly grabbed my Mag Sweeper, clipping it into the single point sling I wore, and flicked off the safety in preparation for what was to come.
"Simulation begins in T minus ten seconds. Please move to the starting zone."
Jogging quickly over to the starting doorway, I mentally slapped myself a couple time.
This was Lock we were talking about. Yes she can be a bit extreme and all over the place at points, but she does everything for a reason. She wouldn't put me in this situation if she didn't think I could handle it. Right?
Right?!
Breathing deeply I attempted to re focused myself. Preparing mentally for what was about to happen.
The sounds of the world around me began to fade out as I focused in on only the sound of the countdown.
"Simulation begins in three…
Two…
One…
Begin."
I rushed through the doorway not a second later.
The room I found myself in was very small.
Chairs and coat racks lining the back wall, while a large desk, situated beside a large pair of wooden double doors, lay before me.
Mentally running through the motions, I let my muscles memory began to take over.
"Check Right. Clear."
"Check Left. Clear."
"No Ceiling. No need to check up."
"Move to next doorway."
Large desk. Possible receptionist desk. A likely enemy combatant location. No initial movement detected. Indicates combatant likely waiting for movement forwards, to ensure a clean hit. Proceed with caution.
"Welcome back ABBY." I berated, before training my sights directly on the area just above the desk and taking a single slow step forwards.
With a mighty yell, a large masked man popped up from behind the desk. AK47 in hand spraying wildly as he stood.
He got maybe two shots off, before a quick burst from my weapon blasted him onto his back once more.
Full burst confirmed hit. No armour Soft Target. Combatant has a ninety nine percent chance of being dead. Combatant clearly not military trained. Weaponry capable of fully automatic fire. Model outdated. Current arsenal superior. High recoil indicates large rounds. Caution is advised.
Breathing a quick sigh of relief, I followed the advice of ABBY and crept forwards towards the large double doors, keeping my sights trained on the floor by the desk.
Seconds later, the bloody face of the man who attacked me appeared. With a large hole where his left eye should be.
"Make that one hundred percent ABBY." I muttered, moving on to the large set of doubled doors in front of me.
Large Double doors. Receptionist desk. Multiple coat hooks. Likely a large meeting room. Advise use of the door crack. Scout room further.
Rolling my eyes as I knelt, and quickly pressed my cheek up against the door, allowing my right eye to see fairly cleanly through the crack in between the doors.
As ABBY had guessed, the room itself was very clearly, a large board member meeting room.
The large lamented wood table that sat in the center of the room, surrounded by several other black leather swivel chairs, was a dead giveaway. Not to mention the papers and briefcases that littered the table randomly, showing the level of chaos that had erupted not long ago. Probably when the hostages had first been taken.
Four terrorists looking guys, decked out with black balaclavas, tac vests and AK's, had taken up positions facing the door way. Two of them were hiding behind chairs, while the other two were using the low table as cover.
They were obviously nervous and twitchy, glancing at one another periodically before refocusing back on the door way. No doubt wary of my presence, due to the racket I caused killing their buddy.
Their leader however, couldn't be seen due to him sitting low in one of the swivel chairs. That said though, he could very easily be heard. Talking away, rather loudly, to no doubt the hostages, his speech only gaining volume the more he spoke.
The four hostages were currently kneeing in front of this lunatic, with their hands tied, and a gag stuff in their mouths to stop them from talking.
There was one thing however very wrong with the situation.
Namely one of the hostages, was Lockdown.
There was no mistaking her. Kneeing down, calmly awaiting a fake execution at the hands of some programmed religious fanatic, with a Shock Watch very clearly affixed to her neck.
Questions instantly sprang up as I blinked a few times to make sure I was not hallucinating.
What was she doing here? Why was she wearing the Shock Watch around her neck? Did she know about the voltage increase? What the actual fuck was going on?
BANG
I was so shocked by the sound, I nearly fell backwards. The leader had casually stood up and blasted one of the hostages with his pistol, laughing manically as he did so, before retraining his weapon on the other three.
Abby Lockdown Johnson in possible lethal situation. Shock Watch situated close to heart. No fabric visible to buffer shock. Hostage one down. Time sensitive mission. Immediate recovery action required.
Five Armed Hostiles. Weaponry similar to previous combatants. Avoid taking hits at all costs. Tac Vests indicate armour. Head shots advised. Behaviour indicates no real combat training. Hostiles likely to panic fire if startled. Exploitable weakness. Seated male likely leader. Behaviour indicates combat training. Clear religious fanatic. Likely will kill hostages if startled. High priority target. Armour unknown. Head shot advised.
Best option: Delayed double flash bang. Low to ground entry with right side strafe after first detonation. First shot taken after second detonation. Flash bang blind lasts approximately five seconds. Kill Leader first to maximize hostage survival rates. Priority: Protect and secure one Abby Lockdown Johnson.
I blinked a few times as the reality of this situation finally hit me.
There was a time limit. Meaning the chances of me being able to go find someone to shut the system down before the leader killed Lock was low at best.
My hand was being forced.
I had to go through with the rescue.
A rescue that if botched, Lock could die from.
She was literally putting her life in my hands.
What. The. Fuck.
"Ok, Drew breathe. Just breathe. You can do this."
My hands were shaking. My heart rate spiking as I slowly reached for the flash bangs on my belt.
I could do this.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
I can save her.
I allowed myself to sit silently for a second, readying the first flash bang, and praying to every god that I knew, before quickly opening the door and throwing the flash bang upwards.
One
Two
BANG
The instant the first Flash Bang went off, I was through the door, crouching and strafing as fast as possible to the right hand side of the room. Just barely avoiding the hail of automatic fire from the AKs on the other end of the table.
The double doors I was just behind, were literally shredded as bullet after bullet smashed into them.
The second flash bang left my hand, prompting me to duck and cover as not even a second later the detonation could be heard.
BANG
Ears now slightly deafened from the two flash bangs, I quickly stood back up and brought my Mag Sweeper to bear. Sighting in where I presumed the head of the leader would be, and firing the moment I was on target.
Tchu-tchu-tchu, Tchu-tchu-tchu
The chair was almost instantly demolished by the six tungsten rounds that left my rifle, and him along with it.
Step one complete, I began to move my sights right, to pick off one of the four remaining terrorists.
Left combatant recovering fastest. Priority target. Adjusting aim.
Barely even realizing it, I swept the sight picture straight to the left, and blasting the terrorist with another two full burst, just as he started to swing his weapon in my direction.
Right combatants recovering. Priority targets. Adjusting aim.
Quickly sweeping my weapon across the room, I let off a total of six bursts. Effectively emptying the magazine of my sweeper, and hosing both combatants down in a hail of lethal fire.
Last hostile. Sight mostly recovered. Ten rounds remain in enemies' weapons magazine. Inaccurate against moving targets. Move to cover. Now!
I felt myself move to the right, crouching down instantly behind one of the many remaining swivel chairs, just as a spray of automatic fire ripped the chair and floor next to me, to pieces. The blast effectively knocking me to the ground in a spray of wood and polyester.
Laying on my side now, I quickly reaching down, and yanked my pistol from its holster. Using the gaps in the chair to aim, I fired into the legs of the final terrorist, waiting for him to drop before plugging him with the remaining rounds.
Silence.
"Hostages secured. Simulation complete. Please return to the starting area."
Sighing in total relief, I let the now-empty pistol drop from my hands as I made a move to stand once more.
"Well," came the crisp British voice from the other end of the room. "That was a bit more intense than I expected."
