"Professor, Sir? May I say something?" Joker raised his hand.
"Ah, of course, I apologize for getting a little carried away there," Corr grinned, motioning, "proceed."
"With all due respect...it doesn't sound like you or your unit were put through anything all that trying or dangerous. I don't mean any disrespect, Sir, at all, but I have read about other Spec Ops units that have done missions far more dangerous than anything you have…if this holds true."
"Your right, we never did the most dangerous missions, but we by far did the most important…"the elder Irken trailed off, leaning back in his chair uncomfortably"…and most trying as well."
"What do you mean, Sir?" DZ picked up on his seemingly depressed tone.
"What I mean is that if not for us, Praxxus 7 would have been a bloodbath, if not for us, Vort would have stood strong. I know all of you are instructed in the ways of benefiting the greater good, teamwork, and sacrificing the individual for the whole…not all sacrifice is physical.
I still found it incredibly difficult to believe after Commander Vult said we all were going to wish we were back on Praxxus instead of going through the Vort campaign. After that living hell…I couldn't even begin to imagine something that was far more disturbing or trying than what we already had been through…needless to say, I was brought back to reality and reminded just what brutality could be inflicted by so-called sentient races of the universe. I've seen a lot of things in my time, Cadets…and my time on Vort was by far the most traumatizing."
"Sir…was it really necessary for us to use the sewers?" Haxx grimaced, turning up his boot as the slimy muck of Vortian excrement dribbled out. He managed to gag as he watched it land on the floor, remembering the taste of what managed to get in his mouth.
"Did you have a better plan of getting behind the Vortian frontline, Sergeant?" Volx snapped at him, still upset over the tussle from earlier. "There's only about 5 clicks filled solid with soldiers, mechs, vehicles, and Irk knows what else that stood in our way. What better way might you have suggested bypassing such an outpouring of resistance?" She seethed, almost ranting at him.
"Well…for one," he pointed to himself in a sophisticated manner as if he was superior, "I wouldn't wade through my enemy's dookie, and we could have taken the drop ship in and set it down somewhere, all nice and quiet like."
Rem appeared from the washroom of the apartment they were using as a position for the moment. Any residents within a few dozen clicks of the front line were evacuated to safety. For Vult and his team, however, meant they could operate without having to worry about civilians interfering or dealing with them in general. If this complex was still standing after the Irken forces came through and the residents allowed to return to their domiciles…whoever owned this one was going to be very upset.
Not only did they break the door down to gain entrance, tracking who knows what besides refuse all over the floors and on the furniture. Even mentioning the washroom was moot at this point at how much of a nightmare it looked at this point.
"No can do there, lightweight," Rem joked with him, regarding the outcome of their drinking contest, "I may be one of the best, but that ship's not invulnerable. We'd be blown out of the sky as soon as we'd get in range of their guns. They're dug in nice and tight, hoping to keep the Elite Guard at bay, maybe even catch that second miracle and turn them back."
"Why can't we just wait until they come in, smash through the line, and walk through the hole?"
Volx pinched the bridge between her eyes as Rem lost interest in trying to explain things to him, continuing to don her uniform.
"…the whole point of us coming behind enemy lines is to take out key critical military assets, weaken the line, and distract them. A million soldiers or not, they've got triple that easily holding strong."
"Haxx?" Vult spoke, garnering his attention from his seated position on the couch.
"Yeah, Commander?"
"Let me handle all of that," he jokingly stated, "just follow my orders and everything will be just fine."
The Heavy Weapons Sergeant merely nodded as he continued wiping his gear clean.
Vult looked over towards the washroom, the clamoring of Aero, Vard, Sula, and Corr still scrubbing their own respective uniforms and pieces of equipment.
"Come on, we don't have all day," the Commander commented without force, "we're already behind as it is. Just get most of it off so it doesn't affect the active camouflage if we need to use it."
"The smell is absolutely horrendous though," Aero complained, gasping in surprise, "Vard, watch it!"
"Sorry!" he frantically responded, followed by a clatter of him more than likely falling on the tiled floor.
Corr came out about that time, strapping his helmet on, assuring everything was in working order. Rha walked into the living area from the kitchen, his arm loaded full of snacks he raided and confiscated, taking a bite out of a Vort dog.
"What do you have there?" Haxx questioned, standing up. Despite still being filthy by usual standards, he was glad to be so clean once more.
"These horned buggers have some pretty tasty stuff," Rha answered, muffled through a mouth full of food as he tossed a package to Haxx, offering to the others. Corr waved his hand to turn it down, Rem grabbed a few from him, and Volx took one as well. He turned to Tuu, who was posted up in one of the windows, keeping an eye out for anything out of the norm with his rifle, scanning the area.
"Hey Tuu, you want some of this?"
"No, I'm good," he answered, his mind seeming to be elsewhere.
"Something out there?" Rha questioned, concerned.
"I don't see anything, but I have a feeling in my spooch…call it an instinct," he stated under his breath as he continued , "but someone's watching us, civilians, soldiers, I don't know…I just feel it."
"All the more reason why we need to get moving as soon as possible," Vult ushered, more or less out of necessity than panic. "Vard, Aero, out here on the double."
"Yes, Sir," Vard promptly responded, dashing out and sliding to a halt, weapon in hand as he went to attention. His belt was still unbuckled, allowing his pants to fall down around his ankles once more to leave him standing there in his undergarments. Aero casually walked out, trying to wrap her uniform around her chest to buckle it in place, not a care in the world as to who saw her.
Despite Sula aiding in helping her uniforms fit her changed physique, they were still rather snug without completely altering them beyond functionality. After struggling for a moment, it finally latched into place to provide the necessary protection.
"Vard…pull your pants up," Vult shook his head, the small Irken following his orders, securing them around his waist. "Everyone grab your kit, we're moving out, got a lot of ground to cover."
Tuu, however, still couldn't shake the feeling of them being watched. If it held true, then someone already had the advantage on them, and was only a matter of time before a trap was sprung. Sometimes…sometimes it paid incentives to be wrong. This happened to be one of those cases.
Perched in the upper floors of another building that towered over the area with a line of sight that stretched to the horizon, a Vortian sat there, peering intently through his sight assistance goggles, zoomed in on Tuu and the others. Another Vortian sat down beside him, missing several teeth and his mouth still swollen…precisely where Aero had delivered the impromptu blow with the wrench. He noticed then how intently the other was involved as he looked in the distance without a word.
"What do you see?" He questioned, situating himself once more as he picked his rifle up.
The other simply raised his right hand, pointing.
"It appears that ve have company," the other whispered as his comrade leaned forward, squinting through his goggles.
"Where, Rub'Akho, I don't see anything."
"About 2 and a half clicks, straight ahead," he rattled off as his hand returned, still watching, "that residential complex…12th floor, center vindow."
"…Irken scum…" the injured one of the two uttered under his breath as he began sighting up his rifle at the silhouette of Tuu in the distance, only to have Rub'Akho gently lower his rifle with the push of his left hand. "What are you doing, Rub? We have the element surprise, we can kill them without incident."
"Haste makes vaste," Rub'Akho stated, zoomed in on Tuu as well with his goggles, "first…ve vatch and vait."
"Why wait though? They're right there…between the two of us, we can drop all of 'em."
"No…I've been vatching for quite some time, there are at least 6…possibly 8 of them. Spec Ops soldiers, yet…I've never seen uniforms such as those."
"What about their uniforms? Wait a minute…"his comrade added, thrusting an accusing finger in their direction, "I've seen them before! Those are the ones that did this to me!" He motioned to his face and missing teeth, attempting to raising his rifle once more in anger and stopped by Rub once more.
"I said no," he ordered, hardening his stare somewhat, "attacking in hatred is the last thing you do. You must have a clear mind vhen you engage. Observe…nothing more."
"What are we looking for, Rub'Akho? I see…filth, the longer I look, the more I want to shoot them."
"The patient hunter always gets their prey, comrade," he uttered, his eyes fixated on Tuu over the rest of them, "strike vhen they are defenseless and cannot retaliate. Combined vith our superior accuracy and element of surprise…ve vill crush them vithout incident."
"It can't come sooner, my friend," the Vortian soldier responded, rubbing his mouth where he lost his teeth to one wrench blow to the face.
Tuu's rifle finally retracted from the window's opening, his silhouette dissipating as well.
"Come," Rub'Akho promptly stood up, grabbing his rifle as well, situating his dark blue and green uniform, assuring his backpack was strapped down. "Our prey is on the move, ve vill study them and give chase. Unseen and unheard are the perfect hunters, allow us to do so until the time is right, vhen they are at their veakest."
"When do we strike then?"
"Vhen the time is right, comrade, no sooner…no later," Rub'Akho calmly responded, strapping his rifle to his back, drumming claws on the handle of his sheathed blade. "You vill know vhen the time is right, I taught you all that I know, and determining that is second nature to you."
His mouth was covered by a matching zip-up cowl of his uniform, black fingerless gloves allowed his claws to protrude, very similarly to his leggings as his toes allowed for grip and maneuverability on the move. Rub'Akho's armament consisted of a long range plasma rifle that was considered out-of-date by current standards, still forcing the shooter to individually load each energy cartridge via bolt action from the magazine. He favored it over a semi-automatic weapon because of the reliability, simplicity, and overall accuracy, a marksman's most deadly tool. In addition to the rifle of a few generations prior, he possessed a slightly larger than usual vibroblade. The blade itself was wider than the standard issue, a bit longer as well, and had a single sharpened edge that angled to a point.
What escaped his sights was up close and personal. Both were equally lethal with the "Specter of Vengeance", the colorful term that the Irken had come to know him by. He was a paranormal entity to them, one that struck without warning and was nigh impossible to see or catch. The exact number of kills he is accredited with is unknown, but the stories ranged anywhere between 50 to 1,000 Irken slain alone by his steady aim, successful kills at extreme ranges, even with sight assistance and targeting software were impressive feats. The average marksman could drop enemy combatants at around 2 clicks, 2 and a half if they were talented. Rub, however, has made kills in excess of 4 clicks and is fabled to have put a bolt between an Irken Captain's eyes at 7 clicks…well over 14 miles. The truth of these matters was only known to the proprietor of them. The stores spun about his doings only added fuel to the fire and struck fear in the spooches of his enemy.
He kept to the shadows and out of sight as he gracefully ran atop the buildings, climbing, leaping, rolling, and performing other various acrobatic maneuvers to not lose his next target and remain a step ahead. Only problem was his protégé of sorts wasn't as lithe as himself. Rub'Akho came to a stop after leaping another gap turning around.
"Ve mustn't fall behind lest ve lose our prey," he commented as his understudy struggled to hall himself up over the edge that he had just traversed easily, gasping for breath.
"You…you…you're moving too fast for me…to…keep up," he answered, trying to regain control of his breathing.
"Stand strong on your own two feet," Rub'Akho responded coldly, turning around to look over his shoulder as he prepared to continue, "I vill not be your crutch, nor vill you slow me down. If you fall behind…stay behind."
Though chiding in nature, he knew it was Rub's way of encouraging him. The reasons for his overall personality and attitude were unknown, but even for a Vortian, he had never seen one of his own people have such an intense hatred for the Irken. They all were displeased with the Empire's decision to assault their homeworld, but to Rub'Akho…it appeared to be something far more personal than even that, a vendetta that he was going to fulfill…or die trying. That incentive didn't hold much merit when the life you had and cherished was already taken from you. The chosen profession of marksman in his people's army left him with free thought as he watched and waited.
Finally in position and ahead of his target, all he had to do was just that, wait. Rub'Akho possessed a sixth sense when it came to predicting movements, and his instincts told him the Shadow Strikers were going to move through the market square that he was overlooking just over a click away, a decorative fountain in the center of the plaza. Setting his rifle against the wall next to the window, he opened the flap of his other pocket, pulling out a worn photograph…the only memoir of a past life, the one that was wrongly taken from him little over a year prior…by the very same he wished and delivered damnation upon.
"…just like this, Papa?" the hornling, a young child of a male held the rifle that dwarfed him. Much to Rub's surprise however, he was holding it steady, proving his strength and innate abilities he inherited from his father.
"Perfect," the kneeling Rub smiled, pointing towards the target downrange, "now line up the front sight vith the rear like I told you, take aim, and gently squeeze the trigger," he added, giving and example in the air, "just the tip, don't wrap it around it."
"Okay, Papa," the child nodded, following his instructions. Rub just grew even more proud of his son as he heard him draw breath and hold it to take aim, just like a skilled marksman. The rifle fired, nearly toppling the hornling, his father catching him before he fell. To Rub's surprise, he was more excited than frightened from the response from the rifle.
"Did you see that, Papa? I did it!"
"Yes, Mur'Akho," he chuckled, pointing proudly downrange with a smile, "you're just like your father, right on target. Keep it up, my son, you vill surpass me one day."
"I can't do that, Papa, you're the best shot in the entire universe!"
"I vouldn't say that, but it is flattering," Rub smiled, patting Mur on the head gently as he took the rifle, his great-grandfather's old hunting rifle. "Go get your target to show your mother."
It was the very same rifle that he learned to fire at his son's age from his father, and so on. It wasn't the fastest firing weapon, but it was indeed one of the most accurate that Rub had ever laid his hands on. He watched his son bound gleefully towards the posted target, ejecting the spent energy cell from the chamber with a quick turn of the bolt action.
"Show me what?" A female voice beckoned, garnering his attention.
Her bright, blue eyes had natural iridescence to them, shimmering various shades of azure with the change of lighting. Unlike Rub's horns that simply came back and to a point off of his head, her's majestically curled down and forward, much like a ram's would. She was also considerably shorter than Rub by a few inches. Her visage shifted to curiosity to concern after she saw the rifle in Rub's hands.
"Rub'Akho…don't you think he is a little too young to be learning about how to use weapons?" She questioned, watching Mur bound up with the target flapping in the wind from his hand.
"Not at all," he respectfully answered, putting the safety on the weapon and shouldering the sling on it to carry, "vhen I vas his age, I learned from my father, as did he from my grandfather. Ve are a clan of hunters, it's in our blood , Ora. It is only destiny that he knows of his heritage as did I."
"...He's only 9 cycles of age, Rub'Akho, I think he can wai-"
"Mama! Mama! Look what I did! I'm a natural, just like Papa!" He hopped up and down, waving the target around for her to look at. Quizzingly, her eyes looked back and forth between Mur's excitement and Rub simply shrugging his shoulders with a smirk.
"That's…impressive, dear," she commented, noticing the accuracy of the shot that pierced the target. "Why don't you run inside and get washed up, dinner will be ready soon."
With a hug, he ran inside to do so, still pleased with his accomplishment.
"See, Ora? Nothing to vorry about. I instructed him in the vays of safety before I even put the rifle in his hands." He offered, coming to his mate's side, putting his arms around her.
She merely smiled as he did so, finally turning to look into his own eyes.
"Well…as long as you're there watching him. Last thing I need is for our son to seriously maim himself…or worse."
"I assure you nothing of the sort vill happen," he laughed, nuzzling his forehead against hers with a sigh. "The guiding light in my life, I don't know vhat I'd do vithout you, Ora." Rub finished in a consoling tone.
"Yes, what would you do?" Ora commented with a laugh, embracing Rub in a kiss. The hornling returned from the back door of the domicile.
"Mama, when's dinner going to be rea-EEEWWW, gross!" Mur's voice interrupted them. The two of them would agree on one thing that their child was far too young to understand and comprehend love and its various aspects.
The parents simply found it cute and amusing as they broke contact, walking towards their humble abode. Rub lifted his son free of the ground and on his shoulders in one fluid motion, Mur squealing with joy as he was brought up in the air off his feet to be seated.
"Let's see vhat your mother has prepared for you to grow up big and strong."
"I'm going to grow up and be just like you, Papa!"
Ora couldn't help but laugh at the bond shared by father and son.
The 'Akho family entered their humble home via the back door, placing the archaic rifle in the living room above the mantle as decoration and display.
"How vas vork today?" Rub asked of his mate as they took their places at the table, Ora setting the meal she prepared in the center, a stew of some sort by the way things appeared.
"The usual advanced physics and biomedical research like always," she answered, ladling Mur and Rub's bowls. "It's not really work when you enjoy what you're doing and others benefiting from my findings."
"It's amazing that you do all of that, then come home and do this," Rub commented, motioning to the table, "I knew I had chosen the right one vhen I saw you." He jested with a smile.
"Well, if my son is going to learn to defend himself…it is in good interest he learns from the best."
"My father prepared me for vhatever life could throw at me, Ora, the Civil Defensive Force merely sharpened those skills." Commented Rub modestly, placing a spoonful of his mate's excellent cooking in his mouth. "There are no longer any untamed vildernesses on Vort, nor suitable game to be hunted. The next best thing to bring honor to my clan is to serve our people valiantly, as I hope my own flesh and blood vill do one day."
"I'm going to be a soldier just like you, no doubt about it, Papa."
"I wasn't thrilled about you joining the CDF to begin with, but it was your decision and I understand wanting to continue your traditions," Ora pointed out, smiling at him across the table, "but when I assumed your clan name and officially became an Akho, I said I was going to stay by your side through everything, for better or worse. I plan on doing so for many, many years to come. Speaking of that, Rub, how much longer do you have in your term of service?"
"Vell…if I don't sign up for another tour, end of this cycle if I'm not mistaken, vhy do you ask?"
"Well...how does taking an extended vacation to Paradosio sound?"
"Paradosio?"
"We've talked about it before," she mentioned, not surprised that he forgot and let it slide, "the paradise planet. It is populated by hundreds of resorts, nearly endless beaches, and absolutely the closest thing to perfection in the universe. It is part of the Irken Empire, but I heard it is just gorgeous, so much so their leaders are said to spend time there from time-to-time. It would be good for all of us to go. I need a break from work, you're about to have a lot of free time after being discharged, and Mur is of age to come along."
"Really, Mama? I can go with you and Papa in space? To another planet?" The child excitedly questioned.
"Yes, dear…that is if your father agrees, it is entirely up to him," Ora answered her son, turning to Rub to respect his decision.
"Sounds great and all, Ora, but vhat about money? It sounds rather expensive, the shuttle there, our stay and activities…do ve have it to spare? I thought ve agreed on buying a better home…and a better life."
"I've been putting every bit extra that we have back for it, I almost have enough to cover everything, so by the time you're discharged, we will have plenty. The house will come, we can make it work, Rub, we are 'Akho after all." She smirked, playing to his pride quite well.
Rub leaned back for a moment, contemplating the idea.
"Come on, Papa, I want to go into space and fly around the stars!"
He smiled, rustling the top of his son's head.
"I suppose it's settled then," Rub announced with a smile, "once my service is up…ve'll go to Paridosio."
Rub'Akho was startled as a figure was tapping him on the shoulder, instantly bringing him back to reality. Drawing his blade, he slammed the figure into the wall, resting the blade against his throat.
"Easy, Rub, it's me," his companion assured, frightened at the gleaming blade pressed to his skin, swallowing. "I tried getting your attention, you were out of it."
He let the other Vortian back down on his feet, backing away from him
"Regardless, don't sneak up on me," he warned, sheathing the blade once more, the would-be victim breathing a sigh of relief, "I see you managed to keep up vith me."
"I learned from the best," he smirked after the ordeal, finding a seat next to him, overlooking the plaza. "You think they're going to be here?"
"I know they vill."
"How can you be so sure? There are countless possibilities they could seek out other than coming through this area."
"To track your prey, you must think like them," Rub'Akho advised, keeping a keen eye out, "they vere Spec Ops, quite different from any I've ever seen, but Spec Ops nonetheless. If I vas their squad leader, being this far behind enemy lines, I'd try to put as much distance between them and myself. Vhatever their objective is, it matters not, but I know they vill come through. Ve'll put a stop to that, now won't ve?"
"Whatever you say, Rub," he commented, picking something up off of the floor, "you dropped this right before you nearly slit my throat." He added with a lack of amusement, holding the photograph up.
Not so much as a snatch, but Rub promptly took it from him, returning it to his front chest pocket, over his heart.
"Your family? I don't have my own, well, not yet anyway, I do have siblings, all brothers of mine," he explained, hoping to strike conversation with the usually silent Rub, "…of four children, only I remain."
"…Vhat happened to them?"
"We were all stationed on Praxxus 7, the Irken attacked, two fell the first time, and the third the second time. I don't even know if it was luck that I escaped such a fate, only to watch the very same take place in our city streets. I can't even imagine what my parents are feeling…if they're still alive." The novice of the two trailed off sadly, looking down at the floor.
Rub had known this soldier until the second Praxxus incident a couple weeks prior, yet knew nothing about him. This newly-revealed information found a way to his heart, uncomfortably close to home that another had experienced the loss of a loved one.
"…yes, my mate and child," the masterful sniper finally informed with a depressed sigh, "…my life…stolen from me." Rub finished, clenching his fists in frustration. He slowly lifted his head once more to focus on the task at hand, running an open claw over his head. "I'll never forget that day, a painful reminder and fuel to my flames of vengeance that vill not be extinguished, not until retribution is paid in full. Innocent blood, Vortian blood…my blood, is on their hands. I await the day that ve can take the fight to their world, comrade, to their people. I vill personally see to it that they bleed on their lands and deliver the righteous punishment that they all deserve until the fields run emerald vith their blood."
"When, not if it comes, Rub, but when it does…I'll be right there by your side, just as I am now." He supported, gently laying a hand on his shoulder for reassurance.
Rub nodded in agreement, thankful that he had his cowl up to not allow him to see the smile, something he hadn't done for a long time, beneath. The camaraderie was broken as Rub'Akho's attention quickly focused once more, sifting through the various settings on his goggles. Something didn't feel right, partially due to his experiences and his innate senses, so it would seem
"So how'd it ha-" he attempted, only to be cut off by Rub cutting an open hand through the air to be silent, motioning to the empty street hundreds of feet below.
"Switch to EM, look across the street, right…there," he pointed to the pillars of a building front that jutted from the walkway. "Just as I expected…"
Sure enough, no sooner than the goggles adjusted, 8 white-hot, fuzzy blurs in the shape of Irken soldiers were in view, moving cautiously down the walkway, using anything and everything for cover. Switching back and forth between his normal and Electromagnetic view, he saw that they were cloaked and invisible to the unaided eye. He was at a loss for words at how Rub was able to be so precise and pinpoint exactly where they were going to be.
"Radio for any Vortian forces in the area," Rub ordered in a whisper, "tell them to standby and await my signal to attack from these coordinates," he continued, locking and sending a pair of waypoints across the plaza just out of view.
The veteran sniper of the two picked up his rifle, gently resting it upon its built-in bipod as he placed it in the windowsill, looking through a crack in the drapes that fluttered gently in the wind. His goggles zoomed into focus on the shapes, slowly scanning across them for a better look.
As strange as the uniforms were, they were the enemy regardless, and will be dealt with as such. Rub'Akho gently slid the safety into the firing position, resting his fingertip on the trigger…just as he had been taught by his father, and how he had taught his son. The sharpened mind of the 'Akho clan and hunting abilities carried on through the times and was going to be proven positive once more on the battlefield.
"Three squads and an APC crawler are responding, Rub," he whispered after ending his radio conversation. "Orders?"
"Tell them to hold and open fire only on my signal," he uttered, squinting his left eye as he begun to take aim with the right, the crosshairs adjusting and zooming into place on his first target. "Now, comrade…the hunt truly begins."
Meanwhile, the unit maneuvered streetside, sticking to the shadows in the afternoon sunlight as they pressed forward, on the move since early morning. Though pushing their limits, it wasn't anything the Shadow Strikers couldn't handle, nor had not prepared for through meticulous conditioning and training.
"We're making good time, keep up the pace," Vult's hushed voice uttered over the comm. link, a hand signal to press forward following, "we should be at the objective by sundown at this rate."
"What's the matter, Tuu?" Haxx commented in a taunt, watching the Irken sniper's eyes dart about with his rifle at the ready. "You scared of a few Vortians?"
"We're several clicks behind enemy lines in their controlled territory, in the open for Irk knows what else to come down on us without warning, so yes, Haxx, I am just a little, more nervous than anything."
"Sergeant, shut your mouth and stay alert," Corr ordered harshly into his headset through the radio, a quick turn of the head to lock eyes with him. Even at a distance and behind a black visor, he could feel the Captain's eyes burning into him. "Latrine duty will be the last thing you'll have to worry about if you compromise us in any way."
"Understood, Sir," he shrunk back, sighing as he adjusted the plasma repeater draped across his shoulders to bear the weight on the move more efficiently.
Rub'Akho's sights rested just in front of Haxx's head, ready to put a high-caliber plasma bolt through the Irken's head with the squeeze of a trigger. He held the Sergeant's life in his hands.
"Seriously, Haxx," Rha added, "if I get shot or something because of your screw-up, I'm going to be more than upset."
"Oh yeah?" He responded with a laugh, walking backwards to face the Corporal, "what are you going to do abo-" was all that he managed before catching the back of his foot on the curb, falling down….just as a bolt of white-hot plasma splashed against the wall where his head once was, followed by the echoing crack of a rifle. The mortar of the stone façade cracked and bubbled as molten slag poured out of the fresh potch mark where the narrowly-missed round, mainly by dumb luck, had struck. They instantly went into survival mode and trusted their instincts more than anything once the sound of the shot reached their antenna.
"Sniper!!!" Rha yelled, grabbing his comrade on the ground by the collar to lift him to his feet quickly as he broke into a run for cover.
Vult thought on his feet, attempting to find suitable cover while still having offensive capabilities. The decorative fountain had sculpted figures around its perimeter and a high stone wall to offer ample protection from sniper fire. "In the fountain, move!"
The ten Shadow Strikers sprinted for the structure, all leaping and sliding over the edge, one after another, into the placid, shallow pool of liquid with splashes. It was very similar to water and held aquatic properties, but was more gelatinous in nature. The substance was tacky and stuck to their uniforms. Regardless of the cloaking, it rendered it useless, and automatically powered it down to conserve energy. Their black and red uniforms stood out clearly against the granite
"Tuu, take him down," the Commander ordered, looking around for his sniper, only to find him dashing inside the buildings they were just moving in front of for cover. "…Tuu! Sergeant, get back here!" He yelled, keeping behind one of the figurehead decorations around the fountain. "Murata vodeta…anyone hit, everyone good?" Vult returned to the 9 present, looking all of them over for any injuries.
"You had to open your ikveda mouth, didn't you?" Rha incredulously questioned, shoving him in the shoulder with a growl of resentment.
"Me? It was Tuu's fault being scared of a bunch of horned freaks!"
"Quiet, both of you," Corr demanded to keep order before they lost control of that in this situation. "Keep your heads down, Vard, get Tuu back here on the double, see if we have any friendlies in the area."
"Yes, Captain," He obeyed with a nod, staying calm as he began using the long-range array, the Shadow Striker sniper out of range for short-wave communications.
"Orders, Sir?" Aero beckoned to Vult, finally catching her breath from the dash to safety.
"Just hold tight until we get a fix on that sniper's locate-"
"Commander, hostiles incoming!" Corr announced, standing up just enough to level his rifle over the edge at the incoming Vort forces across the plaza, easily between 20 or 25 soldiers on foot, reinforced with a Vortian APC.
"Hold fire, don't compromise our position!" Vult ordered, remaining steadfast in command, despite his options…and chances of survival dwindling fast. It was then it donned on him, and was more than aggravated at himself than embarrassed for being so careless. Everyday was a gamble with life, but they had always seemed to stack the deck in their favor, this time, however…this time they were dealt a losing hand.
Vult walked them right into a trap without even realizing it.
"Sornoto!" Rub cursed through grit teeth at the missed shot, quickly actuating the bolt action of the rifle to load a fresh round into the rifle. "…not again." He promised to himself, targeting the only Irken he had a shot on, a rather short one with the comm. array attached to his back and antenna jutting from his helmet.
"I von't miss this time…" he trailed off, the sight manually hovering around his head and chest. At little over a click, it was an insult for him to use aim assistance for such an easy distance for a skilled marksman. The Specter of Vengence slowly applied pressure to the trigger once more, "Unloto vor Vortoten Moydo Akho…" he uttered, translated roughly as:
"In the name of my people and honor of my clan…"
The rifle fired once more, staying true.