Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous

2 miles Southwest of West Berlin, Germany

1:43 AM

Two years after the Cooper Vault affair

Marty McCoy leaned around a corner, peering towards his target, pulling his brown peasant's cap further down his face. The man standing guard looked like he was just sleeping on his feet. Perfect. Marty drew a small walkie-talkie out of his pocket, and whispered a few things into it, listened, responded, then put the talkie away. Fog was rolling through the dockyards he was at, and the guards were spaced too thin. Perfect. All of a sudden, the guard jerked, whirled around, jerked again, and fell over. After waiting for a few seconds, Marty slowly made his way forward, his father's machine gun raised and ready, and checked the guard's pulse. Nothing. He was dead.

Smiling, Marty looked around, then whispered into the talkie, "Nice shot Julio."

His response came in the form of a shape leaping down from a nearby rooftop, holding a sniper rifle.

Stepping through the fog, the wolverine smiled a toothy grin and said "Nenhum problema, estava estando assim ainda, um elefante cego teria o problema faltá-lo."

Marty frowned and then smacked the wolverine upside the head and snarled "You're speaking in Portuguese again! How many times do I have to tell that I can understand Italian, I can understand German, I can understand Russian, I can even understand Swahili for Christ's sake, but I can't understand Portuguese!"

Julio scowled, stooped low and picked up his beanie, muttering "All I was saying was 'No problem, he was standing so still, a blind elephant would have trouble missing him.' What's so wrong about that? Maybe you should just learn how to understand Portuguese. It's not like you HAVE to speak it."

Marty sighed, rolled his eyes, then focused back on the talkie. Julio was indeed Portuguese, and liked to speak his native tongue often. His voice was accented, and people sometimes mistook him for a Spaniard. Marty's accent was more a mix of Italian, Scottish, and Russian, since he'd gone to Stalingrad for boarding school because Don Cordasco couldn't take care of him. This blend caused his accent to sound more like a New Yorker, and Marty hated that. He hated Americans, who always lived in luxury. He'd had nothing, come from nothing, and been treated like nothing for just about all of his life. That was the same with Julio, and the third member of the gang.

Speaking of which…a shadow detached itself from the others hugging the buildings around them.

It stepped towards Marty and Julio and said, and a Russian accent "I'm here."

Marty scoffed and turned to the shadow, saying "About time. What took you so long?"

The shadow emerged into what little light there was. Mikhail was a black panther, and as such he was their undercover, assassin, and stealth man. Strapped to both legs were two silenced Glock pistols. Each member of the gang had their own special guns. Marty had stolen his father's machine gun back from the police, who had raided his home after the demise of his parents. It was a 1928 Thompson, or Tommy gun as it was commonly named. His side arm was a Desert Eagle magnum semi-automatic, which he'd taken off the dead body of Don Taloreso's dead informant in the Cordasco family, after Marty himself had discovered the weasel and filled him full of lead from the Tommy gun. Julio had a Russian sniper rifle, an old World War II Mosin Nagant with a scope, a silencer, and an extension to the barrel, which had a long piece of cloth wrapped around where the rough weld of the barrels had been made. The rifle, thanks to a little ingenuity and teamwork from Marty and Julio, now fired special rounds that were custom made by Julio himself. The bullets would hit the target, then rapidly deteriorate, releasing the poison inside. His side arm was a Buntline revolver, to which he could attach a smaller scope onto the long barrel, and a wire frame onto the handle. However, Mikhail was different. He chose to simply wield his silenced Glocks, but wouldn't tell where he got them. It made no difference to Marty, but Julio was always bugging Mikhail about it. Actually, Julio bugged Mikhail about EVERYTHING.

Mikhail scoffed and said "I had to take care of some troublesome dogs, comrade. They were coming down thebank and I did not see them until it was too late. The good news is that no one will find them unless they drain the river."

Marty relaxed slightly, then stiffened up and said "Good. Let's keep going. If we're going to destroy this hub, we've got to do it before daybreak."

Let me pause for a second and explain. In mafia terms, a 'hub' is a supplier who gets illegal goods to all sorts of rackets for all sorts of people. Let's say you knew a weapons manufacturer and wanted to make some money. Well, then you simply get in contact with different gangs and mobs, then ship the desired goods two days early for big cash. Technically, a hub is neutral, since it ships to both sides of a mob war, or city, or even for completely different people, such as selling to the police AND to street gangs. This is the kind of hub that Marty had targeted tonight. This man, a Canadian moose by the name of Jack Wilco, AKA 'Wild Wilco', had worked for Jean Bison before the bison's downfall. He'd managed to sneak away some weapons and spice, then managed to escape with it to start his business before Bison tangled with the Cooper Gang.

Marty ground his teeth at the thought of the raccoon, hippo, and turtle who had played globetrotter and taken down the Fiendish Five, the Klaww Gang, Don Octavio(who's business and property had immediately been scooped up by Don Taloreso), General Tsao, Captain LeFwee, and the mysterious Dr. M. Yes, the world knew about Dr. M. No, he wasn't alive; not anymore. He'd been an inch from death when Interpol hauled him out of the fallen mountain. Then, he'd been sentenced to death for attempted murder of two Interpol officers and illegal genetic experiments. There was enough evidence, as well as Fox's and Cooper's testimonies, to put that ape six feet under.

Marty peered through the dark fog, and, seeing and hearing nothing, whispered "Alright, you both know the plan, right?"

The two others nodded, and Marty said "Then what the Hell are you standing around for? Move!"

Meanwhile, 1/4 mile North

Sly Cooper crept forward with his partner Carmelita Fox, both of them clutching their Interpol standard issue shock pistols. They were about two hundred feet from the compound gates, and they could plainly see the dogs patrolling the fence. In order to not be spotted, they'd taken several back roads out of Berlin, then parked the police car they'd borrowed in a small thicket, about five minutes walk from there. Sly and Carmelita both knew what was in there, and both were eager to get in. One because they could then kick some criminal ass, and the other because there was who knows how much money inside. I'll leave you to guess who had which desire.

Carmelita crouched behind a large boulder overlooking the compound, while Sly lay on his stomach, peering over a log. This was it. The night they were finally waiting for. Wilco was a supplier to just about all the Paris streets gangs. If they took him down, then they could easily take back the city without hassle. Interpol had declared war on the criminals of the world after Sly had supposedly gotten 'amnesia.' In truth, he was just fine. He could remember everything; the showdown with Muggshot in Utah, the kiss with Carmelita at the Kra-Karov volcano in Russia, breaking out of the Contessa's prison in Prague, robbing Jean Bison's trains in Canada, watching Murray dance in radioactive oil in Australia, revealing the Black Baron's true identity in Holland, the pirate battle with LeFwee in the Caribbean, and the fight with Dr. M in the Cooper vault on Kaine Island, two years ago. He remembered it all. But he had to act like he didn't. It wasn't really that hard actually. All he had to do was stay clear of conversations that pertained to his previous adventures.

Sly was brought out of reminisce by a playful smack on the head, which knocked his peasant's cap askew. Straightening the cap, he looked up at the smiling face of Carmelita. Ah, yes, one more detail; he and the beautiful vixen had currently been going out for the last six months.

"C'mon ringtail, pay attention." Carmelita teased, shoving Sly a little harder than she meant to.

That was a small problem with her. She never knew her own strength, which sometimes resulted in suspects being crippled.

Sly grinned evilly and said "I was just thinking about last night." Carmelita's smile faltered slightly and she blushed heavily. If you do the math right, which shouldn't be too hard, you'll be able to figure out what happened.

Swatting him again, the vixen muttered "Don't talk about that again, okay? At least, not while we're out of the house."

Again, Sly grinned evilly and said "Yours or mine?"

Again, Carmelita swatted him, a little harder, though.

"Cooper! Honestly, I thought you agreed that we'd leave all mentions of our relationship in private."

Sly lookedleft, then right, then behind him, then said "There's no one else around except for those guards down there."

Carmelita sighed, a smile on her lips as she said "You're impossible. C'mon, it's time we got Wilco and took him into custody."

With that, both of them took off towards the compound.

Meanwhile, 500 feet South

Marty, Mikhail, and Julio all crept up to the door to the main warehouse. Marty nodded and Mikhail held up his paw and extended a single, sharp claw. The door was actually two big doors, made so trucks could go in and out, with one single padlock and a keypad next to the door frame. While Mikhail picked the lock, Julio started disassembling the keypad, exposing the circuits. Marty kept them covered, keeping his Tommy gun level, pointing it in random directions, where there was fog. It was strange how there only seemed to be fog down here at the river, but not up in the hills only a few hundred feet away. Maybe it had something to do with the water.

Shrugging, Marty turned back around to find Mikhail and Julio finishing up, Mikhail, pulling his claw out of the lock, retracting it, and then pulling the lock off, and Julio putting the keypad back together and punching in the reprogrammed code. However, even though the doors began to open, they stopped suddenly, just short of where Mikhail could slip in. Cursing under his breath, Marty slammed his shoulder into the crack between the doors. As the muscle of the team, this was where he came in. The doors, having been convinced that this wasn't a great position, slowly resumed their opening, until they were fully open.

Slipping in, all three aimed their guns in separate directions while Marty quietly said "Okay, Julio. Can you see the guards up on the balconies?"

Julio flipped a switch on his rifle scope and the view changed to thermal.

"Sim."

Tight lipped, Marty muttered, "Okay, start nailing them."

Ten seconds later, Julio whispered "That's the last one."

Marty nodded, then said "Okay, guys, you know the plan; Mikhail will creep through the warehouse, taking out any guards he finds, Julio will head to the six pressure points and plant the C-5 charges, wiring them all to the same trigger. I'll go give Wilco a visit and find out what's…uh…what, if you catch my drift."

They caught his drift, alright, but didn't say anything. Marty was a master extortionist, and knew exactly what made people crack.

They split up, and Marty climbed a ladder that went up to a balcony, then walked down a second story hallway until he came to a door labeled 'Jack Wilco.' Crudely written underneath were the words 'Keep Out!' Marty rolled his eyes, then looked around and, finding the air vent, kicked it open, then shoved his Tommy gun in just enough so it would be hidden from anyone who didn't know it was there, but not enough so he couldn't find it.

Pulling his trench coat around himself, he then knocked on the door twice, then kicked it down. Jack Wilco was crouching behind his desk, clutching a shotgun. As soon as Marty knocked down the door, the moose stood up and began to draw a bead on the horse. Striding quickly over, Marty landed a punch in Wilco's gullet, then twisted the shotgun from his grasp and threw it out the window.

Grabbing Wilco by the shirt, Marty hauled him upright and snarled "You're out of luck, my friend. I want to know who you supply, who else they're counting on, and where the other suppliers are."

The moose shoved him away, massaging his stomach, and said "You talk tough kid, but you ain't fooling me. You won't get shit outta-oof!"

That was Marty clocking him with a roundhouse punch. Grabbing the moose's shirt again, he pulled him close and said "I want your full cooperation, and I'm gonna get it,capeesh? I'll cripple you if I have to; now tell me where the goddamned suppliers are for Don Taloreso!"

Again, the moose pushed him away and said "Go take it up the ass, you son of a fat bit-"

CLICK.

That was Marty's pistol, which was currently pressed to the area between Wilco's eyes. He'd drawn fast, too fast for the naked eye to see, but if you can believe it, Mikhail was faster; a lot faster.

"Now," said Marty, through gritted teeth. "For the last time, tell me who else is supplying Don Taloreso, and where they are currently operating."

Wilco, in a panic now, pointed at the desk, his eyes never leaving Marty's gun, leaving him cross-eyed. Marty walked over to the desk, holstered his gun, and started going through the drawers. It was only a small scraping sound that warned him, but it was enough. He quickly ducked beneath the wooden desk as Wilco fired the snub-nosed revolver he'd had in his back pocket, the bullet ricocheting off the desktop and into the computer on it. Marty rolled out from behind it, pistol drawn, and fired three shots, two in the chest, one in the head. Wilco was dead before his gun hit the ground. Holstering his pistol again, Marty resumed his ransacking, until he came up with a folder that held information on all the suppliers in Europe. He quickly discarded the documents of the people who didn't supply to Taloreso, and was about to leave when something on another piece of paper caught his eye. Two or three other suppliers were shipping to two rat brothers, one in London, one in Paris. They were the rats who had mercilessly slaughtered his parents and Don Cordasco's men. Quickly, he grabbed the supplier's information, stuffed them into the folder, which now only contained about six or seven papers, and left, grabbing his Tommy gun from the vent on his way back to the main room of the warehouse.

Mikhail and Julio were done, and, upon seeing their leader alive, headed for the door, Julio holding a wireless detonator. Upon making it out of the warehouse and back to the dock, Marty turned to the wolverine, nodded, and started up their boat as Julio flipped up the plastic cover, then pressed one button. A red light came on, which meant that the explosives were armed, and if the trigger came within fifty feet of them, they would explode. This was designed to prevent any persons who had captured them and were searching for the explosives to be very successful. Once the red light stopped blinking, Julio pressed the second button. In a tremendous explosion, the charges went off, blowing out the load-bearing pillars of the warehouse, bringing the whole roof and everything else down on the explosives planted in the center, which were on proximity trigger. In an explosion that would have rivaled an atomic bomb, just about the whole compound went up in an ear-busting explosion. Satisfied, Marty started piloting the boat downriver, back towards Prague, where they would ditch the boat and get a train ride to Naples. Only one thing had not gone according to plan; or so they thought.