(A/N: Now you guys have made me fall in love with writing again! Well, you better be happy I decided to post another chapter this soon! P )

Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous

Tampico, Mexico

12:49 pm

Day 2 on the Rio Panuco

Carmelita stood at the wheel of the Orca, steering the ship with one hand, munching on a sloppily made sandwich with the other. They had been chugging steady down the Rio Panuco for around a day and a half now, making even greater progress than McCoy had said they would, and the best part was that they hadn't even run into anything remotely resembling a dam or a bridge that would need to be destroyed. For now, it seemed his plan was holding steady, and she had even been able to lock the wheel and get a few hours sleep herself, so calm was the river. She was thinking about doing the same again, wanting to be rested up for the assault.

Still, it did bother her that they were shooting police officers. These men were just like her not so long ago, and they were dying in front of her eyes in scores. She hadn't actually killed one yet, merely wounded two back on the docks. She didn't feel cut out for the criminal side of the world. 'Although, if it only gets as bad as this, it might not be so bad.'

-------------------

Remove the magazine, set it aside. Take a greased rag, wipe the exterior of the casing. Remove exterior parts. Yuck, look at that grime. How did this weapon even fire at all? Take a new rag, start cleaning the interior of the gun. Reassemble gun, put the rag aside, test the action. Smooth, very smooth. Put gun to shoulder, take a bead on nothing in particular. Sights are okay. Could use some adjusting.

Marty used only the most remote comparison to thought as he completed the now familiar task of cleaning the Minimi. Though it had been packed away, either the sailors didn't know how to clean their guns properly, or the days at sea weren't good for the gunmetal. Most likely both.

Marty brought the machine gun down from his shoulder, closing the action again. It clacked shut with a hollow sound after finding no round to chamber. Marty sighed, looking out to the water. That sound was all too comforting to him. There was no doubt about it: he was gun crazy. There had been a man Marty had hunted down, had been in charge of Taloreso's transportation ring, who had laughed in Marty's face, asking him if, when this was all over, he would be able to put his guns down and leave them there. Instead of gracing him with an answer, Marty had simply planted a round between the man's eyes. However, that spoke volumes to Marty himself.

So absorbed was he in the task that usually robbed him of all comprehensive thought that he didn't Caroline's footsteps along the deck until she came to stand right next to him, watching silently. As soon as he had put the gun aside, she tilted her head and asked "Penny for your thoughts?"

Marty's head snapped up, at first anticipating an ambush, but then realizing it was only his…he wasn't sure how to think of Caroline now. Girlfriend? Lover? He'd never felt like this before.

Instead of telling her what was really going on inside his head, he shrugged and replied "Just thinking."

Caroline rolled her eyes and pulled up another chair, sitting next to him as she quipped "Oh, really? I couldn't tell."

Marty smiled and leaned against the rail he had, a few seconds ago, propped his legs up against and cleaned the weapon now sitting beside him. Or, leg, singular. He wasn't sure if a prosthetic could be considered a real leg.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him. He turned to Caroline and said "Hey, you know Interpol, right?"

Caroline's eyebrows went up and she responded "Sure, but it's not like I actually worked for them or anything."

Marty chuckled and continued "Alright, I get it, no more stupid questions, but what I meant was, you know how they gather intelligence?"

Caroline frowned, looking out at the water as she thought before responding "Yes, I suppose. Anything from spies to satellites. Why?"

Marty wet his lips and asked "Any idea how Interpol could've been there at exactly the same time and place we were? It was a bona fide ambush in the making, and if it looks like a rat and smells like a rat…or, how about right when we were about to leave? They knew, and they sent a last ditch effort to stop us."

Caroline's mouth fell open slightly, and she voiced the same thought that had hit them both. "Do you think there's a spy among us?" Marty shrugged. "Who knows? I'd back my boys even if Jesus came down here and said it was one of them. I don't think the Cooper Gang would rat each other out either. Their a pretty tight knit group, almost like family. No, the one I suspect most is the lizard."

"Dimitri? Why?"

Marty shrugged. "Well, he and the Cooper Gang have butted heads before. Only makes sense he'd hold a grudge, no matter what else they did for him afterwards. I know I would."

Caroline's eyes narrowed slightly. "You think he'd rat us out to Interpol?"

"In a heartbeat as long as they were paying him more than we were."

Caroline, turned back to the water, processing that thought. "But…we aren't paying him anything-"

Marty heard it before he saw it. After spending half his life around various guns, the sounds they made had imprinted a tattoo in his head. Now, that tattoo was telling him that something was dreadfully wrong.

And suddenly, it clicked.

"GET DOWN!" he yelled, tackling Caroline around the waist as a loud humming sound fill the air. Suddenly, bullets started tracing a path along the deck, past where Marty and Caroling had been sitting, heading back towards the wheelhouse. The windows weren't bulletproof, and shattered easily. Marty didn't know whether Carmelita had survived or not, but what was important right now was distracting that gunfire.

Getting up off Caroline, he yelled, over the heavy gunfire, "GO TO THE WHEELHOUSE! CHECK ON HER!" She nodded, and started along at a crouch, moving as fast as she could. Meanwhile, Marty, doing the same, awkwardly, thanks to his leg, had gone in the other direction, grabbing the Minimi, thankful he'd had the right mind to leave a fully loaded magazine right next to it. Loading it, he scanned the skies. It took him a few seconds to find the chopper, but find it he did. It was a US Army standard Huey gunship, retired from the Vietnam War. However, it wasn't painted up in jungle green, as most of the US were. Instead, this one was black, with two bones crossed over each other on the door.

"Muggshot." Marty muttered with venom in his voice. Of course. Interpol had failed to stop them, so he was going to try himself. But where the hell had he gotten a thirty-year old chopper?

At that moment, his thoughts were put on hold by the large, triple-barreled M197 Gatling opening up again, pitting the ship with holes that were heading straight for him. Marty took off at a run, firing bursts back every now and then. He knew taking out the chopper itself on his own was suicidal. Instead, he concentrated on firing towards the gunner, hoping that once he took him out, they could get an RPG up here, or force the pilot to retreat.

As the Huey flew over the ship, Marty managed to get one single lucky shot, nailing the gunner in the forehead. However, the body that fell out surprised him greatly. Instead of a dog, as Muggshot was known to recruit, this body was that of a zebra, dressed in the black fatigues of a Special Forces member.

"What the hell…" he muttered, looking back up at the Huey. Now it was at a different angle, he got a better look at the pilot, and wasn't surprised to see a cheetah at the controls, another beside him undoubtedly monitoring the radio. Currently, there was a hyena trying to get back on the gun that the zebra had been manning, and Marty could see movement in the chopper itself that suggested an entire squad. All were dressed in Spec Ops fatigues. 'What the hell…' he thought again, seconds before the gatling lit up again and he was forced to duck.

------------------

Caroline managed to get safely into the wheelhouse, listening to the continuous gunfire of the helicopter and Marty's own gun outside. As long as he was still firing, he was still alive. However, in his weakened condition, she doubted he could keep this fight up very long. Marty was strong, yes, incredibly powerful even, but he couldn't take a hailstorm of lead.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she crept up into the wheelhouse, pushing the door open carefully. The place was a damn mess. The windows had been shattered and everything else had been shredded by the 20 mm bullets, save for one thing: Carmelita herself. She was crouching by the wheel, some of which had been chipped and splinted by the barrage, but still thankfully in working order, clutching her P229 and cursing to herself under her breath in Spanish. The second she spotted Caroline, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Finally! Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, I thought you two had been killed! Get over here!"

Caroline did as she was told, dropping down and crossing over to Carmelita. As soon as she arrived, the gunfire came to an abrupt halt, and they both peered over the edge of the window to see the Huey fly over the ship, dropping the black clad body of the zebra gunner. Though they both recognized the uniform, they were currently trying to find Marty. Finally, they both spotted him, standing near the bow, gun in hand and staring up at the chopper. Undoubtedly, he'd figured out for himself. Suddenly, the gun started up again, and Marty rolled to avoid the large bullets storming towards him. Both women in the wheelhouse looked up at the Huey, determining that it was not, in fact, an Interpol helicopter, and Carmelita lined up the cockpit with her gun, muttering "Adios, feo hijo de perra."

Just as she was about to pull the trigger, Caroline grabbed her hand and pulled the gun back down.

"What the hell are you thinking? They think we're dead up here! Wait until they're actually close enough for us to do something!"

They both looked up at the battle again, just in time to see Marty fire another burst, when suddenly, the large cargo hatch, smack dab in the middle of the deck, split underneath him. The combination of the bullets pummeling a line along after him and his weight running back and forth across had served to weakened it like a can opener attacking a tin can of soup. Of course, the Huey hovered over the holes, the gunner firing into the hatch in circles, trying to increase his chances of actually hitting Marty. Just as Caroline began to fear that he couldn't have escaped that kind of barrage, the door down to the cargo bay on the port side swung open, and Marty came hustling out, looking severely winded, toting an RPG. Perhaps the soldiers, mercenaries, goons, whatever they were, were too concentrated on trying to eliminate him that they didn't see, but suddenly, with a resounding BOOM, the Huey exploded, sending shrapnel, bodies, everything everywhere. The burning wreck of the gunship landed squarely on the spot where Marty and Caroline had had their conversation, tipping the ship and ripping through the railing before sliding off into the Rio Panuco.

Looking very tired and leaning against the door, Marty waved up at the wheelhouse with the empty RPG, yelling "That's…that's not something you see everyday."

The Boneyard Casino, Mexico City

1:54 pm

"And that's Blackjack," said the disgruntled dealer as Mikhail, smiling slightly, raked up his pile of pesos. Sly was right, he was good at this game! Meanwhile, the others were still raking in the cash, and it was undoubtedly true that they were starting to get attention. Mikhail decided it was time to get the others to leave.

However, as he got up and started moving towards the poker tables, another figure slid up next to him, sticking a pistol into his side and whispering "Not so fast. We'll take a small side trip."

Mikhail had to admit, this man had the drop on him. And so, he turned, letting the man lead him away. They slipped past a guard, whom the mysterious gunman nodded to, and into a maintenance hallway before Mikhail's captor clubbed him in the back of the neck. Not anticipating the blow, Mikhail went down, rubbing his neck while his captor, a zebra, it looked like, kicked him in the side and snarled "Alright, listen up. Muggshot says you've got a week, but Taloreso calls that bullshit." He had a faint accent that Mikhail couldn't place until the man swore, identifying him as African. "So, we're going to be taking you down, here and now. The rest of our squad is already dealing with your comrades, so all we have to do," the zebra was now screwing a silencer onto his pistol, turning it to point at Mikhail's head and finishing his sentence with "Is eliminate you. Now-"

Before the man could continue, shot rang out in the casino, and the zebra looked back towards the door, saying "What the-"

Mikhail seized the chance, drawing his own gun and shooting the man in the back of the head. His captor went down without a sound, and Mikhail gathered up his ammo, as well as the silencer, before stepping back into the casino. Sly, Murray, and Julio were all engaged in gun fights with about a dozen other men, dressed at the zebra had been, in black fatigues. Mikhail saw other zebras, hyenas and even a cheetah or two, and reasoned that these were mercenaries. They were certainly toting advanced fire power, in the form of Five-seven 5.56 pistols, P90 SMGs of the same caliber and a few Xm8 assault rifles of M16 power.

It didn't matter. Mikhail wouldn't have cared if they were toting a nuke. He simply drew his own pistols and started firing.

Over at the bar, Murray blasted the face off a hyena with his Spas-12. Obviously, the arm wresting match had gone well, as the bullets that zipped over the bar, Murray's cover, took a few pesos with them every now and then. Sly was bobbing between the slot machines, emptying his Uzis into the mercenaries, and Julio had the sense to tip over a poker table and blast away with his AK.

Between the four of them, they whittled down the Spec Ops men until the last one, a cheetah, finally fell over, having been hit by all four of them at once.

Silence rang throughout the casino, and the four all crept out from their cover.

"Who the hell were those chumps?" Murray asked, poking one with his shotgun.

"And why are they dressed like this?" asked Julio, veering off subject as usual as he picked up a black glove.

"What happened to you, Mikhail?" Sly asked, slipping his Uzi's into his pockets. Mikhail did the same with his guns, shrugging and saying "Apparently, Taloreso is not happy. He was mentioned by the man who tried to execute me."

A small flurry of confusion lit up the others' faces.

"He also mentioned that there were more of them, after Marty and the others."

Now confusion turned to anger and fear.

"That's it," snarled Sly, pulling his Uzis out once more. "Let's get back to the room guys. Grab whatever weapons and ammo we can. We're going after Muggshot tonight."

(Is this really Muggshot's end? And what are Taleraso's men doing here? Find out! The review button is your friend!)