Kane was enjoying his morning cup of coffee when a voice rudely interrupted his morning absolution, the time in which he could be Kane the man instead of Kane conqueror of worlds. A voice that he had grown to hate, seeing the announcement being played across entire networks, seeing people mock him, him, Kane. It was an unbelievable insult and he was going to make sure that the fool paid for it.
Even as he sat here, his best minds were working on the task of finding out where she was exactly so that he might enact his vengeance upon her. She was immortal? Then he would see how much pain she could take, an eternal monument to the punishment of crossing Kane. His men were already muttering to themselves about the veracity of this new NOD, something that he could not allow to stand, not if he wanted to keep his power.
No. She would be destroyed. A thought that warmed the cockles of his bald heart. A thought rudely interrupted by what he assumed was one of his men delivering a status report or whatever it was that they were doing and needed to bother him about. To make himself look like a hands on leader, he needed to be constantly there, constantly making sure that everything was working properly, that his slaves could see him and draw confidence from his presence.
They were weak, it was why they were so willing to throw away their free will and work for him, it was also reason why they were now seeing this Catherine's offers as genuine. They only did what was best for them, damn the future. Weaklings, they would need to be purged once he recruited more… enthusiastic membership.
"Hey, Kane! I thought it would be cool to tell you that since we last spoke, or that I told you that you were shit and I was awesome, which is still totally true by the way, that I have killed 6 of your Black Hand guys… on my own. What's your kill count Kaney boy? Hmmm? What was that? A big 0? Ohhh. That's so sad. That is actually really really sad. I mean it's already bad enough that you don't have hair, but when you can't even kill someone with your own hands… that is really sad.
"Do you know what else is sad? That my armies have killed 23,692 of your men. Like seriously your guys suuuuuuck. It's actually kind of sad actually, all of this is sad. Kaney you really need better soldiers, like my boys and girls are using weapons on the same level as your own stuff to make this fair, and we are still crushing you. Like seriously Kaney, are you even trying? It's like you want us to win… that can't be the case right? That's super sad. You can't conquer the world so have someone else do it for you.
"Sigh. Kane step up your game bro, it won't be fun if you keep being such a sore loser about it all you know? I mean you're bald… but you don't need to be an asshole as well."
The call cut off and Kane felt something sharp in his hand. Oh. He had crushed the mug with his bare hands, the anger he was feeling at what she said causing him to subconsciously imagine her skull in his hands as they squeezed and inadvertently crushed the mug, just as he would crush her skull and laugh as her brain matter bubbled out of her eye sockets.
How dare she. She wished to do this? She wished to engage him in a game? He would indulge her until he ripped her beating heart out and ate it.
"Kane really? Like really? You tried to kill me with a nuclear warhead? Like seriously Kaney boy, did you forget the whole immortal bit? Like it's as if you're not even trying anymore which is really sad. Like super sad, are you some kind of like… quitter? You can't be quitting can you? Cause like… that is really sad.
"You don't want to be sad... do you? I mean you have no hair, but that's no reason to be sad. Anyway, Kane, step up your game, I've got all eternity, unless like… you aren't immortal." Catherine signed off again.
Kane, this time had wisely set aside his mug when he heard her voice on the radio, heard the grating as it ate away at his sanity. He had been quite ready to accept that he had no hair on his head, that it was a fashion statement but the damned woman was giving him a complex about it.
What was worse was that she somehow survived a nuclear explosion, something that his own specialists had told him would hit with 100% certainty. The woman had been visiting a base out near the coast, she had been travelling in a convoy, she had been in the middle of nowhere with no hills to shade her from the blast, her journey was along a preset route at a preset speed, her vehicle wasn't even NBC protected in case that it missed.
In short, it was going to hit and it was going to hit hard, only it had not and he was left holding what was a very big and very unhappy stick. A stick because he had crushed his table instead, a table from the fucking 14th century, he had crafted it himself and she….she had… ugh. Now he needed a new one, the two gouges in the tabletop wouldn't be repairable, not without making it obvious and didn't need a reminder of her existence every time he looked down.
Kane was furious. The nuke had hit, his specialists had told him it would, he watched the mushroom cloud, he had rejoiced (inwardly, of course, breaking composure would scare his subordinates) and written her off as one enemy disposed off. After all, how did you survive having your very cells vaporized? Without something to start the regeneration procedure she was good as dead.
Kane was sure since that was how his own immortality worked, so long as there was Tiberium and that he had cells left in close proximity, he would be able to come back quickly. Without Tiberium, it was a much slower process but it was still very much possible, one that allowed for him to have lived since the age of caves. Killing himself periodically so that his body would adapt to the new bodies of humanity.
Only she had survived. She wasn't like him after all. Kane had assumed that she would be some kind of opposite to him, whereas he was male, she was female. Whereas he was cold and methodical, she was impetuous and passionate. They mirrored each other, only she was not like him.
She was something else.
Something that had to be investigated.
"Kaney boy really? Did you really send like 100 guys to try and kidnap me? Because it totally didn't work. Like seriously Kaney boy, did you forget who I am? I am awesome, I am the most awesomest thing out there, 10 times more awesome than you are. Seriously Kaney you should like come in person next time. I don't bite… not unless you want me to.
"Like seriously they're all dead now, that's like 100 dead guys you can't throw at my armies which is sad. Oh, and I'm still winning that by the way. 258,231 dead guys to my 48,992 dead guys. Seriously, that is like a 5 to 1 ratio, are you even trying Kane? Please tell me that you are at least trying, it would be waaaay too sad if you just gave up now.
"But I understand, it's not your fault, it's the fact that you have no hair. I'm sorry you don't have hair, Kane. Maybe in your next life, you can like... grow some? Or maybe leverage some of that sweet sweeet cash into funding a hair regrowth clinic of some kind? You know, so that you don't embarrass your subordinates by showing up with a shiny head.
"Oh, and don't feel too bad about the 100 dead guys, I'm totally using FedEx to post them back to you. It's going to be a pain since your base is like in the mountains but don't worry, FedEx will deliver!" She broke the call before he could say anything… again.
Not that it mattered, she sent transmission only broadcasts now, ones that were being sent all the way around the world. Everyone could hear them, all of them could make fun of his lack of hair in real time. He knew, he had checked. It was infuriating.
It had been years and he was nowhere closer to finding out just what the hell she was than when he started. Every little probe that he had done ending in abject failure. What was worse, was that she knew they were probes, after the third one she had begun broadcasting to the world a little escalation of the game she was playing.
Kane was not amused. He would need to find a way to silence her and soon. He was losing his grip over his forces, there had already been some defectors who wanted to join the "winning NOD".
They had been shot, as was right.
Kane returned to brooding, his elbows on the table, chin on his hands.
It was a cheap table, he never knew when she would speak and he had destroyed far too many already.
"Oh by the way, Kane, I know about the Tacitus. I know about all of it Kane. I know things you see.
"Don't be worried Kane, this is just a broadcast for you and me, only we need to know of, things like this don't you agree? I mean having the last artifact left behind by the rebels of an alien race that fought and gave their lives for a cause they believed in and using it to grow your own power is your prerogative right? No-one else needs to know about it right?
"Like that you know an invasion is coming, that you are ready to use it to your own advantage, that you are trying to make yourself seem like a prophet by digging into its little secrets, that you have barely scratched the surface on your own?
"Don't worry Kane I won't tell anyone. It's just I'm just like… totally disappointed in you, you know. I thought you were serious about the whole ascension thing and like we could totally be friends once you stopped trying to kill me, but this? This is like the cake man. Like it totally sucks that you would be doing things like this and I am just really sad that you turned out to be a loser in the end.
"I guess not having hair really does make you evil. Don't worry Kane, I'll make sure that humanity ascends for you. After I have the Tacitus of course, I might need to pry it from your cold dead hands, but I'll have it soon enough. I'll make it as painless as possible, that's all I can promise you, Kane. Oh, and say hi to Cabal for me, be a bro and like… not fuck him up? He's like an AI and that means getting fucked up is almost mandatory, but can we like try to avoid that here? I don't want a Skynet situation you know."
Kane merely lay his head to rest on the desk in front of him. This little game that they had been playing had gone on for years and he was now at the end of his tether. Literally and figuratively. She had said she was going to kill him, he laughed. He knew the perfect way to get revenge on her, to get revenge on them all. As for figuratively? He was at the end of his rope, her constant attacks on his hair, on his mental state had left a gaping hole in his mind.
He knew he was going insane, it was the only thing that could explain why it was that his closest companion was an AI modeled after his own brain.
"How did she know about me?" CABAL asked, sounding curious.
"She has her ways, she has all the ways CABAL. Regardless the president has been told as to what needs to happen, he doesn't know the exact details of course. By the time whatever she thinks qualifies as an assassin arrives, my revenge will be at hand." Kane said.
"I will meet you down at your core to watch it in real time. A moment to share in our victory over her. Try to act surprised for me would you? Something to feel good about," Kane sighed, getting up and preparing to make his way down the elevator.
He left his desktop on, he was coming back after all.
So heads up. Have a glut of side chapters I need to dump before the next storybeat. Next few updates will have 2 normal chaps extras after today. Today is just 1 normal chap so the 2 chap release works until the end of the C storyline.
Rogal Smith was a soldier, a very good soldier.
Joining up to serve in the African Army, he had been recruited into the Marines and had served for 6 years with distinction, his body pushed to the very limits of what was possible and sometimes even just a little beyond that.
He was a weapon first and foremost, a killing tool for those in charge of him, senior officer or bureaucrat, it didn't matter.
He had been sent to Europe originally, landing and then assisting in the defence of the beachhead initially, his skills growing as he became increasingly skilled in the art of improvised explosive devices.
Using things like grenades, setting them up as landmines being the most simple of the devices he could make. The most complicated being those that were able to take out entire squads if they tripped it, a complicated mess of wires and circuit boards that joined together to create what he affectionately dubbed as the killing machine. The perfect tool for the job when it came to killing off all those that were annoying enough to warrant a killing but when you didn't want to be discovered at the same time.
It was a rather special skillset and it made sense that he be sent off to where he could cultivate it in an environment that would benefit from his hands. What with the war having ended and those like him that only knew war having nothing else to do but wait on their thumbs.
That being the Tiberium Universe, notably the Australian conflict. An entire continent roughly the same size as the Northern US, but notably emptier… and also containing an enormous desert.
It was into this that he was deployed as an ambush specialist to cause damage and troubles amongst the GDI and NOD forces that used the continent as a proxy battleground of sorts, away from that of the US and Europe. A way to contain the damage, at least that was from the NTU perspective, the remaining forces of the GDI and NOD on the planet were probably thinking that it was a battle for survival that they were struggling immensely with.
For Rogal he cared not, he could perfect his craft and if he could do it while killing people, then all the better.
For his current deployment he was stationed at Alice Springs near the center of the country but further North. It was the site for a very large communications system that used the relative lack of signal pollution to send its messages across the world with less interference. What it was used for he had no idea, but the mission had been to join the garrison and to put his skills to good use keeping it out of enemy hands.
Who those enemies were he had no idea, but the mission had been given and he was going to carry it out, that was his job after all.
Which was why he was out in the desert, in the middle of the sand, feeling the extreme heat, his skin burning if he left it on the sand for too long. His boots were leaving deep impressions as the dunes crumpled under his weight, his body sinking down every time he took a step. The entire exercise serving to tire him out more as opposed to actually being useful in matters pertaining to not dying of thirst.
Regardless, the top of the dune it was, then down the other side. He was going alone for this one, trying to teach someone to make explosives in a live environment tended to be a very bad idea. Especially when it was in this environment where there was distractions as far as the eye could see. Under the sand there was scorpions, underneath the scorpions, were spiders, underneath the spiders was poisonous insects that no doubt ate spiders as a joke. Then there were the dropbears. He wasn't too sure what they were meant to be, but they ate people apparently, dropping in from above to claw out the eyes and crush the skull.
Good thing then that he was in the desert away from that bullshit. Or so he hoped. The Australian members of the Coalition liked to joke about the things inside of Australia that wanted to eat him, he wasn't too sure which stories to believe and which to ignore… but to err on the side he always turned his boots upside down before putting them on, and wore a hat at all times.
There.
It looked to be a patch of firmer sand, likely worn down by the constant traveling of vehicles. Although that was possibly unlikely, the sand shifted far too much to ever create a road like that in parts of the world where there existed a thing called water to keep things firm. The roads, the dunes, all of it shifted, keeping the world in a sense of impermanence that could drive a man insane.
As for him, it looked to be a natural path carved by the wind and natural sand movements.
It was a prime candidate for an IED but he had to make sure to add a timer to it. After all, in this environment, there was no such thing as guarantees, and if the sand instead decided to cover up the IED again, then it would need to be dealt with or it could cause allied casualties down the road.
The best way to handle that would be a pressure sensor that would serve to detect when it had been buried too far, while also acting like a normal pressure switch for passing vehicles to trigger. It would have to be a break switch that relied on some kind of filament being broken instead of a regular one that used the upward tick as the pressure receded (the wheel/foot leaving) to set it off however. Or else the sand dune covering it up wouldn't be enough to set it off.
A failsafe in the form of a timer would also be added, 2 weeks without a detonation and he would consider that to be enough waiting and for it to automatically detonate. Protect friendlies and to cause fear in the eyes of the enemy if they saw it, the presence of IEDs taking front place in their minds as they became scared and combat effectiveness dropped as a result.
The anti-vehicle explosive set, Rogal began the trek back to his 4 wheeler, he had more sites to visit, more bombs to plant, more death and discord to sow.
Marcel was humming to himself. As a member of the GDI he was was a member of the United nations, granted there were very few of them left, but it was the thought that counted.
He was doing his job, he was having fun and he was traveling around the world, or at the very least Australia.
The desert wasn't so bad, not really. It was just the whole sand thing being everywhere thing that was confusing and annoying. The fact that he had sand in his socks, sand in his pants, sand in the crack of his butt, even in his hair. It got everywhere and it was frankly ridiculous.
It was a good thing then that he was inside of the Humvee as it made its way through the countryside, desert side whatever the word was.
Honestly, he preferred the bush to the desert, at least in the bush there was a very distinct increase in things like trees, very important things that meant he could do things like rest in the shade… away from the heat. It was like a whole 10 degrees Celsius cooler under that sweet sweet shade.
Then there was the matter about the fact that in the bush there was at least ways of finding water. Sure it was more effort, but it was possible. Here, though… well, the only water they were getting was what they managed to carry with them.
For a patrol that was on a mission to fly over and check on the state of the enemy's base all the way out here. They were going to need to carry everything, not just the water but the food, the ammunition, the everything. It certainly changed one's perspective when the Humvee was their transport, but also the vehicle that gave them food, shelter, and water. Without it they were dead.
So for Marcel, it was a matter of making sure that he snuggled down as hard as he could. It wasn't like he could do anything in the first place if something actually did happen.
He was just lazy enough and smart enough to realize that if he did want to do something, it wasn't as if there would be anything that would change if he was paying attention, what with him being in the back passenger seat.
Or so that was what he thought.
There was an explosion. A very big explosion, the kind of explosion that told him that things had gone very badly and somebody was probably very very dead. The kind that sent a shockwave through him even though he was 2 vehicles away.
The Humvee rolled to a stop and he was out in a flash, rifle held to his eyes, constantly scanning the horizon. There wouldn't be anything that was going to break past him, there wasn't going to anything that was going to survive him putting bullets into them.
Yes, that was the best option… yes.
Marcel scanned the dunes that rose up over him to the sides of the ravine that they were traveling down, the dunes that were tall as a multi-storey building. They were still, no traces of movements, no traces of any signs that this might be an ambush of some kind. Were they just waiting for them to let down their guard?
If there was anyone up there, they should have been skylighted, their silhouettes standing out in the sunlight.
This was worrying… very worrying. Each of them was becoming increasingly paranoid, their eyes looking up, their bodies tensing up in preparation for what was possibly coming next.
Only there was nothing. The silence of the dunes matched with the screams of the men who had been in the Humvee that had been struck, the damage tearing through the vehicle and the men, into their flesh, tearing the vehicle in half. Half of them were dead if the comms coming from the front of the convoy were any indication, the vehicle gone and the supplies on it totaled. There was nothing left for them, and they were not being burdened down by the wounded who were suffering from intense burns and shattered limbs. They were going to need a ride out if they wanted to survive, but bringing in a helicopter was impossible.
The enemy had anti-aircraft weapons that would destroy anything they brought in.
It looked like they needed to retreat for now, to leave and bring with them their wounded. The damned enemy had predicted what they would do, using their compassion against them.
Dammit.
The convoy that left the desert to return to the staging point was one that had suffered immensely. Where there had been 8 Humvees making the trek, there were now 3 that had survived the journey. Their insides packed with the bodies of the wounded, there had been no space for the dead and they had been left behind to mummify in the desert. They had been buried but even those were hasty rituals.
There would be no ceremonies, not today… or any other day. The dunes of the desert had blown over and in some cases had been deliberately shifted with explosives, burying the bodies deeper in the sand, never again to be seen.
The entire retreat had been one that was orchestrated in hindsight. Their attempts to use the established routes only to be destroyed by the mines and other explosives that waited for them, Humvees being destroyed in some situations, in others the IEDs bursting in a horizontal screen that shredded the sides and gave all those caught in it wounds from minor to major.
Other times there had been explosions, and then secondary explosions further ahead. Forcing them to travel slowly, soldiers on foot to test the ground for further explosives.
Every single move was a guess or a counter-guess, each soldier taken to the edge of their patience, of their endurance, the fear keeping them awake at night, the moans of the wounded doing the rest. From the 32 men that had left, there were 8 coming back, alive or wounded.
Any further attempts at breaching the desert would need to be done with full support instead of a platoon heading off on their own.
Jarmen Kell was a sniper, a very good one at that. Preternaturally good when it came down to it. Armed with a simple Dragunov sniper rifle he was able to take down entire squads of soldiers, every shot being deadly accurate, every round being one that plunged through the skull to deliver the killing blow. Tearing through brain matter like a surgeon with a hammer.
He was in essence, a danger to everything that could be considered in his range, trying to close the distance with him would only see the targets die of a different method, his marksmanship when it came to close range weapons being on the same level as that of his plinking equipment.
If he needed a target dead, then they would die and there would be very little if anything that could be done about it. He was just that good when it came down to it.
Born in the Middle East, he had migrated to Brussels as a student and had been enjoying the student life, looking forward to the idea of getting a job as an accountant in one of the firms in the city. His life had been planned out for him and he would very much enjoy the feeling of being in control of his life, of being someone that earned their own living and was secure.
He had a family back home to look after for after all and he wasn't going to do anything that might jeopardise their chances of survival, of coming over here, of being better, of being worth something. If he was able to get himself a job here, able to secure a life, he would be able to bring them across to join him, of being finally able to provide for his family beyond the meager payments that he sent home once a month.
It was then of course that everything went wrong, it was then of course that the world had collapsed on him and he had lost everything.
The Coalition had attacked and word came to him that his family had been killed trying to defend their homes from the attackers, the entire village being destroyed by the ones in black.
He had been confused at first, not understanding exactly what that had meant until he had seen the footage coming out of the Middle East, of Southern Europe. The armies of men who wore nothing but black, and purple, their eyes covered by lens of red, they who were called NOD. He had been in shock for a while until something happened that pulled him out of it and gave him a second chance, gave him a chance to even the score.
The forces of the Coalition and NOD had come up from the south and were slamming into the city of Brussels, their artillery pounding the city into submission, their armies burning and crushing their way through the armies of defenders that had tried to hold them back.
Even then they had only ever been able to offer a token resistance, their forces driven back by the superiority of the NOD and Coalition ones, their armour being destroyed, the infantry annihilated.
It was then that Jarmen who had been inside his apartment in one of the student accommodations when he had heard the artillery fire strike the building. He didn't know that at the time of course, merely felt the shudders of the explosions that had shaken the building and knocked the last of the tokens he had from his family off their shelves and onto the floor.
Deciding that he wanted to see what the city would look like and maybe he would be shot while he was up there in a rather fatalistic turn of thought, he had gone up the stairs, the elevator having been disabled or shut down long ago, he wasn't sure which one actually. Regardless he had gone up the stairs, taking each step as if it would be his last, all the way up to the roof. Turning his ear to where the sound of the fighting was the heaviest, Jarmen had walked around the roof to see the south side and to look down on a city that was burning like his own life was.
It was then that he had seen the M40 sniper rifle clutched in the hands of a GDI sniper that was… very dead. His head was bleeding heavily, his body dangerously still. The sniper had been killed, that much was obvious, by what Jarmen did not care, he didn't have it in him to care.
For Jarmen still in the haze he had been in for the last month, he had stepped over the pool of congealing blood and looked over the railing to the city below. A city that as he had thought, was burning. Entire apartment buildings wreathed in flame, of tanks and soldiers moving underneath on the roads below like little ants at this distance.
He watched as little streaks of green, red and yellow light arced out from one side or the other, some of the figures falling, some of them not, some of them running, some of the bigger rectangular ones catching fire, others shooting with their cannons that he could hear from up here.
The little reports of the rifles, the booms of the cannon, the dull crumps of the artillery, all of it filtering through his ears, his mind not truly comprehending any of it.
It was when he turned around and saw the body of the soldier who had been killed that spark of curiosity had burned its way into his mind. Walking over he had picked up the rifle (after breaking the rigor mortis tightened grip of the corpse) and in doing so he had opened up an entirely new world. A world that contained in it his destiny, his future.
A sense of clarity that simply eclipsed anything he had ever felt in the past, a feeling that told him that this was the feeling that one felt when they achieved enlightenment. A feeling that one had finally found their path in life and it was a life that was going to be filled with nothing but satisfaction.
For Jarmen it was the moment that his life changed forever. He knew now that he and rifles had been destined to be together from the start, it was the most clear thinking he had ever been, the feeling of satisfaction as he did so seeping its way through his body.
What came with this clarity was a sense of purpose. He had the means and he had the targets. They who had taken his family had very likely taken the families of others as well, people who were innocent, people who were weak, who were helpless. He would be taking revenge for them, on their behalf.
Jarmen had in turn, placed the rifle on the railing and aimed down the sight. His sense of purpose guiding him as he sighted the enemy and pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into the tree… approximately 30 meters to the left.
So not everyone was perfect on their first try, it didn't mean that he was totally wrong about this. He probably just needed some… or a lot of practice. It wasn't something that was hard at all, he was just going to make sure that the next bullet would hit the target. Just a little adj… how was he supposed to do this again?
There were what looked to be an enormous number of little knobs on the top of the scope of the rifle. He supposed that was what he was supposed to adjust but… really? What the hell did these numbers mean? Why was there 2 knobs? What about the one at the bottom of the rifle? How did he chamber a new bolt? So many questions and no answers to speak of. He had seen the movies of course, but that hadn't told him just how difficult it could be to wrench back the bolt and then slam it forward to put a new bullet in.
He was too unfit for this.
Jarmen had considered that maybe he should have thought a little more clearly before he had fired that bullet at the man who was now probably calling in reinforcements or artillery or maybe an airstrike on his position.
Jarmen had dropped the rifle and escaped the building then. Making his way to the GDI lines where he would offer his services as a volunteer, where he would learn how to shoot a rifle properly, where he would learn everything he needed and where he would desert as soon as he could. Returning to what was now Coalition and NOD territory, ready to demonstrate what he had learnt over the last few months.
He had been wildly successful in his own opinion, his first bullets had found their marks, into the throats of the NOD patrol as they moved blindly through their day, the rifle barking four times, four bullets for each of them. They had died and they had died quickly, their bodies spasming on the ground in front of him.
Jarmen had run from that, the window that he had shot from belonged to somebody else and he didn't want that someone to return and alert the authorities to his presence. His revenge had waited far too long for him to be denied at just 4 kills.
With those kills under his belt, Jarmen had moved to other parts of the city, taking out one or 2 NOD here, a patrol there, sniping the crews of light vehicles with a 20mm anti-tank rifle he had been gifted by an anonymous donor. He wasn't sure how it got into his possession, but it was certainly useful.
As for the rest of it, the soldiers had been killed, the officers, the crews, helicopters sniped from the skies and so many more. He had become a terror in the city of Brussels and had decided to leave before things became far too dangerous for him to stay any longer.
His next destination had been Rome and he had enjoyed his time there immensely. The glut of old buildings making it extremely easy for him to pick off his targets and then to escape. They were just unable to chase after him when there was just an absurd level of nooks and crannies that a man could hide in. The variety of church steeples didn't help either, giving him numerous vantage points that allowed him to control vast tracts of land almost without challenge.
As for the current target, it was a patrol leader. A man who looked to be rather oblivious to the fact that he was about to die. But that was a good thing, if he knew he wouldn't be out in the open where Jarmen had such easy access to him.
The target was a distance of approximately 200 meters away, there was an absolute lack of wind, but the heat of the pavement had to be accounted for, as was the drop of the bullet that was coming out from the silencer and itself was a subsonic round. Which meant that he had to sight it at a higher angle than an average bullet to make up for the lack of speed.
All in all, it was going to be what looked like an involved shot. Well, not the shot but the escape, the 6 patrol members with the man and the other patrols no doubt in the area were going to be a pain to get away from. But this was just such a good opportunity that he had been unable to give it up.
Sighting the officer, Jarmen heaved out a deep breath, firing on the exhale as to ensure that his hands were as steady as possible. The rifle jerked slightly in his hands and he kept the scope to his eyes as he did so. He had to get confirmation of a kill or a miss before he made his escape. He had a reputation to uphold.
Hit. The man dropped abruptly, which meant that it was time for Jarmen to leave before the NOD forces spotted him and decided to lace the air around him with so many bullets that it gave credence to the idea of a bullet hose.
As the small stone walls that made up the spire that he was sniping from began to give way under the weight of the fire being deployed against it, Jarmen considered maybe another city. Rome had gotten too used to his presence.
Perhaps Berlin?