Long Form Roleplayers

TRAINING DAY

ERIK ATLAS
I finish up cleaning the gym floor - we did our quarterly form checks on strength training for the SHARKSs group for a private dark ops branch called the SHARKS. They ware very much like SEALS but privately ordered. So many times, they are trained and hurt, left in the wind, and soldiers with all honors I would ever grant a fighting man. I love these guys in the house - it's always a raw unvarnished day when they're here. They were talking about an operative - yea, I know rare as fuck - but seemed to have them unnerved, which was also rare as fuck. He's been infiltrating special divisions and taking men out under their eyes. the men were showering up - they sure do sweat out a work out.

And I kept seeing a shadow. Yea not one of those walk-on-your-grave shadows. It seemed to have shoulders and a pretty muscular build. And it was hanging out in the locker room. It missed checkin mirror movement and i got a good look at him. Agent Steel is here. When we train there's always fight tools involved. Night sticks mostly, but a few tasers. I was collecting the bagful when I saw the shadow cross in front of the windows and he passed in front of the headlights of s car pulling out.

Foolish mortal. If it warnt for that car I woulda never seen him. Always remember the 5s system. Camouflage works when you control five things - Shape, shadow, silhouette, shine, and color. Yea little military joke - color aint an "S". but you sure remember this shit. He blew shape and silhouette and that's how I saw him.

I slowly walked to the lockers, having narrowed the Agent to be in the parking lots. I dropped the bag inside the lockers loudly. "Cancel CHRISTMAS...." I say in a plain voice. The showers keep going but I hear knives come out and the bag suddenly disappears and looks lighter. I walk back out to the front casually putting me between the SHARK Team and the Agent. I aint no hero, I just need the real heroic bastards to get some pants and a reload.

Steel could be planning a parking lot ambush or a hard assault on the team. I get ready for flashbangs and gas. I grab a wet towel from the used barrel - aint the first time I smelled a towel used by a real man. My phone is at the front counter and I slowly take my time getting there and get a 360 on the room and lot.

nothing.

FLASHBANG goes off in the locker room! This is when I feel personally cheated - I covered that vector! how did he get in there. The 8mm fire spattered in the close quarters. I count 6 body falls and one scream quickly squelched.I stand in the front room with my heart hammering. I hit the phone number I was told not to touch labeled "Break Glass in case of Cthulhu Outbreak"

It rang once and a female voice said, "Report."

"Flag on fire - repeat, flag on fire. This is Atlas, trainer for team 686 at Metroflex in Denton - Flash bangs in lockers - Flag on Fire." they told me to say that when I had reason to believe soldiers were killed and action is ongoing.

"Mr. Atlas, you are to leave the area and report to command at 686 HQ - do not take delays of any kind. Exit now. Destroy this phone immediately." I walk to the front desk slowly and toss the phone into a box behind the counter. BRRRRRRapapapapap!!!! It's a chipper/shredder they gave me when I took the assignment and the phone. The phone was immediately broken into thousands of 1mm square bits and made Humpty Dumpty look like a flesh wound. I tapped my pocket and noted my key fob and emergency weapon set - went to my Bike, climbed on and gunned the bike.

Deep breath
I'm leaving men behind.
I hate this.

I close my eyes and kill the engine.
Back pocket steel wand Baton slides out.
SCHLLLIKkkk! It telescopes into death steel.
I go back in

AGENT DEREK STEEL
The night is slightly humid, and the stars are intermittently shining with a bright fierceness beneath a a flowing patchwork of ragged clouds, and no sign of the moon. Decent conditions for night work all told. I've seen everything I can from my vantage point at the far end of the car park, or as Americans would say, "Parking Lot", as I stow away my night goggles, and now it's time to get up close and personal.

Always the most dangerous part of any mission that involves tagging Special Forces Assets of any kind, and SHARKs are no exception. I make my way across the car park. To a casual observer, and even to the majority of trained observers, I'm wearing a pair of loose fitting jeans and a large knitted turtleneck sweater, and from my gait I look like an overweight middle aged man, no one important, just making his way home after work, cutting through the Metroflex car park. However, once I reach a blind spot near the corner of the Car Park where no one from the Metroflex has a viewing angle on me, I meander casually towards the building, looking as if any man seeking a convenient place to piss.

As I consider all the extreme precautions I'm forced into taking, I'm actually a bit pissed off with my Syndicate employers. This is the third Special Forces team they've had me target in as many weeks. Apparently a joint US-UK operation had busted up one of their drug smuggling operations, costing them billions. They wanted to send a message. I was just the delivery boy. I even had to take out a team of Royal Marines in Vegas. Some would have been shocked at that, thinking that I might still feel loyalty towards my old outfit. But that's not where my loyalties lie. It never was. In the Royal Marines, I was expected to give my loyalty to my squad, to my nation, to my Queen, to go where I was told and to kill whom I was ordered.

Fuck that shit.

My only loyalty is for the men that serve with me. Some would say under me, and they can say that if they like. We take the contracts that we decide to take, and we kill the men we decide to kill. When we kill someone, we take the ownership for it. Their death is on my hands, I don't have, and I don't want, the comfort of knowing that I'm just following someone else's orders. I am not a soldier, I never was. I'm a warrior. Soldiers blame others for the lives they kill, their CO, their political leaders. I blame only myself.

I have a deep and abiding contempt for soldiers. Cowards. Hiding from their own responsibility for the death they dealt instead of owning it like a true man. I respect their strength. I respect their ability. I respect their discipline. I respect their bravery and courage in the face of danger. I respect their maleness and their beauty. I respect their achievements. But I feel only contempt for their moral cowardice.

No, the choice of targets was not my problem. The problem I had with my Syndicate employers was one of timing. After the last two excisement operations, every Special Forces unit was on high alert, making my job that much harder. Hence the extreme precautions. Not that I ever got lazy or careless. Lazy and careless meant dead in my line of work.

A dumpy, middle aged man takes a piss against the wall of the metroplex, and a few moments later, a man wearing black heavy boots, black stealth-form fitting muscle hugging combat bullet-proof carbon fibre composite trousers and a top made of the same material, with a utility belt holding my knife, my silenced pistol, wire cutters, binoculars, C4 explosive, my smartphone, ziptie, lockpicks, small medkit, small all-purpose toolkit, grappling device, a smoke grenade, a flash bang grenade, a frag grenade in case things got really dicey, an extensible baton for when blunt force was called for, and a taser for non-lethal takedowns. I'm not sure I'll need the taser, but I like to be prepared.

Yet, I could not find an easy way up onto the roof. I crept around out of the blind spot, staying low in front of the cars, moving silently. This was now bloody dangerous. I could be spotted. Then, fuck up number 1 occurred. I darted quickly underneath a street light, not the smartest move, but I was pressed for time. My window of opportunity was short. There, through a window into the Metroplex, ran a hall leading to the Locker Room. At the end of the hall stood a mirror, and I was clearly visible in it for a second. FUCK.. but the angle was such it could be mistaken for someone in the locker room. That was my hope. I kept moving however, no certainty I was seen. Then, in mid dart from one car to another, it happened. Fuck up number 2. Of all the dumb luck... someone had been quietly sitting in their car, probably texting, then turned on the engine and the lights just as I passed in front of it.

FUCK.

I may not have been seen, but I could have been. But... there was what I needed, the way onto the roof. Abort or proceed? I stood frozen for a moment, listening to my gut, seeking out that deep uneasiness that was my own personal abort signal. I did not feel it. I nodded. I would continue. I always trusted my gut, it had yet to lead me astray.

I found a narrow passage around the corner near the fence on the other side of the Metroflex with enough irregular patches in the rough brickwork of the wall to allow me to parkour up about a third of the way. I was able to use my grappling hook to catch the parapet and haul myself up the rest of the way. Once on the roof, the vent billowing with steam was easily spotted. That would be the exhaust for the shower room. I carefully made my way across the roof, alert for any kind of traps, not expecting them, but you never knew.

I reached the vent, and examined it carefully, unscrewing the grill and laying it aside with my general purpose toolkit. I weighed in at 100 kilos (220 lbs for Americans) and stood about 182 cm(6 foot for Americans). I was lean, agile, and extremely strong, my steel corded battle-forged muscle trained to an elite level. But I saw a problem. The ventilation shaft was just too narrow for me to make it through with my belt. I could remove my belt and carry it in front of me, but that could prove a distraction if I was discovered too early. I thought, no. It would have to stay. I'd have to come back for it later.

I removed my utility belt and laid it aside. This was extremely risky. I'd be facing a squad of six fully trained SHARKS. According to the schedule for the training program I'd received however, they would be hitting the showers very soon, so hopefully not six fully armed SHARKS. I took only two items from my belt, being guided by instinct. A flashbang grenade to get the party started, and my baton. It would afford me greater reach than a knife if it came to close combat. Any other weapons that I needed I could appropriate from the SHARKs themselves.

I slid down the shaft, flashbang in one hand, and collapsed steel baton + toolkit in the other. It was a tight squeeze, but I made it, moving quickly and efficiently, timing the motion of my body to be in tune with the rhythm and vibration of the ventilator fans, making it extremely unlikely that I would be heard or the vibrations of my passage observed.

After a short time, I reached the intake vent for the locker room, and quickly removed the grill on the shaft, sliding out into the currently empty locker room. I could hear the voices and laughter of men in the showers. Perfect. I placed the grill aside, then examined my surroundings. Now, in the locker room, I suddenly froze.... A voice, deep and masculine, in a rich Texan accent, called out, "Cancel CHRISTMAS....", on the other side of the row of lockers I was in. I froze and suddenly heard the sound of a large duffel bag full of kit get dropped inside the locker room door, near the shower entrance. SHIT SHIT... Thinking quickly... there, inside a pile of clothes clearly belonging to the SHARKs, the tip of an 8mm semi-automatic pistol. I swapped it for my tool kit and my baton, stashing them in an unused locker. Then, I darted up, g8mm in hand, back up into the ventilation shaft, pulling the grill behind me, exerting every ounce of muscle and speed I possessed to reinsert myself silently.

And not soon enough. I heard the sound of the SHARKS taking on the kit from the duffel bag the owner of the voice had dropped off. And then, the owner of the voice, a mountain of man muscle, handsome as a new day, and built like an oversized proverbial shithouse, walked into view. I shrank back carefully as his eyes scanned every inch of the locker room, including the ventilation shaft.

Then, satisfied he moved on. I dropped out, stuck my baton in the waistband of my combat trousers, shoved some silicone plugs in my ears that I kept in a pouch in my trousers, and the rest was quite simple. I threw a flash bang right in the middle of the six man squad while they were still pulling their trousers on, catching them unawares so they didn't even have a warning to close their eyes, while I was shutting my eyes tightly. The explosion of light and sound stunned them.

I removed the silicon ear plugs, then I got a bead on them with my appropriated 8mm, and fired off a burst of six shots in rapid succession, aiming carefully, calmly, and coolly. Six bodies hit the ground. But.... one of the shots had gone wide, slamming into the sixth SHARKs shoulder, he'd tried to dive for cover as he heard the first shot. But the other five were clean, through the head. Simple and quick. The sixth hit the decks, and opened his mouth to scream. I was on him just as the sound started to escape, a savage smash with my baton to his temple, knocking him out cold.

I took a moment to quickly hunt down the civilian trainer, the Texan mountain of muscle who had likely spotted me. I didn't see him in the building, but I had heard just a bit earlier the sound of an industrial shredder. It was likely that a call had gone out. It wasn't safe to stay here. I heard a bike rev up, looked out the window, and saw the big Texan getting on his bike to leave, following orders, no doubt.

Fine. I would double back, take the final SHARK prisoner. The Syndicate had offered me a bounty if I could take one of the SHARKs alive for questioning. That suited me. I should be able to manage it. I passed a utility closet on the way back to the locker room, and found a role of duct tape. I dragged the KO'd SHARK out of the shower, and mummified his half dressed body in duct tape, after drying him off. As always, I noted and appreciated the fine musculature of this proud and powerful fighting machine. I might have a chance to sample it later, but no time now. I stood up, threw him over my shoulder, and turned to leave the building, my baton wedged in my combat trousers.

ERIK ATLAS
I come in and hear peeling duct tape and the muffled groans of Carlos Garcia. Ok, whoever this is, sounds like he's got a captive. I close slowly to the locker room swinging door. The smell of a fresh cooked flash bang hung in the air mixing with the shower moisture. The lockers down the hallway had light, so did the main exercise floor behind me. The hallway I was standing in was dark. My heart was hammering. I went to the worst case scenario so my head would be ready for what walks through that door.

In that vision I saw All my men were dead and Satan and the local Amway salesman were taking one for take out to eat later. Strangely my ex wife Angela was in there, cuz when yur head envisions "the worst case scenario" all your mistakes show up. The good thing I was relieved to see a real human carrying Garcia over his shoulder instead of Angela and her lawyer smirking at me like that.

Then my heart lurched seeing the spreading pool of soldier blood in the locker room as the door swung shut. Ok this has to be Agent Steel. Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit ..... I tried not to think of how many solid professionals already fell to this fucker. But they didn't have ATLAS on duty.

And that was my cunning plan. I am not an ASSET in this game. I'm a meathead in his calculus and therefore completely expendable. Sweat pants, gym shoes, T-shirt and baton, and 6'5" of decades of muscle and fight training - that's what I got. My goal, disarm and detain, delay for 686 HQ to respond.

I took this in in less than 2 seconds - he was carrying Garcia on his shoulder and his arms up and gut open. I fired a ROUNDHOUSE KICK landing in the black figure's chest - expecting him to have some kind of body armor, I was surprised when I kicked into a man. They reel back into the door and I rush using an uppercut thrust two handed with the baton aiming for Agent Steel's throat!

AGENT DEREK STEEL
I turn the corner to head out to the corridor leading to the exit... and well... shit. FUCK ME. Here I am, with a couple hundred pounds of SHARK meat over my shoulder and that massive 6'5" of Texas Beefsteak looking at me with a very unfriendly expression on his face. The most I can do as the big dude rushes towards me is let myself relax, not resist the blow I have no chance of stopping, especially not with a big muscled SHARK on my shoulder.

The big Texan slams his oversized foot in a very credible roundhouse kick that smashes into my sternum like a donkey kick. I stagger backwards, trying to keep myself released, feeling a dull ache spreading through the tightly muscled centre of my chest. It's going to be a very big bruise. It could have been much worse if I hadn't let myself relax into the blow.

As I backpedal in what I could hope could be called a controlled stagger, I know I'm going to drop this big piece of meat on my shoulder, it's just a question of when... and how. As you rush in towards me, holding your baton by either end, looking to drive it under my chin, I nudged the when to now, and the how to directly at your feet.

As you trip over the sudden 200+ lbs of KO'd heavily muscled SHARK slamming to the floor in front of you, I reach forward, grabbing both of your wrists. as your unstoppable momentum carries you onward. I grunt, breathing through the ache in my sternum, and allow myself to fall backwards.

As my back makes contact with the ground, my feet and legs get tucked in under me, my powerful thighs coiled like loaded springs, then explode up to slam into your gut, adding my own considerable power to your very considerable momentum, I send you sailing over my head, releasing your wrists, through the door to the locker room to crash back first and upside down with a very terrificlly loud CRUNCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH where muscle and bone meets steel. I kipped up to my feet, on my guard, my baton extended held lightly in my hand, my eyes fierce and bright.

ERIK ATLAS
I Charge like I do in the ring, like in football and shit that is not the best way to go here. I CRASH through the locker door and HIT the floor skidding. My hand comes up off the floor sticky and realize...that's Beck's... head. I'm assaulted with Nausea, rage, horror, and just plain gross out. I look around and my locker room is a slaughterhouse. my heart hammering. I ain't hurt but I ain't happy. I helped build these men! My rage starts getting better of me, but let it go man - I'm in the lockers and the door is behind him. I came in to stop him and... Imma gonna do that.

I wipe my hand off and the blood dries there instantly making my hand sticky... I scramble to stand and my hand hits one of the night sticks I gave the men. Right, it didn't save them. I quickly start counting shots and decide he's out. He didn't shoot me.

My dithering about stakes about 15 seconds and that's a fucking eternity in a fight - you see the door SLAM OPEN EXPLOSIVELY and I shove BECK'S BODY at you hard! I was pretty sure he dint wanna miss the action to save Garcia and needed him to shield and distract. The body takes your first prepped strikes and I come over it using the nightstick - my kubaton slung to my wrist dangling as backup and using the found nightstick, built in side short handle (( http://www.weapons-universe.com/Law_Enforcement/Batons/Standard_Tonfa_Police_Baton-K-4429.shtml )) going for a swinging head strike!

AGENT DEREK STEEL
I dropped the appropriated 8mm pistol as soon as I was done with it, the chamber emptied. Hearing the sounds of movement from inside the locker room, past the swinging door, I knew better than to charge in blindly. There was blood on the floor in there for one thing, and that was never a good addition to a fight, introduced too much random chance. I looked down, the SHARK I was carrying moaning and groaning slightly, his mouth duct-taped up, looking a bit battered. I smile. The look suited him. I kept the taped up SHARK between me and the door.

I stood back from the door, not too close but not too far. I heard a lot of movement in there, and then you come barreling out, and I strike forward, striking down hard with my extensible steel baton, ( http://www.weapons-universe.com/Law_Enforcement/Batons/Expandable_Baton-32.5_inch.shtml ), and... clever bastard! Using one of the dead SHARKs as a meat shield. Your meat shield smashes on the ground, on top of his live companion, and you make your way over both bodies, one living, one not.

You scramble over both the bodies, slowing you down just a fraction of a second, enough for me rapidly change my level, ducking under the swinging head strike, the wind of it's passage ruffling my sharp, short utilitarian hair cut.

I note your position, the two bodies stacked together directly behind you. I plant my powerful thighs, and surge forward into the hole in your guard left by your attack to my head, swinging my baton in a sharp short strike aimed at your dangling wrist, looking to stun that arm, to keep your backup baton out of play for a brief window.

Then my shoulder lowers, and I drive my hard shoulder into your abs with my 220lbs behind the blow.

My hope is that the impact will stagger you backwards enough so that you trip over the bodies behind you, and fall backwards.

2020-05-08 21:13

ERIK ATLAS
YOU hit ME AND WE STUMBLE BACK... I grab YOUR BATON AND PULL IT AROUND YOUR HEAD - IF you keep the grip, you choke yourself with your bicep over your throat - if you let go I have another baton- as you click through that dilemma my legs CLAMP ON YOU and instantly threaten to break yur ribs with crushing power!

Chest to chest, legs snaking around you like carcrushers, arm threatening to choke you - getting my right hand free slapping at my leg pocket...

2020-05-09 14:39

AGENT DEREK STEEL
As I drive my shoulder into your abs, you do indeed fall backwards over the two stacked bodies, but you also grab the end of my baton with your left hand, using it to wrap my own bicep around my throat! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Your legs wrap around my midsection trapping me into your guard, and you start to apply some serious pressure! OOOOFFFFFFFFFFFFF

I smash my knee forward, under your tailbone, and drop my weight to drive your massive Texas beef down, slamming your tailbone into my knee, the release switch for the guard, BJJ 101. Even that brief exposure to the power of your thighs sends tingles through my ribs, this fucker is not to be trifled with. I surge through the temporary gap, my chest staying glued to yours as my knees slide up and over your thighs to plant themselves on either side of your hips, instinctively blocking your hip mobility and give me a solid base of balance, and with the added bonus of blocking off access to your leg pocket by interposing my knee and leg between your right hand and your thigh.

Now we are chest to chest, with me in full guard, your left arm stretched to the right over your own neck in order to maintain the grip on the end of my baton to keep my choked out. About 2 or 3 seconds have passed, and I'm definitely beginning to feel the warning tingle that proceeds a blood choke. But I have you exactly where I want you. I release my baton. You suddenly have nothing resisting your left hand.

That's when I strike. Like a snake, my left hand shoots under the back of your head. My right hand elbow drops to the floor. I grab my right wrist with my left hand, then drop down, tucking your already conveniently stretched out left arm by the elbow into the crook of my neck. My base is solid, my knees are planted firmly in the guard, locking your hips down tight. I've got your head solidly locked in an arm triangle choke that you very conveniently set up for me. ( https://drive.google.com/open?id=1_Wt3cIGG-icg-rBVR6r7y8DLoxGQJXso )

You have the tip of my baton all right, in your left hand, but no freedom of movement, with your elbow locked up tight, to swing it. I stare down into your eyes. And what you see .... is respect, admiration, and even attraction. I flex my arms tight and push forward, going for the blood choke. This massive Texan beefsteak is a dangerous opponent. But although he might not know it, his life is not in danger from me. Regardless of what people might say about Agent Derek Steel, he does not kill just for the sake of it. That is just to pay the bills. This.... a fight with a valiant opponent is what feeds his soul.

2020-05-09 22:04

ERIK ATLAS
You engage in a hard nearly brutal BJJ clinic - the lock pops my guard - first clue u know yur shit on the mats. I'm cage trained - you're life trained! I see it every move - you peel through my guard, my arm choke and glide to a face to face choke - NO No no no - then eyes meet. I fought Gregory Payne, The Cement Mixer, The Rage, Muscle Monster, Demons - and never seen a look like this from a trained killer. I see the look and its like respect - but the blood between us is making my head rage just making confusion. Then I note - there's two opportunities I handed you - you could've used a Kimura and wreck my elbow and shoulder; my crotch was wide open and yu could've carved my jewels off me - this guy is NOT trying to kill me...

I decide DROPPING the baton of your is better than trying to keep it - it's a prize - it's just bait to make me open to more attacks - and wow you don't know ATLAS power... I Thrash and flip my arm outside yur head and CLAMP AROUND YOU IN A CRUSHING DISPLAY OF POWER - POWER is what I got and am using it! I roll left and put YOU on your back kicking to side mount - and my BJJ is shit in this fight - opening negotiations. "You missed three places to kill me and u ain't." Growling in your ear. "and... You killed them!" A note of fury and grief in my friends dying. "And now you're going to try and play with ME?" I crush TIGHTER feeling the solid muscle packed on you bending.

2020-05-10 14:48

AGENT DEREK STEEL
I lean forward, and tighten my muscle, then you show me some truly awesome power. Well, fuck me.... it's not everday that you meet a man strong enough to thrash their arm out of a triangle choke, but you sure as hell are in that select category. I can't help but appreciate how fucking powerful you are.

You brute force your left elbow in between my chin and the top of your head, freeing it, as you throw your right arm over my shoulder to grab your left hand. Then... using those awesome arms, each one nearly as thick as my goddamn thighs, you crush down across my shoulders and mash me up against you... OOFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

The shock of all that sudden pressure gives you an opening to heave left, rolling me onto my back. Now I've got your weight to contend with as well as your strength. I start to whistle like a pressure cooker as you crush my muscle. But I don't let go of my choke, not yet, using it to keep you from going apeshit, and already realizing that it's my escape route from having my chest and shoulders liquefied.

You tell me that you know I'm not going to kill you. I smile, even as I'm getting crushed, recognizing the fine tactical mind you possess, accurately analyzing and drawing conclusions in the middle of a fight. Interesting choice of words ... play ... but, I suppose it's not entirely inaccurate. If I'm not going to kill you, then why am I still here? I know the answer, but I don't have time right now to consider it at the moment. There is a part of me that knows the answer, and that's good enough for now.

I wait a few seconds till you are confident you have me where you want me, as the pressure builds and pain is hammering my upper body, being crushed in a way I'd never considered, then... breathing through clenched teeth, my left arm, still tightly wrapped around your head, releases the grip on my right bicep, and I unwind it from your head. This creates a gap and I shoot backwards through the escape hatch, leaving you to crush empty air.

Like a snake, I twist from my hips and lever my 220lbs of hard, steel, albeit slightly crushed, muscle onto your back, covering you with my weight.

I'm conscious of the time factor as well. I don't want to fuck around, but I've already decided that I am not going to kill you. End of story. I don't analyze the reasoning behind the judgement, I just accept it. And that means I'm not going to break your neck. But... breaking some ribs might be just the ticket.

From your back, I shoot my right leg under your abs with an explosive force that takes you by surprise. I drive my left leg under my right boot as it shoots out under your gut. You are a BIG boy, with a huge girth, but my legs are long, and forged of battle-hardened steel. With an enourmous, savage grunt of pure muscle radiating from my core, I lock my right ankle in the crook of my left knee. I bash your face to the ground to stun you, then wrap my arms tightly around your head, my right bicep cutting deep into your throat and grabbing my left elbow. I roar, then heave over to my side. I keep my head in close to your head, at an angle out of reach of a thrown elbow.

I breathe through the dull throbbing in my upper back, a leftover from the demonstration of your crushing force. I whisper in your ear, "Okay big boy, let's see what you got." I focus, breathing deep and slowly begin to channel a deep surge of power radiating from my core into my legs, the figure 4 body scissors slicing into your incredibly strong core, driving into your abs and threatening your ribs. I may not have your awesome mass, but my muscle is battle-trained, and forged in combat. If this big boy wants to see power, then I can show him POWER.

2020-05-10 22:24

ERIK ATLAS
I drop you on your back and crush you TIGHT! And then you prove its hard to get leverage on a snake.... slipping out of my grip and levering hard yur out and my face slams into the floor... yur legs clamp around me TIGHT! That Figure four packing my abs in tight and hard...UGHHHHHHHhhhghffff! that's.... fucking..... tight! I FLEX HARD armoring up against that squeeze, about to fight that leg lock - but this danger travels in pairs... you snake in a rear choke from behind - I caint waste time fighting that body lock when the choke will kill me.

You feel my back RIPPLE with muscle power as I GRAB your arm, no not the choking one, but the crooked one your choke is locked in - that's the pull-tab and I PEEL it down with unrelenting POWER. That's the lock for the choke, not the other arm - I shaky my head and try to get your choking arm off my neck but only manage to get my chin under the choke... Your body is an amazing weapon of hard trained muscle - if another day - and yu killed fewer of my men - we'd be happy naked fucks...

THEN YOU REALLY SQUEEZE WITH YOUR LEGS!

"AWUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHFRKKKKKKKK!!!" groaning loudly and squirming as my flex holds you off for 10 seconds and then slowly crumbles under incredible power and leverage.... (Gawd how is he doing this? No one crushes like this!) I don't dare let go of yur arm...

Then.... lights - the red flashing emergency lights of someone responding. Wait.... I didn't call police, I called 686. Plain as day, dumb as ham, a Denton Cop pulls in front of the window of the main room with emergency lights running. He gets out of his car and casts a clear pear shaped silhouette as he walks up to the window with a tactical flashlight - the hallway to the main room fills with light... The cop lets out a squeal of surprise - IT'S CLEAR HE'S SEEN THE BODIES - The porky lone cop runs to the door he-hawing something into his radio...

The incredible SQUEEEEEEEEZE around my waist making me wanna barf and every breath serious work - you feel my thick back rippling as we struggle - my waist slowly relenting to your power and leverage. My heart hammering - I'm about to be real inconvenient once the cop enters. Steel is going to have to eliminate one of us. and I'M THE ONE WITH HIS NECK IN A TRAP.

OK I need to move... Gawd the crush around me HURTS and if I vacation here I'm going to have to puke up blood... I PLANT one foot to stand....

2020-05-11 14:02

AGENT DEREK STEEL
I breathe deeply, feeling the power gather in my tensed and steel-flexed abs, releasing it through my legs, finding the rhythm to break down your incredibly powerful core, a bit like trying to crack a cement block. Then, in a move I should have expected from a powerhouse like you, you grab my left wrist, as I cup the top of your head, and FUCK ME again... you slowly peel it back and down, I don't have the energy to fight your core and your arms at the same time.

The sheer power you have at your disposal is fucking incredible. I put up enough of a resistance as you slowly dissect my sleeper choke to keep you focused up top, allowing me to sink in my thighs around your core deeper, before running into your hard-unyielding flex. In the meantime, your tactics allow you to adjust your head and get your chin tucked in, removing the danger from the choke.

You've got a hold of my left arm, but my right arm unwraps from your throat, plants on the floor, allowing me to bridge up a bit, take a deep breath, and focus in tune with my breath, my body, my core, gathering up a surge of power.... then releasing it, every steel cord of my body twanging with tension as I release a carefully throttled, slowly ramping up ripple of power into my thighs.

Your core resists me like a fucking wall of concrete.... five seconds..... 8 seconds..... sweat drips down my face, splashing on your neck... I breathe through, throwing myself into this incredible struggle with my entire being... 9 seconds.... then... CRACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKkk... I feel your incredible core start to crumble, and my legs sink in, unleashing devastation into the centre of your power, your strength. Then....

FUCKKKKKKKKk

Red lights flash outside, not military, but civilian police. As the emergency lights strobe into the gym, lighting up the hallway where we are struggling, I look out the window, and catch the sight of a lone cop shining his flashlight through the window and down the hall. I don't have fucking time for this. I growl deep in my throat as the cop runs to the lobby door, literally only about 20 seconds away from our position. Then, as if that weren't enough this massive piece of Texas Beefsteak starts flexing his muscles. I'm practically in awe as I feel the power rippling up your back, pressed against my hard, cut pecs and abs.

My legs cut deeper into your core for a moment, but gets a foot under him and starts to heave up. I reach out with my free right hand, grab my baton, dropped on the floor, measure the force precisely for the desired effect, and bash the butt into your temple, feeling your eyes roll up in the back of your head as I put you out like an Ox for a good few minutes. Sometimes I get too caught up with having fun.

I unwind my legs from your body as it twitches spasmodically from the heavy blow to your temple. I get up to my feet, and charge the door from the lobby, baton in hand. The cop comes through the door handgun extended. I don't even pause.

He fires a shot at my centre mass, smashing into my right pec. I grunt, as it feels like I was kicked by a mule, but I ride with it, my body staggered for a brief moment, but recovering quickly. My carbon-fibre composite bullet proof combat top does what it says on the tin, stopping the bullet from penetrating. I'll have a nice thick bruise on my right pec though. It's a good thing they teach cops to always go for centre mass.

He doesn't get a second shot, my baton whips out, smashing his handgun out of his grip. I'm a bit pissed, and I kick him in the nuts with my steel toed boot hard enough to crack his cup and double him up despite it. I grab the back of his head, tense, and smash my knee up into his face, breaking his jaw clean, and smashing his nose. He goes limp like a puppet with his strings cut. I quickly let him drop, raid his tactical belt, and grab cuffs.

I sprint back towards you, every second counting now, this place is too hot to stay in anymore. I plan out my next steps with careful precision. I have perhaps five minutes tops. It should be enough time. I roll you over, and quickly cuff your massive arms behind your back. Then, on some kind of weird impulse, I lift the back of your head up, look at your eyes, still rolled back in your head, and kiss you, once, tenderly on the side of your temple.

I squat next to you, and HEAVE, muscling you up over my shoulder. FUCK ME! I stand up, feeling as though I've just done a series of 150 kilo squats in the gym. I stagger a bit, but then lumber out of the building, stopping only to grab the keys off the downed cop. A few seconds later, I open the passenger door of the police cruiser, and throw you in the back seat, no time to be gentle. Then, I sprint back to the gym, parkour back up to the roof, and recover my dropped tactical belt. It's my favorite. Don't want to leave it.

Then, back into the gym, to the knocked out cop, a bit porky, fuck, I think the whole American cops and donuts thing is more fact than fiction. I consider killing him, it would be easier. But I make it a point of professional pride never to kill unless necessarily. I wasn't paid to kill this man, so I wasn't going to. I stagger out the back, and lever open the lid of the huge steel trash bin, and dump the cop in there. I broke his jaw pretty savagely, and he'll be out for several hours.

He should also be safe from my next trick. I take the C4 off my utility belt, and quickly plant it in the locker room. I set the timer for five minutes, near a door with the warning sign on it indicating danger of death by fire and shock on the other side. That was the boiler, fed by gas for the shower room. Once the C4 exploded, the gas lines would rupture, feeding an almighty fire which would burn down the gym and the bodies. It would take the investigation teams quite a while to determine that there were two unaccounted for bodies here. The SHARKs and the big thick beefy Texans. It would be quite a while before they even considered the possibility that they might not be dead. I would be long gone by then. And as a bonus, it would be extremely hard for the SHARKs to cover this incident up. They might have hoped for a quiet clean up... but a five alarm fire is a bit harder to sweep under the carpet, and I did love tweaking their asses.

I gathered up the duct taped and well-cocooned SHARK still alive under the body of his dead comrade, heaved his thickly muscled body over my shoulder and lumbered back towards the police cruiser, throwing him unceremoniously in the back seat on top of that massive Texan beefsteak. I put the cruiser into reverse, and backed out, flashers on. I pulled out of the car park just as I heard more sirens in the distance. Precisely five minutes after I set the C4, there was a particularly lovely explosion and a light in my rearview mirror. I smiled.

--------------- An indeterminate amount of time later ---------------------------------

"Wake up." I slap the big Texan's face lightly, then harder. You are naked as the day you were born. Your wrists are held my metal shackles and chains attached up to something in the ceiling. Your ankles are spread wide, and likewise chained to the floor. The room is darkened, with a single dim light straight overhead. Other than that, there are no distinguishing features to be seen. I am standing in front of you, wearing black jeans and a tight black muscle-hugging rashguard style shirt, showing off my muscle quite nicely. It looks like I've got a steel baton shoved in my back pocket. I grab your chin, and move your head right, then left, examining you carefully. "And how are we feeling today?"

2020-05-11 22:23

SEE PART II
https://venus.chatfighters.com/story/45611

Published: 2020-06-08, viewed 163 times.