Long Form Roleplayers

Read this first: Reassignment

This story takes place during Homecoming

TWO DAYS LATER, SOMEWHERE IN SIBERIA

A Van rumbles up in the night, driving through lazily falling snow. The guards at the gate, stop the truck, and search it from top to bottom, comparing every package in the Van against a list of expected inventory. Finally, they nod, and wave the Van through. There are two more checkpoints the Van passes through before finally heading down an underground ramp, through a large set of automatic garage doors.

The van maneuvers through the compact underground car park, and stops just outside a set of double doors. A squad of men surge forward, well bundled against the cold, and begin unloading boxes and crates of supplies.

They let out a loud WHOOOPP when they discover a crate of vodka, but they let out an even louder WHOOOOOOOOOOP when they heft a large metal keg of beer. The biggest of them, with short cropped black hair, a black beard, covered in tatoos and bulging with muscle, cries out, in an Irish accent, "Party time tonight lads!!!", as he carries one half of the heavy keg of beer into the double doors, and stacks it against the wall of the warehouse.

Finally, the unloading is completed, and the Van departs the way it came. The lights go out, and the car park and warehouse are once more silent.

14:53 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: It’s around ten minutes later I gently lift the lid off the beer keg, unlatching it from the inside. I take a couple of minutes stretching myself. It had been rather unpleasant in there as it required to be rather rolled up. So I took the time to stretch before looking around and pulling out a small miniature flashlight and looking around for the other crates.

I pulled out a small knife and ran it under the lid and yanked the top of one of the crates up and stared removing some boxes of junk food and then lifting up the false bottom and started to attach weapons to my jacket and armour. Putting an assault rifle on my back, two glocks, a few knives, crowbar into my back and grabbing a small toolkit and adding it to my vest in one of the pouches.

I put the small amount of grenades into the pouches on my side and finally helping myself to the helmet and strapped it on to my head and a scrim scarf around my neck and placed a night vision sight on my eye and nodded. Taking a few seconds to ensure everything was on the right locations.

I slide over to the door and listen at it before opening it and heading out into the complex.

15:08 Gregor: Gregor came in from the frigid cold, rubbing his hands. He had just come off guard duty, and he was fucking frozen. He needed something to warm him up. And he knew just the medicine. Siberia was not his idea of fun. In Volgograd, the winters were cold, but nothing like this frozen hellhole.

But he had been on duty when the resupply Van had been passed through, and a new Van meant ... a new crate of vodka. Surely no one would begrudge him a swig or two.

He made his way to the kitchens, then passed through the door to the hallway heading for the food stores. The hall was barren, concrete floor, walls and ceilings. There were dim red lights spaced every 30 feet or so, but they did little to illuminate the passage. There were no doors or other passages until you got to the big kitchens. The big bearded Russian stopped suddenly. The light was dim, but he thought he saw someone about 30 feet ahead, in one of the shadow zones midpoint between the red lights.

Cheerfully, he called out, "Heh! It looks like I was not the first to try and sample the vodka. Or maybe it was the beer you were thinking of? Come on, let's hurry. If Jordan finds out we've broken into the booze before tonight's party he'll put us on bread and water for a week."

15:14 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I put his back to the wall, so I stayed in the shadows, but called out in fluent Russian, "Что может быть лучше, чем капля водки холодной ночью, а?" I smiled, therefore making my voice sound more jolly than it would normally be, adding "Come and join me... If you're not going to tell." With the same Russian accent.

I slide one hand into my pocket and pull out the water bottle I'd been using while being smuggled into the country and made a very loud opening of it. "Na Zdorovie" I say as if I was drinking from the bottle - when in reality I was standing at the corner in the shadows, a knife hidden, held backwards in my hand.

Silently waiting.

15:25 Gregor: English is normally the language the staff and guards spoke amongst themselves here in the lab, since the Syndicate hired people from so many different nations to pursue their mysterious goals, but hearing his mother tongue brought a huge grin to the big bearded Russian guard.

There were a few other Russians in the guards, but he couldn't place this one by his voice. He must be a new one, transferred in recently.

He laughed as he approached, calling out, with a big wink, "Это наш секрет!" The new guard, he caught on fast. He'd already been at the vodka, and was taking a swig. Gregor, with a big friendly grin, walked up, holding out his hand to accept what he thought was the bottle of vodka from the shadow-shrouded guard.

16:13 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I wait and move as if to put the bottle out, put instead of a bottle I slam the knife forward and into the guard’s throat and twisted it before pulling it back out.

There wasn’t a single look of remorse on the face of the soldier as he slowly watched the man die. He then pulled him back into the store room and closed the door wiping the blood from his knife and heading back the way he came.

A lot of other people would classify Mark as a psychopath. But in reality he had a very black and white sense of morals. And those on his side were in the right. Those on the other side were wrong.

Only his side’s lives mattered.

16:35 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: Jordan checked the clock in the mess hall. It was about time for the party he'd promised his men. Getting guards to sign up for duty in this frozen hellhole was hard enough as it is. So, he needed to organize these little events to keep morale up.

The Syndicate was paying him far too much for him to risk pissing them off by being understaffed. He had no fucking clue what kind of mad science these bastards were cooking up in this remote lab, but he wasn't paid know. He was paid to provide security, and that's what he did. And did it well.

The big Northern Irishman had been deeply involved in the IRA before naturally finding his way to the Syndicate, offering his services as a mercenary, and finding and recruiting other mercenaries to provide the guards. He was fucking rigorous in his hiring standards. He was paid to be.

Some of his best men, the squad leaders, were ex special forces from various countries, men whose sense of morality was not too well defined, who fought for the money and didn't care where it came from.

He called up one of them, a former Australian SASR man. "It's about beer o'clock, Charles. Go, take one of the lads, and fetch the keg." There was a cheer from the off duty guards. Each shift would get it's own party, all in due time.

16:35 Charles: Charles heads out with another man, Frederick, a German. Charles was lean, hard, blond, with a blond beard. Frederick was a big man, clean shaven, hugely muscled. He took steroids, and was much better at weightlifting than fighting, but he had passed his trial none the less.

Charles leads the way, quiet and grim faced, as he always was. He never smiled. Frederick the whole time talked up a storm. Charles enters the big Kitchen, followed closely by Frederick. Charles is one of those ultra paranoid men, that is always fully aware of his environment. He scans the kitchen, as he scans every room he enters, before navigating the massive work surfaces set up as islands in the middle of the industrial sized kitchen, ringed by heavy duty fridge freezers, cookers, and cabinets, heading towards the rear door leading to the long hall to the food store.

16:43 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: Luckily at least one of the two was making a bit of noise. The larger of the two was not as quiet as the other. I had time to get into position behind one of the shelves and i slowly climbed it and on top of one of the massive fridges and watched as the two of them walked into the room.

The other one though was paying a lot more attention, very little movement, paying attention to his surroundings.

Frederick was still talking and that was so helpful. He didn’t want to alert the base by shooting. Not yet. That’s too many people at once. He held the knife in his hand as he heard the guy talking and he jumped off the fridge with his knife in both hands, and like in the movies where they put a knife into a curtain and it rips down to stop their fall, he did the same now, but it was with the body of the bodybuilder, spilling the blood and guts and intestines out until he landed on the floor and turned and squared up to charles ready to fight.

16:53 Charles: Suddenly, in a blur of motion, Charles watched as a hurtling form eviscerated that big over-muscled idiot in front of his eyes. He didn't panic. Panic was for fools and idiots. He acted. He entered deep into the combat zone, assessing his environment and surroundings. He wasn't armed, not with a sidearm, since he was off duty, but to a special forces man, the environment was all the weapons you needed.

He reached out and grabbed a heavy steel frying pan off a rack above the cooker, and launched himself at the invader, the grim faced blond-haired lean, hard Australian swung the frying pan in a menacing arc towards Mark's knife hand, while he kicked out savagely with his foot, aiming for Mark's kneecap.

17:04 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I judge the best tactical move is to actually swing into the blow. Allowing the knife to be removed from my hand, as otherwise I’d have to put too much distance away from the guy. My hand gets smacked away but the ceramic plates on my gloves taking a lot of the pressure. I step inside as he goes to kick me and I turn my leg so he gets the side of it, but still enough to make me stagger into the wall.

I turn and have to take a step back, I’d been pushed off my intended attack plan by the kick to the knee and I step backward and fall backwards onto the cooker and use it and the panel on the front to allow me to launch into the Australian with a right hand to the jaw, sliding down the control knobs as I did and it started to make an irritating bleeping noise.

17:15 Charles: Charles smashes the blade out of the invader's hand. But the invader's reactions are fast. Charles wondered briefly where this invader had come from, he was clearly special forces, but with the scrim scarf covering his face, there was no way to tell his nationality, but there would be time later for that, after he was captured and interrogated.

Mark twists his knee, mitigating the force of the Australian's attempt to take the knee out, but he staggers. Charles surges forward, just as the SAS hard man launches himself with a right hand to Charle's jaw. The blow came so bloody quick that the elite Aussie SASR man couldn't avoid it. His head snapped savagely to the side, a gob of bloody spit spraying out.

Charles staggered, as flames erupted suddenly behind them, on the cooker that Mark had activated. Pain was knifing through the Aussies skull, but he didn't back down or give up, he fought through the agony and surged forward suddenly, dropping low at the last second, blood dripping out of his mouth as he wrapped his lean, hard arms around Mark's waist. He heaved up, and surged forward, looking to slam Mark into the activated cooker, spouting flames.

17:40 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: The thing is the cooker was on purely by intention. But I hadn't expected the man to be as quick as he was.

I lock my legs around the guy’s. He may have me by the waist but that will ensure he can’t throw me off into the fire. But I can feel the heat as he moves me backwards. I lean my head forward through towards his as I need him to drop me quickly before I get forced back by sheer weight onto the cooker and I slam my head towards his as I was going to headbutt him. But that’s probably a lot more expected than biting down through my scarf and sinking my teeth right into his nose as hard as I can through the cartilage.

08:51 Charles: Charles was driving forward, feeling the CRUNCHHH as the tough SAS hardman's back smashed into the top corner of the cooker, dangerously close to the flames, but then suddenly, the blond-haired hard muscled Aussie SASR man let out a gurgled scream, partially muffled by the scrim scarf as Mark savagely bit his nose.

His hands released Mark's waist instantly, he had to get this bastard's teeth off his nose. Fighting with all his training not to panic, Charles brought both his hands up, palms open, to give the SAS Commando a double slap over his ears, looking to stun him into releasing his nose. Blood started to squirt and pour down Charles's face, into his blond beard as he staggered, trying to endure the utter agony knifing through his head.

10:50 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I do release the nose when my ears are slammed into, momentarily stunning me, but that was just a second, nothing compared to the pain I had just caused. It was a bit disorientating, but I didn't need much in the way of coordination for the next thing.

I spit blood out of my mouth and grab one of his arms that he'd just used to slap my head, my arm locking around it, then I simply fall back slightly back onto the front of the cooker, the heat on my back, pulling the Australian with me, his right arm locked by my left arm, and his hand was placed into the fire as it was behind me, as I continued to look him in the face impassively as there was the charring smell of burning hand.

My other hand I bring up to put over his mouth to stop any screams from being too loud.

11:10 Charles: Charles gasps as the SAS Commando releases his ruined nose from his teeth.
The pain knifing through the blond Aussie former special forces man was slowing him down, allowing Sgt. Mark to lock up his right arm, forcing the palm of his hand down onto the flames. The smell of his own flesh cooking was accompanied by a savage mind-destroying agony slicing his cold, combat training to ribbons. He screamed into Mark's right hand.

He began to thrash wildly, uncontrolled, desperate to save his burning hand, his training falling away in the face of the agony. But some vestige of his hard training cut through the agony, and with a massive surge of will, he directed his flailing left hand up to Mark's face, savagely stabbing his thumb into Mark's right eye, looking to blind the brutal SAS commando, anything to get free.

11:53 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: There's a grunt of pain and annoyance as I drop Charles' hand and take a step to the side away from the oven and put my hand to my face due to the pain now in my eye.

I need a few seconds to get my orientation back, "I'll let you live if you tell me what I want to know." Just need a few seconds to get my sight back.

12:00 Charles: Charles though, staggers back away from the cooker, his hand charred and savagely burned, finally pulling it free from the flames. He isn't screaming, and sweat pours down his face as his body fights the shock threatening to shut him down. He grunts, gasps, looking at the SAS hard man with murder in his eyes.

The SAS Commando's words didn't even register with Charles. He is in full on flight or fight mode. He knows this is a life or death situation. He's trained as a former Aussie SASR. In these situations, they go fight. He surges forward towards Mark, his training kicking in. He didn't have a weapon, but Mark did. There, on his tactical belt, was a Glock. His left hand darted out to seize Mark's own sidearm, and fighting with all his effort to overcome the over the top pain knifing through his skull, his ruined nose cascading blood, his hand blacked and burned, he shakily willed his left hand to raise the Glock, intending to teabag Sgt. Mark Christopher in the face with the hard-ass Commando's own weapon.

12:28 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I feel the gun being removed from my belt, even without the sight in my eye and I charge forward slamming us both into the floor, grabbing the hand holding the gun through the blur and pain in my face just to ensure it can't turn towards me.

I grunt as we both slam into the floor, slamming my head down onto the SASR's face and compounding the injury to the nose, my boots sliding down the man's legs to keep them in position. "Fucking drop it, cunt."

My head slams down again onto the face while my two hands work to keep the gun away from pointing at me.

12:34 Charles: The invader surges forward, his reactions brutally fast, and before Charles can teabag him, the blond tough Aussie is slammed down to the floor, with the geared up SAS badass right on top of him. The Aussie's legs are pinned down expertly.

Charles fights to point the gun, but he takes another savage headbutt to his ruined nose, his entire hard-muscled body spasming, his strength starting to fade. Then, another headbutt slams into his face, and the Aussies eye's cross as he drops the gun, unable to maintain grip strength in the face of the rising shock. He spits up though, into Mark's face. He knows he's done. "Only regret is I'm not gonna be alive to watch what Jordan and the others do to you when they catch you."

12:53 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I grab the gun and point it directly into his face, standing up and moving carefully backwards, wiping the tears away from my right eye and now able to see again.

"You don't have to die here you know... tell me what I want and you remain alive."

"Australian SAS?" I ask after I see the fighting style and the accent.
12:58 Charles: Charles listens as the British hard man gets up, keeping the glock trained on him with a steady, expert hand.

He listens as the man speaks, in a hard, clipped Mancunian accent. Charles croaks out, the agony making it hard for him to focus. "Yes, you fucking cunt. Former Australian SAS. Now.." He shudders in pain. "..say our positions were reversed, would you talk? I think you know the answer, fucker. Doesn't matter anyways. Me and Frederick there." He turns to look at the gory remains of the big German bodybuilder "..are gonna be missed soon, and then this whole place goes on lockdown."

13:01 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: "You also know that this isn't worth dying for, only your country is, and ... this ain't Australia."

"If you were invading my country, I wouldn't even be having this conversation, you'd already be dead. But you're not, and it's out of respect for your former regiment I'm giving you this choice." I slowly pull a silencer from my pouch and attach it to the gun, never moving it.

"Tell me where the scientists are, and I'll let you live."
13:16 Charles: Charles listens with cold calculation to the smooth talking, ice cold Brit.

He's talking some sense. Of course, Charles was never that loyal to his country in the first place. Or he wouldn't be working as a mercenary for the Syndicate. He was, however, loyal to whoever paid him. But... he wasn't stupid. If he told him where the science team was, it wouldn't matter. Soon, the whole place would be on lockdown. And even if not, he'd never get past the guards protecting the access to the lab sector.

He shrugged, "Why the fuck not? It won't make any difference. You are a dead man walking. They are kept in the lab sector, on the other side of the compound, due north from here as the crow flies."

13:26 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: "Thank you," I nod slightly and then shot the guy twice through the head.

I'm not sentimental, and yeah shooting someone who was a former SAS person, even if Australian, would normally cause issues in my head, but this person was working for the enemy.

That invalided his special forces brotherhood card, and therefore made him expendable.

I turn the oven up to maximum and pick up the two dead bodies and place them bodily on top of the oven, letting them heat up, eventually they'll cause a fire once the fats in their bodies melt, and that's good enough to cause a distraction.

He was already forgotten when I walk through the door into the next part of the base, putting the gun back in the holster and heading towards North after checking the compass on the watch on my wrist.

13:51 Charles: Charles saw the twitch just before his brains exploded, having just enough time to think .... "Fucking lying wanker..." Before he was just another corpse.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: Meanwhile, Jordan looked at the clock. He mutters to himself, "Where the fuck are those two wankers? Sampling the booze, no doubt. If I find out.." But then, he's interrupted by a fire alarm.

That's followed shortly by his radio buzzing, it was the control room. "Fire in the kitchen, Commander."

He snaps out orders, sending a squad of off duty officers to the kitchens. He slams his hand on a speaker panel on the wall, and calls out in a loud voice, "Listen up. There is a fire in the kitchen. It's being handled. All duty personnel stay at your posts." When he found out who the fuck was responsible for starting a fire in the kitchen... no doubt some off duty drunk bastard once again trying to cook, he'd string them up by their goddamn balls.

13:51 Corporals_Andriy_and_Olek: Meanwhile, at the other end of the compound, the two guards heard the loudspeaker blaring out Jordan's voice just after the fire alarm. They didn't take much notice. They knew their orders. They were both former Corporals in the Ukrainian army. They were solid men, solidly trained, brave and resourceful. They weren't particularly patriotic, but they couldn't afford to be. They had families, and the pay here was much higher than the war ravaged Ukrainian government could pay them.

They were loyal to those paychecks. They were both hard muscled men, heavily tatooed, bearded, and drop dead handsome, as so many Eastern European military tended to be, and trained extensively in MMA for a hobbie. Jordan had selected them personally for all those reasons to be on the guard rota for the lab sector. Andriy and Olek stood at attention, wearing body armour, hard helmets, combat boots, grey military fatigues, and armed with sidearms and combat knives, flanking the large bolted doors to the lab sector. The hall approaching the lab sector was deliberately long and without cover.

14:47 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: He'd avoided most of the other guards on the way, no point in dealing with people you don't have to, it just wasted time.

He peeked around the corner. Body Armour. Not a good start, and assault rifles were excessively loud in such a confined space, with a large amount of high ceilings. He pulled two smoke grenades from his chest, and pulled the pin on both of them, holding them both in one hand, putting it behind his back.

He took off his helmet and scarf and placed them down on the ground around the corner, he wanted to seem, at least from a distance, to be like someone who was meant to be here.

He turned and walked around the corner, taking a couple of drunken steps forward, the corridor was long, and the uniforms here were a mixture of locations, so he just needed to get a few steps closer. But the guy who he'd just killed had given one piece of information and in fluent Russian he said. "Frederick... stupid... trying to cook he make whole place go...." and then made a flame motion letting the two grenades go, launching them into the air towards the two men, so the cloud of smoke would start from around head height.

As the grenades went off, he feinted to the left, which hopefully would be the last movement they saw, before quickly moving to the right into the smoke towards them.

13:51 Corporals_Andriy_and_Olek: Andriy looked up, followed closely by Olek as a man staggered drunkenly around the corner of the corridor. They both reached for their sidearm, but pulled back slightly as they noticed the drunken, weaving steps.

Olek grinned at Andriy, and the two grim faced, hard bodied Ukrainians chuckled at the sight of the drunken party goer staggering down the hall. Still, drunk or not, no one was allowed down this corridoor without prior authorization. Andriy called out, "Get back to your party, friend." in his broken english.

Then, the drunken fool spoke to them in Russian, which they both understood. So Frederick had started the fire? They started to laugh, their attention diverted. Suddenly, their laughter cut off abruptly when the room began to fill with smoke. They cursed, realizing they had just been had.

15:32 Corporal_Olek: Olek, faster on the draw, had his sidearm out and shots fired off to the left, as he caught sight of a final blur of motion in that direction. Andriy was only a split second behind him, shots following Olek's to pierce the cloud of smoke, but none of them hit any flesh, just the concrete of the corridoor wall.

13:51 Corporals_Andriy: Cursing, Andriy reached for his radio, calling in to Jordan. But... there was no acknowledgment. Andriy wasn't to know, but at that exact moment Jordan was getting an update from the team he'd sent to battle the fire. Apparently, the kitchen had been burned out, the fuel lines in the stove had caught fire, causing a major conflagration that had destroyed most of the kitchen. There was no sign of either Frederick or Charles.

15:32 Corporal_Olek: While Andriy tried to radio in the situation, Olek charged ahead into the smoke, his left hand dipping down to his tactical belt to grab his combat blade. His eyes narrowed as he tried to pierce the smoke, his ears straining to hear signs of movement, his gun weaving in front of him, ready to unload on any sign of movement.

15:18 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: In the smoke there's very little advantage apart from speed, and reaction time, and listening... They're also wearing armour, and they're not exactly trying to cover their tracks - taking down one of this would be difficult, two would be very difficult, but they didn't pay me to worry about easy things.

I'd heard someone coming towards me, but ultimately he was going to be the more difficult of the two, he'd reacted quicker, and had rushed forward, obviously a bit braver, a bit more on the front foot.

Slowly I take one of the pins from the grenades I'd used, and throw the pin behind me, hopefully to distract the person more forward in the smoke as it clattered to the ground with a high pitched tinny sound, and high pitched sounds travelled further.

I then slowly and very quietly walked down the corridor right next to the wall, they were going left, I sided down the right wall, until I could start to see the second person by the door, but he was trying to radio, which was a much bigger threat, I take one of my knives out and jump out of the smoke at Andriy, but the knife isn't aimed at him, it's aimed at the radio, and I pierce than and look at him, pulling my arm back.

He's well trained, he's not going to run. I prepare myself for the fight.

15:32 Corporal_Olek: Olek heard a tinny sound deeper into the smoke and he surged forward into the billowing vapor, firing a few rounds.

15:32 Corporal_Andriy: Meanwhile, Andriy was about to radio again, his attention focused on the shoulder mounted , his sidearm held pointed up towards the ceiling in his right hand. Suddenly, shockingly there is a small crackle and surge of sparks as a metal blade slices into his shoulder mounted radio. Cursing, Andriy lowers his right hand. HIs combat reflexes are solid, and he fires off a shot right for the center mass of his opponent before he even fully registers who he is facing.

His blade is in his left hand almost at the same time, and he surges forward, blade held low and deadly. He might not be special forces, but he's no slouch with a blade. His sidearm is at the ready, if the first shot didn't get a kill, he'll take a second, and aim for the head this time, with more time and space to call his shot rather than a knee jerk combat instinct reaction.

Fucking stupid beer party. The barracks were just around the corner, but with a beer party, all the off duty men would be waiting to booze it up, otherwise someone might be hearing all the gunfire.

15:36 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: The bullet slams into my armour knocking me back into the wall, but I hold onto the knife as I fall backward, kicking my foot out at the hand holding the gun, that was the most dangerous thing here, and would have killed me had it been aimed away from centre mass.

I slam backwards and slump slightly, the dull thump in my chest indicating that it hadn't pierced the armour, but it would leave a terrible bruise. I leap forward again, the worst thing to be now was away from the person, in case they had another gun, knife to knife is a measure of skill.. gun to knife is a measure of stupidity.

I snarl as I jump back at him, knife in my hand as well, taking aim at the tendons of the hand holding his knife.

15:32 Corporal_Andriy: Andriy assessed the situation, his enemy was also wearing body armour. He moved in, knife held ready as he repositioned his aim to teabag the stunning handsome, clean shaven man.

But with a speed that caught him off guard, a boot slammed into his hand, knocking his gun out of his grip. His hand throbbed, but his blade was held steady. The handsome invader charged forwards at him, aiming a slash towards his knife hand with a snarl. Andriy was on his guard though, and flicked his hand, his own training perhaps more defensive in nature, but it sufficed this time, his own blade catching the steel of the Commando's swipe, deflecting with a tinny ring.

He swung his right hand, now bereft of it's sidearm, towards that clean shaven handsome jaw in a brutal and savage right hook.

15:32 Corporal_Olek: Meanwhile, Olek heard the gunfire and the sound of fighting, turned and ran back towards the door through the billowing smoke to help his partner, Andriy.

16:17 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: The hook slams into my jaw before I have time to bring my fist up, my back slamming into the door, and my face felt like it was on fire, as I grunted with pain as I tried to get myself back in position quickly, but that had knocked the wind out of me slightly. My large frame had slammed heavily into the door after the punch to the jaw, and the weight of the body armour as well hadn't helped.

I make a feint that I am going to slice towards his hand again, exactly the same move as before, which should hopefully have the same muscle memory. But that's not the main thrust of my attack, I follow through with jumping past him and to where he gun had gone and I grab it and turn it around, shooting not at him but into the smoke, two on one is going to get deadly quickly.

15:32 Corporal_Andriy: Andriy's fist hit true, smashing into the handsome clean shaven hard man's jaw with a satisfying impact, knocking him back into the door.

He moved forward, going for the kill his blade held out. But, once again the SAS Commando proved his resilience and toughness, coming at him going for the same attack. Andriy defended, but it was a feint, and the SAS Sgt jumped past him, grabbing his sidearm where it had fallen and firing into the smoke. No doubt to catch Olek.

Andriy, desperate to save his partner rushed forward towards the SAS hard man's back, taking a flying leap, intending to smash his hard, heavy muscled body into Sgt. Christopher's back, and crush him down to the ground beneath his muscled body weight, plus the weight of his gear.

15:32 Corporal_Olek: Meanwhile, Olek's heavy footfalls as he runs back pinpoint his general location enough that the SAS Commando's bullet smashes into his body armour, knocking him off his feet. With a grunt, Olek rolls across the ground, the heavy gear slowing him down. His armour stopped the shot, but he feels like a mule kicked him as he tries to stagger up and regain his footing.

16:49 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I didn't have much chance to roll out of the way and the man slammed into me hard. I held onto the gun though firing again into the mist, but then the entire weight came down upon me and I grunted with pain as it slammed into me knocking me down into the floor.

The wind was knocked out of me as was the gun out of my hand, "Fuck," I grunt out as I barely manage to get an arm out to slam it backwards into the guy's chin and throat.

Getting pinned down would basically be fatal, but this guy was strong, very strong and his gear weighed a tonne.

15:32 Corporal_Olek: Olek was rolling up to his hands and knees, lifting his face, about to get up when suddenly a bullet slammed into his face. And just like that, he slumped, gore spattering the floor where he lay, dead.

13:51 Corporal_Andriy: Andriy's knife had gone flying as he tackled Sgt. Mark down to the floor of the hall, so he didn't have his blade handy to finish this intruder quickly. He was worried ... he could no longer hear Oleg's footsteps. He was worried that maybe this bastard had got him with one of those shots. He started to sit up, and Mark's elbow swung back, but it's hard to do any real damage to a man behind you with a back elbow, even so Andriy felt that blow crack into the side of his chin, and he slumped back down, struggling to keep it together.

He saw some stars, but kept his position on Mark's back. He reached down to grab the back of Mark's head, pulling his head up off the floor, then with a surge of his phenomenal Ukrainian muscle, he looked to slide his arm into the gap between Mark's chin and the floor to secure a choke on the double tough SAS Commando.

17:12 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I struggle for breath as my neck is wrenched back and I can feel the pain in the nerves in my neck and as the choke is locked in, I find it more difficult to breathe, and there is a faint buzzing sound in my head as the blood stats to get cut off.

For a moment I wonder if this is how I'm going to die, but it's a brief moment of concern, and it's not even panic, panic doesn't help anyone, he took as big of a breath as he could as he like this and he looked at the wall and floor, he put his elbows down on the floor and started to try and press up to get into at least a sitting position and getting the weight off his back would be the start of getting out of this.

13:51 Corporal_Andriy: Andriy had trained hard in MMA, it was a hobby for him, a way to keep his body in tip top shape, to put his thick, powerful Ukrainian muscle to good use.

Expertly, Andriy secured the blood choke by seizing his left bicep, and palming the back of the SAS Commando's head. This SAS Sgt. was uncommonly tough however, and found the strength to push up off his elbows, despite his weight laying on top of the Brit's back.

Andriy readjusted his grip, swinging his knees forward, planting them on either side of the Commando's obliques. Then, falling back on his MMA training, he let himself fall onto his back, his legs locking around Mark's waist, pulling the SAS Commando into a savage full rear naked choke, the Brit's head resting against Andriy's pecs. Even through the daze of being choked, and even through the body armour, there could be no doubt that Andriy's chest was massively muscled.

Andriy was certain it was only a matter of time until this intruder was knocked out cold. Then, he could check on Olek. He was desperate to check on Olek. Olek was his oldest friend here in the compound. They had grown close.

17:48 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I grunt again in massive amounts of pain. But the change in position is actually far more helpful to me than it is to him. For an MMA opponent this is a great position. There is not much that can be done. Especially if you’re strong as this guy clearly is.

The pain was now in my chest, back and neck. But this position relieved the problem of not having arms able to move.

But I didn't have much time. He knew that and I knew that. This was painful. This guy was a hulking mass of muscles under that armour.

I couldn’t reach the other gun in my leg holster and the one on my back was completely inaccessible. But instead I grabbed one of my pouches and took another grenade out and pulled the pin holding it in my hand and lifting it up to show the Ukrainian. Very slowly I start to take my finger off the release handle on the grenade. The threat is obvious. I’d willingly blow myself up and my attacker than fail a mission or be captured

13:51 Corporal_Andriy: Andriy's eyes go wide in shock as he sees the grenade suddenly with the pin pulled held up in front of his face.

Thoughts of his family.... his young son.... his daughter .... .his wife... flash before his eyes. He released the rear naked choke in a flash of panic, his life flashing before his eyes, literally kicking the SAS hardman away from him, in a desperate attempt to create space between himself and the grenade wielding suicide seeking maniac.

18:07 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I roll over and get to my feet unsteadily taking in large gulps of air... the difference between this guy and Charles.. this guy knew when he was beaten, AND I at least respected the fact that he'd nearly beaten me.

I looked at him. "Otkroy dver'" I say in Russian... Open the Door.

I hold the grenade closed and looked at him seriously, and unlike the earlier threat, this one I meant. "Open it and run away now..." I lean down without taking my eyes off him and grab the gun, but I didn't point it at him.

"Your friend is dead, I'm not messing around," I say in a deep Manc accent. "I respect your strength, I respect your willingness NOT to die for this cause."

"Open the door.. and find a new fucking job."

13:51 Corporal_Andriy: Andriy looks at the grenade wielding intruder. He speaks Russian, flawlessy.

Then, Andriy scrambles up to his feet. He looks over, desperately trying to decide what to do. He thinks of his family... of his friend, Olek. Of the threat... If he dies here and now... his family will be destitute. Then, the man speaks again, in a deep accent, clearly British, and Andriy's guts clench. This man must be SAS. Had to be. Their reputation was legendary among military circles. He felt fear clenching his guts.

Then, he heard the rest of the man's words. Andriy looked at him, his mouth dropping open. He heard the words, and the sunk deep into his confused mind. Not die... he didn't want to die. His wife... his family. They needed him. He could find another job. His family couldn't so easily find another father. He swallowed. Prayed for forgiveness, then entered the code on the keypad to open the door, and darted back into the smoke, offering only his armored back and the back of his helmet to the intruder as he ran for his life.

On the way, he stumbled across Olek's corpse. His mind froze, fury suddenly wiping out the confusion and fear. He'd ... .he'd just let the man who'd killed his friend into the lab sector.... He'd fallen for the Special Forces man's silver tongue. Those men are trained in mind fucking their enemies, and he fell for it. Hook line and sinker. Shame burned deep in him. He reached down for Olek's intact radio, and activated it. "Jordan, we have an intruder.... they... they overpowered me, killed Olek and are now in the lab sector. Backup requested."

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: Jordan cursed, and radioed the central control. "Lockdown. Lockdown." Alarms began blaring across the compound. Almost all the fucking off duty soldiers were drunk at this point. WELL FUCK. He ran to a weapons locker, and loaded himself out, throwing on some body armour, and clipping on his tactical belt, loaded out with a pair of grenades, two Glocks, and a combat knife.

The heavy, well armed Northern Irish former IRA commander, a massive man, over 6'1, and well over 112 kilos of pure battle forged muscle, headed out to lead the manhunt for the intruder. He should be easy to find, if he was in the Lab sector.

18:48 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: Mark had the door open now, and he walked into the lab sector and took the assault rifle off his back and started firing, indiscriminately , he wasn't seem for sentimentality - he'd let the Russian go because once the door was open, it was easier to let him go as ultimately the mission was more important, and the mission was to kill everyone in this room.

He heard the alarms going off, maybe he should have spent a few seconds killing the guy, but ultimately he didn't know if the code had been fake, which it hadn't, and it had been a calculated risk.

There was always time to go and hunt him down later.

Meanwhile... everyone in here... had to die.

Once the magazine was out, before changing it, he threw the grenade into the room before neatly changing magazines and continued firing into the room. Everyone had to die.. and then he needed to find a way out of there.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: Jordan was furious as he gathered his men and headed out. He realized suddenly that the fire in the kitchen was probably a cover for this mysterious intruder.

As Jordan approached the Lab sector, he heard the horrifying sound of assault rifle fire inside, the doors were open, and Andriy was standing over Olek's dead body, looking shell shocked. He screamed, "FUCK!" Then he heard a grenade inside the lab sector. That bastard. THAT MOTHER FUCKING BASTARD WAS SLAUGHTERING THE SCIENTISTS HE WAS MEANT TO PROTECT. He screamed out orders, "Davids, Mendenez, tear gas now, in the sector. We need to save who ever we can."

Davids and Mendenez tossed 8 cannisters of tear gas into the lab sector, flooding the whole area with acrid fumes in an attempt to put a stop to Mark Christopher's murderous rampage. Then, slipping on a gas mask over his hard bearded face, Jordan surged towards the doors, flanked by his seconds, both highly trained commandos in their own right, Davids was trained in Canada as JTF-2 before getting expelled for unknown reasons. He was big, hard muscled, resembling a lumberjack more than a special forces man, with the fastest reflexes Jordan had ever seen. The man was an absolute crack shot, moving that heavy muscle of his like a lightweight.

Mendenez was Spanish GOE, a badass mother fucker that killed for the fun of it. He didn't get enough action in Spain, so became a free lance merc. He wasn't as big as Davids, he was lean, hard, covered in tatoos, but he was insanely strong for his weight, and he shrugged off wounds and injuries that would put a lesser man in shock.

They too slipped on gas masks and surged into the sector, while the rest of the guards, who were not so well equipped, stayed back to hold the perimeter. Fuck, Jordan cursed. He asked for more gas masks just a few weeks ago. But they hadn't arrived.

10:54 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: There's a massive amount of coughing as I drop to the floor behind cover, reloading my rifle and also the handgun. Tear gas is lighter than air, tends to rise, the better place to be is on the ground as there was less of the gas down there, but it was still making it harder to breathe and to indeed see.

And he'd taken his scarf off, and hadn't had room in the kit to bring in contingencies for everything. He fired off another bullet at a retreating scientist, killing them instantly.

Ultimately what happens from here is less important, ideally to get out alive, as always, but his mission was done. That was the important thing. He looked around the laboratory, his eyes streaming and grabbed some gauze and poured some water from his flask into it and placed it over his nose and mouth. It didn't stop the fact that he was finding it difficult to see, but he could still hear and could hear the people approaching even through the tear gas.

He pulled another grenade out and threw it back in the direction the tear gas had come from as he closed his eyes for a brief second. "Fuck," he muttered underneath his breath.

He fired off a shot at another scientist, again killing them instantly as he tried to figure out a way out of this situation with his life. He wiped his eyes which didn't help much, but staying low to the ground, he went behind one of the lab benches and splashed the water in his face.

First order.. get a gas mask... second order, survive.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: Jordan charges with Menendez and Davids close behind him. At the first junction he silently orders Menendez and Davids to head down each corridoor, see if they could find any remaining researches hiding from this fucking murdering cunt. The Syndicate was going to have his balls strung up for this. But Jordan was determined to have the balls of the man behind this shit storm.

There, gunfire. coming from up ahead. Jordan crept forward, flattening his massive, powerful bulk against the wall. And that's what fucking saved him.

A goddamn grenade hit the ground with a metallic clink, and Jordan happened to be in position to see it hit. He cursed, but the big man moved like the wind when he needed to. He dived forward,and twisted back, taking cover behind a supply cabinet lining the hall. FUCK. Then, a goddamn mother fucking frag grenade went off, wrecking the hall, and making his ears ring, shrapnel smashing into the supply cabinet he hid behind.

His rage was burning white hot. He was going to fucking rip that bastard's balls off. He darted forward, hearing another burst of gunfire. He hated these fucking masks, made it hard to breathe, and he couldn't see worth shit, but he'd been in his share of tear gas clouds before. Any fucker in the IRA knew you had to drop low to get below the gas.

As soon as Jordan entered the main lab, he dropped down on all fours. Visibility was a bit better down here. The floor was littered with dead bodies, the research team caught in various attempts to escape the special forces man. He must be special forces to pull the off he'd pulled today. But this wouldn't be the first special forces man Jordan had killed. Wouldn't be the last.

That fucking bastard could be hiding anywhere. He listened, but couldn't hear him. Time to flush his prey out. He knew the fucker was in here somewhere. He reached down to his tactical belt and drew out two flash bang grenades.

He pulled the pins on them both at the same time. He held them, pulling off a dangerous ass fucking trick he learned during his IRA days. Then, he threw them both at the same time, timing it so they would both detonate in the air, without that tell tale clink a grenade makes when it hits the floor. The grenades wouldn't be as effective in the thick smoke on the eyes, but the ears... that bastard's ears would be fucking ringing.

He covered his ears tight to preserve his hearing and screwed his eyes shut, as the two flash bangs went off on either side of the lab, blanketing the lab with a savage wave of actinic, bright light and a brutal roaring sound.

Jordan opened his eyes and ears immediately after. The shockwave had temporarily cleared a space in the billowing clouds of tear gas and Jordan, crouched near the entrance to the lab, looked sharply, sidearm in one hand, blade in the other, for any signs of movement.

12:04 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: Just when I had started to be able to breathe the flash bangs go off, and while it didn't do much about the sight, my ears were ringing, and it reverberated inside my head, like the worst migrane.

I wince as I sit next to the bench trying not to cough, but the gauze helping with that, as I take a flashbang from my combat vest and tied some wire around the pin. I attached it to the back of my vest, moving slowly as my head was ringing with the noise and the deep thump of silence, both at the same time.

I slowly pulled the wire around to the front and slowly attached it to the ring I wore on my right hand, it looked like a wedding ring, but it was a present from someone, long dead, on passing SAS selection.

There were people in here who knew what they were doing, that was always a problem. Counting my magazines and equipment quickly, running low on grenades, two magazines left for the assault rifle, and then handguns. I pulled out a knife from it's scabbard and slowly moved it under my tactical vest so it was hidden and in it's place I put the electrical taser, only one shot, but it may be useful in a pinch.

Next, I took my medical pouch out and pulled out two pieces of padding for plasters and stuck them in my ears, that should lessen the effect should that fucker do what he did again.

My head was banging but I knew this wasn't going to get much better from here on out, I filled up two syringes and placed them into my tactical vest, discarding the bottles.

I take the last of the frag grenades I had and take the pin out and put some surgical tape around the handle to hold it in, that'll make the detonation quicker and quieter and placed it within easy reach.

And finally I grab one of the discarded bottles and throw it up and away towards the far end of the corridor ahead of me where many many dead bodies were... I wanted to hear if they would shoot randomly or they were picking their targets.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: My ears are straining, but I still don't hear anything. No cough, no scrape of feet on the floor. FUCK. He's good.

Time to hunt. The lab is full of a series of benches and the fucker could be behind any single one of them. But.... the tear gas had been cleared out by the shockwave of those two flashbangs. It was quickly billowing back though, I needed to take advantadge of the sudden visibility.

I only have a few seconds before I loose visibility. I stare intently around the lab, and then down the middle aisle running between the rows of lab benches. The benches were made of stainless steel, and highly reflective.

And there was my man, a black blob reflecting off the end cap of the bench opposite the aisle where he was hiding. I crept carefully, silently moving from bench to bench. The teargas had rapidly billowed back, reducing visibility yet again.

Then I heard a clatter at the far end of the lab, where another corridoor led deeper into the sector. I ignored it. I knew it for a feint, cause I had already marked my man. I sprang up suddenly , vaulting over the lab bench he was hiding behind with my left hand, my hard muscled body making the leap with practiced ease. I was fucking fit as fuck, despite my large bulk.

My right hand was out and in rapid succession, I fired two rounds of my Glock into the black shape of the special forces man hunched down beside the bench as I landed on the lab floor next to him. I hoped like fuck I got luck and got a head shot, but I'll take what I can get.

13:22 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I don't hear him due to the ringing in my ears so it's a surprise when one bullet hits center mass, slamming me right back into the bench, the second one slams into my left shoulder missing the armour and causing a fire of pain down my arm - it's not the first time I've been shot by a long shot, but it never ever gets any easier. Also the bits of tear gas with it's irritatant were making the wound in my shoulder already more painful than it normally would.

I wince in pain, but this is not about the pain, right now that can't be thought about, this guy is good, and I didn't have any time for weakness or worrying about anything, and I roll forward in case of another immediate shot, right into the guy's legs, wrapping my hands around them and then forcing myself forward to try and get him off balance, the blood flowing down my left arm as I tackle him, reminiscent of my days playing rugby in the early days of the army.

This guy was strong and fast, and he had a number of distinct advantages. The gas mask, not being wounded, not having had to fight a number of people already. First thing to do was close the distance, get the gun out of play, then worry about the next move at the time. There isn't time right now to thing three moves ahead.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: I see the blood spray out from my second shot, taking the fecking prick in the shoulder. Blooded him. I bring my glock down to fire another round in his face.

I fire, but the bullet smashes into the concrete floor next to his head instead of his head, because the fucking hard man was rolling into me, smashing his weight into my legs, knocking me off balance, wrapping his arms around me legs. As I topple backwards, my legs taken out from under me, I have a momentary flash of what can only be grudging respect. It takes one serious bad ass to pull off a tackle like that after taking a shot to his shoulder.

I slam back, breaking my fall, but losing my glock in the process, it goes clattering under a far bench. I swear savagely, in my deep, hard Northern Irish accent, "I'm a gonna saw your fecking nuts off you piece of rancid shite."

I reach up, whipping out one of my combat blades, sheathed in my tactical vest over my heart with practiced motion, and sit up slightly, focusing on that wounded arm, driving the blade towards the gunshot wound, like a shark smelling blood in the water. I can't get to my second Glock just now, his body is in the way, but I'll do this the old fashioned way for the time being. I'll fucking knife him into bloody ribbons.

13:46 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: There's a couple of possibilities that run through my head in a split second, but none of them will get anywhere near doing what I want.

The Irish accent doesn't help, I've had a problem with Irish combatants, since the troubles, it was towards the end of the Troubles in Ireland that I'd joined the army, and the accent was always a sign of danger - and despite the fact that everyone said the IRA had gone away... it hadn't... I'd lost friends in Northern Ireland and I hated the Irish in many ways.

But there was no other way to deal with this, and it was going to fucking hurt. I turn my arm sightly so that the knife isn't going straight into it, but it still slices right across the flesh, causing a spray of blood right next to the wound. But I continue down the knife, it still digging into my flesh, but I doubted that the Irishman wouldn't expect someone to actually fall into the knife, as I get close to him and my other hand goes up and rips the gas mask off.

"Irish Cunt," I say quietly, my ears blocked by the slight wadding I'd put in. "Irish fucking Cunt..." And I bring my gloved and knuckled right hand up to slam it into his face even as the blood streams down my left arm.

Him being Irish was making this about more than the mission.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: What the fuck? This bad ass bastard is mother fucking PUSHING into my blade, sacrificing his own fecking body to get into a better position. My blade is cutting his fucking arm to get at me. Then, before I can rip the blade free and stab again, the bastard rips my gas mask off, and then I've got bigger problems, the tear gas instantly starting to burn my eyes and my throat as I fight to breathe.

But then I hear his voice. More importantly, I hear his fucking accent. A goddamn mother fucking Englishman. Instantly, everything fell into place. This fecking piece of gobshite was a bloody assed SAS man. Oh happy day. I'll slice his balls off and keep them for a fucking trophy.

I hate the fucking English. Fucking hate them. Have lost friends and family to their boot-licking UDA toadies. The surge of rage even makes me forget about the tear gas burning my face and lungs for a moment, but then his gloved fist smashes into my face, and my body spasms, and I taste blood in my mouth. The pain knifes through my head like a sword. The fucker is wearing those goddamn ceremic gloves, they hit worse than brass knucks.

Through tearing eyes, I know I gotta level the playing field some more. I reach up with my left hand and rip away the damp gauze he's using to mitigate the tear gas right off his face, revealing his hard, handsome features.

Starting to feel dizzy, I know I gotta get this English cunt off me. If he hits me again with those fucking gloves, it could be lights out. I seize his left tricep with my right hand on the way back from pulling the gauze of his face, digging my fingers into his fucking bullet and knife wound with savage rage, and yanking for all I'm worth to toss the bastard off me, looking to pull my blade out from his arm at the same time, slick with his blood.

14:14 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I growl in pain as he slams his fingers into the bullet wound, enough to at least make me go with the tug, rolling over on the floor , the floor becoming slick with the blood rushing out of it, but I don't even have time to worry about that, yes blood loss will become a problem, but it's a problem for the next minute, not the problem for the next second.

My breathing has become more difficult, but my eyes had at least accustomised to the tear gas a bit, which his hadn't, my throat was burning more now though.

My left hand didn't have much strength in it, but I adjusted the ring on the finger very slightly as I pull myself up off the floor and charge back at the Irishman, I pull out the knife Armstrong gave me and rush to stab the guy right through the face.

But the floor of the lab is sterile, it's clean (well until everyone died), and it's polished to stop any dust and dirt, which means the blood on the floor is significantly slippier, and as I charge forward my boot catches on a puddle of blood, whether it's mine or someone elses, that's harder to say; and slam instead into the wall rather than the Irishman my arm shooting with pain as it hits the wall. "FUCK"

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: My eyes are fucking tearing up something savage, I can barely fucking see. I'm in a hard spot, a fucking savagely hard spot. My lungs are burning from the fecking tear gas. I'm gasping, struggling to get the oxygen my big body needs.

Gotta move. I hear movement and scrambling over me, then the bad-ass SAS fucker slips on a puddle of blood. Through my teary eyes, I can just make him out as he crashes into a wall.

He screams out a loud FUCK as he smashes into the wall. Gasping for breath, I dismiss the idea of trying to stand, the lower I stay the easier I'll breath. Instead, my mouth dripping blood, I rotate my body so my legs are facing him, and grunting, fighting through the pain to act quickly, I scissor my legs, knocking the SAS fucker's legs out from under him.

Forcing myself to move with all the speed I can muster through this shitty tear gas, I scramble over on top of him, looking to pin his fucked up left arm against his left side my left knee, thereby pinning his right side to the wall.

Then, with my right knee, I smash it forward, looking to fucking cave this English cunt's jaw in with my right knee to stun him, planning to follow that up by driving my blade right into his fucking face.

14:54 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: The Irishman is quick, and my lungs are burning as the Irishman gets on top of me and suddenly I'm pinned to the wall, my left arm already badly injured wouldn't have the strength to break out of this like that.

The knee to the jaw slams me into the wall, the metal buckling and blood starting to stream from my already irritated nose, and I look at the Irishman who was looking bad as well, I looked at him with the knife in his hand.

I flex the fingers of my left hand, which was trapped against my leg as I look at him, trying to look defeated and then I flex my fingers on my left hand forward, and the wire I'd spent the time running down my arm went taught and the flash bang I'd put on the back of my tactical vest has the pin pulled, probably not even making that much of a sound, as the pin wouldn't drop to the floor, attached to my vest as it is.

"You killed a tonne of my mates you know, you and your lot," I say, clearly trapped against the wall unable to do anything. I spit some blood out of my mouth.

I then look at the guy and close my eyes as i feel an intense heat on the back of my jacket as the flash bang ignited, sending a wave of pressure and heat through my armour but that's what armour is there for as the wadding in my ears protected them from the loud and bright blast but I'm hoping it would suprise the IRA bastard.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: Smashing this arrogant English cunt in the face with my knee, seeing his blood run down his face is better than sex. And the look of defeat on his mug sends a thrill up my spine. I gather myself, feeling dizzy, my lungs fucking burning, trying to get air in my burning lungs. My eyes are adapting a bit, but they are still on fire.

He mutters something about how I killed his mates. Just about to plunge my blade into his face, I snarl back at him, "Don't give me that shite. You English bastards and your UDA cock suckers murdered more of my family..."

Then, suddenly everything goes white for a moment, bright light leaking from beneath this fucker, reflecting off the polished sterile tiles. And a concussive blast of sound hammered my ears. FUCK....

I feel suddenly dizzy, disoriented. Can't tell up from down. I stagger backwards sitting down heavy on the floor next to the bench, my ears pounding in pain, my sense of balance fucked by the concussive blast of that flash bang, combined with the difficulty breathing making a deadly combo.

I got to .... got to finish this ... no more fucking around. Got to kill this English cunt. I reach back behind my back to grab my back holstered Glock, my aim is shaking and the room is spinning as I fight to get a bead on the fucker. I fire once.... then twice....

15:16 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: The thud in my back told me I'd probably broken a rib from firing that off at close range, and the pain running through my body was awful, but I opened my eyes, and knew this was the only chance I had, I slammed my boots forward, a shot misses me entirely the second shot slams into my side causing a blur of pain as blood leaked out of my uniform.

Worry for another moment... arm... another moment... side another moment... This isn't the moment to think... This is the moment to react as I launch myself on top of the irish man, Armstrong's knife in my hand and slam it through the man's shoulder, then pull it out and slam it through the man's shoulder again. My knee slammed onto his gun hand and I follow it up by a second knee into his bollocks.

"I don't give a shit about your fucking family, you IRA bastard. You were doing it for fucking terrorism, my mates were doing a fucking job."

I slam the knife down again at his other shoulder and look at him, both of us bloodied and injured - more so me admittedly in this situation - but thanks to a well timed booby trap, inspired by my dealings with IRA bombs I was in control.

I lock my legs around him, blood dripping from my face to his. "What's your name... so I can fucking know if you killed any of my mates, you fucker."

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: One shot goes wide, but the other slams into his side. And still the fucker keeps coming. He's got some giant sized bollocks. What the fuck is it gonna take to finish him off?

He's on me like a wild animal, a knee slamming into my gun hand throwing it free before I can get another shot off, then burying itself in my bollocks. I scream and gurgle, the pain ripping through my guts as my balls throb in agony. FUCK... Then, suddenly his blade sinks deep into my shoulder, once, then twice, causing me to scream hoarsely as the sharp blade slices through the tight power-packed muscles.

He mouths off more utter shite about doing a job, as I lift my other arm, starting to throw a punch towards his bleeding side, when suddenly that blade sinks into my other shoulder.

The mother fucking gobshite has stabbed both my fucking shoulders. I look at him, bleeding.

He locks his legs around my girth, his blood dripping onto my face. He asks my name, I grin up at him. "I hope to hell I did kill your fucking mates, you mother fucking scum sucking dickless English gobshite." Weakly my hands grip the back of his combat trousers, not much strength in them but some.

In a final surge of desperate strength, I tug back on those trousers, gasping for breath, battling agony in my maimed, bleeding shoulders, and bend forward, smashing my head into this fucker's midriff, to knock him off balance, and send him down on his butt in front of me. Gasping, I snarl, "The name's Jordan, Jordan Byrne. You take that to hell with you." I lunge forward latch onto the fucker's face with my teeth, sinking into his nose, as my hands weakly tried to fend him off me, as blood streamed down my shoulders.

15:51 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I howl in pain, both from my ribs hitting the floor, already injured as there were, but from the fact that his teeth were cutting into my nose. I slide my hand into my pouch as he lands on top of me and starts biting - so I do what you do with any rabid dog , you put them down.

I take the syringe I've prepared and slam it into the side of his face right next to the eye and putting an entire dose of morphine into his face.

I didn't recognise the name, but I would fucking remember it.

"Sergeant Mark Christopher, 22 Regiment SAS, remember that you fucking IRA cunt, remember that when you meet your fucking friends in the fucking afterlife, remember that fucking name."

I yank the syringe out and slam my knuckled fist right into his jaw to unlock him from my face. Hopefully the Morphine would kill him, I didn't have time to worry about it, as I ripped part of his shirt and tied it around my shoulder, grabbing Armstrong's knife back in my scabbard and picking up the guy's glocks to add to my own, the more bullets the better.

The second of the two syringes I inject into my own arm, about half a dose, to keep the pain down as it was ragged and sore... Now it was a matter of getting out of here.

I grabbed the other tear gas grenades from the hopefully dead body and grabbed his mask as well, he was a big guy, I rolled the body over and took his jacket off, roughly putting it over mine, it wouldn't fool anyone close up, but it would help at a distance. I look at the pocket and see a small security pass... well that would open some doors.

Fuck me that gas mask was fucking good, it felt like I was able to breathe for the first time in ages. I stumble up to my feet, putting a grenade in one hand and my rifle in the other. The morphine was kicking in, I looked like shit, but now I at least had something even more to live for... to kill this guy's family.. petty... but having something to focus on was good.

I started heading towards the outside, rifle up, ready to shoot.

13:51 Commander_Jordan_Byrne: I scream in agony as that English cunt rams a syringe into my face as I'm trying to bite his goddamn nose off. What the fuck?? Then, as he tells me his name, Sergeant Mark Christopher, 22, SAS .... the words burn into my brain. I'll fucking kill him for this. I'll fucking cut his bollocks off with a rusty blade, I'll hunt down his friends and family and murder every one connected to him. He's fucking ruined me... ruined everything I'd built up here. Then suddenly, his gloved fist smashes into the side of my jaw, and everything goes black.

13:51 Mendenez: Mendenez was looking for survivors, but their mystery invader had been pretty thorough. Lots of dead bodies, not many living. One hidden in a cabinet, another huddled in a corner. Only two so far... Only two survivors out of a team of 50. The Syndicate was gonna go fucking spare. Whatever these egg heads were working on had been mighty important to them.

Well, that wasn't his worry. That was Jordan's problem. He heard a series of loud booms, which he recognized at once as a flash bang. More than one, and gunfire. Back in the main lab. Well, there was nothing further to do here. Sounds like Jordan or Davids had found their intruder. He grinned at the thought of getting a kill on the bad ass who had pulled this off.

He'd better hurry though, there might not be any fun to be had if he dallied.

He rushed back down the hall, through the billowing clouds of tear gas, his gas mask protecting him. Then, vaguely, coming down the hall a figure approached, he tensed, but then he caught the sight and shape of a gas mask on his face. He couldn't make out the torso, but that must be Jordan.

He called out with a grin, "Ah fuck, Jordan, couldn't you have waited for me? You know how much I like to get the kill. That look in their eyes when they are staring death in the face." His dick started to stiffen. "At least let me see the body." He salivated at the idea. Sure, there were plenty of dead bodies around here, but these were the bodies of weak, puny people. But the dead body of the man who'd pulled this shit off. Oh yes. His mangled corpse would be .... splendid.

09:58 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I had bandaged up myarm a small bit and the morphine was working fine to numb the senses, and at least the blood loss had been slowed down, but there wasn't time to dally around - I needed to get out of here, back to the loading bay and back to the outside. I'd seen a truck in the loading back that wasn't being used, that was all I needed to get to.

The figure was heading towards me, I flexed the glock in my non injured hand as they did, and they were talking as if I was the guy back there that had been killed. Worse this guy seemingly was getting off on killing, which I never did, to me it was a job, it was a job that the government had asked me to do, all these jobs were that, doing my duty for my country, no matter what, there was no perverse pleasure in it, there was no getting hard when fighting the enemy, all that did was give a bigger target when someone hit you in the fucking sack.

I pull my gun up and shoot him right in the face mask, twice, blood splattered over the cracked and shattered face plate and there was an explosion of brain matter from the back of the skull as the force of the two bullets went through his head and out the back.

Unfortunately getting that close also meant that I saw another scientist following him at a distance, obviously this one had been hiding, he looked at me for a brief second as a brief second was all he had before two gunshots slammed into his chest.

I threw Jordan's Glock aside now out of bullets and pulled my own one back out again. The sound of the scientist and the Glock hitting the floor happened at the same time as I moved on with no compassion. This was a job, it wasn't fun, it wasn't something to be enjoyed.

I know there are some special forces guys that do get off on the fighting, who do get off on the killing and the hand to hand, but I'm not on that wagon, I get my kicks with random sex with guys whenever I'm off duty. Not when I'm on duty.

I head back towards the door, the Morphine now giving me the dull sensation it does, masking the ribs and arm pain, allowing me to continue.

10:24 Syndicate_Guards: Outside the hall leading to the lab sector, the guards had set up a defensive perimeter. Tense, nervous, the waited, weapons trained on the entrance to the lab. Some of the tear gas inside the lab sector was leaking out, but vents in the corridor kept most of the leaking gas from affecting the guards.

Jordan had ordered the ventilation fans in the lab sector itself shut off. Tensely, they waited. A figure started to appear out of the swirling clouds of cloying tear gas. Benoit, a French mercenary placed in charge of the defensive squad squinted, then shouted, "Hold your fire." The man was wearing a gas mask, and his tactical vest matched the one that Jordan had been issued.

10:24 Davids: Meanwhile, Davids, drawn by the gunfire had broken off his search for survivors, and headed to see what the fuck was going on. He never noticed Mendenez's corpse, obscured by swirling gas, on his way to the main lab.

But, after a careful search of the main lab, he found Jordan. Jordan was in bad shape, his shoulders stabbed, and his face looked like hamburger meat. He had a pulse, barely, and it was racing like a formula one race-car. Davids cursed, and tried to stabilize the big, massively muscled IRA man. He had a lot of respect for Jordan. Considered the big man his friend, as much as Davids considered anyone his friend.

10:35 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: Out of the smoke there comes only two sounds - the first is a tiny click, the second is the sound of Jordan's last two tear gas grenades hitting the floor outside in the corridor, bouncing down.

As the hiss of smoke started, a hale of bullets came down the corridor shooting indiscriminately into the mist, first at chest height, then in case of quick thinking people, towards the floor.

30 bullets are fired, followed by three seconds of silence, followed by 30 more bullets, followed by three more seconds of silence, followed by 30 final bullets - and then the next sound is of an SA80 assault rifle hitting the ground, having run out of magazines - no point in being kept down with additional weight.

The morphine was feeling lovely now.
10:24 Syndicate_Guards: Benoit screams out, "FUCK FUCK!! FIRE FIRE!! TAKE HIM DOWN!"

He grabs out his own assault rifle, laying down a hail of bullets, along with the other guards. They fire into the gas, trying to saturate the area blindly, above and below. The gas overwhelms the vents and begins to billow out over the guards, many of them start coughing, and many more start dying.

Benoit is in the middle of shouting orders, "Rush him... RUSH HIM... BEFORE.." Then he cuts off mid sentence as his brains spatter the wall and he falls to the floor.

The hail of bullets finally die down, and the tear gas washes over the unprepared guards, who begin gasping, choking, their eyes tearing up, unable to see or react, writhing. The less disciplined ones break, and run, trying to get clear of the fumes. The more disciplined ones grimly fight to control their reactions, trying to drop down low to get beneath the fumes, desperately trying to see through burning, tearing eyes, feeling sick and dizzy.. The sound of the lone assault rifle hitting the ground doesn't even register on any of them.

10:54 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I start walking through them, quietly as they were throwing up and writhing on the floor, the orders hadn't said kill everyone, only to complete the mission, which had been done.

Now, it was only killing for survival, not for the mission, the ones running were the sensible ones, you don't die for your cause, you make other people die for theirs.

I reach the end of the corridor where Andriy still was, my Glock is in my hand as I look at him. He'd been loyal to his friend, and I couldn't fault him for radioing for help.. but he was loyal.

I look at him. "Сожалею о твоем друге. Он мешал. Тебе не нужно умирать." I say that I was sorry about killing his friend, but ultimately Andriy didn't have to die as well. The loyalty to a friend over a cause was something I could understand.

"I'll shoot you if you try anything. Go back to your family. These people don't care about you. Your family will." I throw down Jordan's pass to him. "I bet if you check his office you'll find a lot of money in his desk, or a suitcase, or a cupboard, I don't know.. but if I know people like him.. they always have spare cash which they've not paid you guys."

"Take it back to your family and go."

I wince slightly even through the morphine as I look at him. "Or we fight. I'd advise taking the money."

There was of course a second reason, not just kindness which was very rarely just a motive for me... I didn't want those funds ever going near the IRA.

11:12 Corporal_Andriy: Andriy knelt, near the end of the corridoor, next to Olek's body as shots rang out around him and men died. He choked, gasping on the fumes, feeling sick, but he tried to hold his position. He knew... he knew that he would die soon. He didn't want to die. His family... they depended on him. But he didn't want to be a coward. He had already failed once in his duty.

Then, suddenly, a stream of Russian poured over him. Unable to see, gasping, he fumbled for his sidearm. The words though, caught him off guard, words of sympathy and understanding. He felt astonishment flood through him. His gun wavered... That SAS man was back... the slap of something hard and plastic hit the floor beside him.

He reached out and felt it, he brought it up closely to his face, trying to keep his shaking sidearm pointed at the SAS Commando as he looked it over. It was Jordan's pass. Jordan then, was dead... and no doubt, soon, everyone here would be dead. This man... was unstoppable. He was a force of nature, not a man. He needed to live ... for his family, and for a reason that he could not understand, this killing machine was giving him that chance.

Andriy knew that he would hate himself, hate this man for compounding his shame and failure. He knew he was being manipulated... but he didn't want to die. His family, they were his life. Silent, without a word of thanks, he turned, and stumbled towards Jordan's office. With Jordan's stash, he knew that at last, he could provide properly for his family. It was blood money. It was money born of his failure and his shame. But that would be his burden to bear. And at least ... at least, his family would be provided for.

He carried with him both his gratitude and his twisting hatred for the British SAS man who had both ruined him and given him the means to care for his family.

11:24 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: Ultimately that meant that the money would be out of the IRA hands, and that was the point, as I turned and headed back through the kitchen which was now covered in water from the fire suppressant system, I step over the two charred bodies without concern or a single thought.

I head through and out back into the loading bay and throw off my gas mask and Jordan's jacket, the blood had seeped through the dressing on my arm. I go back to the crate that had my weapons in and pick up the satellite radio that was in there and headed over to the truck.

It takes a minute or so to hot wire it, my fingers aren't as responsive as normal, my left hand isn't very useful right now for fine detail work, but eventually it burst into life and I headed out of the compound, putting my foot down I turn on the sat phone to a specific frequency.

"Charlie Nine Zero to Command, Pick Up Required at Agreed Coordinates."

I throw the phone down on the seat and take the rest of the syringe of morphine out and inject it into the arm and throw the empty syringe away. I so need a holiday.

BACK IN LONDON

11:41 AgentJamesMason: I read over the notes, frowning, then grinning. What a huge relief.
He'd done it. And even better, he was still alive.

The Syndicate's research efforts would be crippled for months to come. And perhaps Russia would learn a valuable lesson. Their transparent little game of looking the other way when the Syndicate set up bases in their territory was getting extremely irritating.

I look up at the clock. I nod to myself, time then to pay a visit to the man of the hour.

I stand up, adjust my shirt, and walk down the corridor to the same unadorned, simple meeting room that Mark and I had met in not four days ago.

I enter the room, and sit down across from Mark. I grin, "Sgt, if you keep up this kind of reckless behavior, you aren't going to have enough space on the front of your dress uniform for any more medals." The implication was clear. I'd already talked to his CO. He was getting a medal for this. He could never talk about how he had acquired the medal. But he would have it, all the same. At my insistence.

12:10 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I'm wearing my dress uniform, but my left arm is in a sling as I nod politely to the agent, the pick up had gone smoothly but the surgery to work on his left arm had taken longer than expected, it had been highly inflamed by the fallout of the tear gas residue in it.

"Thank you, sir. Just doing my job."

"And reckless implies that I did something rash or impetuous, and with respect, I did neither. I was tasked to do a job and did it, that's not reckless, sir."

I smile, "You used to be in the Regiment, you know exactly what it's like, sir."

"It was being run by an IRA commander. I don't like them. I'd have done it for free if you'd have told me that."

12:32 AgentJamesMason: I stare at him for a moment, my grin getting wider. Direct, spoke his mind, precise with his language. He was a sharp one, this Sgt. Christopher. Oh yes.

"Yes, one Jordan Byrne, in fact. He was offered a position with the Syndicate in the wake of the shitstorm in Northern Ireland. We trusted the Yanks to handle that." I sighed. "It made sense, given that the funding was coming from American sympathizers. But in retrospect... it was an absolute disaster. The CCS lost most of their personnel in that operation, including the highly respected Captain Matt McKaine, and now the Syndicate's grip on Northern Ireland is so deep that it's going to take something fairly major to dislodge them."

I take a moment to massage my temples. "Jordan Byrne was heavily involved in the Syndicate's ground operation there. Most of the Syndicate's local forces are former, and well, not so former, IRA. That's a problem for another day, however. And one which might very well require your assistance with."

I look at Mark again. "In our line of business, Mark, the rewards for a job well done are more of them. You can trust that when MI6 has need of the SAS again, I'm going to be asking for you personally. It might lead to a shortened lifespan for you... but somehow, I don't think you want to die in bed."

I grin, evidently joking, but just as evidently, deadly serious. "Heal up Mark, I've arranged some leave for you with your CO, at least until your arm heals, along, if you wish it, a holiday of your choice at the destination of your choice, paid for by MI6. Our administrative staff will arrange the details with you."

I reach out to shake his hand, and start to leave, turning as an afterthought before I walk out the door.

"Drop by my place for tea sometime. Sam is in awe of you, Kyle generally manages not to burn the meal, and even if he did... it will be much more appetizing than what they offer in the barracks."

12:53 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: I smile slightly the holiday will be nice, but I shake my head at the offer for dinner. "Sorry, sir, I make it a rule not to get domesticated, even for ex members of the Regiment."

"But tell you what, if you'd like to get a beer, I'd take you up on that, see if you can still hang with the boys when you're not wearing the suit, sir." With the look of my smile I'm obviously flirting a bit.

"And I'll take you up on the holiday. Thank you, sir."

13:15 AgentJamesMason: I grin. Cheeky bugger. "A beer it is then. Someone has to show you young bastards how to properly handle your alcohol. Enjoy your holiday."

I shut the door chuckling. He was, I believe, flirting with me.
Not that I minded in the least, fuck, he was a good looking hard-assed SAS bastard.

Grinning, I walked down the hall. For a moment, I even managed to forget the dozen different major headaches I was juggling, courtesy of the Syndicate. He was a rare breed, Mark was. We were very, very lucky that he was on our side.

Published: 2021-07-12, viewed 114 times.