five by five || bode & marx
@hamiltonsdevil
it was silent now. other than the stuttered crackle of plaster and brickwork shattering. peppered with bullets not twenty seconds earlier. it might have left a ringing in his ears, but the noise was tempered toned and honed to drive out certain frequencies and focus on others - to amplify the small shuffle of steps and the click of a trigger trying to pull on an empty, superheated barrel.
his exosuit was -- home from home. worn black, and slightly faded sand blasted from the deserts of new vegas. that, and the headset that clicked up a visual - infographics, radar, thermal imaging all delivering a wealth of information that needed to be read, digested and acted upon in seconds. there was a single channel open. one that was solely reserved for use by max-tac active units. and now - oh, yeah... they were active.
“we have seven civilians still in the building - surrounding area is clear and street crew have a two block radius cordon. at least four on the same floor as the target.”
as the -- psycho.
psycho. not usually a term that would be normally be acceptable. but here, there wasn’t really any other word that would suffice. a hopped up, super augment who’d lost their grip on reality to the point that any manner of -- sanity -- slipped free and violence reigned... and -- rained. literally - down upon the heads of night city’s civilian population. the ‘innocent’ ( for all intents and purposes here ).
he loves. and hates this job. it’s something he lives for. something he believes in. and yeah, the system might be flawed and fucked up ten ways from sunday - but it was the best they had. the best anyone had. you want protection from the corps - you gotta pay for it - in more than one way. sell yourself, your morals, your soul. lucky enough to hire your own militia? doubtful - so this was it. they - were it. the last line of defence for a defenceless populace. just men and women who still... believed... somehow, that in the chaos and the mess of places like this, that there was still some... good... some way, perhaps... that things could be turned around. those that were ready to put their lives on the line - and fight for them - and for that belief.
he does. believe. that things can be... better. that people can be... better. if they’re just given the chance. and maybe a little helping hand along the way. not just a job - but a duty - a self-commitment to things other than greed and hate and harm. opposing things which flooded wretchedly through these streets - corruption rife... that’s the part he hates... watching them - people - succumb. through fear or even a simple need to survive - slipping into the shadows and not knowing how to pull themselves out. worse... the ones who dragged them in there in the first place.
however... right now - that last line of defence - amounted to just four.
it’s an unknown quantity. an un-chipped augment, with no intel, no record of what tech might be stacked up in flesh body. and while he might not agree with the whole - ‘chipping people like dogs’ thing - it sure as hell would have helped in a situation like this.
“use of live ammunition has been sanctioned as per city code: DS366427. shoot to disable if possible. to kill only if necessary. ---watch your backs... watch each others backs. ---hannah, tristan - take the side entrance. ---marx - you and me - will be going in the front door.”
nothing like making an entrance.
