gunsforhire | The Winner Takes It All

Entry tags:

The Winner Takes It All

Who: Agent York (Native), Louisiana, New Jersey, Control mercenaries
What: Infiltration for information
Where: A Control base
When: Early morning 6/8
Warnings: Blood, violence

This is definitely the right place. After hacking into the channel used by the Control merc he'd been shadowing, York has managed to track down the place the guy was sending his reports to. It's a warehouse in relatively good shape that appears abandoned from the outside save from fresh tire tracks in the dust. Thermals say there's heat inside, but his mod isn't advanced enough to show specifics, so he's going to have to be careful.

Moving quietly, York slips down to the building and, after poking around for a few minutes, finds a back entrance that looks pretty unused. Breaking into the lock and disabling the alarms takes mere seconds and he sneaks inside, closing the door behind him.

On the inside, the building looks far from abandoned and less like a warehouse. There's no one in sight yet, but the Thief isn't naive enough to think that he's alone here, so he keeps an eye and ear out for anyone as he makes his way through the corridors. Having the main network at the center of a base is pretty standard, so finding the control server isn't very difficult, though he pats the picked lock on the door as he passes through since the thing took him more than thirty seconds to crack. Once he's in, he hacks into the mainframe, grinning under his helmet as he remembers the conversation with Roxy concerning his hacking skills mere days ago. The grin grows when he's let in after just a few minutes and he takes out a data-chip and connects it to the console, starting to download the data.

While that's happening - and the bar tells him it will be one minute, forty seven seconds, but those things can jump between one minute to two seconds to five minutes - he hides himself by the hinged side of the door in case anyone comes in. When no one does and the download completes, he snags the chip and logs out of the system, hiding the chip in a slot in his helmet which should begin the transfer of the information to a server at the Fore Hire base, specifically set up for enemy intel and disconnected from their main servers in case there's any traps.

His work here is done and he leaves the console room as he found it, beginning to sneak back through the corridors as quickly as he can. He doesn't want to be here any longer than necessary.

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Anders heads down the halls from the garage. He was the first one to arrive back from the convoy and wanted to make sure that things were still settled before the primes showed up. Both the Wraith and Deadeye seemed more than needing some peace of mind for a while. However he froze at the disabled lock on the door he reached for. That wasn't supposed to be like that.

Someone was within the base. Hopefully they hadn't left yet.

"Seal off the exits," he radios angrily. The base is thrown into red alert with a warning siren going off on all levels. "We have an intruder in the western corridor. Make sure they do not escape. Check every nook and cranny we have. Find them. Now."

...Shit. Maybe someone else had tried to sneak into base and had been caught? Yeah, fat chance. York considered radioing for help, but he'd gotten out of places while the alarm was going off before and everyone was either too far away or otherwise occupied. Wash was looking after Oquirrh, so while he readied a transmission to Recovery, he didn't send it yet. No need to drag people into a mess he could get out of.

He hurried down the hall, pressing into the shadows every time he even thought he heard or saw someone coming. With the alarms going off, it was difficult to tell, so he hid more often than was necessary and only twice did someone actually walk past his hiding place. Each time in threes.

He was sure there had been barely anyone, or even no one here when he'd arrived. They must have just got here. But how many? At the sound of hurrying footsteps, he darted to the side of the corridor to hunker down again.

The patrols began sweeping the building's rooms and sounding off reports as they progressed. This intruder will be found before too long. Anders was sure of it. He had two guards posted at each exit to ensure someone couldn't sneak out that way. He then focused on what this intruder could have stolen. The storage areas hadn't been disturbed. So where else?

He turns around in order to head towards the server room. That was the only other place. Depending on what was snagged, a couple of these idiots were bound to be booted for incompetence. The mission logs on those things were important. Let alone the few files they had on their involving their loaned primes. It was mostly history with the company to entice possible contractors to join them.

However his attention went towards the flash of tan that went across the hall further down. Taking out his gun, he slowed his approach. "Come out with your hands up."

While hiding, a message flashes up on his HUD telling him that the files have finished transferring. Grinning in the darkness, he types out a quick message to Florida to let him know. Mission accomplished. At least information wise. He still has to get out of here and he slips out of his hiding place, only to rush back as the footsteps return.

Not quick enough.

Hide or fight? They've got a gun and while he has his assault rifle strapped to his back, theirs is in their hands. He's better at hand to hand anyway. Fight it is. Plus some fun.

Raising his hands, he steps out of the shadows and turns to face the guy who saw him. 'Oh, hello! Finally, someone here. Please don't shoot me, I'm just a door to door salesman. No one answered when I knocked, so I just thought I'd let myself in. Hope you don't mind.'

Anders shifts his footing to keep a steadier aim at the man. "I know who you are, Thief. So don't try to treat this like some joke."

"I found the intruder," he radios. An confirmation of receiving sent in by Deadeye. Looks like the sniper will be here faster than the ghost. "It's York of the For Hires. And I'm pretty sure he stuck his nose into something he shouldn't of had."

'Who me? You have a gun trained at my head, I hardly think this is a joke. Although I think that gun is a bit outdated. Here, guns are my spciality. As a door to doo salesman, that is. What you need is a nice assault rifle like the one I've got right here.' He tilts his head towards the gun on his back, but doesn't move his hands. As long as that gun's aimed at him, he can't move quick enough.

Patience might not be something he's particularly good at, but playing for time is another matter entirely. Maybe he can out-patience this asshole or something.

Edited 2015-06-08 19:08 (UTC)

"It's made to look outdated, asshole." He rolls his eyes behind his visor. God damn this guy had a motormouth. Seriously. "Now you're going to tell me what you stole or I blow your brains out. You get ten seconds."

Anders starts to creep closer towards the intruder. He was certain he could take this idiot in a fight. That or at least distract him enough to get back up over in no time. The base was now crawling with other Control mercs.

'Ah, well I guess there's no point in pretending any more. You're no fun.' He sighs dramatically. 'I never got there, luckily for you. Your sharp eyes spotted me too soon. I really should change my color scheme, tan just doesn't blend in well enough.'

That's it, come closer. If this asshole gets too close, York can knock the rifle's aim away and attack. Hopefully the asshole's overconfident.

"Oh is that it? I just happened to prevent from getting to your target," Anders asks sarcastically. He knew better than to accept things coming from an enemy. Let alone one who was in their base. He continued his approach. "Five seconds."

'Wow, you are one perceptive guy. No, seriously. First you see through my salesman disguise and now this. I'm impressed. Fine, if it'll save my life, I was going to raid your information. Info for info, if you will. You took ours, so I was gonna take yours. Only fair, really.'

One more step and he'll be in range.

"Well looks like you're having an off day. Put your hands behind your head slowly." His rifle is within a foot of the intruder's chest. A finger resting on the trigger. At least no one had gotten hurt over this. Last night had been a nightmare.

'Happens to everyone,' he admits sheepishly. He moves as if to comply, then snaps out, knocking the man's gun aside and sending his other fist into his chest. While he's off balance, York snatches the gun and throws it to one side. He can't let this guy take him anywhere. He has to get out.

His rifle is wrenched out of his hands. A grunt leaving him after the fist knocks his breath out for a moment. Dammit. Anders steadies his footing before blocking another incoming hit. His hand wrapping around the Thief's left wrist to bring him closer and into a sharp hit of his knee.

York swears as the knee goes into his stomach, but he recovers quickly, twisting his arm so he frees his hand and grabs the man's wrist in turn, using the grip to twist him around, arm forced up against his back. He sends a hard kick into the back of his knees, forcing him down while he keeps a hold on his arm that could break or dislocate it with a single movement.

Anders growls out as his arm is pinned behind him and he's forced to reevaluate everything. He couldn't go anywhere. So he sets off his beacon to alert the arriving primes of his distress. "Fucking asshole."

'Sorry, you're not my type,' York says easily, kicking the man down and hopefully out. Then he runs. No doubt the guy's called for reinforcements and he's honestly surprised no one else has shown up yet. Thinking back on how he got in, he retraces his steps back through the warehouse, only this time as fast as he can. He has to get out.

Jersey is moving once the Falcon touches down. The Thief was inside of that building and he was not in the mood to play around this time. Especially since a distress beacon had gone live in there. He was going to take out his frustration on these damn For Hires. This time he was not going to simply knock that man out.

Pistol in hand, he roams through the halls looking for a sign of trouble. His tracker scanning for a target. However he doesn't need it when he catches a sighting of tan and white. He begins to give chase after the man.

York glances back briefly at the sound of running feet behind him and almost trips over himself at the familiar outfit. The last time he saw that helmet, his vision was fading and he was out of air. Now it's like he can feel the man's hands wrapped around his throat again, pinning him against the wall, chking the life out of him and--

Focus.

He's never going to get out of here if he can't focus. Forcing himself to ignore Jersey behind him, he keeps running, winding through the warehouse until he rounds the corner into the corridor leading to the door he entered by... Only to skid to a stop as two mercenaries guarding the door train their guns on him as soon as he's in view.

"Stop right there!" One of the guards shout at the intruder.

Jersey halts at the end of the hallway and strides along, closing the distance between him and the Thief. There was nowhere for him to go. He was pinned between them. He clicks off the safety on the pistol. His brace a good remainder that he needed to put a bullet in this man.

"Where do you think you're going," he growls out.

Three on one, he's doesn't like those odds. Jersey took him down before and while he can see the brace around his leg, and seeing it makes him smile coldly, with the backup of the two guards behind him, he's not sure he can win this fight. So he stalls.

'With any luck, I'm going back to base,' he replies.

"Like hell you are," Jersey retorts sharply. He uses a free hand to grab York's shoulder and throw him back down the hallway. He was going to tear this guy apart.

He turns to the guards. "Stay on that door and tell the others the same. I've got a nuisance to take care of. It won't take long."

York catches himself as quickly as he can when he's thrown off balance and gets into a defensive stance. Can't use his rifle here, itnwould ricochet off the walls. Jersey's leg is injured, a weakness. He can use that. Hopefully.

While Jersey is still talking to the guards, York attacks, punching him hard in the side and aiming a kick at his injured leg.

Jersey recoils at the hit, grimacing at the pain. However he has to act fast to avoid the incoming kick. Sidestepping, he manages a dodge before retaliating with a jab to York's chest. Then his hand goes up to grab the man's helmet.

If the guy wanted to play like that, then fine. Jersey was more than willing to fight hard. He slams York's helmet against the wall.

York's head bounces off the inside of his helmet and he grits his teeth, refusing to make a sound. He jabs an elbow at Jersey, catching him the chest and twisting free while the man recovers. He takes a half second to readjust his helmet and correct his stance before lashing out again with a series of quick hits.

Jersey grunts and raises his arms to block the blows. He grabs a hold of a wrist. He uses it as a pivot point to throw off York's balance, forcing the merc to the ground. His fist hitting the man's lower ribs twice while he had the the upper-hand for now.

This guy likes getting him off balance. He'll try and factor that in in the future. His ribs protest under the blows and he manages to block the last hit and roll away awkwardly due to the gun on his back, but they're already bruised, if not cracked. Fuck.

He gets back to his feet and unslings the gun from his back. He can't fire it in this space, but it makes a very effective melee weapon, making a satisfying crack as he whacks it against Jersey.

Dammit. That asshole bashed his rifle into the shoulder that was still weak after the first encounter with Florida. He hisses out a ragged breath at the jolt of pain. He grips the body of the gun to tear it out of York's hands.

His shoulder ached and the healing leg was starting to give off waves of agony. However he kept pressing the offensive. Jersey clocked York with an uppercut. His focus on giving himself some room to move.

Oh, that's intersting. Another weak point? Leg and shoulder, right, those are going to be his main targets. He might have lost the rifle, but it gave him good information. Information that might win him the fight.

Although Jersey is still coming back strong. His HUD flashes a warning at the hit and York shakes himself, blinking the warning away and preparing for the next attack.

He circles the guy for a moment to get a breather. Then he's back at it. Jersey hooks his fingers along York's helmet seals. Let's see if this asshole could handle without that. He pushes upwards while his other hand helps wrench it off.

Oh no, fuck that! York struggles against him, fighting off Jersey's hands for as long as he can, but eventually his helmet is pulled away and he's left exposed. Dammit! Now he's lost both protection and his mods. He's going to have to be careful with his left side, especially since Jersey will now see the obvious weakness.

Well look at that. The Thief was blind on his left. Jersey tosses the helmet away, listening to it clatter away. Odds still were in his favor despite the injury. He feints a punch to draw York's attention. The real hit was to the man's left temple.

Gritting his teeth, York tried to keep his head turned slightly so Jersey wasn't in his blind spot. He blocked the punch to his chest, but realised as the blow glanced off his forearm that there wasn't much power in it. A split second later, he was sent reeling back from the blow to his head.

He found his balance fairly quickly and leapt back at Jersey, managing to get a punch to his injured shoulder.

Grunting, Jersey turns with the hit. York's right arm is his next target. He gets a hold before twisting behind him and applying force till a crack was heard. A sharp kick thrown into the For Hire's lower back. It was his bad leg but he could deal with the pain later.

York can't help but cry out at the sudden flare of pain that sweeps through him, accompanied by the sickening crack of his arm. He goes down easily when kicked, cradling his broken arm to his chest and trying to get out of Jersey's easy reach so he can get back up. Fuck, that hurts!

"What was that old saying? An eye for an eye I think it was," Jersey growls out. He takes his pistol out once more. "Sounds about right."

York scrambles back, grimacing every time his arm is jostled. He throws his unbroken arm up to cover his face, terrified that Jersey is going to take his other eye and blind him for good even though the rational part of his mind remembers that he shot the man in the leg.

Jersey fires off a shot at York's side before another follows to hit him in the chest. He lowers the weapon after firing.

York's cry is choked as he doubles over with pain, his hands pressed over the wounds which are already flowing blood. His bullet proof vest had done nothing to stop those, the asshole must be using armor piercing bullets. Wash. He needs Recovery. He casts about wildly for his helmet, but it's been thrown out of reach and every movement sends fresh waves of pain through him, making him moan in agony.

The thing is people always assume that as a sniper you need to go for someone's head. However center body mass is what you're taught. Larger target, more damage, and if you aim right you can make someone suffer rather than die. Jersey wanted that to happen with this troublesome mercenary who thought he could waltz in and out of the base.

He tails after the stumbling idiot before kicking him down. Jersey tilting his head and sneering at the man. "What happened to that cocky attitude of yours? No jokes? No comebacks?"

York goes down hard when Jersey kicks him over. He lands awkwardly and shudders at the pain, unable to tell the injured points apart anymore. Everything hurts. Blood is spilling out from between his fingers and presing down on the wound on his side puts pressure on his broken arm which makes him want to scream.

But he won't give Jersey that satisfaction. Raising his head, he spits into the man's visor, only mildly suprised when the saliva comes out red. 'Shot you once in the leg,' he gets out. 'You owe me another shot at you.'

Jersey wipes off his visor out of disgust. He places a boot of the fallen man's chest and adds some pressure. Every noise of pain from York made getting stabbed and shot by these For Hires worthwhile finally. Payback was nice.

"Too bad you don't get it or this one," Jersey drily answers. the pistol is aimed for a clean shot for York's head. However a shout from one of the mercs makes Jersey's attention be drawn away and his aim moved. The bullet is fired off, glancing across the top left of York's skull.

Edited 2015-06-10 03:05 (UTC)

York's gasp gets caught in his throat as Jersey forces him down. The man has stepped right onto the wound in his chest and he can't even scream for the white hot agony that tears through him at the harsh pressure. Then he's staring down the barrel of the gun and everything seems to freeze.

Sigma. Wash. Delta. Maine... Oh God, he's going to die here and never see them again. His friends, his teammates, his boyfriend. He can't breathe. It hurts too much in every sense.

He won't close his eyes. Even now, he won't make himself blind. So he sees the flash of the gun when it goes off, hears the sharp crack like quick thunder. And he definitely feels the bullet cut through him like he's made of paper. There's a beat, or maybe two of pain as his vision goes dark, then he slips off the edge of consciousness and falls into the nothingness below.

Edited 2015-06-10 08:39 (UTC)

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The Winner Takes It All

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