2012-09-26 Soldiers and Fortunes

New York state has a lot more to offer than the Big Apple. Hundreds of miles of empty, hilly roads carve through thick forests, well away from any form of stop sign or street light. One one of these roads is a small convoy, rolling through the twists and turns like a sleek black dotted line, navigated with precision. Less than a mile ahead of them is a lonesome gas station, empty aside from the lone man lounging behind the counter on a slow noon hour. Further still is a lone black car that's not a part of the herd, coasting along in the opposite lane. The windows are down, leaving the wind to mess up an already disorganized mop of short, spiky black hair atop the lone occupant's head. She's got a gun in her lap, more at her side, and a single goal to accomplish. The convoy needs to be stopped. This road's one major landmark, that gas station, is about to be in a very bad location.

The private military industry is one of the fastest growing in the world-- some call them mercenaries. There are a myriad of viewpoints, be they warlords or tycoons, activists or entrepreneurs, everyone has a stone to throw for or against. Of course, the truth is somewhere in between; everywhere in between, in the microcosm. It takes all kinds, corporation or individual, everyone has a purpose for their bottom dollar-- everyone has /something/ they'll fight for.

That elite network of funders and fundees in a certain tier is difficult to break into, limited to certain cliques and established skillsets-- unless you happen to have the expertise to act like you've always been a veteran of that world, the technology to interject yourself into contracts. Sometimes, as they're in process. It's not the prototypes being guarded in the midst of that convoy that interests Cable, so much as the people after it; the people that hired Domino, and forwarded Cable an ample retainer to be here today. He's been tracking the convoy's signature from the rolling hills, 'mountains' in local parlance primarily if one is worldly enough, but lovely and full of sweeping vantage points nonetheless. Dayspring's good eye narrows, the other quietly feeds him information on his targets as scanning spectrums shift smoothly. He lets Domino make her move, that's half the point.

In any other situation, any normal situation, the lead car of that convoy and the lone one would have passed each other by exactly once before disappearing into the world beyond. This isn't the situation. A blackened arm comes out of the window at the last possible second, leveling a bulky, compensated 10mm Auto out over the sideview mirror, and takes two quick shots at the convoy lead's front tires before accelerating past. At the brisk pace being traveled the loss of control is virtually immediate, the first vehicle suddenly veering off onto the shoulder to collide with the fuel pumps outside.

Formation of that organized line is broken well before an errant spark sets the small building up in a ball of fire, a pair of black SUV's (modified civilian H1 Hummers) branching off to chase after the lone woman's car (late model Jaguar, California plates, supercharged V8.) A third SUV sticks close to the eighteen-wheeler as they barrel on past, intent to break through despite the loss of one of theirs.

The woman, that mercenary going by the name Domino, has already slid her car to a stop across both lanes and has stepped out with a battle rifle filling her hands (Heckler & Koch G3, 7.62 NATO, optics mounted) and is opening fire on those coming after her. She must be using armor-piercing bullets, given the state of the toughened hides on those H1's. The engine of one gets ripped apart, the driver of the other taking two to his chest. It's over before it began. Dom had good intel on this run.

It would probably be even more satisfying if she had an ear to the convoy's communications. It's funny how quickly surprise turns to arrogance turns to horror as what looks like a violent but limited incursion suddenly escalates to a full-blown catastrophe. Echo two, Echo three, what is your status, over? Christ they're no... it's about that time the guy remembers to hang up his comm as he loses it a little to his superior in the remaining escort, as the pair that broke off for Domino are abruptly too busy for status reports.

Fire is returned from the shattered hummer as the other swerves off the road with the abrupt death of its driver, its own inhabitants following suit-- it's mostly suppressive, however, the other side's mercenaries falling back towards the treeline for cover. Tactical analysis suggests that the lone woman may still be in no small degree of trouble: her foes are well trained, well armed, and despite the impressive ambush, retain numerical superiority. Dayspring might intervene immediately, fire unexpectedly from that hillside.. if he always believed what computers tell him; contrary to popular belief, machines can make mistakes. Usually in the realm of human complexity and sheer, stupid chaos.

<< Coordinates locking in. >> it's all in his head, as he hefts a weapon that looks like it belongs on an advanced starship rather than a NATO armory, and zeroes in on an exposed section of road behind the humvees. << Bodyslide by one. >> The world vanishes in a surging wave of light, not unlike a copier might make if it distorted and consumed three-dimensional objects in its wake. He reappears in a similar rush of energy at the precise location tagged, fading into existence with his weapon already raised.

It behooves him to make his allegiances known swiftly in this situation, and there are two shots immediately fired: one into the side of the driverless hummer, abruptly disabling it properly in a slag of melting side panels and two tires that lose all their air and will to support the vehicle by sheer proximity to the cerulean convection. The second burst of plasma flash-fries the underbrush, turning return fire into full-on flight in an instant as Cable sweeps low, using the hummer Domino shot the engine out of to cover an approach to her. "So what's your plan for catching the rest, the accelerator?" He asks drily, calmly-- it seems more curious than the least bit dubious or concerned.

Domino is used to being alone out in the field. It's how she likes it, how she prefers to operate. Return fire is only to be expected, she's got a collection of explosives at her disposal. One good grenade throw to the underside and that unarmored chassis would go in a flash.

Just not -that- kind of flash. The grenade's never been thrown. Something is seriously not right here, she was never informed of backup or of weaponry capable of -that- kind of result! The blast of hot air radiating off of those slagged trucks can be felt across her face from the distance she had kept. The problem seems to have corrected itself. "That's fortunate." The extra time granted gives her a chance to reload, right in time to spot a wholly unfamiliar figure running through the wreckage. It isn't a weapon that stares the man down, though the one filling her hands could have easily served such a purpose. Instead it's a pale, icy blue stare, one eye surrounded by a thick black spot, with an expression of both confusion and disbelief etched upon her ghostly, inked in black features. The immediate questions don't get asked, as he has one of his own. Odd introduction, but it's not the first time it's happened to her.

"They're driving sixteen tons up a steady incline, I can do laps around them." And yet, there's a slight pause there as she continues to stare at you. "If you're with me, get in." Talk later. Right now it's time to light up the tires and close the gap with the remaining trio.

It's either a remarkable case of happenstance, or Domino wasn't the only one scoping out this route, this convoy. Of course, in her case, it /could actually be/ total happenstance, couldn't it? It all depends if one considers Cable a man likely to deal in coincidence. As her gun does not immediately ready itself, nor does his, held barrel groundward. Cyan readouts dot the near-black metal of the weapon, a central bar quickly surging back to 'full'. Handy, that. The scopes and assists-- if indeed that's what they are-- wouldn't immediately appear terrestrial.

"Somehow, I don't think anyone's timing them." The laps. It's deadpan enough that it's uncertain whether Cable thinks it's humorous.. or is completely missing the point. He climbs into the backseat, rather than the passenger; for one thing, she's got this car loaded with backup weapons. For another, it pays to be able to shoot out /either/ side of a moving vehicle, in a pinch. "They're panicked." Cable reports, as if he has an ear on their own comm channels. "The men retreating into the woods reported in, they know their escort is all but down, they know you're coming." Again, it seems more matter-of-fact than concerned, despite the content, and how most would vocalize that danger. It's just something Domino needs to know, in his estimation.

It's worth noting she's not the only one armed to the teeth-- there's an almost comically oversized combat knife sheathed at his right thigh, two pistols that look like they came from the same scifi movie as his rifle, one shoulder holstered below each arm, and what appears to be a segmented fighting pike slung over his back, shoulder-harness style. He was never even a Scout, if one can believe that.

It wouldn't be the first time that luck threw something useful Domino's way, either. Everything happens for a reason, most of it being in her favor. Despite being on the job, in her element, doing surprisingly well with the last bit of cleanup left to the task, she's still having trouble moving past the inclusion of -you.- Another merc, another assassin, hell a half dozen ninjas sweeping out of the trees after her would all seem more likely to happen than whatever you happen to be!

The joke is lost when she finally climbs back in behind the wheel, collapsing the rifle's stock then tucking it into the footwell. By comparison her gear is remarkably outdated, from the service rifle that fell out of favor decades ago to the World War II era rocket launcher that's tucked away in the back, easily accessible to you now if you felt like downgrading your arsenal. The very best that she's brought with is still pale by comparison, old fashioned conventional ballistics. They seem to do alright for her needs, at least.

"How the hell would you know what they're saying?" she snipes back over the thunderous cacaphony coming from beneath the hood and the howling protest of tires across pavement. "And mind telling me where the flippin' hell you came from?"

Gees, that knife is practically wider than she is... Not too surprising how quickly Dom is glad to be on neutral ground with you and not have to go toe to toe against you. As the burning gas station sails past, she almost growls "Listen kiddo, I've already met my alien quota for the month. Probably for the year. What's your deal?"

Fate. Destiny. Synchronicity. It's easy to chalk so much in life up to meant-to-be, or should-have-been; the blade cuts both ways, though. Prophecy is ever obfuscated in, or subsumed by layer upon layer of metaphor-- maybe that's why it always seems to come true. Personal apocalypses are just easier to grok, to assign importance beyond individual scope. The RPG is shifted to the side, placed with some care out of the way as the rifle joins it, closer beside Cable. One of the pistols comes out, sporting two barrels rather than one, one underslung beneath the other, held like an extension of the obviously cybernetic left arm that he keeps near the corresponding window.

"I decrypted their communications when I started surveilling them about fifteen miles back." Obviously. "They're using solid equipment, but it's out of date-- military cipher, last generation NATO crap." Cable's highly impressed, it's clear. There's a gruff, monosyllabic chuckle at the monicker; he can't remember the last time /anyone/ called him kiddo. "Thought you were in a hurry?" Anyone in their line of work pretty much -has- to understand very, very long stories. "Suppose I told you I was here to prevent the end of the world." No, that line doesn't work very often, thanks for asking. "Right now the relevant part is finding out if you're as good as your reputation."

Up front, Domino's got her hands full with the controls. Manual transmission, six speed, solid clutch work and throttle control. She's done this before. One more Hummer, then the prize is hers to deal with as she pleases. Getting closer presents another problem, now. They know that she's coming for them. The initial retaliation comes out of nowhere, a line of thumb-sized holes simply appearing in the windshield as the bullets snap past her head. Not a scratch on her, at least not from these shots. There's a few older cuts already crossing diagonally across her face, perhaps a few days old. "Yeah, so sorry," comes the sharp response while swerving across the road to mess up their aim. She's using a lot of older gear, herself. Not all, but enough.

"Sure, all the time in the world," comes the sarcastic response. "End of the World, pencil me in for next Thursday. Oh--so my reputation's on the line? No pressure!"

Exposed, pasty-white fingers jam the shifter into a higher gear before reaching for the G3 beside her, hooking it against the dash while trying to aim in the general area of the other Hummer. It's pretty ridiculous, really. Short barrel, full auto, large caliber, from one moving vehicle to another, unaimed, with only one hand to stabilize it. And a windshield to shoot through. There's no way she could -possibly- expect to do any good with that--

Out of the handful of bullets fired from Dom's rifle, somehow she's done something incredible. The fuel tank gets pierced, the back gets peppered with bright, shiny new holes, and one fortunate round struck the pavement just right to rebound up off of the rear diffrential, setting off the spark which throws the SUV into an explosive forward roll across the highway.

The rifle gets tossed aside as she goes back to the wheel, sliding the Jaguar past the cartwheeling wreckage with little room to spare. "Next time a little warning before an interview would be great, just saying!"

"Maybe if we're lucky..." it's probably not possible Cable realizes the ironic layer to that statement, ".. cataclysm will show up on schedule." Comes the deadpan reply, as Dayspring shifts his weight hither and yon with the car's nigh-unpredictable swerving. The trajectory of each independent bullet is actually tracked and extrapolated midflight by the cybernetic eye, and without Domino's luck? Dayspring does in fact have to dart abruptly to the side, evading one round as it passes through the backseat and erupts out the rear window.

Remember what we were saying about this man and coincidence? Right. There's a similar attention paid to the /outgoing/ rounds, white brows arching with a passing expression of intrigue. "Defeats the purpose." Cable helpfully observes, extending the cybernetic arm and sidearm out the window. He aims independently through said techno-organics, feeding telemetry data from eye to hand as he steadies his aim, and squeezes the trigger. It's a sharp staccato of automatic fire that follows, one barrel firing after another to keep up rate despite the heat coming off the rather combustible rounds that pepper the asphalt and the back bank of tires of the eighteen wheeler ahead of them. It's precision, not luck, that causes the vehicle to swerve right, left, try to correct right, and jacknife abruptly up the road with the perfect application of disabling fire, incline, and speed. "I'm looking for the best; strictly speaking I should probably be attacking /you/ to be sure." He's kidding, right? One prooobably hopes.

"Way ahead of ya in that department," she quickly responds about luck and the cataclysm. "God, don't you have any emotion back there? Feel like I'm talking to an answering machine!" Oh right, she's got a passenger now..! Did any of those bullets hit you? She risks a very quick glance back, hardly enough time to do a full search. Yeah, you're fine. Now it's just down to the big truck. The mark. Domino versus Goliath. Simple.

"A little surprise and intrigue to kick off the noon rush, huh," she deadpans in turn. There's probably a lot of different ways to end this, she's busy trying to find a window to zip out ahead of the rig as it sways across the lanes to keep her from overtaking them. Popping the tires is always doable, but if the important bit of cargo gets damaged in the process...

Y'know what, nevermind that. The unexpected discharge of that bizarre pistol behind her solves the problem with clear finality, leaving her to battle the car's controls to keep from shaving the top of the roof off beneath the lower edge of the trailer as it comes to rest as its own roadblock. There's room to spare, though not by a whole lot.

"Can it wait a minute..? I'm right in the middle of something," Domino remarks while climbing out of her seat with the rifle getting nabbed along the way. There's no more need for finesse, she hurries up to the side of the semi's cab and unloads a handful of rounds clear through the doors and the occupants beyond. That oughta keep the cargo from going anywhere! "You seem to know something about me, but I still know jack about you."

Everyone has their own ways of focusing past the pressure; Cable may be far from emotionless, but it's hard to tell from the exterior in this time of crisis. He's focused, intent, every bit as steadily confident as if.. well, as if they /weren't/ actually in an explosion-laden high speed pursuit involving dangerous paramilitary operatives. Which, somewhat cyclicly demands his focus and attention.

He's out the door in a flash of motion that really shouldn't be possible from a man Dayspring's size, in a shooting crouch with... that big effing rifle back in his hands, raised and sighted in as he touches down, scanning the back of the truck with a smooth, unhurried gaze. "Four in the trailer, setting up a killzone at the doors." It's possible he's omniscient. A switch is adjusted on the rifle, which is promptly shouldered and emits a high pitched whine as it charges a half-second and fires. It's hard to call the deep blue ball a 'sphere' strictly speaking, given its ragged edges, but it leaves a roughly circular hole where the side of the semi is quite literally vaporized. It would be decidedly easy to huck a hand grenade in there, of course... one might damage the package one was sent to retrieve!

"You can call me Cable." It's not much enlightenment, but a bit of an olive branch seems appropriate, under the circumstances. "I'm a soldier, I'm a mutant, and I'm here to pick one hell of a fight." He probably doesn't mean here and now -literally-... or at least not exclusively! "You looked like you were looking for a hell of a fight." It's brief, somewhat oblique, yet completely true. Someone in this line of work learns to recognize bullshit early, or dies trying.

Hold up. Didn't..she just leave you in the car when she went to deal with the driver and company..? How are you..?

-Okay.- This is a bit much to take in on one convoy raid. It's still not over, either. When you call out four more waiting inside, all she can do is glance your way with the most peculiar expression. Telepath, maybe? Would sure explain how you found her out here, and had a head start on the meet and greet. The sound coming from that rifle of yours makes her flinch but the end result can't be argued. Four guys, scrambling about, panic-stricken at their cover, and the side of the trailer, getting blown all too hell. Explosives are always an option, but she's made it this far. Luck or not, no sense in carelessly risking a good op! Domino rattles through the remaining collection of ammo from a twenty round mag, already having a pistol ready for her left hand the moment it runs dry. The last exchange of fire is frantic but brief, closing the gap to finish off the third just in time to spin about and stare down the barrel of an automatic from the fourth. The man pulls the trigger but the gun simply clicks in his hands, jammed.

"Yeah, that happens a lot around me."

The last goes down with a final shot fired, collapsing to the floor of the trailer. She's still covering that gaping maw in its side, however. "Alright, Precog. You sure that's the last of them?" Rather looks like it is...

"Cable? Fair enough," she thinks out loud before hurrying around to the back of the trailer to finish a quick sweep. "Domino, just to be formal. Mutant's fine by me, and I do pick some awesome fights. Who's your target?" Not that she expects you to tell her something like that, but it can't hurt to ask. Probably.

Exiting a car super-fast whilst aiming a gun? Check. Precog? Well; Cable doesn't immediately move to dispell that notion, for some reason. There's a quick scan of the area-- and this time there /is/ a surge of telepathy that someone might pick up on, were one sensitive to that. Notably, this is the time his left eye chooses to flare brighter, shifting from yellow to blue then back to its subtler, seemingly passive ementation.

"Several operatives dead, all others disabled or in flight. I'd estimate we have a maximum of ten to fifteen minutes before extraction.. or cleaning teams are here." He paces to the hole in the trailer, vaulting up and in by virtue of the viselike grip of his cybernetic left arm, its strength more than enough to propel his substantial mass like it was nothing. Maybe not precog, but half-terminator, sure.

Slinging his rifle fully over his right shoulder, opposite the psimitar, Dayspring paces to the back of the trailer and rends the reinforced crate open with that augmented limb, prying steel out of the way-- revealing AIM-stamped parcels within, containing state of the art chips for state of the art munitions for state of the art terrorists. There's a wry, predatory sort of smile that gleams somewhat wolfish as Nathan turns back to face his partner in crime. It's a gesture that touches even the deep blue eye to say nothing of its energy-flaring partner, bemused but darkly so; not a warm or compassionate moment, this.

Life is complicated; Cable's moreso than most. Some things remain really simple, though. "Whoever gets in the way."