Nature of Beasts

[raiden]

"I'm afraid this will be the last time we meet, Jack." the man in the white coat said as he disconnected the wire from Raiden's port, taking a look at him one last time.
"What makes you say that?" Jack asked as he looked up at the scientist before him.
"I'm through getting our names on the most wanted list. We need to lay low, at least... I do."[/i] he stated as the helicopter continued to thunder along the outskirts of the city.
"You'll be meeting people here that are willing to help you. They run the resistance here."[/i] he stated firmly as he took off his glasses and revealed his eyes.
"You're sending me off to fight with a bunch of ineducated, and untrained kids?" Jack asked as his eyes flared.
"Not exactly, I knew his father."[/i] he stated as he gazed into the eyes, feeling the additional weight act against thier chests as the helicopter turned with the wind.
"Were do I meet them?" Jack asked as he glanced at the crate at his feet.
"You'll be meeting them in the metrostation. I'll be contacting the leader for the last time to let him know you arrived." the man before him stated as he glanced out the window.
"What's in the crate?" Jack asked as he gazed down at the large olive drab box.
"Gifts, for your new hosts."[/i] he smiled, Jack unclipping the locks, and lifted the lid, noting the pressence of numerous rifles and handguns, with the supplied ammunition, to include grenades and military grade plastic explosives.
Jack glanced up at the man with a concerned eye, "Not only do you know them, you've been supplying them as well?" he stated.
"More or less, it's an insurance policy."[/i] the man stated as he adjusted his jaw.
"Take these aswell..."[/i] he said as he hinted at the other crate, which stated MEAL, READY TO EAT.
"Food, hunh?" Jack asked, gazing back at the man before him.
"It's the best I could do, even if their practically kids, they're still people, and they still have stomachs that need to be filled."[/i] he hinted as he leaned back, grabbing a large coat.
"Wear this..." he demanded as Jack caught it within his grasp.
"Makes you look less... well, machine-like."[/i] he hinted as Jack pulled on the coat to cover his hest, standing to let it fall down to his heels, tying the belt that came with it.
"Can you trust them?" Jack asked as he sat back down, feeling the helicopter speed up through the wind channels.
"Jack, you'll be fine..."[/i] he said as he placed a palm on the ninja's shoulder.
"A man with your talents is worth alot of money. There are corrupt governments world-wide that would committ genocide just to have their hands on you." he smiled.
"Should I be greatful?" he grinned in response.
The man placed the question to the side, and instead, jumped straight to the point.
"His name's Keenen, establish contact, present him with the supplies, see where it goes from there."[/i] he said as he glanced out the window, the UH60 Black Hawk making it's descend on the metro station, the blades whirling and whining as they pounded against the streets.
"And how will I know it's him?!" Jack shouted over the screaming blades.
"They lack implants! -Your TSF visor won't be able to lock on to their signature! -They're naked!"[/i] he shouted as he pulled up on the latch, and pulled the door to the side, the wind snapping through his hair and coat as dust and pebbles whirled around.
"For what it was worth! -You were my best friend!"[/i] the man said as he stood inside the helicopter, Jack standing and taking a step out side, being sure to keep his head low from the whirling blades.
"It was fun!" Jack said as he took the two crates, placing them to the side, when the man leant out his hand in shake, Jack taking it, and returning it.
"The name's Ben. -I know I never told you before, but I was afraid if they captured you, and you linked back to me, we'd be in a world of shit."[/i] he stated as he placed his hands on the door.
"Good luck, Jack."[/i] he said as he patted the pilot on the shoulder, who glanced over his his, and gave a swfift thumbs up, pulling up on the throttle, the thunder of the engine growing louder as Jack grasped the crates and began to move them.
The coat snapped under the wind as the helicopter began to lift off the ground, leaving him behind, -on his own.

He glanced around, noting that the area was completely deserted, not a soul in sight, not a single breathing life form, under the exception of a few ravens that squaked in the death-felt silence.
He lunged out his leg and threw the door open with a crack, rays of dusty light pouring in throught he windows as he set the crates down on the unkept floor.
It was amazing, how once a completely populated city became a ghost town, not a soul in site. He glanced at his hands once more, and knew, that at one point -those hands used to be human... human like everyone else was at one point. These were the hands that had killed so many, that had mocked death as if it were all a game to him. That had never truly felt the pain that he gave so effortlessly. And here he was, waiting for a new contact, waiting for his next job, like a teenager ready for his first job interview with the manager.
And of course, he came overprepared, he didn't bring a resume', or an ID, instead, he brought a P90 submachine gun, and a MK 23 .45ACP pistol, a short sword, a high frequency blade, and a scout knife to meet the threats that were looming in this city.
The coat concealed most of his body, but it didn't hide the fact that he wasn't normal, the obstruction of metal lining his throat and lower jaw, as well as the back of his skull was enough to clearly state who he was... -what he was.
He took a seat on what used to be a lobby chair, folding his legs across and waited, gazing at the weapons crate before him.
He opened it, picking up one of the assault rifles, noting that it was an M-4 CUSTOM, a fine rifle, not the government issue, high precision, special forces modified. These kids were getting quite a treat, a rifle like this could easily run from four-to-five grand per rifle, and they had thirty or so of them all stacked in a row. And then there was the AK-74s, and the AK102s he had stacked in there. It was amazing how many guns you could pack into a single CBRNRC (Chemical-Biological-Radiation-Nuclear Resistant Case) and it appeared that it was Ben's specialty. He returned the gun to it's case and sealed the lid once more, leaning back in the chair to wait.

[<< NINE]

It was an arguable point that no one knew Keenan as well as he knew himself. Sometimes, he could swear that some of the people around him could read his mind, know what he was thinking or feeling even when he couldn’t quite figure it out himself. That was the funny thing about being a leader, he’d come to realize. After a while, you started thinking so much about the group as a whole that sometimes, it felt like you didn’t know how to be anything but the guiding force behind it. He had to remind himself every now and then who he was, who Keenan Nynhoryn really was, the real man behind Nine, the leader who was praised for their survival and muttered discontentedly about when things didn’t go right.

He had a hard time sleeping sometimes, worrying about what was going to happen. Sometimes it felt like he wasn't just worrying his own worries, that the worries of everyone had somehow collectively been infused into his mind and he was now responsible for them. That was a burden that he was often willing to bear. His father had entrusted him with it, and he wouldn't give it up just because it was a little difficult. Or even a lot difficult. Whatever the case might be, Keenan had been raised with a firm sense of personal accountability for his actions. He did what he was counted on to do, and he didn't let other people down if he had any choice at all in the matter. It wasn't always easy, but he stuck to it as often as he could.

That was why it worried him so greatly when he contemplated letting someone new into the group. There was always that off possibility that they might be some sort of self-concerned asshole who would make off with the Resistance's supplies and ammunition in the middle of the night sometime, leaving the rest of them defenseless and starving. Or worse, they could be working, somehow, with the Net authorities. They had only been in one place as long as this, and that had been in Copenhagen, the last place they'd really lived before Keenan's father had been captured.

But the person he'd talked to had vouched for the guy joining them, and Keenan thought that the promise of new weapons and ammunition was too good to pass up. That wasn't to say he wasn't going to take every last precaution possible when he went to meet the newcomer, though. He'd assembled a group of people he knew he could trust, and they'd headed out to the place he'd arranged to meet the guy. As he overlooked the little band of men who had accompanied him, he felt a twinge of pride. Their guns weren't the most high-tech in appearance, but every single one of them had been checked and rechecked by his ammunition experts. They were in working order; some of them were even customized with special modifications, but the problem was quantity. He simply didn't have enough weaponry to defend their growing numbers. He knew that somewhere, most likely in Boston or San Francisco, there was a stockpile of all the weapons the US Government had confiscated with the overthrow of the Bill of Rights in 2016, and surely somewhere here in Europe must be all of the guns the European countries had taken during the years before and after that. But finding them was the problem.

The Sentinels were seemingly everywhere these days...even among them, Keenan reminded himself. He still hadn't gotten over the incident that had taken place not long ago with his communications specialist, and while he was the only one who knew about it, the issue weighed heavily on his mind.

They hadn't gone that far down the Metro when Keenan heard a noise, and he held up a hand to halt the men accompanying him. They proceeded, quietly, and when Keenan thought they were within earshot, he motioned for the others to crouch as he stood, slightly sheltered, behind one of the cars he and his people had put in the tunnel when they'd first moved down here. It had been a strategic move; they'd realized not long after they arrived that the tunnels, being long, open straight-aways, weren't very good for hiding in. So they'd brought in random bulky objects to litter the sides, providing them with shelter should they need to fend of Sentinel fire or other hostiles. Keenan made sure his men were each well-concealed behind something before he dared speak.

"Identify yourself." he called ahead. "We're armed, so show yourself and don't do anything stupid." Keenan might not have been officially trained as a military man, but three years of hiding and fighting for his life, along with the ten years or so of training his father had given him before that, had certainly left him with at least a little know-how when it came to combat.

[raiden]

Jack stood slowly, the coat rolling down his legs as the dim lights from the station accumilated around him.
He gazed through the window in the ticket lobby, switching his vision mode to thermal, spotting numerous bloches of heat beyond the litter. Attempting to lock on, a message popped up on his HUD, "LOCK ON FAILURE."
He recalled what Ben had said, and that his TSF wouldn't be able to lock onto them due to their lack of implants, which required the signature emitted by these implants in order to lock onto the targets.
He kept one hand inside his coat, which was firmly clasped to the trigger of his P90 custom, using his thumb to break the lock on the SERPA, releasing the tension.
He never wanted anything to do with killing kids, he was trained to fight with armies, with trained professionals, on military missions. Not act as a terrorist with men who had guns, who knew nothing of what it was like to loose a comrad, or even been in a firefight. There was always courage when it came to fear, but that courage easily disapated as soon as the rounds went flying, and the tear gas deployed.

He allowed his HUD eye covers to fold to the side of his face, revealing his striking gray eyes as he gazed out at the men before him, kids... with guns. In a sense, they were child soldiers, war orphans. Fighting for a cause that they thought was worth it. Raiden's belief was different, had it not been for the development of NANO machine research, Jack -himself, would've never been alive. And the age of modern combat would be different.
He gave a slight nudge with his foot against the stacked cases of MREs, ammunition, and weapons, watching them slide forward and through the doors, pushing them open, and into the center of the isle, the weapon's case falling over with the pressure, and opening, unloaded rifles rolling across the isle before the child's feet.
It was then that he walked forward slowly, shoving his other hand into the pocket of the trench coat, taking ahold of a single grenade, his thumb intwinded with the pin, using his finger to flick off the safety claspe.
"I'm Raiden, your supplier sent me." he stated with a voice that was rash, and full of distinct valor. He watched as the kids before him remained behind cover, some giving occasional glances, others waiting for the next command.
He was a man of few words, a soldier who had seen combat in the middle east, and throughout the world. And then hi-jacked by Ben's scientists as a means to help fulfill his will, to see the world rid of these sentinals. And if that meant fighting with untrained child soldiers who had most likely never fired a weapon in their life, than so be it. -He'd teach them, show them the reality of combat, and the war wasn't just some kind of game, there were no second chances, once you were hit, you were out.
He continued to study the group before him, keeping his distance as not wanting to frighten them, continuing to conceal himself behind the coat, knowing that the site of his full-body armor would spark an incident, that it would most likely provoke in someone pulling the trigger.
He blinked slowly, his eyes illuminating with sudden a flicker as he remained still, his one hand on the grenade, his other on the P90 submachine gun, which had been switched to full-auto, with a flip of his thumb. It was a weapon that he had customized himself, modified from it's original form, chamber for the 5.7x28mm armor piercing round, and fitted with a RAS (Rail Accessory System), which housed all the optics he needed, including the green neon laser, and the 30mm RED/GREEN dot CQC site, the SUREFIRE flashlight, and the extended barral to house the 10inch flash suppressor/sound dampener that was permanently housed to the weapon.
It was a true piece of work, an art of a weapon, however, it all came at a cost... the weapon itself was made for a small package, made to be held with one hand, and fired at the same time, but with the SOPMOD (Special Operations Modification Kit) customization, that was all sacrificed, making it bulky, and heavier than it should be. But then again, Raiden never felt the weight of his weapons, never felt the sting of a bullet, or the fear when it came to combat. An artificial soldier enhanced from human stem cell research, and NANO machine colonies to enhance performance and control the battlefield.

"I'm no sentinal..." he spoke harhly, a voice that was the sound of distant thunder, holding a bitter harshness to it as he stated is cause, his intentions all friendly, yet maintaining control of the situation as needed. -His hand on the grenade -concealed in the pocket of his coat, his finger on the trigger of his P90, his eyes firm, and ready, and from there, he waited. -Waited to live, or waited to die.