WELCOME

Welcome to HaloVerse, a hub of sort of alright Halo roleplaying. Go check out the links and the cbox in the sidebar!



UPDATES
our latest news

Welcome to HaloVerse!
Test guff.
More test guff.
Fuck yeah Halo.




CHATBOX




AWARDS
monthly merits

CHARACTER
To be announced!

UNIT
To be announced!

THREAD
To be announced!



STAFF

admins

Sam




AFFILIATES

OUR AFFILIATES!

So ronery.

 



Pages: (2) 1 2  ( Go to first unread post )
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 Battle of Jericho VII - ODST, Operation: BREADBASKET
Jeff Fitzhugh
 Posted: Jul 10 2015, 02:52 PM
Quote

Member
Group: Members
Posts: 10
Joined: 1-April 15
Alias: Sam

Rank: SSgt (E-6)
Branch: UNSCMC
Unit: Delta-Two



1355 Hours, February 11, 2535 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Tannenberg, Jericho VII


Staff Sergeant Jeff Fitzhugh entered the starboard SOEIV bay behind 2nd Lieutenant Karen Stamel. The door hissed shut behind them and they approached the holographic table in the middle of the room. Around it stood twenty-four ODSTs, ready in their BDUs. The blue light of the tactical display painted their gear in a strange hue, matching that of their silvery-blue visors, whether their helmets were on, under their arms or hanging at their sides at the ends of their arms.

"Clear the table," Fitz spoke, nodding at the few helmets resting on the edges of the holotank. Their owners removed them and waited for Stamel to speak. She brought up a console as she got to the table, typing in a few commands on the edge as a male figure rose from one of the plains around the holographic city. He was dressed in a German military uniform, one of the First World War. He looked old, sporting a noticeable amount of wrinkles, though his white hair was cropped and neat. The hair on his lip was quite the opposite, dark, burly and extending off his face on either side

"Your Artificial Intelligence construct is ready, ma'am," said the figure, nodding towards a port on the side of the table. "Second generation. Urban Infrastructure class."

"Thanks, Hinden," waved the Lieutenant to the representation of a German field marshal and president, finishing up one last command on the keyboard in front of her as the shipboard AI vanished. "Alright, Marines. Here's the op.

"Three hours ago, we lost contact with a company-sized Army element operating inside the city of Laia. We were about to deem it a loss until ten minutes ago, when we caught a transmission from a Captain Venros requesting reinforcements. According to him, the power grid went down soon after the Covenant attacked. That's what this AI's for."

She popped the data chip from the table and held it up. It was tiny yet somehow managed to store one of Humanity's biggest technological achievements. It wasn't a smart AI but it was still insanely intelligent. Stamel continued talking as she secured the chip in a compartment behind her chestplate.

"Deluge here is gonna get the grid back up. Should be plug and play," she said, her expression matching the platoon's doubtful murmur. "Venros spoke of a few units being trapped in the subways with large numbers of civilians. "We'll drop on the outskirts to avoid AA that our UAV's picked up. Then we'll clear a path through the Covenant to this tower in the centre of the city. That's where the AI core is."

The holotank zoomed in to the central tower, an eighty-storey behemoth that rose above the rest of the city's skyscrapers. The blueprint showed the middle section of the tower, comprised mainly of systems and server rooms. It then drew a line directly downwards, where it linked with the subway system. That line disappeared off the side of the tank.

"Once the city's got power again, we'll hold it till all civilian and military personnel are out of dodge. Then we'll use the metro as exfil and blow the backup generators. They won't level the city but they'll do significant damage to anyone near 'em. Should slow their advance on Veiport."

The map zoomed out and the line that had once disappeared at the table's edge now connected Laia and a much bigger city, Veiport. A space elevator rose from it and, as such, it was designated as the capital of Jericho VII. At present, it was also the location that civilians had been told to get to for evacuation of the colony. The two cities themselves were about twenty klicks apart, something that made Fitz thank for the underground train system.

"The city's teeming with the bastards, Marines. Watch yourselves and take it slow," said the Staff Sergeant, looking over the twenty-four ODSTs in front of him. "Aerial recon shows a fuck ton of armour and even more of 'em walking around our streets.

"We're a small force so we're not engaging directly. Suppressed weapons and avoid contact where possible. The time for a shit storm'll come when they realise we've kicked their buddies out of the core and restored the city's power. It'll be a goddamn war when that happens.

"Grab your gear, sit your arses down in your pods and get ready to drop in five. Oorah."
PMEmail
^
Ronald Defferick
 Posted: Jul 11 2015, 05:03 AM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 3
Joined: 6-July 15
Alias: Duck

Rank: LCpl
Branch: UNSCMC
Unit: Delta-Two



The Lance Corporal echoed the Staff Sergeant, "Oorah," and continued to bang his hand gently on the helmet which rested within his right armpit. He equipped his helmet soon afterwards. With the briefing finished, Ronald made his way to the weapon rack by the pods, which displayed several identical M7S Caseless Submachine Guns with racks of ammunition beneath. Ronald chose the closest M7S, which he inspected thoroughly before taking six mags of ammunition for it as well. He positioned the mags on his belt by his waist, double checking if the mags were fastened on the belt. A distant memory from his training days appeared, displaying an awkward young man being the reason for his team to lose because of his mags not being properly fastened to his belt.

Ronald snapped out of the flashback, he shaked his head slowly. Being quiet and alone, an unusual thing for Ronald, he made his way to the designated pod. He properly fastened the M7S onto the offered rack within the pod and sat down on the seat inside the pod soon after. As he sat down, he pulled up his M6C/SOCOM, also known as the "Automag," a favoured weapon by all ODST. The mandatory inspection of the weapon went flawless, it was in prestige condition. Ronald had five mags of ammunition for the M6C, which he positioned beside the M7S mags by the belt. After the usual routine of inspection, he laid comfortably backward into the pod as he waited for the eventual drop into Hell.
PM
^
Wesley Richter
 Posted: Jul 12 2015, 03:57 PM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 3
Joined: 10-July 15
Alias: N/A

Rank: N/A
Branch: N/A
Unit: N/A



Corporal Wesley Richter moved away from the holotank upon dismissal. He held his helmet loosely in one hand, dangling the protective piece of equipment down at his side. The briefing had left him with a few thoughts circulating in his head, the most prominent being the imminent drop to Jericho VII's surface.

There was a cold spot in his gut, like a pit of ice deep within his core. It was always there right before a drop, and he tried to will it away to no avail. He'd made plenty of successful orbital drops, but the possibility of being killed as he plummeted to the ground below wasn't a pleasant one. As he approached the armory window, he pushed the thoughts to the background of his mind.

"Corporal Richter! What can I get for you?" The lance corporal inside of the window leaned his forearms on the sill, looking through the caging at Wesley. The Corporal rested one armored hand on the edge of the opening, and peered inside.

"M6 Galilean Nonlinear," Wesley said, shortening the actual nomeclature of the weapon for time and laziness' sake. He handed the Marine a card, which had the weapon's serial number, his name, service number, etc.

"You want fries with that, Corporal?"

"Get the fuck out of here, Friar." The Marine in the window laughed and spun on his heel, walking out of sight and behind a few racks to the line of Spartan Lasers. After verifying a few serial numbers between the weapon and the rifle card.

Friar slipped the card into a holding slot on the weapon's spot in the rack, and pulled the Laser from it's spot. Walking it over to the window, he slid it through the opening and Wesley took it.

"Thanks," he said, and walked away back toward the Bay and his pod with the weapon on his back. Once inside, he located the rack that housed his weapon. Checking the serial number on the one he believed to be his, he found that it was and brought it along with him to his pod.

He began settling his gear into the pod, placing the Laser and M7 in designated weapon holding racks inside. His M6/SOCOM was already inside, and he attached that to the magnetic plate holster at on his right thigh. Once his gear was situated, he stepped into the pod and began pre-drop procedures in preparation for the mission.
PM
^
Alan Hardy
 Posted: Jul 13 2015, 02:30 AM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 5
Joined: 7-July 15
Alias: Jesse

Rank: E-5; Sergeant
Branch: ODST
Unit: Delta-Two



Sergeant Alan Hardy listened to the briefing, his helmet clasped in front of him with both hands whilst the Lieutenant briefed her platoon. His nimble eyes darted over the accurate holographic display of Laia, doing his best to gauge how many decent hides he could establish within the city. It didn't look like a particularly organized city, and the Marine spotted numerous locations in which one could set up unnoticed with a brief glance. He did his best to memorize them so he wouldn't have to double check the VISR when on the ground - if he didn't use them, then someone else would, and he wanted to be prepared.

The man's blue eyes peered at the large tower in the center of the city when it was called into question. Immediately, Hardy decided he didn't like it. Novices and amateurs would look at its height and position in the center of the town and see only its strengths, and not its weaknesses. It would give him a commanding view of the city, but everyone else would only have to look up to see him - he'd be playing whack-a-mole with Covenant snipers in the lower buildings, who could strike from anywhere. It also brought into question the idea of artillery, which could easily level such a recognizable and tall building.

Of course, sometimes one couldn't choose their battlefields. The AI core was inside, and so the platoon would need to take it. When the briefing came to an end, Sergeant Hardy slipped his helmet over his head and secured it, then stepped over to the weapons rack where he'd already checked out his weaponry. He walked to the very end of the rack and acquired his SRS99D S-2 AM and his M7S/Caseless SMG. He packed a few dozen magazines for the former into his ruck, and grabbed a dozen mags for the latter - fitting them snugly into his combat webbing.

With his weapons secured, Hardy stepped over to his designated pod. He placed both of his weapons into their slots, making sure they were unloaded, and then sat down himself, awaiting for the SOEIV's doors to close automatically. For just a brief moment, the experienced ODST felt a flutter of butterflies swim through his stomach, that slightly nauseating fear of dropping into orbit with only a few dozen centimeters of plating between him and space.

It was a fear everyone had, no matter how often they jumped. Everyone had their own way of dealing with it. Sergeant Hardy settled with the idea of adding more kills to his name. He couldn't wait to see the purple and blue ichor of the marauding aliens pooling in the streets of Laia. These thoughts are what calmed his mind and steadied his hand.

--------------------
"I fear not the Valley of the Shadow, for I am Death."
PM
^
Jeff Fitzhugh
 Posted: Jul 15 2015, 12:59 PM
Quote

Member
Group: Members
Posts: 10
Joined: 1-April 15
Alias: Sam

Rank: SSgt (E-6)
Branch: UNSCMC
Unit: Delta-Two



The two most senior ODSTs in the bay watched the rest of the platoon fall out. They began to collect their weapons, most of them already having loaded up their BDUs with magazines. A member of his squad, Quake, passed them with his M6 G/GNR. Fitz offered the fellow member of Delta-Two a nod and then turned to Stamel. He knew the look she was giving him. It was that same expression that he'd got from other fresh-faced platoon leaders seeking something that they either didn't know or knew wasn't allowed.

"I know it's against SOP b-" she started, reaching for her chestplate. Fitz knew what she was going to say and he cut her off while looking at the floor.

"I'll carry it."

2nd Lieutenant Stamel looked surprised for a second but nodded and gave him the data crystal chip. Deluge was now in his possession. He held it up in front of his face as Stamel crossed the bay, retrieving something. It was about the size of a matchbook, adorned with a circular indent in the middle. It glowed an electric blue, one that reflected its light in Fitz's eyes, adding to the light given off by the holotable in front of him. His vision focused then on the approaching LT.

"This. It's an armoured matrix," Stamel explained, holding a cylindrical container the length of his forearm. "Put the chip in the bottom. It'll keep Deluge safe from stray fire."

"Yes, ma'am," nodded the Staff Sergeant, taking the matrix by the handle protruding from the top end. He flipped it over and slotted the AI into the port. It sealed over the moment it was accepted and the transparent section in the middle was suddenly flooded with the same blue light in the centre of the chip. It dimmed down to a single 'orb' of light in the centre, floating. He left the Lieutenant's side, heading for his weapons and the rest of his gear.

At the end of the rows of SOEIVs was another rack of weapons that some of the other ODSTs were using. He set the matrix down on a table meant for cleaning weaponry. A metre or so away was his backpack, a hardcase built with the same stuff his armour was made out of. He grabbed it and slapped it down beside the matrix. Inside were a few extra magazines, cans of biofoam and other gear he regularly took with him. He pushed it around, forming a space closest to his back with some of the tougher equipment around it. The matrix went in, snug and unable to move around when he shook the case a little. He closed the thing with a satisfied grunt.

"Give me an 'and with this, Trooper, will ya?" he asked one of the nearby ODSTs. The guy was a Corporal in Delta-Six. He'd been with the unit for about two years. Fitz half-knew him from bumping into him twice on the same shore leave. Corporal something Trevins was his name, stepping up and giving Fitz a hand with the magnetic strips on his backpack. It snapped to his back and he turned around and thanked him.

"No worries, Staff Sergeant."

Next came his weapons. He'd already loaded up on a number of magazines, both 5x23mm and 12.7x40mm. He grabbed both an M7S and an M6C, holding each of the relatively light weapons in either hand. They were brought back to the table, followed by a fresh magazine for each of them. The mags were loaded into the weapons and the barrels found their first rounds. Safeties were flicked on and the firearms were subsequently placed either side of his pod's chair in the respective locking mechanisms.

"Find your seats!" he shouted, looking out down the line of HEVs. At that, all remaining ODSTs outside of their pods found their places within them. He sat down in his, patting down his gear to make sure it was secure. His grenades, magazines and all of compartments checked out, prompting the Staff Sergeant to shout once more.

"Platoon..." Fitz roared, COM open to the platoon. "Ready!"

His words saw the hatches of every pod slam shut. Without a second to spare, the pods rotated one-eighty and began to lower. The cruiser's hull opened up to reveal a gloomy sky, the ODSTs dangling above the where the light side of the planet became dark, hiding from the sun.

"Helljumpers! We're gonna show these bastards the way to hell. Let's make sure the door hits 'em real fuckin' 'ard on the way out! Oorah!"

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Staff Sergeant Jeff Fitzhugh grinned at the chorus of roaring Marines as he was shot out of the ship, pinning him to his seat.

PMEmail
^
Ronald Defferick
 Posted: Jul 15 2015, 01:58 PM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 3
Joined: 6-July 15
Alias: Duck

Rank: LCpl
Branch: UNSCMC
Unit: Delta-Two



Beep.
Ronald knew that sound too well, it was the last thing an ODST would hear before entering the ear deafening atmosphere. During his time in the training program for the ODST divison, a veteran gave his class the tip to help them go through the painful process of waiting for the pod to shoot; simply lay back and think of something that makes you glad. Ronald usually thought of the Moa ranch he had back on Reach with his parents. It actually helped with the ever growing ball deep within the bowels, though the only thing an ODST could do when the actual drop happened would be to grip tightly onto the sides of the seat and hope for the best.
Beep.
The door to the pod shut closed, mechanical devices creaked loudly as it rotated the pod. Then Staff Sergeant 'Fitz' spoke throughout the COM, which every ODST could hear, and he gave a, what most would call, a motivational speech. He ended with the traditional "Oorah" roar, which Ronald himself would echo once again to himself.
"OORAH"
Beep.
The pod shot out from the ship, the howling shrieks entering the pod going down as it flew down throughout the atmosphere, almost deafening him if he hadn't his helmet on. The only thing he could hear besides the howling was a chorus of ODST's roaring;
"OORAH!"
PM
^
Jeff Fitzhugh
 Posted: Jul 18 2015, 09:31 PM
Quote

Member
Group: Members
Posts: 10
Joined: 1-April 15
Alias: Sam

Rank: SSgt (E-6)
Branch: UNSCMC
Unit: Delta-Two



Dark. Light. Right on the line between day and night.

It'd be dusk when the ODSTs' coffins slammed against the various surfaces in the city of Laia. As the op went on, their chances of success would increase; the darkening sky would allow the matte black of their gear to disappear with ease. The lack of power would help too, the streets unlit from all of its usual sources. Only moonlight would serve to cast the odd shadow, though Fitz hadn't checked the lunar cycle of Jericho-VII. He hadn't bothered, what with the VISR module in his helmet.

He tested it, more to distract himself than to check its functionality. The Staff Sergeant knew his optics were working but he used the mid-drop check to take his mind off what he was currently doing. He ignored the rattling of the metal frame and focused on himself, putting as much of the outside world out of his peripheral as he could. He looked over his M7S on his left, where it would favour his less-common handedness as soon as he blew his hatch. He reached his right hand over his body, where it would be able to grab the extended foregrip of the submachine gun.

"Ten klicks off the deck," came the Lieutenant's voice. Her face appeared on the screen to his right. He mimicked her, broadcasting himself to the rest of the platoon.

With a quick glance of his altimeter, he checked his right. The M6C/SOCOM, a variant of the standard M6C, was fitted nicely. He admired the hand cannon for both its destructive prowess and its stealth capabilities. Sure, the other M6 pistols could blow off a head easier but this firearm was the perfect choice for an ODST: silent yet savage. But that was enough gazing at the sidearm. Despite wanting to ignore it, he had been trained to keep an eye on his altitude. He knew exactly what was going to happen next.

"Five klicks."

Fitz had been ignoring the increasing heat in the pod. He caught a glimpse of the thermometer on the screen opposite the altimeter. It was nearing forty degrees Celsius, not that he could feel the brunt of it, thanks to his BDU. It wasn't a problem: the SOEIV had been through its first stage. Re-entry was over, though the point of whiplash soon approached. Now the Staff Sergeant was completely focused on the decreasing number on the screen in front of him.

"Here we go, troopers!" roared Fitz, his face behind the visor displaying an expression of relief that nobody could see his knuckles going white with how tight he was holding the pair of sticks in front of him.

Nine hundred metres.

The leader of Delta-Two had braced himself. His back was straightened and his head upright, body pushed firmly into the seat of the pod. The upper segments of the vehicle ripped off of the top, held only by a rod of metal. It acted as a drag chute, allowing the decreasing numbers on his altimeter to slow some. The pod shuddered moments later as the chute broke free.

"'Rah." he mumbled to himself, COM off as he reached fifty metres. He could feel the braking rockets kick in but, as ever, they never seemed to do anything. With an ungodly force, his pod slammed to a halt.

For a second, the blackness of his vision worried him. Despite all of his years as a Helljumper, combat drops scared the shit out of him. He never let it on to anyone else; discouraging fresher faces to the platoon wasn't his intention, nor was it his job. As evidenced by his speech back before they had launched, he was tasked with the role of the fearless leader, meant to inspire those deploying to the battlefield in a damn suicidal fashion.

He wasn't unconscious, nor had the impact of his landing blinded him. His SOEIV was pitch black, the electronics completely done. The Staff Sergeant's VISR flared up. It painted lines of blue and orange, though the blue faded as the system realized that the pod was out of action. It instead outlined itself in orange, blending with the scenery outside. There wasn't much of that, though.

Through the window in the hatch were three lines of dim peach. They were all connected at a point in the centre, one going straight up and the other two disappearing below the frame of the pod at equal diagonal angles. It resembled the style of cut that would be made to separate a circle into thirds, though Fitz could tell that he was looking at the point where two walls met the floor.

"Fitz is green," he said over SQUADCOM, popping the hatch via the explosive bolts as he grabbed his weapon. "Delta-Two, status, over?"

With a quick sweep to the left and right, Fitz stepped around his pod to clear behind it. Nothing came up on VISR. He quickly acquired his sidearm, patted down his gear to make sure it hadn't come loose and approached the only thing that wasn't a solid black face. The Staff Sergeant found himself looking down at the street below from a fourth or fifth storey window.
PMEmail
^
Michael Asimov
 Posted: Jul 19 2015, 03:58 AM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 2
Joined: 7-July 15
Alias: N/A

Rank: N/A
Branch: N/A
Unit: N/A



Delta-Two's sixth member initially only groaned in response to his superior's request for a soundoff. Darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, and stars swam in a magnificently distracting fashion in the center, completely blurring everything before him and dropping his chances of reaching for the release to zero.

"As'm'v," he rasped, then cut himself off. He tried again, this time managing not to slur his name. "Asimov. Popping the hatch."

D-2's pointman waited for the dancing specks of light to fade, then reached for the release. The front hatch flew off its seal, landing a respectable distance away as Michael finally looked around, trying to ignore the pounding in his lower extremities. The pod had landed harder than it had ever landed, or so it seemed to him in the moment. His VISR began to light up the world around him, and he saw that he had landed smack in the middle of a street, less than a foot from what used to be a beat-up sedan.

Instead of the calm step forward Michael intended to take, his footing failed and he dropped to all fours, resisting the sudden, overwhelming urge to throw up. It took him two seconds to dismiss the sensation, considering it to be a mental compulsion rather than a physical necessity, and he grabbed back at the exposed SOIEV, blinking nascent tears out of his eyes. Using it to pull himself back up, he finally added, "Asimov's green."

Green in the face, more like...

"Mostly. Moving to link up. Over."

He grabbed his M6C/SOCOM first, shoving that into its holster a bit harder than necessary, then took up his M7S, letting it rest into a comfortable grip in both hands. The feeling of the weapon was something that comforted him now, something that kept him grounded. He took a deep breath, and his head gradually stopped spinning.

Three M9 HEDPs fell into his webbing, accompanied shortly thereafter by two flashbangs and a few mags of 5x23mm and 12.7x40mm.

A brief glance at his VISR's systems pointed him in Fitz's direction, and Asimov pushed himself off the SOIEV, beginning to close the distance at a relaxed jog.
PMEmail
^
Wesley Richter
 Posted: Jul 19 2015, 04:08 PM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 3
Joined: 10-July 15
Alias: N/A

Rank: N/A
Branch: N/A
Unit: N/A



Corporal Richter's pod shot out of the UNSC vessel just like all the others, hurtling itself through orbit and into Jericho VII's atmosphere. Everything seemed to go smoothly, although the sensation of moving at the speed of Mach-Jesus made him want to hurl.

The drag chute did it's job, and it seemed that the brake chutes were going to as well. However, after about ten seconds, they broke loose, and a wave of fear washed over the ODST as he realized that he might die in this jump. Richter held onto the handles in front of him, gritting his teeth and roaring as his pod zoomed ever closer to the ground.

His world rocked and went black, and the pod came crashing to a slowed halt as it smashed into a building and the four floors below the entry point. Richter didn't even bother to move immediately, his vision dark and his head pounding. He flexed his fingers, then his toes, and then started to move his other limbs to check for pain or damage.

Wesley's head throbbed, and he groaned before starting his pod exit procedures. He blew the hatch off, and after a few minutes realized that he was nearly oriented to the ceiling. Freeing himself from his straps, he grabbed his M7 and loaded a magazine, chambering a round.

It took some effort to push himself out of the pod seat while maintaining some form of security, but he did so. He swept the immediate area, his VISR showing him no signs of external light or windows or enemies. After some more analyzing through the haze of his blurry vision, he deduced that he might have ended up in the basement to whatever structure he'd landed in.

"Richter, green" he said, rogering up to the team. He took a few moments to secure his gear from the pod, making sure nothing had gotten overtly damaged before he hopped off of the pod and down onto the ground. Moments later, he located a staircase and made his way towards it. Climbing the steps, he opened the door to the ground floor of the building, and immediately was met with the destruction of his pod crashing through the floors of the structure.

Going for the nearest door, he pulled it open and looked out onto the street. Nothing.
PM
^
Alan Hardy
 Posted: Jul 25 2015, 04:08 AM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 5
Joined: 7-July 15
Alias: Jesse

Rank: E-5; Sergeant
Branch: ODST
Unit: Delta-Two



Thump.

The straps of Alan's harness bit into his shoulders like the fangs of a serpent as his SOEIV rocketed away from the undercarriage of the Tannenberg and took him with it. The inertia of the ODST's body caught up with the pod and he felt his rear settle back into his seat. The Sergeant craned his neck to peer out of the pod's porthole whilst he kept his hands wrapped loosely around the vehicle's joysticks. Below, he could see the fast approaching surface of Jericho VII. The system's star was blazing off to his side, but Hardy paid it no attention. The natural fear of the pod drop seemed to bleed away as the Marine took a few gentle breaths and leaned back into his seat. Zero G left the pod weightless, and he could see blurry particles of dust swimming about his pod as it silently howled through the expanse of space to the planet below.

Tuning out the radio chatter and noise filtering through the SOEIV's speakers, Alan instead checked a few instrument panels to ensure they were working correctly. He double checked his reentry angle and confirmed that he would impact the atmosphere at thirty degrees - preventing him from going in too hot and burning up or simply skipping off the atmosphere like a rock skipping off of a lake. Once Hardy had that confirmed, he just settled in and waited.

His body felt like it was suspended in water until a subtle beep on a display indicated that he was now experiencing a tenth of a G. Slowly, the man began to feel a sense of weight return to him. What had once been his own body weight now felt like another thousand pounds. But this was of little consequence. Stealing Hardy's attention was the rapidly rising temperature inside the pod.

Then the plasma that began to build up at the bottom of his pod. The superstructure of the craft began to groan and pop as red plasma broiled along the hull. The portholes of Alan's pod turned black as the protective layer was boiled and burned away. Loud, sharp thumps echoed throughout the vehicle as it shook violently - almost as if it was hitting speed bump after speed bump. At nearly a hundred degrees the pod's air-coolant system overloaded and shut down with an sigh, and at a full G Alan's clothes felt like they were made of lead.

Sweat beaded along his skin as plasma beaded along the SOEIV. Then, with much relief, the roar of reentry whispered away and was replaced with the shriek of air channeling around the ODST's pod, as he cut through the tidal sky of Jericho VII at nearly the speed of sound. The wind whipped past and shook the pod just as angrily as reentry had.

Listening to Fitz and watching as his altimeter clicked off miles like they were nothing, Sergeant Hardy tightened his grip around the pod's joysticks and planted his boots firmly into the deck. He could see the city below just after passing through the cloud layer, and the experienced ODST steeled himself for what was coming.

Once the altimeter clicked down to nine hundred meters - essentially point blank range in relation to the forces involved - Alan flicked open a safety hatch and flipped a switch. He felt the metal drag chute pop free and yank on his pod. The man's stomach dropped as blood started to pool in his feet, his vision darkening as he neared unconsciousness, several thousand pounds of metal and equipment and man being pulled from the speed of sound to a more acceptable speed for planetary impact.

Then collision alarms rang. A klaxon blared as red lights flooded the interior of his pod. Down in the cityscape of Laia, Alan spotted a green flash of Covenant triple-A - the fuel rods seemed to inch along, but were aimed perfectly to lead and ambush his pod during its descent, or so the warning systems told Hardy.

Pulling on the sticks he held in his gloved hands, the emergency thrusters of his pod fired with a resounding whoosh, angling the pod and its descent path by another forty-five degrees into the city, avoiding the hostile fire.

But a loud pop as the sudden increased drag of air snagged the chute and ripped it clean from the top of his pod a tad bit too early told Alan that his problems were just beginning.

Plummeting at speeds that were most certainly still lethal, Alan manually thumbed his braking rockets while over two hundred feet in the air, watching the fuel reserves deplete at an alarming rate as the looming silhouette of a massive skyscraper filled his view. Having used the last of his fuel to slow his descent as much as possible, he wasn't able to avoid the incoming building.

Accepting his fate, Hardy let go of the joysticks and gripped the metal bars welded along the interior of the pod, bars intended for such landings. With a resolute sigh, he closed his eyes.

The nose of the pod smashed into the side of the building with enough velocity to yank Hardy's body against his harness and snap the nylon, sending streaks of pain screaming through his body - but the man didn't release his grip as the pod tunneled through the skyscraper and out the other side, spitting free in a shower of broken steel, glass, and masonry - an empty channel left in its wake.

Alan and his SOEIV sailed across the street and impacted into a neighboring building. Glass shattered and concrete broke as Alan felt his pod tip upright - then fall backwards, slamming into the weakened floor with enough weight to shatter through... and the next one... and the one after that.

The pod finally stopped as it was caught on a tangled mess of thick electrical conduits, and Sergeant Hardy opened his eyes. He was on his back, and the pod was definitely horizontal. There was no light. Every system inside his pod had died from the impact, and the power grid outside was just as dead. The ODST sat up a little, as much as he could - feeling the pod tip precariously in the process, the wires that held his pod aloft groaning under the pressure.

Wasting no time, Alan maneuvered awkwardly in the cramped interior of the pod, feeling his fresh bruises ache as he shrugged on his pack, M7S, and SRS99D S-2 AM. He tried the automatic release with no avail, no power being supplied to the door to open it. Alan knew what was going to happen when he blew the explosive bolts. So he armed them one-by-one until there was one little button. The Marine took a steely breath and tapped it with his fist and tensed his legs.

The explosive bolts popped, sending the hatch of the pod skyrocketing... and Newton's Third Law played its part, pushing the pod down with enough force to snap through the cables that had stilled its descent. The SOEIV dropped as Alan pushed off with his legs, scrambling in the dark for a handhold to stop him from falling with it. Fortunately, his hands wrapped around one of the now snapped cables, and he gripped it for dear life.

The cable swung to the side and he felt his armored exterior collide with the edge of a jagged hole ripped into the wall by his pod. There was a whistle as the pod's hatch plummeted past where he had just been. Every piece of the SOEIV dropping eleven floors to smash into the street below with enough force to alert anyone on the block - the steel hull crumpling from the impact.

Glad he had managed to escape doom, Alan pulled himself up the cable until his boots found solid ground, stepping into an apartment room that had been sheared in half by his dropping pod. The ODST slipped his M7S around and extended its stock, tucking it into his shoulder when he heard Fitz' voice over the radio.

"Tally, up."

With that, the Marine activated his VISR and watched as the room lit up with dull orange lines. He switched over to the program's built in map, in an attempt to locate Fitz' location. Only to discover that the entire system was down, the impact having scrambled something inside his helmet and causing a rather distinct blur and flicker in the map.

"Delta-Two, be advised: refreshing suit's software. Will be dark for approximately thirty seconds, over." With that, Alan shut off his comm and turned off his VISR mode - along with every other system he had, turning it back on and letting it reboot as he stood up and moved to the exit of the apartment room, systematically clearing his corners as he began a descent to the bottom floor - it was time to put distance between himself and his DZ.

--------------------
"I fear not the Valley of the Shadow, for I am Death."
PM
^
Jeff Fitzhugh
 Posted: Jul 25 2015, 02:23 PM
Quote

Member
Group: Members
Posts: 10
Joined: 1-April 15
Alias: Sam

Rank: SSgt (E-6)
Branch: UNSCMC
Unit: Delta-Two



As his team began to signal that they were still alive, Fitz pried the electronic door open. With power down he was glad that the bolts weren't down, letting him oppose the motors. He made a gap big enough for him and stuck his weapon through it. There was nothing that wanted to kill him in what seemed to be a corridor lined with closed doors that matched the one he stepped through. He double checked that theory, pointing the M7S down to the far end as he walked slowly forward. He didn't bother with the doors, deeming them as stuck as the one he'd come through. There wasn't an ounce of activity to be observed. No light and no sound, save for the lines painted by his VISR and his muffled footsteps as he reached the end of the corridor on the balls of his feet.

Stairs? Where were the stairs? There wasn't a single sign mentioning them on this floor. He frowned as he faced the pair of flat, silver doors set into the wall. What were the chances that the elevator was operational? He attempted to put his fingers between the doors, though to no avail. In lieu of a crowbar or even an entrenching tool the Staff Sergeant drew his knife; 0.2 metres worth of titanium carbide-coated carbon steel matched the dullness of the doors, what with the lack of light. Fitz flipped the blade into a backhand grip and jammed it between the doors. He pulled back on it and jammed his armoured boot in the gap that was formed. The plating took the stress and his foot took none of the weight pushing either side of it. He holstered the knife used the hand that had been holding it to brace himself on the semi-open doors. Flashlight on along with VISR, he poked the barrel of the submachine gun into the elevator shaft.

Clear.

Annoyingly, the elevator was stuck above him, meaning he'd likely have to pry open another set of doors at the bottom. Fitz slapped the M7S onto the magnetic strips on the side of his backpack, eyeing his way down. Hands outstretched holding the doors open as wide as his arm span, the ODST lunged forward. He brought his arms together as he did to avoid his arms getting caught as the panels slammed shut. They instead grabbed on to the far side of the shaft, covered in a checkered mesh of metal. His fingers didn't enjoy that; as the only part of his body that were uncovered, thanks to the design of the gloves, they burned upon clutching the pattern of wire. The Staff Sergeant refused to fall off though. He carried on through the mild pain coursing through his fingertips, weaseling his way down floor-by-floor.

When he reached the final set of doors at the bottom, the only skin showing on his body was raw, redder than the LEDs on the sides of his weapons. When he looked over his shoulder to them though, he could see that his firearms weren't the only thing spilling light into the elevator shaft. There was a dull blue coming from a gap in the doors. He was damn glad for that gap, though the gloomy azure lit up what caused that gap. Jeff resisted the urge to wince at what he saw. He instead leaped backwards off of the far wall and stepped close to it, catching his foot just under it. Pushing the door open while stood one-footed on the edge of the shaft, it fell into the room ahead.

"Jesus," he muttered, eyeing the mutilated corpse that had been trapped between the doors. Not only was her head crushed from the pressure of what was likely an emergency close, her body had been mauled. The same went for the dozen other bodies of civilians spread out about the lobby. Dark red blood covered most everything; walls were splattered, floors covered, the windows smeared. Among all of the people in here - women, children, men, police officers, hotel staff - there was a single dead alien. The corpse of the Jackal still had its teeth in the neck of a policewoman. Her hands disappeared under the avian extraterrestrial and the different colouring of the VISR patterns told Fitz what they were doing. She had jammed her sidearm, an M6, into her attacker's chest and had taken the birdlike beast with her.

Fitz cleared the open room fairly quickly before approaching her. He took a knee beside her body and shoved the dead Kig-Yar off of her. He took the sidearm and released the magazine. He racked the slide and caught the chambered round too, laying the M6C back down on on her body. He closed her eyes too with a gentle sweep of his fingers. He went through her gear and found a pair of extra magazines on her belt, both of which found themselves at the top of his backpack. He opened and closed the pack over his shoulder and moved to the other cop. This one was missing an entire shoulder. Fitz grimaced at the navy-clad arm that lay a metre away. At closer inspection the ODST could tell that a Needler had caused it, the pink shards blowing off the man's limb. His intact hand was limp beside his M90A shotgun. Fitz took it, letting his gloves register the weapon. Four out of the maximum six shells were loaded into the weapon. He rummaged around in the cop's vest and found a dozen or so more. He loaded two into shotgun, jammed the extra shells into a softcase on his right thigh and pumped the weapon. The safety was flicked on and the weapon was snapped to the opposite side of his backpack to where he favoured his M7S.

Before setting out, he brought up the NAV component built into his HUD. The next sector along was a big open plaza that had been their estimated DZ. Everyone, as expected, had gone a little wide. Meeting there would be ideal, especially since his map was telling him that there was a Laia Police Force building there. There'd be decent cover and maybe even some survivors. He set a navpoint for his team.

"Delta-Two. RV at the original DZ, over."

Fitz stepped out of the building through what once was a big glass window. The remains of it crunched underfoot as he hit the sidewalk. He did a quick scan before moving north to the drop zone, sticking close to the buildings to avoid the moonlight. A little marker popped up in his vision, indicating that Tally's HUD had rebooted. So far so good.
PMEmail
^
Alan Hardy
 Posted: Jul 25 2015, 09:27 PM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 5
Joined: 7-July 15
Alias: Jesse

Rank: E-5; Sergeant
Branch: ODST
Unit: Delta-Two



A bright cone of white LED light swept through the empty, wrecked hallway of the apartment building whilst Sergeant Hardy stepped out of the room and cleared his sector with his torchlight. The ODST stepped cautiously but urgently, his boots clicking softly against the carpeted floor of the hall. His M7S was kept in a low-ready position, finger relaxed against the trigger housing - the incredibly lightweight weapon barely even registering in his hands. He stepped over abandoned luggage and overturned potted plants as he reached a stairwell at the very end of the hall. The Marine shouldered open the door and began his careful descent - suppressed muzzle of his M7S pointed over the railing and making sure the next level was clear before Alan moved down the steps.

Whilst the ODST cleared his level before maneuvering to the next one, his HUD was full of various different windows full of scrolling code as his suit's software rebooted. Eventually, with a subdued beep, the system returned to full operation without any of the flickering errors he had experienced before. The IFF tags of Delta-Two appeared in his vision with approximate distances popping up whenever he focused on a specific tag. The Sergeant jutted his chin forward and clicked the chin-mic built into his helmet.

"Delta-Two, Tally: all systems online and functional, over." The ODST clicked off his mic and continued down the eleven floors until he was at the very bottom, then he clicked on his VISR's NAV tab and quickly scanned the three-dimensional display of Laia as Fitz' voice piped through the comm, telling the squad to rendezvous at the intended DZ. Alan did his best to memorize a route and then set a series of waypoints to help him in case he needed to quickly locate the path just in case he got in a firefight. Then, he clicked off his NAV system and continued forward.

Sergeant Hardy entered the lobby and swept it clean - having disabled his torchlight in favor of his VISR mode. He failed to locate any hostiles, but did notice plasma scoring that had burned through the front desk... and the mangled, burnt corpses that littered the floor. Paying them little attention, Alan stepped towards the shattered front door of the apartment and squeezed his body through the gap, feeling his pack knock some jagged glass loose from the edge as he stepped out into the street.

In a crumpled heap in a small crater just in front of the building was his SOEIV. Hardy gave the vehicle a silent thump with his fist, one last display of camaraderie with the vehicle before the Marine set off on his planned path to the DZ - sticking close to the buildings lining the street and keeping his head on a swivel.

"Fitz, Tally. Inbound to RV. ETA three mikes, over."

--------------------
"I fear not the Valley of the Shadow, for I am Death."
PM
^
Scott Edwards
 Posted: Jul 26 2015, 12:35 AM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 2
Joined: 4-July 15
Alias: AlphaBenson

Rank: Private First Class
Branch: UNSC Marine Corps
Unit: Delta-One



Colorful lights dancing against a pitch black void filled Scott's blurred vision. A low rumbling sound was barely audible over the shrill ringing in his ears. Where was he? His senses were so dull, he couldn't tell if he was outdoors, indoors, or if it was day or night. He smacked his lips, and found that his mouth tasted like copper. He tried to bring his fingers up to his face, but as soon as he bent his right arm, a jolt of pain coursed through it.

"Aw! Shit!" He could feel the copper-tasting liquid-- the blood, stream down his chin. Did I bite my tongue? The jolt of pain had jump started his body, and allowed him to make sense of what he was perceiving before. The dancing blurs of light came into focus, and became the various screens and monitors that lined the interior of his HEV pod door, and the black void the night sky which was visible through the panes of cracked glass. The low rumbling, as Scott soon recognized, was a groan, which was being transmitted to the internal speakers in his ODST helmet. The groaning was clearly of a person, but as far as he could tell, it wasn't his own. It sounded more like a woman's if anything. Sergeant McKinnon!

"...Sergeant?" Scott said, keying his throat mic by pressing his chin down to his neck. He felt another twinge of pain, but did his best to ignore it. The groaning continued for about thirty seconds, until Sergeant McKinnon responded.

"That--" The Sergeant's response was interrupted by a violent coughing fit. He could hear the Sergeant curse under her breath before she continued. "That you, Scout?"

"Yes, ma'am,"

"Well, if you're done with your nap, I could use some help getting out of this pod," McKinnon's voice sounded strained, like she was going to pass out any minute now. "My pod should be about two hundred meters west of where your position. I'd get this damn thing opened myself if I wasn't in such a bad shape,"

"What about the explosive charges?"

"Negative. Too loud. Last thing we need is for every alpha bravo in the city to know we're here," On the other end, Scott could hear the Sergeant strain to take in a breath. "So hurry your ass up,"

"Wilco,"

Scott thumbed the controls to get his pod to open, but instead of the hatch peeling apart, nothing happened. He cursed under his breath. Like the Sergeant said, blowing the hatch with the emergency charges lining the interior wasn't an option. That only left him with one possible solution: the underside of his boot. Bringing his knee up to his chest, or at least, as much as he could in full gear and in the confined spaces of an HEV, Scott gave the edge of the hatch a good, strong kick. The already weakened hatch groaned in response as the metal was bent and twisted out of shape by the force. After a couple more kicks, Scott was able to create enough space for himself to slip out of the pod from. On his way out, he made sure to retrieve the racked M7S. Fortunately for him, it seemed his gear fared better than his HEV. They by no means came through unscathed, but as long as they were all functional, he'd call that win.

"I'm oscar mike,"

--------------
PMEmail
^
Jeff Fitzhugh
 Posted: Jul 28 2015, 02:51 PM
Quote

Member
Group: Members
Posts: 10
Joined: 1-April 15
Alias: Sam

Rank: SSgt (E-6)
Branch: UNSCMC
Unit: Delta-Two



"Solid copy, T," Fitz replied over the TEAMCOM. "Strip, Fitz. Status, over?"

Nothing. He tried a couple more times and then went for the greener member of the team.

"Duck, Fitz. You reading this, over?"

Again, nothing. Maybe they'd taken comms damage. He continued onwards, hoping that the two unresponsive men were alive as he reached the blast door set into the perimeter wall of his current sector. When he realised that the hefty chunk of metal was without power and tightly shut he let a few curses slip. He was corrected when the door's keypad in the middle of the road produced a dim light. He squinted to see what was probably the result of battery power, seeing a few numbers appear on the screen. 04316852... That was his service number. He frowned and looked around him, making eye contact with a camera set into the housing of the blast door. The LED of the device instantly went out, exactly as the door unlocked and began to hiss open.

The Staff Sergeant kept an eye on the keypad as it disappeared with the door, his service number - save for the final two initials - being cleared off of the pad as it went. He gave the camera, now dead, a last look and entered the next sector. His immediate surroundings consisted of an empty street, heading upwards to a T-junction higher than his current position. That was about a hundred metres away. Closer to him was a single bench, set into the wall of a grey building that had no entrances on this side. The opposite structure to his left was similar, bearing no entrances to this street. The wall itself wasn't actually the building though, merely a foundation for it. About four metres above him was a railing, a height that decreased as the street came up to meet the level the building was intended.

Judging by the rows of windows he could see further up the tower, it had about twenty-ish floors. One column of said windows was instead replaced with a flat face. It was marked with the name of the city's police department, 'Laia Police Force'. This was the sector that was marked as their DZ and that building was where Delta-Two were set to link up. Fitz crossed to the right side of the road, sliding his back against the other buildings as he sidestepped his way up the street. His M7S found itself pointed in the direction of the police station and as he got further to the junction, he deemed the area in front of the doors as clear. He then crossed back over to the left, scanning the right turn and what was down there.

Shit.

As quick as he could, Fitz moved a tiny bit forward and turned to the station. He jumped and his free hand grabbed the railing. He pulled up and helped with his shooting hand, though still wrapped around the grip of his M7S. He must have been quick enough to avoid being seen by the purple craft because he wasn't lit up with plasma fire. In a prone position, the ODST crawled back some. The layout of the police station was an outside foyer held up by four thick, rectangular columns. The ceiling of the foyer was in fact the the floor of the second level, with the lobby doors set about halfway back into the building.

The Ghost made an appearance again but Fitz had already moved behind the front-right pillar. He was stood, back to it with his M7S pointed upwards in front of his face to better hide behind the profile of the support. He heard the deep, guttural warbling of an Elite too, which meant the Grunt piloting the Ghost had an infantry escort. Fitz hoped to God that the Elite was leading a file of lesser units, instead of more Sangheili. Even still, he was outnumbered. He needed support and he went to his NAV tab to find it. Tally was closest, coming in from the north side of the sector, dead opposite him.

"T, be advised. We got a Ghost and some infantry right in front of the target building, break," Fitz said, poking his head out slightly after closing NAV. "Looks like an Elite and a handful of Grunts. Gimme an' 'and, over?"
PMEmail
^
Alan Hardy
 Posted: Aug 4 2015, 02:22 AM
Quote

Newbie
Group: Members
Posts: 5
Joined: 7-July 15
Alias: Jesse

Rank: E-5; Sergeant
Branch: ODST
Unit: Delta-Two



"Solid copy, Fitz," Tally whispered into his comm whilst he moved through the dead and dark streets of Laia. His M7S swept across the street as he entered the district that held the police station, the heavy blast doors groaning shut and sealing behind him. The Marine side-stepped to the left side of the street as he began a cautious light jog forward, onyx armor muffled as it clicked against the road. The ODST clicked on his NAV system, glancing at the red diamonds identifying hostile forces picked up by Fitz's VISR. They were to the south, approximately one hundred meters - not very far in the scale of things.

"Tally is positioning, over."

The Sergeant turned to his left and stepped towards a glass office door. His gloved hand ripped open the door and his M7S led the way in, clearing the bottom floor before Alan took to the steps and ascended to the third floor. Sergeant Hardy didn't have time to clear the entire floor, and selected a door at random that would bring him into a room on the southern face of the building.

The door clicked open with ease, unlocked. Alan pushed inside and side-stepped to the right, back moving along the wall whilst he cleared the room and confirmed he was alone. The heel of his boot hooked the edge of the door and swung it shut, then the ODST turned towards a wide window that gave him a decent view of the street.

There was a long conference table in the middle of the room, with its array of chairs scattered across the ground. The ODST used his foot to leverage a chair into a standing position and pushed it towards the table whilst he set his M7S on the table and reached behind him. His hands fondly groped his SRS99D S-2 AM, pulling it up as he ducked his head to let the sling pull free. The former scout sniper extended the bipod and then set the weapon down on the table, facing the street. Alan sat in the chair and scooted up close, tucking the stock of the sniper rifle into his shoulder. His right hand wrapped around the grip, finger extended across the guard, whilst his left balled into a fist and was tucked directly underneath the stock. His cheek rested against the top of the stock as he peered into the weapon's scope.

Even without the VISR, Hardy would've located the patrol in seconds. The stubby Ghost had wings that glowed bright, giving off its position in the dark night. Inside his scope, the ODST swept his crosshair over the patrol, doing a quick headcount as quick as he could. One file, one Elite Minor, one Ghost - simple stuff.

"Fitz, Tally. Identify: one gator, one Ghost, seven dismounted Grunts, break," Hardy spoke into his comm as he hovered his crosshair above the head of the blue-armored Sangheili. He clenched his fist underneath the stock, raising the bottom just a hair - lowering the bore of his muzzle so the crosshair settled directly over the alien's chest.

At a hundred meters, he probably could have put the round inside it's iris - but the Marine wanted to be reliable, not tricky.

"Engaging in three... two... one..."

A deep breath, exhaling out of his nose. His entire body relaxed as his finger wrapped gently around his trigger, sliding down its smooth surface to the base. The pad of his digit squeezed gently, working the trigger back until it clicked.

Then the massive sniper rifle boomed, its stock slamming into his shoulder with enough force to place a dull ache in his muscles. The window of the room shattered into hundreds of pieces as the 14.5x114mm Armor-Piercing Fin-Stabilized Discarding-Sabot round exited his muzzle and tore through the air on its path to the Elite.

The 14.5x114mm APFSDS round was invented centuries ago during the Cold War by the Soviet Union. It was an IFV round used by their ancient BMPs, a kinetic energy penetrator designed to defeat ceramic composite tank armor, and a round that was incredibly efficient at doing so when it was brought into service.

The Elite Minor was no tank. Even with its energy shield, it was just flesh and bone. It had no time to react in the fraction of a second it took the 14.5x114mm to impact it. The creature's electric blue energy shield flared in some vain attempt to stop the round, the pure power of the bullet being so impressive that even the advanced alien technology overloaded instantly and the round imbedded itself in the chest of the Elite.

The tall, seven foot tall alien had its upper torso ripped like a piece of paper. A fountain of purple gore exploded outward as its shoulders and head hinged open, connected to the rest of its body by only a few strands of muscle and skin near its ribcage. Internal organs dripped onto the street as the weight of its upper half ripped at the remaining strip of skin and fully separated - the alien falling to the ground split into two pieces. Behind it, Alan could see where the kinetic energy penetrator had found purchase in one of the concrete pillars of the police foyer - having blown a sizable hole in the concrete and torn a chunk out of the ground on the other side.

Below, before the rest of the patrol could react, Sergeant Hardy deftly swiveled his crosshair to the Covenant Ghost in the center of the street. He didn't have an angle on the driver, but he didn't need one. He settled on the front of the engine, and fired a second time. The round impacted the vehicle with the same force it had hit the Elite, armor plating buckling like it was made of aluminum foil and coughing up purple smoke and blue electrical discharges from the damaged engine.

The vapor trail of the second round hadn't even dissipated by the time Alan fired a third time, this round puncturing straight through the engine block and out the other side - killing the Ghost as it hit the ground and skidded a few feet with a low whine and a shower of sparks. The Grunt driver immediately disembarked and ran in the opposite direction, hands high in fear and its plasma pistol abandoned next to its destroyed vehicle, the green methane tank on its back wobbling back and forth as it struggled to pick up speed.

A subtle shift, and the ODST fired the last round in his magazine. It flew true and found its home center-mass in the Grunt. Its armor and hard flesh stood no chance as cavitation of the round sheared the Grunt in half like it was nothing - unlike the Elite, not a single bit of flesh remained connected as the alien creature almost exploded, the hydrostatic shock of such a powerful round against such as small being creating cracks and bloody fissures along its body, its thick blue blood splattering several feet ahead of it, in a cone following the path his bullet had created. Visceral goop laid on the street steaming, as the remaining seven Grunts on the street began to panic - rushing into cover on the side of the street, smart enough to figure out they were taking fire from the north. Alan couldn't see them from his position.

But, Fitz could.

"Fitz, Tally: confirmed kills, gator and Ghost, break. Displacing, out."

With that, the ODST stood up and slid his SRS99D S-2 AM over his back and grabbed his M7S, leaving the room and head straight towards the bottom floor and the exit - if the Covenant called in counter-sniper artillery fire, he didn't want to be in that position when it happened.

--------------------
"I fear not the Valley of the Shadow, for I am Death."
PM
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Pages: (2) 1 2 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll