Sniper Cornered

A RolePlay Log by The Alliance
Title	Sniper Cornered!
Date	2011 May 17
IC Date	2531 Jun 25
Location	Apex Building - Persephone
Appearing	Col. Calira Dumont Captain Malchior Havoc Lt. Heather Jacy NPC Fire teams, E&T, etc.

The sniper is cornered in the Apex building, with hostages, and the Alliance tactical units move in - in full force - to capture and subdue the sniper.

'Continued from Sniper Fire!

By the time the ambulance arrives the landing pad is cleared entirely of non Alliance personnel. Any civilian that had the ill luck to be on the out side of their ship when the bullets were fired are being detained in a holding area - for their safety, of course. And also to keep the witnesses confined for questioning. The path to the hospital has been cleared and within a matter of moments the Admiral is placed on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance, security personnel joining the Admiral in the conveyance before it roars off.
Meanwhile, the forward units that were sent to scout out all the buildings with a line of site to where the Admiral was standing have begun to report back. The search is projected to take hours, if not days. One of Dumont's men brings out a Tac-vest and helmet and hands it to her without a word, and Dumont - in turn - shrugs into it and fastens it without argument as well. The same officer offers one to Malchior as Dumont snags a spare, two helmets, and walks to where Jacy is standing with the soldier who has a map of the city spread out and offers the vest to Jacy. "Suit up," is asked, offered, suggested, giving the Lieutenant the option to stay and man the listening point or join Dumont with which ever unit reports back first. <English>

"Yes, m'am," Jacy says quietly, interrupting her dialogue with the forwrd units long enough to strap the tactical vest about her torso, pulling the helmet on and strapping it beneath her chin. She seizes the opportunity to give a sitrep to Dumont; "We have units sweeping through here, here, and here..." Little pinpoints of purple (naturally) light on the holo-display indicate where the Alliance forward units are. "We're setting up checkpoints at the major intersections, more to keep the populace contained for witness purposes than in the hope of detaining the perpetrator. We've got air support on a one hour ETA, the hover-shuttle is grounded at the Federal Station with a maintenance fault," Jacy grimaces. "The Temperance is in Condition Red. All crew are at Battle Stations and the Marines divisions are mobilized." <English>

Malchior pulls the vest over his shirt after he's removed his coat and swings the helmet down over his head as it his handed over to him, fingers setting the clasp after all is properly set into place. "If a more secure pad is needed with the shuttle grounded at the station, there is a vacant landing pad on my estate that is easily accessable. There might not be as much of a crowd through that direction, either, and will allow for quicker response from the area." His coat is tossed away onto the hoverMULE for safe keeping before shifting to pluck here and there to be sure his weapon was in working order. "I'm going to want as much video camera footage from the highest scales of buildings as possible. Categorized by height, then location.. Think those first on scene can handle it?" As if he was going to pick up some logistics. <English>

"Ground all traffic, civilian, military, grand poobah of awesomeness, all grounded until we get a bead on who ever fired that round. Any sniper worth his salt fired the shot, ditched the weapon and walked calmly away and is in the wind right now. IF we're lucky we'll find the building, the actual shooting spot and maybe the weapon," and she sounds a bit skeptical about this, but they'll conduct the exhaustive search anyway. "Good, regarding the Tempe that is. Have a full sweep done of the ship, we're taking Condition Red to condition red tinged paranoia and make sure all flag officers are accounted for," is added before Dumont makes a sound that's partially a snort of amusement, though it's more grim than amused, "They damn well better know to pull all the footage they can lay hands on," she confirms with a nod toward Malchior, considering his offer. "If we don't find anything within the hour we'll take you up on that offer," she decides after a moment of consideration. "This location has to many goram buildings that can look down onto it, and we're ducks in a barrel like this." <English>

Nodding to Malchior, Jacy gets on the comm to the forward units. "This is Lieutenant Jacy. I want video footage from the rooftops and whatever upper levels you can get to. Video the surrounding area and views of the Eavesdown docks...beam it to me and Captain Malchior." she glances at Malchior for confirmation. And she's cold, deadly cold - she didn't once glance at the medics working frantically to save Thompson's life as he bled out there on the dirty concrete pad, and she barely spares a glance for the heaving mass of humanity being herded along the edge of the docks. Then to the commlink again, "This is Lieutenant Jacy. Get me Air Traffic Control. I need landlocks on everything, and a destination on the Falkirk that just left. Yes, I know it's Lord Carmichael's ship. Do I have to repeat myself with a Marine escort, sir?" she asks coldly.

Then she's interrupted by an incoming wave that she presses her hand to her earpiece to hear more clearly, and she immediately addresses the holodisplay, tapping the controls to zoom in on a particular building. "Colonel Dumont, Captain Malchior, you should see this. The Apex building, here...point team Charlie two is reporting shots exchanged with an unknown party...firefight in progress. It could be some paranoid lunatic, but...that building overlooks us." She looks up, identifying the actual building in the distance, and points. "It's plausible the shot came from there." <English>

"I've had some people with me in crawl spaces admit they couldn't tell what components I was telling them to use." Malchior offers a faint smirk for his disbelief before a nod of affirmation to the offer on hold. "That we are. There isn't much we're going to be able to accomplish asside for setting up sweeps and waiting for analysis on the bullet. Did it have an exit wound? I didn't see.." He is easily cut short by the words and eyes swivel toward Jacy easily. "Lets move, in my opinion," he quickly replies before looking to Dumont. <English>
Dumont speaks briefly into her comm as well and calls for a back up fire team to link up even as she's nodding to Jacy. "Mount up," is Dumont's reply as she nods toward the HoverMULE, "I trust one of you can drive this thing?" she asks and waits for the map to be collected and gear to be sorted before she'll climb into it. She can drive, certainly, but it's unpleasant for most people to have her at the wheel. <English>

Jacy waves to her driver to mount up; the man has a sleeve full of chevrons, so he's good for something at least, and apparently it's driving. And there's the .50 cal gunner on the back who's growing tired of covering the crowd, and grins at the prospect of action. Jacy scrambles aboard the back, leaving the shotgun seat for the Colonel. She's still relaying information from her commlink; "M'am, Charlie Two is reporting a hostage situation. Civilians in the line of fire...they're containing, setting up a perimeter. Charlie Niner will be on-scene in sixty seconds to back them up. That's affirmative, Charlie Two, contain and hold." She gets a good grip of the support stanchion for the .50 cal as Calira and Malchior mount up - she knows how fast Sgt Mannheim drives. <English>

Dumont climbs in, belts in, then hooks up any extra 'jesus-bar' webbing that she can fasten to, "Copy that," is said while she's working on all the clips and leads she can put together. Walking EVA in a suit, tank and pack? Not a problem. Surfing, knowing there are sharks in the water? not a problem. Getting shot at? Not a problem. Being jounced around like a sack of turnips on a farm cart? Where's the extra seat belt. She relays everything that Jacy is giving her, intel wise, back to the DAS HQ so her team can pull up anything that ACI can lay so much as a skinny fingertip on - CORTEX search and Alliance DB wise. "Pulling registered tenants and schematics of the Apex building now, sending to SmartComm's now," she mentions, "filed building plans and modifications, check the following data hits. Security system intel hitting the comms now," she adds, a brief grin on her face at the speed at which her team is breaking down firewalls and raiding the hell out of the 'privacy' of the Apex building. <English>

Malchior did what he was told to, body quickly jumping up into a seat for himself so that they can be prepared. "Looks good," he mentions as he shifts to strap himself in and look into the information that was provided to him. "Hey. Thanks for finally giving me a ride, guys," the man grins broadly to put some light in the situation before he sets his mind to work in silence for a few moments. <English>

"M'am, Charlie Two is reporting firing has ceased. One civilian dead, no Marine casualties, but the suspect has withdrawn into an office suite with hostages." Charlie Two and Charlie Niner combined should have a total of twelve Marines, barely enough for containment...and that thought quickly segues as the hoverMULE accelerates abruptly ahead, scything across the docks and towards the perimeter and the crowd. People scatter before it, their flight aided by the banshee howl of the siren that the driver activates. Somewhere behind is the full breach team in another hoverMULE, a much larger beast that emerges from the Temperance's ramp - the ramp having been lowered solely for its egress, and which starts to rise again the moment the vehicle is clear. Jacy, hanging on as the MULE swings around a corner, starts clearing comm frequencies to join up the dots and connect the various disparate groups all assembling into a cohesive whole. <English>

Dumont's teeth practically click together when the MULE accelerates abruptly forward and relies on the webbing and belt to keep her from flying off like some sort of sad bobble-head doll, or nifty plastic dinosaur, normally found on the dash of ships and vehicles. Some traditions never die. "Pinpoint the office on the schematic and get a sniper into a building with a view into the room. We want angles covered. We want this person alive and all gray matter intact, no squishing or oozing gray matter. The suspect doesn't necessarily need to be able to walk out on both legs, so keep all shots tight and well aimed." She exhales a laugh at Malchior's words, "You didn't think we were going to make you walk, did you?" <English>

Jacy has the holomap balanced on her lap, and the display judders and flickers as the young Lieutenant JG fights to control the display one-handed, zooming in and waiting as databases download and populate. An open space appears, the office area - no doubt the numerous partitions and cubes inside aren't on the database, which just adds an extra level of difficulty into the whole breach. Nevertheless purple pinpricks of light on the stairwells and around the elevator bank suggest that Charlie Two and Charlie Niner teams have the area locked down thoroughly. "It's an accountancy company," Jacy reports tersely as something flashes on her PDA. "Last returns had them listing nine employees. Plus we could have an unknown number of visitors..." She pauses as the hoverMULE, motors whining, cuts past a shaved-ice stand a little too closely, sending it crashing to the ground in a welter of colored syrups and crushed ice. The salesgirl screams an obscenity as the hoverMULE whisks on, leaving her behind in an instant. <English>

The HoveMULE rockets to a stop in front of the building where the man presumed to be their sniper is holed up - with his hostages - the vehicle swaying forward and back as it comes to a halt, kicking up dust and a small plume of debris - that being the usual stuff that litters the ground at any given time in any large city, especially like this one. Dumont's teeth clack together, literally, from having clenched her teeth nearly every inch of the way so as to avoid something like, in theory, muttering curse words under her breath. Oh, wait, she did that anyway, in several languages, which sounds a bit odd when muttered from between clenched teeth. Between the intel provided by the units on the ground, the data that her people are feeding to their combined comm units and data devices so by the time they arrive a schematic that's fully 3D are available for perusal. "Could you have taken that last turn any slower?" is muttered as she unfastens the harness and clips holding her in place before she exhales and leaps down from the MULE. <English>

Malchior caught on to probably a few of the words that Dumont murmured, but it was her fully spoken English that he responded to. "No way!" he mentions with the brunt of adrenaline, jumping out of the vehicle with the spring of a youthful man. "What's the plan? Did you say you had the location of the office that the shooter and hostages are in?" he questions lightly as eyes sway over toward Jacy to quickly watch her own descant while he checks to be sure his vest and helmet were secure once more. <English>

The NCO behind the controls of the hoverMULE just grunts at Dumont's muttering. Jacy hops lightly down from the MULE, still fumbling with the chinstrap to her helmet - she hasn't been able to get it comfortable, and eventually just yanks it tight on the velcro and leaves it to chafe. Behind her the second MULE rocks to a stop, disgorging a squad of fully tooled-up Marines (some of whom are carrying large black plastic crates) towards the building in question. Jacy watches them disembark, her fingers flickering over her come, and purple dots speckle an appearance over the holo-schematic, each dot corresponding to a Marine's location. "Yes, sir," she tells Malchior. "Office is here, about five thousand square feet. Elevator bank at the north end, together with a set of stairs. A second set of stairs at the back. All the exits are covered - other than straight out the windows. We've got a sniper team deploying on this watertower here that can cover the windows, their eta is three minutes. Air support is still down." <English>

Dumont turns in a slow circle, staring up at the buildings, "I want a sniper on each roof," she decides, boiling the situation down into it's composite nuts and bolts. "Get someone up on the roof here as well, we're not letting this man get away, not out the window not down the side of the building. If we have to hit one of his shields, so be it," and she makes that clear as she cinches her gear more firmly into place. "Make the shots count and by god don't KILL the bloody civilians. I want E&T in here along with a full demo team to sweep this building. I'm old, ladies and gents, because I'm cautious and cynical," and she smacks the helmet she's wearing with the flat of her hand to cram it into place before starting for the doors that are being manned by soldiers who snap to attention as she leads the way inside. <English>

Malchior's eyes watch the dots dance to light in his vision before he bobs his head up and down with understanding toward Jacy's report. "Ooh, I just want to let everyone know Malchior is here today," he mentions, turning around in a light spin to introduce himself as he follows along instep behind Dumont once he's completed his 360-degree turn. "And you have to deal with me in a debriefing if there is injury to any civilians. Keep that in mind, please and thank you," he grins through every word throughout his dance. His bouncy reaction quickly sobers as his eyes face forward in looking back to the destination. "Cautious and cynical.. Good traits, sometimes," he jests, though doesn't seem to be bobbing around any longer. <English>

Dumont's orders are relayed on by Jacy with a "Copy that, m'am", and everyone's HUD flickers into life with the option of a wire-frame representation of the interior of the building with glowing dots representing friendly forces. Some of the internal walls, cheap plasterboard partitions thrown up in a hurry, aren't shown on the wire-frame, and Jacy curses under her breath at the out-of-date databases used. A few stray civilians stream past the soldiers, heading out as the rest of the building is evacuated, their eyes wide at the sight of the fully-armored purplebellies driving like a wedge into the building with Dumont at the tip of the arrow. <English>

"I'd rather injure civilians and not kill them, Havoc, than have our sniper kill them while we're dithering over a few bruises or puncture wounds," Dumont voices in a quiet aside, signaling for the rest of the fire team to move forward in smaller groups, clearing the main floor as she leads the way to the lift. A long look is sent at the schematics, "We'll take the lift up to the floor above and walk down. We'll set up shop above him," she adds, punching the button to the lift and quelling the bubble of impatience that makes her want to run up the stairs - hauling her gear up several floors - only to arrive pissed off and winded. She gives a small flex of her knees, lets logic tell her that it's a bad idea, and glares as the lift is slow to arrive, glad that it's a dual bank of lifts however, so the team can split up. Safety in division. "Havoc, gets us a update on the admiral," is asked before she turns toward Jacy, "I'm tasking you with something specific, Lieutenant. You're going to be the calm voice of the negotiator here, i want you get him talking, keep him talking, engage him, what ever it takes. But keep him from pitching himself out a window or eating a round from his gun." Back to Havoc, the lift doors finally opening with a cheerful chime of sound, "Ground Floor," is announced by the disembodied voice from the lift, "You see to the civilians, any that are trapped up there with our sniper, get them out when he's distracted. He'll be distracted, I guarantee that," and into the lift she steps. <English>

"I didn't say I was going to be cross with anyone," Malchior explains with a faint pout to his lips as if somewhat scorned by the words. His head nods once as he's given a task, a finger rising up to his jaw as his voice dips down low. "I need a secure line directly to the exam room, operating theater, wherever they are keeping the Admiral at the Memorial hospital. Yesterday, please." The voice is kept low, enough for his assistant on the other end to hear yet soft enough to not to interfere with what was being said. It seems he is placed on hold just as Dumont's attention is back on him, ice cold eyes watching her curiously. "Yes ma'am. Nine in the room, nine out of the room," he mentions as he crosses the threshold of the elevator, voice dipping down to that whispering tone to the mouthpiece once again. "Yes? This is Malchior Havoc, you have my qualifications already I trust. I need a full report on your patient.." <English>

As the lift makes its way up, floor by floor, Jacy reaches into a pocket and pulls out a pack of gum. And, bless her, she offers it around as well as taking a stick for herself. Chew, chew, chew. Still, it's better than grinding teeth or smoking or any number of other nervous tics. "Understood, m'am. Keep him talking, whatever it takes." And then she relapses into silence, punctuated only occasionally by the sound of masticating gum, her gaze lifted slightly so her HUD shows the approaching floor where the advance team has set up containment - just dots, pressed against walls and covering doorways. That floor comes and goes, until the elevator 'dings' and announces its arrival at '12th Floor'. The doors hiss open, revealing an empty hallway and a couple of office doors, one standing open. One's a chiropractor, one's an insurance agent, if the signs on the door are to be believed. <English>

Dumont would probably have preferred a nice cigar at this point, even reaches for the stub of one crammed into the pocket of her tac-vest, but manages to resist the call of nicotine with only the curl of her fingers against the pocket. The finger-less gloves are nicely nomex lined anyway, but that's not the point, right? right. No smoking protocol. Instead. the fire teams are carried up the length of the buildings, lethally armed soldiers - in a box, crowded like bristly sardines - listening to the awful hum of the music playing over speakers. "You'd think someone would've shut that crap off," one of the other marines mutters, this giving rise to a brief round-robin of jokes about 'elevator music', something that cuts the tension a bit until the doors open again - at last.
The floor above the position of the sniper, and his hostages, is cleared but she lets the fire team sweep it all the same. Better safe than sorry, taking the time to consult the HUD and points to the stairwell they'll take down the level to reach the unit already in place. "Get thermal imaging up and get me a tag and location on each person in the floor below, feed that data to myself and Havoc, live feed," is added, just in case there were any questions about lag between feed and relay. "We know our jobs, lets get it done," not the most heroic of speeches, but for a woman who's as pissed as Dumont is, this is probably the most diplomatic approach to morale boost speech she can come up with. To the door she leads, easing it open, pressing it flat against the wall, pans the stairwell briefly before leading the way down. <English>

"I need absolute silence as soon as we make our way through doors unless absolutely necessary," Malchior mentions as he flips the visor down fully over his blue eyes, giving a few moments to make the thermal imaging settle in with his sense of where the world lay when it was ready. "It's a beautiful day to save lives, people," he explains softly before he turns to hug the door, his hand holding his weapon in a reverse position while his other remain at the ready around his hip. He takes one step after the next, attention always forward, breathing barely traceable. "Don't be heroic." A silent hiss, though nothing more. <English>

The forward team are covering the stairwell, but their own HUDs warn them of Dumont and team's approach without any embarrassing and time-wasting challenges. And then there's a patch of no-man's land, the lobby area in front of the elevators, with a body laying face down in a pool of blood that is soaking into the cheap carpet, a young man in a suit missing most of the back of his head. The Marines are covering the door beyond him, 'Nelson Accountants', each man just as still as the body cooling on the floor beyond. The thermal imagers show a close-packed group of bodies within the room beyond, almost like it was a group huddle...

Jacy moistens dry lips, shifts her gum from one side to the other, glances one last time at Dumont as if to say 'I can do this', and steps forwards into the hallway. "Hello?" she call. "This is Lieutenant Jacy of the Temperance. We need to talk about this before anyone else gets hurt." She steps forwards, avoiding the clotting pool of blood beside the corpse on the floor, sparing it a brief glance. "Talk to me, sir. We can work this out." <English>

A series of gestures are made by Dumont, dividing the fire team into smaller units that sends them through the level to take up positions that may offer more options to disable the sniper when the right moment, and luck, allows. She eases forward silently, part of her attention on the thermal imaging and part of her attention on the whisper of comm traffic in her ears. She holds her favored pistol in one hand, the gun aimed down as she continues to move silently forward, shadowing Jacy as the Lieutenant starts speaking to the sniper. Call it intuition but she abruptly snags ahold of Jacy's arm and drags the Lieutenant a good foot to the side, a single bullet cutting through the air with the angry whine of a mad hornet a fraction of a second later. Dumont's gloved hand remains curled in the handful of uniform she'd grabbed for a moment longer, her ears straining to hear past the sound of frightened breathing, the whimper of civilians being used as human shields, shutting the sound of comm traffic out before she nods to Jacy and releases the Lieutenant's arm and makes a small gesture with one hand, indicating that the LT should keep trying.

The thermal image displayed shows the nine hostages arranged around the sniper, clustered in a trio each, wrapped with some sort of cord that keeps the groups bound together, hands tied behind their backs, mouths taped shut. Seems the sniper planned for several alternatives to play out, this being one of them. Dumont cuts a glance toward Malchior, reaching one hand down to tap the flash grenade she carries at her belt, makes a circular gesture with one fingertip and points at the hostages, attempting to convey the sense that her assessment is that the hostages are wrapped with det cord. <English>

Malchior seems to easily follow along with Dumont, his body perhaps a step or two behind hers to keep enough distance so that he might stop within enough time if need be. Such as the movement of Jacy's saving grace, the man's weapon raising just slightly with an elbow cocked to the side. His style was.. Unseen. And awkward. But he went with it, eyes watching Dumont's movements with a wrinkle of his brow and roll of his eyes in exhausted understanding. "Make your shots count," he tones deeply without reverberation into his colleages. His attention is still on the woman he would proceed with, a fingertip tapping his chest before pointing beyond the office door, middle finger joining the index in pointing straight at Dumont, then slightly to the side of their current location in retrospect to the door. He wanted out first and to go to the farther side of the doorway, her second and to take the closer spot; but he didn't move. He waited for her command. <English>

As she's jerked to the side by the Colonel, Jacy lets out a strangled exclamation that is abruptly cut off by the whine of the bullet. She stares, pale and trembling, and recovers her composure with an effort, for in her evasion she's trodden in the congealing pool of blood on the floor. There's a muttered, "Shit. Thanks", to Dumont in an undertone, and then she clears her voice and tries again. "Hey, that was uncalled-for!" Her voice is obviously young and female, a little husky at the best of times and now made even more hoarse by the adrenalin coursing through her body. "There's no need to be shooting. Listen, why don't we do a trade. What is it you want out of today? You want to walk away? You can walk away," she says reasonably. Jacy's a good liar. Rumor is she plays a solid poker hand. "Just give us the hostages. You let them walk, and we let you walk." She's sweating, though. It's the only thing betraying her. <English>

"Chapter and verse," comes the reply, the voice - male speaker by the timbre and pitch - is cold, flat, unemotional, without a shred of inflection or the coloring of any accent. "Gain the attention of the assailant, offer exchanges, acts of good faith, keep the target occupied with small talk," and another round is fired - this one aimed PRECISELY to cut through the air a matter of inches to the side of where Jacy is standing. "You must be officer material, Lieutenant, LT junior grade?" asked in the same empty voice, no curiosity evident in the tone either. Empty enough to make those who have the ear for this sort of thing to go quieter still, wary glances exchanged.

Dumont nods to Havoc, giving him the go ahead to move as he feels is best to handle his aspect of this Situation. She practically feels the wind from the bullet that whines it's way past the Lieutenant, it's its then that she takes a hard look around the room and spots the security cameras in place. Her lips move as a series of terribly off color words are breathed before getting E&T on the line. "Hack into the security feed in this room, goddamn it, he's got his eyes and ears on us," her words are barely loud enough to carry on the comm, but loud enough for the rest of the tac team to realize just precisely how this particular pooch is screwed at the moment. <English>

Malchior catches wind of exactly why the camera feeds were needed, eyes looking up to the celings. He's watching the openings, the swivels, eyes perfectly narrow as he watches to see if there is an opening for him to squeeze into, looking forward to the office furnature for himself to duck behind. His body stands up as he leans toward Jacy, holding her reassuringly by one arm and then turning eyes down as his helmet hovers by the back of her neck. His hand with the weapon is lowered, pinky still hugging the trigger while his thumb cradles the rear.
"Don't move for as long as possible. Record the feed, rewind, replay. Breathe evenly, talk with your breaths evenly please miss Jacy." Each breath is painfully spoken so it would be loud enough to be heard by only those who needed to hear it. He is silent then, unmoving, though his eyes are still watching his path ahead. "Is our line of the security system secure enough to handle that?" He waits in perfect rhythmic breathing silence while he waits the answer. <English>

Jacy jumps at the shot, flinching away even though it would have missed her. "Lieutenant JG, yes, sir," she agrees, her voice ever more hoarse. "And I swear to you my offer's legit." On stacks of bibles, on her father's grave, whatever it takes, Jacy will do. She does desperately want to draw the comforting grip of the Walther from its holster; not that she has a target, but if you're being shot at, your mind is screaming to shoot back. But she resists the urge with an effort, at least until the security feed to the room is cut. So she freezes, staring down the aisle, ignoring the scattered papers and cooling cups of coffee left on the desks around her, the framed pictures of husbands and wives and boyfriends and girlfriends and children. She freezes as best she can, following Captain Malchior's instructions. "You're a smart man, sir, so I'm not going to bullshit you. You know we have the place surrounded. You know there's no way you can shoot your way out of here..." And then a thought occurs to her, and she mutters urgently into the comlink in the same low tone that Dumont used, "Get a team down one floor. He could blow the floor." Then, out loud again in her same honest-sounding voice, "You know you can only walk if you release the hostages." <English>

The fire team holds as quiet and still, holding position, barely breathing, to allow for a few precious moments to be taped on the security feed before it gets looped and folded back on itself and inserted into the feed that the hostage taker is viewing. Jacy's words are greeting with another round of silence from the cold voiced man, though at his gesture one trio of hostages is shoved forward, human shields wrapped in a length of explosive cord, terrified, one man in a business suit tied to two women, shambling forward at a awkward pace like some sort of awful sack race.

Dumont signals abruptly, pulling the forward members of the fire team back, watching as each step the trio takes is matched by backward steps by the members of her team, the large open space in the middle of the cube farm perhaps 45 maybe sixty feet in radius, room enough for a coffee maker and other such items to be arranged around a central structural beam gaily decorated with memos and fliers and such.

The look of terror on those faces is rewarded by the single sentence spoken by the Sniper. "You want them free," and he presses a button, the det cord - and the trio of hostages - exploding in a sudden cough of sound and explosion of bodies, bits and pieces, larger chunks raining outward, blood spraying the room in a thick mist, "now they're free." <English>

Malchior is unwavering, lips pressed tightly together. "I don't see this going positively," he explains very calmly, head lowering as his eyes look to the line of cubicles. "We need to get this sick son of a bitch and we need to get him within the next sixty seconds," he breathes, brow furrowing as he continues to think on overtime.
"Anyone with a non leathal shot needs to declare their target in your unit order. Train it. Drop out if you can't. Your new designation is as I set it to you if I gve you one. If I don't give you one, you are to drop your sight and reassess." What he had just seen is shaken off easily it would seem, his body hugging the corner a moment before he looks to Dumont. "Hostages are in Jacy's hands. Our move, if you agree with this ma'am." He always seems to ask for permission from Dumont, at least! "If there are no shots, we move. If there are. We all move." To his team. To all for agreement or rejection. <English>

Jacy ducks, shielding herself from the spray of blood and bodyparts, letting out a retching sound as she hastily brushes something pink and wet from her arm. "What do YOU want?" she flings the words back at the hostagetaker in a hoarse shout, her voice cracking with emotion as even now she tries to do her job. She looks down at her hands, speckled crimson, and with fumbling fingers draws her Walther. It's a useless gesture, but it's somehow comforting, and she raises it to point down at the remaining mass of humanity at the far end of the room. Not non-lethal, Jacy, not non-lethal. <English>

Dumont ducks her head at the first kick of the explosion, her chin hitting the front of her tac-vest and letting the helmet take the brunt of the explosion - just like it's designed to do. Thicker things that blood fly in all directions, bits of bone turning into shrapnel that bite into vests, each member of the tac team is now reminded of WHY they were the damned body armor - hot as it is - in the first place. Jacy is not the only member of the tac team to have to fight against the urge to toss up even the memory of food, especially when bits of body parts are brushed off of helmets, weapons, squelched under foot, and - worst of all - begin to drip from the ceiling.

The gunman shoves the next group forward, though he really has to shove them to make them move this time, as the next trio is equally bloody and body part splattered, and there is no illusion - none at all - on the terrified faces that are coated in blood and gore just as much as everyone else within the blast radius. "Nothing," is all the gunman says, the voice eerily empty still, cold in it's matter of fact tone of voice. Nothing to negotiate with. "Will you trade your life for their, Lieutenant?" is asked in that chilling voice.

Dumont casts a glance at Malchior and nods, his approach mirroring hers as she continues to ease forward, one messy bloody squelching step at a time, shadowing Jacy to try to keep the Lieutenant safe while Havoc gives the go-order for firing positions if any can be found. The opening, when it presents itself, would be to fire through the trio of hostages left standing in front of the gunman. <English>

Malchior's jaw clenches just a moment as that question is asked by the gunner, but he catches Dumont's nod and he easily moves forward a step ahead of the woman to take the lead toward the forward line, giving him the best line of vision. His knees bend just enough so that his wrist doesn't have to cock his weapon upward at too high an angle as one leg crosses infront of the other, one boot carefully pressing against the floor and then the other. He watches for his best line of opportunity; a crack, a corner, the edge of the cubicle.. He would take the first shot he could get, even at a sacrifice to himself. If the man with the detonater would move, he was ready to at the faintest moment; he was focused. <English>

"Alright...alright!" Jacy breathes ragged breaths, in and out, thinking fast on her feet. She does her best to avoid meeting the terrified gazes of the hostages, because even she doesn't trust her famed poker face right now. "Alright...we'll trade. Take the det cord off the next three and let them walk!" And she steps out into full view, holstering her weapon with an effort of will and holding her hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender. Anything to buy a little more time for Malchior and Malchior's men and women to get into their places...for she, like Malchior, thinks the hostages are already dead where they stand. <English>

The gunman lifts the pistol he's holding and fires another warning round at Jacy, this one slicing through the air a mere inch or two above the Lieutenant's head, "That was a question, officer, not a point of negotiation," the man remarks in the same cold voice. The trio of hostages that he's forced forward are stumbling through the body part littered floor, this one made of up two men in suits supporting a young woman between them. Supporting because she is weeping visibly, tears tracking down her face, cutting pale pink trails through the mask of blood that spatters her face. Both men are equally soaked - drenched actually - but they have no choice but to move forward as bid.

Dumont eases forward alongside Jacy, her shoulders hunching slightly when the bullet whines over Jacy's head, and it doesn't take a genius to know that this man is HIGHLY trained, to keep placing his rounds so perfectly spaced. She casts a sidelong glance toward Havoc, making a motion with one hand to send him - and the rest of the forward unit - around the edges of the open space, trying to buy time, but also keeping the floor space clear just in case. Her caution is rewarded when three things happen at once.

The remaining trio of hostages come to some manner of accord and turn on the gunman, throwing the weight of their bodies toward the man to try to distract him.

The gunman's attention is diverted by this tactic, but not enough to keep him from blowing the cord around the second trio of hostages, the warning COUGH of sound is all that Dumont has, and it's just enough for her to leap toward Jacy, pivot and slam Jacy to the ground as the explosion roars outward again.

The only opening presented - and this through the struggling mass of det cord wrapped, bound and taped hostages, is right now. <English>

Malchior takes it, he takes that chance. From the moment the hostages turned on their captor the man darts forward with every ounce of strength within him, the tightened muscles in his legs causing him to fly forward with the gun raised and his eyes trained to take the best shot possible. If anyone had any sort of shot that claimed it to him, he possibly would have given them a chance, but he was ready to fly solo it seemed. The breath is taken the moment the sickening charge is released, his body already angled for the right shot and his pinky carefully caressing his trigger as every single molecule of air leaves his body in an instant and his body crumples forward, body curling inward as he instinctively drops his weapon to take a crippled hunch forward on his knees to try and take a gasp of air for the shock of the explosion. <English>

Jacy is hurled to the ground, bone-shrapnel and blood and guts and clothing spattering her head and back and limbs, but even though Dumont had the wits to slam her to the ground the blast-wave washes over her, puncturing one delicate eardrum even as she screams to relieve the pressure on her ears and the pressure on her nerves. Her own blood bubbles out of her right ear as she scrambles up onto her elbows and starts firing two-handedly, the heavy Walther pumping shot after shot towards the legs of the hostage-taker and his remaining three victims, uncaring of who she kneecaps or cripples today. <English>

Malchior's shot is enough to rock the gunman back a step, rapping him up against the wall of the cubicle's behind him. The weight of the trio that had distracted him causes the three to fall to the floor in a tangled heap of struggling bodies. Dumont's ears are ringing so badly that she can't hear anything over the roar of sound and only the feel of Jacy's gun firing so close at hand is the clue to the reality of the shots being fired. She sees the struggle, the stumbling, reaching forward to slap a hand against the upper arch of the gun and point the bullets down at the floor. Another of Havoc's team leaps forward, vaulting over the pile of debris on the floor and tackles the gunman. Another moment of desperate struggle, the gunman fighting with savage efficiency to cut down the first soldier only to be tackled by another pair, finally ending up face down on the cheap blood soaked carpet. A well aimed blow to the side of the head delivered by the butt of a pistol is all that's required to make the gunman collapse into sudden stillness. And ONLY because they have been ordered to keep this man alive, and only because there's to many witnesses, does the fighting stop at this point. <English>

The crown of Malchior's helmet is pressed into the ground as he struggles to breath, the bleeding wound against his thigh the least of his worries he opens his mouth as wide as he can and crosses his arms over his chest. A member of his team quickly approaches after the others have successfully tackled the maniac to the ground. The Captain is pulled upward, hoisted at least to his knees and supported by his elbows as they try and raise him further while he fights to breathe. While his team was brave, they were also mostly trained in the medical field, and trained to also aid other medical need before his own. One knee is pressed against and the other risen so he can lean forward against his thigh. "R-reporttt.." he exhales as he looks up, trying to assess things further himself. <English>

Stumbling to her feet, the first thing Jacy does is to holster her pistol. Her face, under the gore, is pale. White. Which gives a clue to the the second thing she does, which is to throw up her breakfast. The hoverMULE rollercoaster ride here didn't disturb her breakfast, being shot at didn't disturb her breakfast, but being coated in bits of other people's...in bits of other people....does the trick. She bends over a desk, puking onto the ground, and tears off her helmet with trembling fingers, letting it dangle from her hand. Her hair is matted with sweat. But then she's speaking into her comm unit, voice rasping in a shout (on account of the deafness), "All units stand down, suspect in custody." And she leans on an equally shaky cubicle partition for a moment as she surveys the scene, then quite deliberately walks over to the three surviving hostages to check them for herself. It's the least she can do, after shooting at their legs. <English>

The room is swarmed suddenly by a influx of soldiers, sweeping the room, clearing every cubicle, every desk, every nook and cranny before surrounding the now-unconscious gunman under the pile of soldiers who'd tackled him. A demo team is on hand to carefully ease the trio of surviving hostages to a position where they can be freed from the det cord and - once freed - led safely from the wreckage of the room. medics swam the soldiers, Malchior and Jacy each earning their very own medic and Dumont - bearing scrapes, gashes and lacerations from bits of shrapnel made from bone - bears up long enough to have the worst of the bleeding wounds tended too. The steady drip of blood and other fluids from the ceiling continues, the spattering sound of drops hitting the floor is enough to make more than Jacy toss her cookies - and everything else - in other locations around the room. "Sedate that man," she says in a low voice, "tranq him to the gills and get him the hell out of here before he gets dead by accident." She passes by Jacy and rests one hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder, "Good work, Lieutenant, keeping him talking, good work," she says in the same low voice before continuing forward to Malchior. "Good shot, Captain, stand down so that they can fix that leak in your leg." <English>

Malchior is talking in low tones to the medic, rewarded with an oxygen mask and a look of worry. But the medic was all lips shut as Dumont approached, tired blue eyes looking up happily toward the woman with a slight nod. "They'll have plenty of time, ma'am. I'll.. I'll be under.." There is a pause for a moment as he seems to almost faint for a moment, eyes almost rolling back before he catches himself. "Under awhile." he completes his sentence, as the medics arms are wrapped around his shoulders and he is guided to a stretcher. "Tell the Lieutenant good job f-" He doesn't get to finish his thought as his head hits the back of the stretcher without much aid from paramedics. <English>

Jacy looks very, very tired. She smiles weakly at the Colonel's compliment, then averts her gaze from the worst of the body parts that litter the floor. In doing so, however, her gaze falls on a bloodspattered photograph in a frame on a desk, a smiling couple, and she doubles over to dry-retch once more before she can recover herself. Normally she's a cold-hearted bitch, but today....was hard. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and straightens up, focussing on the activity around her. Signs of life. "I want an interim after-action report on my smartcomm in one hour," she tells a sergeant, then takes a deep breath. "Tell the men well done." <English>

---
Return to RP Logs
Return to Sniper Fire!
Would you like to know more? See Alliance for more info!