Revolution 2.4

Redmond, WA, USA
14 June, 2030 0900 HRS UTC-7

	The suits were ready, irony your name is Fred.
	Keeping with the motifs we’d already established, Fred found a fursuit supplier online that supplied us with ten dragon fursuits (scalesuits?  Are lizard-anthros really furries?).  All the suits were shipped via private carriers to wildly different locations and pickup was handled by proxy.  Payment was made using a number of very fraudulent credit cards taken out in the names of sitting US senators and were used for this and a number of other related purchases on the same day then destroyed.  All of which, when tracked back to the cardholders, would cast said senators in some very questionable light with their constituents (Senator, senator!  Mikayla Epps with MSCNNBC; can you explain this $5000 purchase from anthrosextoys.com?  Senator?).
	The interiors of the suits had been replaced with a dozen layers of Carbsilk, a hybrid fabric made by genesplicing goats with spider DNA, then feeding the goats graphene.  The goats excreted graphene-impregnated liquid as their milk, which when extracted and sprayed into sheets, created an ultra-thin, ballistically-resistant, material; stronger, lighter and longer lived than any ballistic fabric ever before created.  Fortunately for us, the US had banned genetic engineering in 2021, so their armor was three times as heavy, twice as bulky and five times as expensive as ours was.
	After the first dozen layers of Carbsilk a layer of impact resistant wire-mesh impregnated silica carbide ceramic scales were affixed over the thighs, pelvis and torso by stitching them into three seperate layers of overlapping pockets made of Carbsilk fabric, using extruded Carbsilk thread.  Behind this flexible layer of bulletproof ceramic plates were another dozen layers of Carbsilk and several layers of a micropore mesh fabric that wicked away moisture.  The result was that the lot of us looked like a tatsu of rather doughy pseudo-dragons.  Our wings were surprisingly large.  I argued to ditch the wings, but Fred (who is both as queer as a pouchful of platapi and arguably the best dressed of us all) wouldn’t hear of it.
	He pulled the wings apart and installed several layers of Carbsilk between the sparkly and prismatic membranes and replaced the plastic braces with carbon fiber rods so that the wings themselves acted a light body armor that would hopefully add a little extra protection on our fourth point of contact.  He and Mick had installed the stroboscopic LEDS on the points of our wings, inside the nostrils of our snouts, along our tails and on our feet and the speakers were added to the mouth and between the wings on our backs.
	The masks were fitted with a Carbsilk-covered ceramic insert with a suspension system in it so the heads rode easily and securely and provided us with some level of armor for the head.  The printed screens that served to create “eyes” in the masks were replaced with some sort of polycarbonate lens that got darker as the light outside got brighter and were mildly bullet resistant, then a transparent decal was applied that created the same sort of faux-eyes that the lenses had replaced.
	I have to admit, they looked really cool for certain values of fetish gear.
	Meanwhile Jake, Tobe and Sam got to work cranking out ceramic breeches, pressure chambers, and barrels while Easy and I printed the HDPE liners and parts, sealed the pressure chambers with epoxy resin, poured 12mm lead shot and rigged the pressure fittings and hoses for final testing.  The first model failed spectacularly when the pressure chamber failed and I got to spend an hour that afternoon with Sam picking ceramic splinters out of, and bandaging my hand and forearm.  The wound was minor, but painful and would have been hilarious had it happened to anyone else, or under different conditions.
	Fortunately the fix was easy, just wrap the entire chamber in HDPE after it was sealed.  The Mark II Girondoni machinepistol (Mk2 GiMP) was a success.  It fired a 13 gram, 12mm soft lead slug from an 18cm barrel at better than 200 m/s and would do so for as long as one held the trigger down to the tune of 240 rounds per minute with almost no recoil and no report louder than a slight whizzing noise from the irregularities in the slug’s surfaces. It did however have a couple of drawbacks.
	Firstly, during testing, it was discovered to be moderately inaccurate at ranges in excess of 5 meters (meaning it was minute-of-bad-guy at gunfighting distances) and wildly inaccurate at distances beyond 20 meters (meaning minute-of-barn-door at SMG distances).  Heckler & Kock we were not.
	Secondly,  the gas pressure dropped too low to maintain RoF and muzzle velocity after about 40 shots. But the quick connects only added an extra 5 seconds to the reload time every two magazines, so it wasn’t too bad.
	The magazines consisted of a spring-backed circular plate that ran on grooves in the sides of the magazine tube, which, when you took the magazine apart, caused the insides to look as though Bose went into the magazine manufacturing business.  In total, each magazine held 21 slugs in a thin rectangular plastic box.  We’d managed to produce enough magazines for each member of the insertion team to carry five backups and two additional, 100 gram air cylinders.  We actually had more ammo than we knew what to do with, so after everything else was squared away, Fred, Mick and I ginned up a bunch of special party favors, just in case.
	Two days before, Easy and I had stolen a black, E450 cargo van and spent an afternoon with Bob and his airbrushes.  I have to say, the result was magnificent. The side of the van now bore a background of stars with a flight of fire-breathing dragons flying in formation across it.  I had to put my foot down to prevent the artist from making additions to the scene based on the assorted “life models” that the senators had allegedly paid for.  Even I have standards.
	In fancy script lettering along the bottom it read “Greater Western Dragonkin Alliance”.  A Rainbow flag sticker was obtained and placed in the back window and a handicapped mirror placard was stolen and hung from the rear-view mirror.  A day for the paint to dry and a quick clear-coat lent a sheen of disrespectability to the prop.  After 120 hours of frantic, back breaking, finger cramping labor and we were ready to masquerade as total, if incredibly violent,  fruits.