Old Encounters of the Old Kind.

/me grew tired of the rain. It drowned the Yacht currently sitting a few miles off the coast, drenching its inhabitants in cool water. Eternal. Annoying. Rain. The sound of dragging chains seemed to churn up from the sea, the desperate screams of drowning sailors flashing upwards, their souls clawing against the fierce current of the water. A wild force to be reckoned with, the wind screaming its frustration as waves broke their spines against the sheer cliff face. X clung for his life, donning tactical clothing and quietly traversing across the cliff till he reached the mid-point. Except he'd come to a slight hiccup. There was no mid-point to secure his line too. He was currently staring at a good couple of metres where the rock ledge simply vanished. [i]Fear is a great motivator.[/i] He heard the southern drawl of his Handlers voice crackle through his earpiece. [i]Of course he was watching[/i], X rolled his eyes and adjusted his position. He wore a black hoodie, black tactical pants and an ultra-thin, black Camel Bak. He had goggles plastered over his eyes, and a balaclava covering his mouth. X tensed himself, feeling his muscles loosen. Nothing mattered but the jump, all thoughts were purged out of his mind as he leapt, leaving behind his troubles, his worries, every save the objective. Then he faultered midway, emitting a sharp yelp almost, as his fingers grappled for purchase. [i]He was falling. This. THIS, of all ways to go was how he was going to die. Not by the bullet of a sniper, or well trained tango. But by failing to make a jump.[/i] No. He refused to go like this. As the sea grew closer, X saw his opportunity, a slight indentation in the cliff face. He braced himself for the pain and reach out for it, feeling himself jolt as one of his fingers broke. He winced in the pain as a low chuckle emanated from the earpiece. "[i]Smart move, kid.[/i]" X grit his teeth and pulled himself up, pushing through the pain. [i]Twenty Four. He was 24 and still being called 'Kid'.[/i] X judged his jump better this time and climbed his way up the cliff-side, now having optimal view of the compound entrance. Buried deep within the cliff face, barely visible was an abandoned nuclear bunker. It's initial intent had been for psychological, and biological warfare. As a test. Having previously been NORAD Command Centre, the 5.2 Megaton Nuclear Warhead had been kept, incase the experiments took hold of the subjects. That had been during the Cold War. But now this black site was long forgotten. Perfect for cancer to take root and grow unhindered. That was about to end. X had been in Berlin for the past week, having racked up a messy hit on a wealthy Russian businessman visiting his wife and children for the week. The attack had left the parents dead, but a fault on X's part had given the car bomb extra power, and brutally severed the the child's leg, as a piece of ragged metal embedded itself in his knee. X had been on seen, and with a hardened heart and a turned head ended the boys life, a suppressed 10mm entering the side of the boys brain and exiting out of the side. He had seen things, played the part of a frozen bystander. But he had also done things, things that would haunt him to his grave. [i]My child you've done a lot of bad that I know you are regretting, you've done a lot of bad that I'll forgive but not forgetting. Now tell me what have you done to deserve to go to heaven?[/i] He didn't dwell on the past, but the pain was raw and evident. A MP5SD3 hung at X's waist, its stock pushed in, and the integrated suppressor pointed upwards at an angle. X fixed himself a hook to rappel down on. Now whilst the de-commissioned base was relatively intact, an exit tunnel that lead towards the naturally formed dock had been exposed from the harsh unforgiving nature of the sea. X could spot the metal against the rock, and the low tide was perfect enough for him to get in. He dropped down, reaching to the utility belt around his waist.

/me He pulled out a wad of C-4 Explosives, placing the angled roll on the door and pulled himself to the side and detonated. The charge sent the door careering inwardly as X entered the abandoned tunnel, flicking on the flashlight attached to the strap of his backpack. The goggles were ripped off, pushed up from his eyes to his forehead as his dark hues blinked in the darkness. [i]Find the cache, kill the bad guys, get rid of the evidence.[/i] X clicked the small timer on his watch and proceeded. No more than 5 hours ago, he had studied the plans for the base. He advanced down the exit tunnel, reaching the service corridor. Most of the major parts of the facility were blocked off when the Army had sealed off the biological section with explosives. The main hangar like area, was where X was heading. He paused down a flight of stairs, flicking off the flashlight. The MP5SD3 was raised, his trigger finger itching. Ever since Berlin he had hidden a deep self loathing, a repressed rage he could not let go. The sight of his mangled body haunted X, plaguing his dreams. [i]Racking up the sins.[/i] He walked towards a tower of crates, underneath what was the command centre, a small box like protrusion that overlooked the hangar. There so far appeared to be no one, up there as the voices and crackling fire filled the air. X stacked against the wood, taking a peek. There were currently 14 targets in total. Spaced about the wide circle of crates. Something was wrong, they... He frowned. They were American, briefing had stated that foreign terrorists had infiltrated the borders. "Springfield. Get the flag over here, we need to record this." A voice yelled. [i]Springfield. This wasn't good.[/i] The voice seemed familiar and a deep pit formed in X's stomach as his fingers curled around the MP5SD3. Shoot first, questions later. X set his plan in motion. The main cluster of 8 or so people were in the centre, with 2 in the outer shell, and the other 2 Operating at the far end of the Hangar. Unknown to X, the two operating in the end of the hangar were dead. Their blood dripping out of the ear-to-ear lacerations on their necks. A fearsome predator lurked in the dark, oozing lethality from its person. X flicked his firing selector to full-auto, and prepared himself. He trusted the plate-carrier strapped under his clothing. Its plates were IV, designed to hold up against most common rounds. He poked his head out the corner, the barrel of the gun protruding as X fired. His bullets went in sharp controlled bursts. The targets weren't wearing ballistic-proof vests. [i]No one would wear them in their own house.[/i] The bullets shredded through the vulnerable soft flesh, parting skin and meat in an intense suppressed bellow of rage. In his sharp burst, at least 4 targets dropped, one of them with agonizing pain. Springfield, the man with the flag ducked down, the flag tearing itself from place. It bore the symbol of a relatively unknown Terrorist Cell operating in Syria. But X knew the symbol well enough. He dropped back, tossing a fragmentation grenade as he doubled round. The men reacted with practiced motions. These were no amateurs. The close grouping of the Tangos guranteed a success with the exception of a lost limb from another. [i]6 down, 8 to go. Or rather 6 more.[/i] The bristle of guns emanated from the circle as cover was sought out. They brandished Kalashnikovs, the modern AK-74M chambered in 5.56x39mm, sporting 30-round box magazines. A black barrel of an AK protruded from the corner of X's visions and his hand flurried, shoving the gun down and shoving the suppressor of the MP5 into the man's mouth, firing and hearing the squelch as bullets tore through the man and sent his brain matter onto the metal cargo container before him. Meanwhile the two on the outermost of the circle, rushed back to their comrades. Only to be met with the lethal vector that killed their comrades.

/me A suited devil, brandishing a tricked out HK417 and USP-45, both weapons suppressed. The suit was dark, and represented the vibe irradiating off of the killer. The kills were clean and in succession. A fist to the throat followed by a .45 ACP to the brain and another two in the chest of his partner. All within the space of a few seconds. [i]A few seconds, all it took to remove 9 months of laboured growth.[/i] There were but 4 more targets left, Springfield, His Commander and two others. X pushed them in from the North, the unknown killer moving in from the West. Slowly, one by one they fell. One of the targets falling into the clutches of the killer's knife, his blood spraying out onto the wood in a pattern almost, a letter;[i]W[/i]. "What the fuck, who are you?" The voice called out, presumably the Commander. Springfield would be pincering around X, to catch him off guard. The other unnamed Target would soon enough meet his demise after abandoning his friends, with a swift double-tap sending two .45 ACP into the Man's chest, ended with a clean shot through the left eye, leaving the crate with a new coating of pain. X raised his MP5 at the unarmed Commander, his Kalashnikov lying before him. "It seem we've reached a tricky situation here, Operator." The man said, stalling for Springfield. X said nothing, you never said anything. You simply killed. Conversations flurried in his head. [i]"What is it you think we do?" The man would ask the 16 year old, X. "We kill people who need to be killed."[/i] X gulped and tightened his grip on the MP5, but something just didn't feel right. Then he felt the cold metal of the AK-74M against his spine. "Took to long, Operator. You must be Lang's new pet project, Orphan Programme right? Here I was thinking it was a load of bullshi--" The Commander's words were cut off entirely as 7.62×51mm NATO shredded through his chest, ripping apart bone and flesh. The Man fell into a ragged mess of flesh as X sprung into action, slamming his elbow into Springfield's nose and shoving him against the crate, kicking the AK-74M to the side so the barrel wasn't aimed at him. His MP5 was discarded as his fists flew, raining down punch upon punch as bones cracked and blood splurted out of Springfield's mouth. The Man was dead before his body slowly slid to the ground, after suffering X's wrath. There he stepped out, the suited killer, the shadow of the night. His HK417 was raised, but he didn't shoot. X turned raising his arms, [i]if he got close enough then the gun would be rendered obsolete[/i], as the man advanced then stopped. The gun was lowered and X arched a brow. Words were filled with static from his mike. "Alphabet." The Man said, and X exhaled an audible sigh of relief. But he remained guarded. "I had that." He said, but the man said nothing. "Would've been easier to pick them off from the tower." The Man said, turning to leave. [i]Was this it? His first time meeting another Operative from the programme and that was it? He was telling him to do better?[/i] The naive X stuttered, "Wa-Wait. What letter are you?" He asked. The Man cracked a grin, his hands resting against his sides, his hair neatly parted and his beard trimmed to perfection. "W." He uttered before handing X what appeared to be a detonator. "I'll see you around, X." W said, stepping away now to leave a perpetually dumbfounded and worried X. He had heard stories of other operatives, but to actually see them live in the flesh and their sheet lethality was something else.