Sam Fisher- Oil Rig Parachuting

Fish­er had waited un­til the ab­so­lute last se­cond be­fore de­ploy­ing the chute, stretch­ing the mo­ment out be­fore giv­ing the D-ring a hard pull. It was a cal­cu­lat­ed risk, com­mit­ting to the low open­ing, and even as the black can­o­py un­furled above him, he knew he was com­ing down too fast.

The rig rose up, a col­lec­tion of met­al shapes on three thick pil­lars that van­ished into the churn­ing sea, lit by flood­lights blurred by the down­pour. The tow­er­ing cen­tral der­rick, fes­tooned with so­lar pan­els and sur­rounded by an or­chard of skin­ny wind­mills, glowed in the red haze from its mark­er lights.

Fish­er worked the chute’s lines, bring­ing him­self in to a curv­ing turn over the rig’s emp­ty hel­i­pad and the roof of the hab­i­tat block. Both were too bright­ly lit for his lik­ing, with­out a patch of shad­ows to aim for. Aware of the height he was los­ing with each pass­ing se­cond, he went around the top of the der­rick and scanned for some­where to put down. He counted on the foul weath­er to be keep­ing the crew in­side, but that didn’t mean he could loi­ter too long. Eve­ry se­cond in the air risked de­tec­tion.

Out of no­where, a blast of wind filled the chute and shoved Fish­er off his line, jerk­ing him in the di­rec­tion of the well­head. The met­al gan­try filled his vi­sion, and he twisted his body, drag­ging hard on the lines to pitch the chute away be­fore the gust slammed him into the tow­er.

The move avoided the col­li­sion, but lift bled out of the can­o­py and Fish­er dropped quick­ly. He aimed as best he could at the nearest land­ing spot – the rain-slick sur­face atop a cube of car­go con­tain­ers – and de­scended.

He skidded as he touched down and fell for­ward into a roll. Lines and chute gath­ered around him, threat­en­ing to wrap Fish­er in a dead­ly em­brace, but he man­aged to ar­rest his mo­men­tum be­fore it car­ried him over the edge and down to the steel deck.

Flick­ing out the karambit blade sheathed at his wrist, Fish­er cut him­self free of the black can­o­py and gath­ered up the ma­te­ri­al be­fore the wind could fill it again. He tied the mass into a bulky bun­dle, and af­ter climb­ing down to the deck, he stowed it out of sight.

- Firewall, Chapter 21