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06-19-2012, 03:21 PM | #661 |
Darth_Henning
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One question on re-reading it myself 24 hours later, it WAS clear who Zandar was right? That's the only part I don't think was as obvious as I hoped.
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06-20-2012, 12:45 PM | #662 |
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I see what you mean but it is pretty obvious after a few sentences.
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06-28-2012, 03:53 PM | #663 |
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That was amazing, I like how you play with Zartan's history, he seems like the kind of guy who'd like D&D, also nice insertion of an '87 movie nod, I also like how the dreadnoks are portrayed as a smarter version, especially Buzzer
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06-28-2012, 03:54 PM | #664 |
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also there's something about Sparks that has my suspicions aroused but I can't quite put my finger on it
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I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18 |
08-06-2012, 03:29 PM | #665 |
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Bump
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I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18 |
08-08-2012, 10:19 PM | #666 |
Darth_Henning
Join Date: Jul 2008
Location: Canada
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Quote:
Quote:
To explain the prolonged hiatus, I've spent the last six weeks working 12 hour days in surgery (which was awesome, but left little time for writing). But I'm back now. We're going back in time a bit from what you've already read for the Joeverse. Before New York City and the War with Cobra. Before the Joe team was formed. Before Black Thursday. Before even World War III. And so I present... |
08-08-2012, 10:20 PM | #667 |
Darth_Henning
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THE RISE OF COBRA
06/09/2017 - Scarface South Point - Holly Spring Road NE - National Arboretum - Washington, DC The rising sun was just cresting the horizon, its mellow orange light making the morning fog glow as it slowly evaporated and dispersed. In the distance, the horns, breaks and sirens of the morning commute were rising, and would peak in a little over an hour. Here in the Arboretum though, the loudest sound was the rushing sound of the river a few dozen meters away. On most days, it would have been one of the most peaceful places in Washington. But today, Vincent Johnson, a junior staffer in the White House, paced uncomfortably on the gravel of the small parking lot, "I wish there was another way I could..." "Not if you want her to live." This from a man slightly taller than Johnson and about the same age, but there the similarities ended. While Johnson would have been considered handsome by many a Washington socialite, the other man was neither particularly good looking, nor ugly enough to be particularly memorable outside of his shock of ginger hair. His build would have allowed him to be easily mistaken for a Sherman Tank, and his dress was definitely more somber, all of a dark navy, in sharp contrast to Johnson’s beige suit and pink tie. He stared impassively at the shuddering Johnson. His remark referred to Johnson's unfortunate girlfriend who was currently under the scrutiny of a man with four outstanding murder warrants on his head. She worked as a venture capital analyst near the West End, specializing in naval engineering contracts. He was a new hire to the firm, a patent officer who would be working closely with her. Of course, keeping an eye on her was not his only job. In order to accomplish their goals, their conspiracy needed to move undetected through the world, and one of the fastest ways to move between almost any population center on Earth was through the water. Thus any advanced in naval technology would be of immense benefit as The Coil and its plans grew. With a resigned sigh, Johnson nodded, “all right,” his voice was laced with the misery of a man in love. “How soon do you want the information Mr. Redding?” “Two weeks,” the man said, looking around. Dave Redding was not his real name, but one of numerous aliases that he used when working for Braco. In fact, it was how he had first introduced himself to the man for whom he now worked. Still, he preferred to leave the covert work to others in their small organization, instead taking the actively militant jobs, but those were still few and far between. Braco believed that it was far too early to be launching public operations, as it risked drawing the attention of powers that were too big for them to control. Both men were only now entering their twenties. Still young enough that they passed themselves off as the enforcers of some other group, rather than the masterminds behind what they believed would one day be the largest organizations in the world. For now though, bribery and subversion were the orders of the day. “We need everything you can get us,” Redding continued, reiterating what he had already told the man several times. He knew that when they were panicked, that they tended to forget far more than they should. “Any tiny detail you can find about decomissioned military facilities here and abroad, and full copies of satellite imaging from Iran and North Korea from the last three years. “Just the last three years,” Johnson asked? “And anything new.” Johnson nodded, his eyes focused, on the ground but flicking up ever few seconds. Redding wrote it off as a nervous tic. “And of course you realize that if you get caught, or try to warn anyone, or mention my presence, or anything else that might be damaging to me or my organization, that we will similarly,” he paused for dramatic effect, “damage...your pretty girlfriend. Understood?” “Y-yes. Um...I should probably mention...” Redding gestured for the man to pause, his attention caught by the sound of tires on gravel. A pair of black suburbans was pulling up from each of the three approach roads. Almost no-one kept their vehicles polished to the point where they reflected the morning sun, and fewer still kept their windows smoked to almost black. Even if Redding was inclined to pretend this could be a coincidence, six of them barrelling towards him at high speed made it pretty clear that one of the alphabet agencies had decided to take an interest in him. Well that had been expected. “...that.” Johnson finished, his voice slowly changing. The small parking lot where he had been holding his meeting was perfect for being unobserved, but left little in the way of escape routes. Or at least that was what he knew that his pursuers would believe. Johnson smiled for the first time during their meeting, “you’ll never get away now.” His apparent rescue had made him far more brave than he had any reason to be. “Oh I will. And you will do your job. You know what you stand to lose if you do not. Oh, and don’t move.” “Wha-” Johnson was cut off from his query as Redding let a pistol fall from his sleeve into his hand, and pumped a single shot into Johnson’s leg. If he’d left the man unmolested, there would have been far too many awkward questions by law enforcement, possibly rendering the asset useless. “Two weeks,” Redding reminded him, “and if we don’t have what we need, your girlfriend will find out just how creative I can be with a saw.” Redding fired a couple of shots he knew would be useless against the nearest SUV, hearing them clang off the armor plating, before turning and starting an exaggerated run. Not quite fast enough that they would lose sight of him, but not slowly enough that he would be easily caught. He needed pursuit to make this realistic, but not enough to put himself or the mission at risk. And, in predictable special agent fashion, as the SUVs pulled up two agents climbed from each, three staying by the vehicles to make sure he didn’t steal them for a getaway. Three more heading over to the wounded Johnson, and the others splitting into three pairs, two moving to flank him, and two actually pursuing properly. A good strategy in most urban areas like Washington, allowing them to cut off potential escape routes in familiar terrain, but a poor choice in a wooded area like this. Still, no point in letting them think he was too smart, Redding reminded himself, and fired off a couple of shots wildly behind him. To his surprise, one of the two men pursuing him went down, a bullet striking his hip. Apparently he needed to buy a lottery ticket before he went back to base. Of course the other was still pursuing, and gaining. Apparently in quite good shape. Redding turned his head to pick up his speed, but stumbled momentarily over a small burrow hole that had been disguised in the grass. Cursing whatever rodent had made the obstacle, he turned, raising his gun. The pin clacked on an empty chamber. Bother. Now the agent was almost on top of him, and launched forward as if to tackle him. Not my first rodeo, Redding thought to himself, sidestepping, and grabbing the man’s arm, throwing him off balance and ripping the gun from his hand. Before he could bring it around to bear, the agent lashed out from his prone position with his foot, knocking the gun from Redding’s hand. Backing away, he watched the agent spring to his feet. His sunglasses had come off, and Redding made the man to be in his early 50s, yet he moved with the speed of a man half his age. Things couldn’t be delayed any longer, or the other two groups would converge on them. Redding slipped a knife from a sheath hidden in the folds of his shirt and approached the agent. He feinted with his knife towards the man’s right side, while preparing to launch a hard kick at his left knee. As his foot came up, his target pivoted on his other leg, so both the knife and kick went wide. Before Redding could adjust to compensate, he felt an iron grip lock over his right wrist and pull. His feet left the ground, and for a moment he experienced weightlessness as he sailed over the agent’s shoulder. Despite the impact of his heavy body striking the ground, Redding was up almost instantly, rolling to the side. But the agent was almost as fast. Somehow during the flip, Redding had lost his knife, and it was now in the hand of the agent. Well, the agent’s old knife to a gunfight adage was about to be turned around. Redding reached behind his back to retrieve his other pistol, and the agent charged. The agent was a hair faster than Redding, forcing him to retreat a half step while retrieving his gun, and launching a sharp kick at the man’s groin to keep him at a distance. The agent was a hair faster, the knife scything down the left side of Redding’s face, from the temple, through the cheek and down to his chin. Unfortunately for Redding, that was exactly when his foot connected with the agent’s groin. The force of the kick propelled the agent backwards, but in reflex, his arm shot up for balance, the knife this time catching the bone of Redding’s chin, this time cutting an almost identical wound through the right cheek and temple as it rose. Redding howled in pain, even as the agent fell. On reflex, his gun spat a trio of bullet’s into the man’s head. Blood blurred Redding’s vision, but the sound of approaching footfalls pointed him in the right direction. He was not fool enough to discard his pistol like an amateur gang-banger, instead securing it back into its holster as he ran. Blinking cleared his vision enough for him to make out the river a few dozen meters ahead. He didn’t slow and a bullet cracked off a rock a few inches to his left. The rest of his pursuit had caught up. Through the red blur in his eyes, Redding saw a tiny orange landscaper’s flag stuck in the ground almost directly ahead of him. Adjusting course slightly, he ran directly over it and then threw himself into the river, taking a deep breath while he hung in the air before his body crashed through the surface of the river and disappeared. His body adjusted slowly to neutral buoyancy, and he felt a hand stroking his face. A minute later something round and bubbling gas was slipped into his mouth, and a metal tank was pressed into his hand. His other hand took hold of the offered rope, and he nodded to the Coil agent. Together the two dove to the bottom of the river, and let the current carry them far away from pursuers who would now presume Redding to be dead. But this dead man had planted the first seed of a conspiracy that would bring the Coil to power. The only question in his mind, was just how long it would take it to reach fruition. |
08-09-2012, 12:13 AM | #668 |
W.O.R.M.S. Commander
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Wow! Nice tohave you back. I can't guess who Redding is. Details are amazing ss always. I can only imagine where you go next.
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08-09-2012, 12:24 AM | #669 |
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I'm not sure, but the whole memory issues seem like something involving the Brainwave Scanner of Dr. Venom's
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08-09-2012, 12:37 AM | #670 |
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that and his innate sense of tactics, also nice way of also putting in Chari, I assume that was who the pink haired receptionist was?
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