Assassin, or Assassout
OOC: ...Must...Stay...Awake...
Who:...eh
Where: For real?
When: A bastard hour in the morning
Mk.10 (seems like a good start) scanned the area, and consulted with
the other scutters; things were not looking good. The information was
summerised on his HUD.
'Ammo Supplies: 500 rounds
Remaining Units: 143/186
Enemies Eliminated: ...there's a lot left
Outlook: Bleak'
"Damn. And Jed's reward of booze is going to make things even worse.
He was right. The humans charging the hangar were breaking through
more and more often, as they slowly got worked up into a frenzy;
better to go down fighting for beer than to just get offed anyway.
"I need to re-establish the link with Hol, and vent some toxic gasses
into the ship or something. Then there's that other bastard to deal
with, messing with all the shipboard mechanics I lost with Holly."
Mk.10 rathered four crack teams of 5 peewees, who stood at attention
behind a large storage crate.
"Alright fellas. You all have the highest kill rates, and should be
able to reach your objectives fast enough. Team Alpha, you need to
execute this Norbin smegger who's stealing my thunder. Team Beta, same
mission, but you're after Jay. He ran off in a hurry, and so probably
has something in mind. Team Gamma, you need to go find out why we lost
the connection with Holly. Finally, Team Epsilon. Take them out."
Mk.10 gestured towards the gangway up in the rafters, where Seymour,
Rosette, and Rufus lay prone.
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"So," said Seymour, "we need to get to your joint to grab the
remaining personality files, and give him back his 'cool'."
"Exactly, lets go." said Rufus. The trio rose up, two of which had
somewhat greater difficulty doing so, and headed off just in time to
dodge the hail of gunfire that ensued.
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"Ok boys, it's hunting season. Move out!" barked Mk.10, and all twenty
peewees ran out carrying their rifles to pursue their targets.
They slipped out of the door, just as a new wave of security
personell, and now many civillians too, burst in and fired wildly.
One civvie fired off a rocket propelled grenade he had managed to grab
at one of the fixed turrets trained at the door, sending scutter and
barrel fragments flying.
'Ammo Supplies: 57 rounds
Remaining Units: 100/186
Enemies Eliminated: ...there's a lot left
Outlook: Very Bleak'
<tag. some of you now have a group of 5 assasin droids after you. good
luck ^^>