Commissar Farzi
🎖️ Game Master
- RP Date
- YE 45.5
- RP Location
- Funky City
Location: Downtown Funky City, Easter Slums
Gunshots rang out in the distance; granted when it came to Nepleslia gunfire was common no matter where you went. And Yeoman Sergeant Olaf knew this as he sat in the cupola of his Stumpy armored car, Natasha-stenciled on the side of the vehicle, as passersby glared at him and his men; a full squad plus his own crew as they made their way down the street. The vehicle in question was little more than a refit STV, the Aether Powerplant was pulled and replaced with a combustion engine and then up-armored all to Hel. Not that he minded; while Aether offered nigh unlimited range, they required extensive maintenance, and while Command wasn't willing to shell out the marks for the tech to refit it with a Fusion plant it would run on almost anything-that and the armor, while not fancy would at least stop most civilian and some anti-armor weapons. Subconsciously he found himself thumbing the safety of the Mauler as a particularly large man showed off what seemed to be some kind of triple-barreled cannon-the 4cm autocannon had been loaded with canister and HE munitions, meant to sweep aside anyone foolish enough to engage them...
It was a fleeting comfort, knowing that you could blast an enemy into so much cold meat-in some ways, it made him think of home; stupid as that sounded. A short ping on his comms brought him out of his musings. "Olaf here." He answered in accented trade, making sure to keep an eye on his surroundings. ("Sergeant; Employer's on the speaksie-wants an update.") Ancestor's Bollocks, now? ("Patch em' through-I'll take it through coupla comms.") Grabbing the transceiver of the radio, he signaled a halt as he flipped the switch. "Yeamon Sergeant Olaf here, Over." A burst of static followed by a gruff, cigar-roughened voice. "Sergeant; this is Major Fitz-we've got report of a gang mixing it up with some muties-six blocks from your position," Lovely; least they wouldn't be bored. "Coming out of an old waste canal; see if you can't break it up; Over." So a civil dispute then. "Surprised you're having us break up a domestic-figured you'd have your boys put a stop to it, Over." He replied, watching as a man came stumbling out of a building covered in obnoxious light-signs and promptly collapsed after vomiting. Likely he'd drown in his own sick before long. Olaf's reply was met with a brief silence as he watched to see if the man would pick himself up, followed by a burst of laughter. "Never heard of fighting mutants as being referred to as a Domestic; gonna use that in the future." The drunkard managed to roll himself over, but likely wouldn't be getting up on anytime soon. Turning from the scene as Fitz continued.
"Our nearest guys are at least 40 minutes out, so for now-you're it-Fitz over and out." Placing the handset back in its mount, he sighed. ("Alright boys,") He called, looking to the squad, ("We've got order's to break up a Domsestic between a gang and some muties-likely just a property dispute-six blocks over-move it out and keep it tight-this ain't Valhalla-no heroes today.") He signaled the advance, the Stumpy's exhast bellowing darkened smoke as it accelerated. Olaf lurched backwards-his back slamming against the edge-his hardsuit taking the brunt of it as at the sudden change. ("Oi ya Thruok Fuckers! Watch what yer doin'!") He shouted angerly, looking down into the drivers cab-bloody bastards were gonna end up throwing the gearbox, ("And see if you can get a few of the other units on the speaksie; try to get this wrapped up as soon as possible.") When it came to gangers he normally wouldn't bother as they usually folded under an organized assault, but that kind of thinking could get you killed here. Too many of them were Ex-Military, and mutants were something you didn't take chances with.
With any luck they'd wrap this up before dinner.
Gunshots rang out in the distance; granted when it came to Nepleslia gunfire was common no matter where you went. And Yeoman Sergeant Olaf knew this as he sat in the cupola of his Stumpy armored car, Natasha-stenciled on the side of the vehicle, as passersby glared at him and his men; a full squad plus his own crew as they made their way down the street. The vehicle in question was little more than a refit STV, the Aether Powerplant was pulled and replaced with a combustion engine and then up-armored all to Hel. Not that he minded; while Aether offered nigh unlimited range, they required extensive maintenance, and while Command wasn't willing to shell out the marks for the tech to refit it with a Fusion plant it would run on almost anything-that and the armor, while not fancy would at least stop most civilian and some anti-armor weapons. Subconsciously he found himself thumbing the safety of the Mauler as a particularly large man showed off what seemed to be some kind of triple-barreled cannon-the 4cm autocannon had been loaded with canister and HE munitions, meant to sweep aside anyone foolish enough to engage them...
It was a fleeting comfort, knowing that you could blast an enemy into so much cold meat-in some ways, it made him think of home; stupid as that sounded. A short ping on his comms brought him out of his musings. "Olaf here." He answered in accented trade, making sure to keep an eye on his surroundings. ("Sergeant; Employer's on the speaksie-wants an update.") Ancestor's Bollocks, now? ("Patch em' through-I'll take it through coupla comms.") Grabbing the transceiver of the radio, he signaled a halt as he flipped the switch. "Yeamon Sergeant Olaf here, Over." A burst of static followed by a gruff, cigar-roughened voice. "Sergeant; this is Major Fitz-we've got report of a gang mixing it up with some muties-six blocks from your position," Lovely; least they wouldn't be bored. "Coming out of an old waste canal; see if you can't break it up; Over." So a civil dispute then. "Surprised you're having us break up a domestic-figured you'd have your boys put a stop to it, Over." He replied, watching as a man came stumbling out of a building covered in obnoxious light-signs and promptly collapsed after vomiting. Likely he'd drown in his own sick before long. Olaf's reply was met with a brief silence as he watched to see if the man would pick himself up, followed by a burst of laughter. "Never heard of fighting mutants as being referred to as a Domestic; gonna use that in the future." The drunkard managed to roll himself over, but likely wouldn't be getting up on anytime soon. Turning from the scene as Fitz continued.
"Our nearest guys are at least 40 minutes out, so for now-you're it-Fitz over and out." Placing the handset back in its mount, he sighed. ("Alright boys,") He called, looking to the squad, ("We've got order's to break up a Domsestic between a gang and some muties-likely just a property dispute-six blocks over-move it out and keep it tight-this ain't Valhalla-no heroes today.") He signaled the advance, the Stumpy's exhast bellowing darkened smoke as it accelerated. Olaf lurched backwards-his back slamming against the edge-his hardsuit taking the brunt of it as at the sudden change. ("Oi ya Thruok Fuckers! Watch what yer doin'!") He shouted angerly, looking down into the drivers cab-bloody bastards were gonna end up throwing the gearbox, ("And see if you can get a few of the other units on the speaksie; try to get this wrapped up as soon as possible.") When it came to gangers he normally wouldn't bother as they usually folded under an organized assault, but that kind of thinking could get you killed here. Too many of them were Ex-Military, and mutants were something you didn't take chances with.
With any luck they'd wrap this up before dinner.
