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RP: NSS Acadia [Post Mission 1]: Shore Leave

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Phaedra noticed Harrison had stepped up next to Viktor; the three of them surrounded the Captain and faced off against the ID-SOLs.

"Last time I checked I wasn't in the military, bitch," one of them said.

This was a problem that she had not anticipated; Phaedra had never seen an ID-SOL (or Tank, which was slang used at the cloning facility for ID-SOLs,) outside of the Military. She admitted she was woefully ignorant of the local customs of Roger Wilco. But still, the Tank's claim that this bar was their "turf" was not a acceptable reason for abusing a member of the Nepleslian Military.

"Your brand means nothing to me," said Phaedra, her voice edgy. She felt confident that with her newly-found crewmates, they could diffuse the situation. But unfortunately, there was no non-threatening way to make the ID-SOLs back down. She deactivated the safety and pointed the RPB at the ID-SOL's face. If the situation was not so tense, it would have appeared almost comical with Phaedra pointing her pistol at the ID-SOL's head nearly a foot and a half above her own.

"I can turn your face into a crater right now if you and your friend don't back down this instant!" she barked.

She had upped the ante. No one in the bar seemed to move.
 
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, no need to escalate the conflict here." Harrison looked around the group, who seemed to be arming for a full-scale invasion: Phaedra and her RPB, Viktor and Jack looking pissed as ever- hell, even Harrison had his HHG at hip level, well clear of its holster.

"Gang turf versus Green military... Don't you think that would be a bad idea?" Harrison stated diplomatically, spinning the HHG on his left pointer finger. "I mean, if you don't get shot to pieces right now, someone in jail is gonna make you his bitch, in a big way..."

He tossed the pistol into the air and snatched it again, lowering the pistol back towards its holster. "Do you really want that, gentlemen?"
 
"If they're not worth the ammo, they're not worth it at all, sir," Viktor said, putting one hand on Captain Miller's shoulder to encourage him to stay away from any conflict. He glared over his shoulder at the cocky clones, wondering who in their right mind let ID-SOLs get out on their own and join a gang. He wasn't against cloning in any way, but when people let it get out of hand, it truly infuriated him. Not to mention these guys reminded him of those pitiful days planetside always scuffling with other gangs for no reason other than to "claim a stake" on streets that ultimately belonged to the government--the authority they all refused to give credence.

ID-SOLs in a gang--let alone outside the military? That was bad news for everyone, especially your average person on the street. It frustrated him to the core that some idiot somewhere decided it would be okay to let ID-SOLs integrate into society in such a way that they were allowed to join gangs. Perhaps they would be worth disposing of after all, seeing as how they were such colossal threats to the peace of the city.

There was no time to waste, then. He drew his Tiger's Tears, that mammoth of a weapon, and leveled it at the nearest threat, aiming for the chest. "Look, it works like this. You leave us the fuck alone or you leave here in a fucking body bag. Even ID-SOLs don't hold up well against magnum-grade weapons; if you don't believe me, I'd be glad to give a demonstration."
 
The drawing of weapons had raised tensions considerably and violated an unspoken agreement. Most everyone on Nepleslia was familiar with firearms or possessed them, but the etiquette involved in using them, especially in public places, was adhered to rather strictly, mainly to avoid massive bloodshed and general chaos.

Unfortunately, those rules flew right out the window. Above the yelling of the ID-SOLS, who had resorted to flagrant cursing and gestures, the sound of two gunshots rang out.

Then pandemonium. People all around stampeded for the door while others ducked under furniture. Bottles were broken and fists were thrown.

Jack Miller ducked his head as a bottle flew over his head.

"Shit, SHIT! We gotta move!" He pointed a finger to a set of tables near the edge of the bar that were unoccupied and began swimming through the jostling crowd of people for it. It was impossible to turn back to the door--a bottleneck was quickly forming.
 
Captain Miller was tailed by Harrison, who was half-running, half-fighting through the irate crowd that swirled around the group. He swung a surprisingly strong left hook that threw a smaller Geshrin man across the room and back into the crowd before sprinting after. Well, he thought, So much for a peaceful night of drinking.
 
Phaedra found her herself under the dead-weight of one of the ID-SOLs. Panic began to pulse through her veins as she pushed back at the slab of meat on top of her. It was dark; she couldn't breathe. A scream rose in her throat as she pushed with all her might, lifting the slab of muscle up just enough so that she could slide out. The world was in chaos; the noise was deafening and people were scrambling to get out of the bar. Phaedra shuddered to herself for a moment, shaking from pure adrenaline. The terror of reliving a nightmare subsided and instincts instilled from training activated. Phaedra's eyes searched for her weapon and spotted it lying not far from the booth she was scrunched up against. She quickly grabbed the pistol as she tried to remember what had happened.

One instant she was facing down one of the ID-SOLs, and then next instant the ID-SOL's head was gone, gore splattering her front. The muscle-bound giant had toppled forward onto the unprepared Phaedra, nearly smothering her from his weight. She was for a moment afraid that she had accidentally fired her pistol, but she assured herself that the gunshots came from elsewhere, not from herself or those near her.

She spotted Harrison and the captain scurrying towards cover near the rear of the bar.

"Were the shots meant for the captain? I didn't hear a shot until..." Phaedra's eyes widened.

"If the shots were at that range... She glanced towards her weapon case behind her. Right above the booth were two holes in the wall made by large caliber rounds.

"Those shots could have easily hit me..." thought Phaedra. The crowd scurried about in an attempt to vacate the premises as soon as possible. She saw a patron run through a door to the back stairwell.

"If I could get to the roof..." she thought. In an rapid movement, Phaedra leapt up, holstered her pistol and yanked her rifle from the case. Before anyone could protest, she legged it to the back stairwell, barreled through the door and sprinted up to the roof.
 
Viktor was a short distance behind Harrison, tucking his gun away. He hadn't had much plan or desire to use it, but at the same time he hadn't anticipated riling up anyone else enough to make them discharge. A bad move on their part as a group, and moreso his for not seeing it coming. He managed to dodge most everyone, but one of them seemed intent on dragging Private Kingston out the door with him. He body slammed the nitwit, winding him, and left him grovelling on the floor.

Behind the relative safety of the table, Kingston took a deep breath. "Well that was fun. What's next on the agenda? Hookers with grenades?"
 
Hearing the gunshots, Anselm rushed into the bar only to be violently pushed back out as the crowd vacated the building. The marine was left rubbing his head as he picked himself off the pavement, careful to avoid his fingers getting stepped on by the stampede of civilians.
 
The bar had two upper floors, the patron that Phaedra saw ran into one of the hostel rooms that the establishment also ran and locked the door. A few curious faces poked out into the hallway, but quickly disappeared when they saw the marine. At the end of the stairs was a trapdoor secured by a simple lock that led to the roof.

Being surrounded by rushing bodies made it easier for Anselm to make out two burly ID-Sol types in ragged up SAoN uniforms standing on the sidewalk and firing into the the bar. There was a fire in their drugged up eyes as they continued to empty their .45 pistols into whoever that still inside.

Meanwhile, the captain, Harrison and Viktor were sandwiched between an upturned table between them and the two ID-Sols inside the bar (behind another upturned table) and the back of a heavy sofa that was absorbing the shots coming from the outside. A sharp racking of a slide could be heard by the trained soldiers from the other side of the bar, it seems like they were about to be fired at from both directions.
 
(Posting for Kai's lazy bum @$$, with permission.)

Lilly and Trey finished their visit with little incident. After a heartfelt reunion with his family, Trey bid them farewell, and, loaded down with bags of freshly picked fruits and veggies, the two retraced their steps back to where the crew had landed. Figuring the rest of the crew had no doubt gone to a bar, they quickly found what - Trey at least - had been looking for: the one with angry soldiers blowing holes in the windows, and that sounded like a new World War was starting up inside.
 
Phaedra stormed up the stairwell, ignoring the surprised looks as she passed by. She spotted a small door at the top of the stairs, secured with a small lock. She ran up to the trapdoor, pulled out her sidearm and fired; the rocket-propelled projectile punching a hole through the door where the lock once was. Phaedra holstered her pistol, slung the rifle across her back, and climbed up the ladder onto the roof.

Phaedra crouched on the soot-stained surface of the roof, pulling the Styrling Longbolt off her back and cradling it with her left arm. She removed the 6-round clip that she habitually attached to the strap, opened the bolt, slid in the clip, and then closed the bolt with practiced precision. She rushed to the lip of the roof and crouched behind the low wall that ran around its entirety. She spared a glance over the edge of the wall to assess the situation in the street below; a group of ID-SOLs across the street indiscriminately fired small arms at the bar. A pile of the bar's former patron's lie dead or wounded in the street. Phaedra felt a tremor of anger at such senseless death, but she closed her eyes for a moment and pushed the emotion away.

Looking at the positioning of the Tanks, they could not have been the ones that fired the first volley. Phaedra knew in her gut that there was a sniper up on one of the rooftops. If it came to an assassination, she would have done the same thing; Locate the target via thermal imaging, and then eliminate the target straight through the wall.

"Except I wouldn't have missed," Phaedra remarked to herself. "That captain has more luck than he realizes..."

She scanned the surrounding rooftops using her left eye; the cybernetic implant viewing the infrared spectrum and searching for body-sized heat signatures. That was when Phaedra saw it. It was perched several rooftops away, a warm blob with the cold outline of a rifle.

Phaedra raised her rifle to her shoulder, her left hand locking firmly around the rifle's stock. She blinked her right eye once, grasped the grip tightly, and then pulled the trigger.
 
"Captain! Viktor! Heads down, now!" Having heard both of the actions sliding into place, Harrison fumbled for a second as he drew his HHGs and attempted to pinpoint the sound of the guns. Aiming towards the one with the bar, he pulled up both of his HHGs and aimed at the men behind the bar before pulling the triggers as fast as he could aim and correct for recoil.
 
Seeing the two thugs, Anselm couldn't call them ID-SOL anymore, shooting into the bar, the marine drew his HHG, thumbing the safety and advanced on the two Tanks.

"Stand down, you're under arrest!" Anselm could have just shot them, but his pistol would have made a mess and there were too many civilians in the area to safely fire off a shot, he just hoped the threat of a high-power .45 round would make them think twice about firing on him or the bar.
 
The two drugged up ID-Sols stopped firing and turned to stare at Anselm blankly, gun pointed in his general direction. Then, strangely, one of them let go of his gun and dropped to his knees, hands on his head. The other, seeing his friend capitulate, started groggily running towards the nearest dark alleyway. Given the time between the first shots and now, the area outside the bar seems eerily empty except for the two contrasting ID-Sols and a few wounded civilians.

Harrison managed two ill-aimed shots with the HHG before the weapon's weight and massive recoil nearly sprained his wrist from blind firing from that position. The first bullet ricocheted off the floor and implanted itself firmly on the deceivingly(!) reinforced bar. The second one flew overhead to break a bottle of cheap whisky.

"WOULD YOU MOTHERFUCKERS STOP SHOOTING UP MY BAR!?" The bartended shouted, moustache twitching while bravely standing up from behind the bar. He had what looks like an antiquated automatic double-barrelled shotgun in his hands. Perhaps in respect for the weapon a brief silence followed. The two gang-members taking cover behind an upturned table near the bar cautiously peeked over the top to survey the scene.
 
The weapon fired, the highly noticable report and muzzle flash making Phaedra's presence known. While giving away one's postion in a battlefield situation is suicidal, in this situation it acted as a terror weapon. Phaedra was sure that the gangsters didn't expect to have to deal with Nepleslian marines, much less a trained marksman.

Phaedra's aim was true, the projectile striking its target and the hidden assailant slumping to the ground with a large hole through his lung. She yanked back on the bolt to eject the spent casing and then slammed it back into place. She held her rifle at the ready and continued to scan the rooftops and the street for other potential threats.
 
Anselm kept his pistol trained on the kneeling ID-SOL, moving close enough to kick the pistol away. "I'm inclined to ask why you were shooting up a bar full of my team mates, was it just for kicks or did someone pay you?" He didn't expect the drunk to answer coherently but keeping him talking was safer than standing around with a gun on a guy, who knew, maybe he'd actually get something out of the guy.
 
Lilly didn't have much time to react to the ID-SOLs blowing the hell out of the bar before Anselm ran out and spooked them. While he trained his pistol on the first one, Lilly shoved her bags of food into Trey's arms and took off after the second, holding a big red apple she'd pulled from one of the bags. Not stopping to get a clear shot, she hurled the apple at the back of his head, chasing after it.
 
While large, shiny, tasty and extremely red, the apple Lilly threw with her considerable natural dexterity simply caused the massive Nepleslian to simply wobble briefly without affecting his overall escape speed. Unless the well endowed Tarkarian wishes to throw additional produce in the comforts of a dark seedy alleyway, it would be best to apply additional physical force, preferably while running.

The ID-Sol Anselm held up continued staring blankly at horizontal level. Through the holes of the jacket the Marine could see many scars both naturally healed and patched up, and both caused by small arms and PA grade weapons. It also appeared that the damage done was not just physical though. There were also tell tale tiny holes along the back of the shoulders and fresh ones on the forearm that showed prolonged use of drugs of both the over the counter and under the table kind.

With her trained eye, Phaedra could not make out any new or potential targets. In fact, there seems to be a reduced amount of suspicious silhouettes from before she fired her shot.
 
Phaedra scanned the rooftops warily; although there no longer seemed to be any threats, now was not the time to be caught unaware. She quickly ran to her left to the adjacent side of the roof to gain a better view of those mingling in the street. She saw one of the gang kneeling in the street, a marine holding a pistol in the tank's face. A woman with curiously pink hair threw objects down one of the nearby alleys. It was then that Phaedra realized the woman was throwing fruit at the second gang member, who was now busy fleeing down the alley. Phaedra raised her rifle to her shoulder and placed the the crosshairs on one of the ID-SOL's legs.

"You can't escape..."

Phaedra pulled the trigger, the rifle booming and the recoil slamming against her shoulder.
 
BLAM!

Phaedra's 10 x 58mm entered on the underside of the ID-SOL's thigh and exited below the shins, bloody bone matter from what's left of the kneecap spewed out from the exit wound. The druggie tumbled over with his massive bulk smashing headfirst onto the pavement. He was lucky there was no need for painkillers as the impact knocked him out cold.

On the sniper's left, Phaedra could see the two guys from the bar managed to sneak out from the back door and were hurriedly running down a straight alleyway, throwing anxious glances over their shoulders but not spotting the woman in the shadows. Phaedra had about 10 seconds before the duo reaches a turn in the alleyway, with buildings blocking her line of sight from then on.

Elsewhere, a siren could be heard gradually getting louder in the background.
 
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