Archangel Protocols: Revival IC

<Back to the thrall as soon as possible!> Thundering back through the alley way he had fallen into, Mas caught a glimpse of the green one run by. Mas let out a deep growl as he was quickly bypassed and watched as the green one took a tumble. He watched as he was piled upon, and watched as he sliced up more of his targets.

It wasn't a long run, but Mas was already severely injured and was moving slower, and Azrael was much much quicker than he could ever hope to be.

Mas finally caught up to where the green one was being piled upon by dozens of meat shields and fired his blaster at the pile.

Once, twice, three times, four times... Most of the blasts were required to blow away the corpses that had piled up around the Azrael. The final blasts blew away the living targets.

Mas reached down and grabbed hold of the pathetic weak green one from the body armor on his back. Did Mas care that the soldiers continued to pile up around them? Did their mass even matter to him? No, they didn't matter at all. He pulled Azrael in close in front of him, and gave him the same glare he had before, a quick "MY KILLS!" look straight into the eyes, before the throw.

Masraik's arm ripped through the air, breaking ribs and necks of those soldiers in line of sight of his cannon of an arm. Right before max extension, Masraik released the green one, flinging him through the air some 200ft away into a 3rd floor window, one building away from the one he stood at now.

Masraik watched as Azrael flew through the air. He was appalled and amazed that he could be so easily removed from combat.

Sudden pain racked his entire body. Masraik collapsed in place and watched as his left arm shrank inside the armor. His rib cage crushed his heart and lungs, jabbing into his many vital organs that weren't able to function with the shrinking of his body. Slowly, his organs shrank with his bone structure, but not before the crippling pain had done its damage.

Red sprang up all around Masraik. The computer system had recognized the pain he had experienced as combat damage and not as part of his natural physiology. Mas pulled himself into a sitting position, looking at the false damage he had taken. He reached up and touched the plate around his head. <What the hell was I doing that there is metal wrapped around me...?> He picked at his thoughts, trying to find any memory of the events, but nothing. All he remembered was the immeasurable pain of the transformation out, and of Azrael flying through the air. <Wait, I remember... three small patches...> Masraik yelled at the top of his lungs, "You bloody failures of new scientists! Instead of doing something RIGHT with the formula, you only made it WEAK!" He glanced at the clock in the part of his mask that was intact. "AND IT DIDN'T EVEN LAST THE FULL 30 MINUTES! Just wait til I get my hands on your necks! And when did you switch my damn formula! I specifically said NO SCIENTISTS IN MY QUARTERS!"

Realizing that the sim was still going on around him, and that his team mates were probably listening to his rantings, he quickly shut his trap before saying anything else embarrassing. He looked up at the window where he had "flung" his team mate. <Oh ****... I'm never going to hear the end of this one...> Mas reached up to attempt to ply the metal plate from around his head with a deep grunt. <No dice... guess I'll have to wait for the sim to make it disappear.>

Azreal took an inhuman run into the clear but was blown far outside of his intended bounds. He couldn't deal with that right now though, and Abbaddon undoubtedly would attempt a rescue. He had to cover their rear before he could get them out of another situation. The Metal-head was on his way up when Longview dashed the next few steps over, crouching and zig-zagging through bulletfire. Being attentive of those aiming helps. The Metal-head went for a shoving kick; as clumsy as Metalheads tended to be, they were powerful as far as humans went. The extra weight made it a little more painful than otherwise, and Longview certainly didn't want to be on the end of it.

Quantas deftly moved to the side, avoiding the kick, and slapped away the raising .50 cal gun. He shoved upwards against the Metalhead, and knocked him stumbling away. Raising his own weapon, Longview popped a few rounds into the head of the thing. Still not a killshot, but it destroyed the optics on the left eye. A couple rounds more and the armor shattered in a bloody spray. That was easy enough. Especially when his comrades didn't want to shoot friendlies. The hail of bullets continued the moment someone got a clear shot. A few pelted the gel-like armor, but for the most part, he was unscathed.

He was just in time to see the hulking Masraik toss Azreal away like a ragdoll. In horrific detest Quantas screamed in frustration. Someone fired a good shot just then, taking advantage of the situation. The bullet caught him in the shoulder, making him audibly gasp in pain. A tear welled up on his right eye, the imaginary bullet lodging in his right shoulder joint, between bones and grinding with the slightest movement. Lucky shot, he thought. Azreal was no doubt destroyed by the throw. Something wasn't right with him at the moment. No doubt Abbaddon will follow him or attack the already red-out Masraik, he thought.ignoring his shoulder to focus on the real problem at hand.

Longview grabbed the assault rifle from his right hand on the move and ran, firing all around him as he sprinted. He could feel bullets pelting his back, tearing apart the light armor piece by piece. Just before he met the cover of Casper's building, he could feel it, a bullet got him in the back of the left leg just below the buttocks. Longview collapsed with a sliding thud on the asphault. He gritted his teeth a moment before his left side impacted. He didn't stay down long, but it was still a battle. "Either fight or kill-switch! It's over. We failed miserably as a team! All rescue attempts failed!" he yelled, upset and frustrated over the pitiful attempt at cover and assault. Azreal and Abbaddon should have let Masraik die on his own and just gotten the hell out of there. We weren't even ten minutes into the Sim... he begrudgingly looked back. Pulling his goggles up he was breathing hard. He'd taken some damage. Nothing incredible. But he would be assaulted any moment now by a dozen troopers.

Walking out from his cover he held his assault rifle up and fired, even through the ripping bullets his invaders, he massacred them with every precision shot. Even as he fired, bullets flew through his body. It was only a matter of a half-dozen seconds before he was encased in a red force shield himself, cursing at his bad luck of ending up in a group with "Masraik the Angel Killer."

"Matt, did you see how many of them there were?"

Matthias shook his head, leaning out to fire a couple more shots. "If you listen you don't hear an end to them. They're flooding in from the rooftops and I have no idea how to stop them."

"Live or androids?"

Nodding mainly to himself he spoke in between covering fire to keep the enemy mostly pinned. "There were a few androids before, if you noticed the holes in the floors, it's from them. I took the 3 out I saw but I don't know if there's more." Click...that clip's empty. Slapping another clip into his MP5, he poked his head out, firing more shots up and taking out about 5 more before getting forced to duck from fire. '2 of us, even with us being genetically superior their numbers are helping them alot...plus she took a shot and is one arm down. I'm ok for the most part, save for little things here and there.' He thought, doing some synopsis and thinking of what to do.

Almost on cue with his thoughts, another group of 3 androids popped themselves out onto the top of the staircase. The soldiers made a path and started to slow their firing down to make way for their 'powerhouse' group. Some of the soliders obviously had seen Matthias work against the other 3 as they shouted some profanities in his direction, telling basically everyone to focus on him while the soliders took care of Kindle. 'Great...this is just great.' He thought...but once more he was surprised at what they pulled out of their ass. A second group of 3 androids appeared at the top of the stairs when the first group was halfway down. 'Oh damn.' Ran through Matthias's head.

"KINDLE!" He yelled as he stood up firing at the troops around the androids, knowing the android's wouldn't be stopped or slowed as easily and it would be a waste of ammo at this point. "TIME TO GO BACK DOWN!" Another clip spent as he reloaded the quickest he ever did before, only allowing enough down time for 2 shots to hit him in the right side. Reaching over and grabbing Kindle's left shoulder, he pulled her with him as he started to backpeddle, continuing to fire.

ooc: My next post'll be the end one for me, allowing Kindle an interaction one first

OOC: Sorry for my lack of posting. This one should be pretty long, eh? ;P

IC:
Casper stopped target painting at Longview's request, though he doubted the enemy could see the ultraviolet laser he used. It was farily new technology and the corponations still mainly used infrared. Still, he no longer needed to mark targets, as the battle took a turn for the less organized. Casper began to focus his efforts on removing command units. He set his plasma rifle to anti -personnel rounds and began clipping the baret's off the heads of men waving thier arms and shouting into radios. The rounds from plamsa weapons had a tell-tale glow and left a rather easily trackable trace. As such, Casper couldn't stay still for long.

His tac-helm gave readings on the locations of the others. He could see Azreal and the others beginning thier retreat into the building Kindle and Matt were supposed to have cleared. Being on the roof of an adjacent structure, Casper had a pretty good route to the rally point. Finally beginning to take gain the attention of ground units, Casper dashed across the roof as a tank shell exploded against the concrete below where he was shooting. He made for the roof of the other building just as Matt pushed open the door. Covering his blind side, Casper approached the door from Matt's right. The sniper shot came as a suprise, and Casper ducked behind an AC unit. Following the shot back to its source, Casper sighted the sniper and placed a round in his temple.

He remained hidden as units begn pouring over the edges of the structure, firing blindly at Matt. There were a couple dozen, but all soft targets. Switching to explosive rounds, Casper pivoted from behind the AC unit and fired into the thick of them. The explosions, designed to weaken or destroy light armor, tore through thier ranks, giving Matt time to fall back. Unfortunately, the explosive plasme used much of the energy in the cell, and would not stay charged for long. Casper began to back up to the edge of the roof. Causing sufficient mayhem, he voluntarily stepped off the edge as unfriendly fire finally started coming his way.

Casper grabbed the sill of a third story window, and lifted himself inside. This floor was quiet, and Casper's programming told him it was time to blend and retreat. The sheer number of the enemy force made that difficult, but direct conflict was no longer an option. Casper started movign forward, beign as quiet as he could, which is to say, completely silent. He took about five steps before something came smashing through a window and slamming into the wall in front of him. Gazing out the window, he saw Masraik on an even bigger rampage, if that were possible. It was clear he had thrown Azreal who lay encased in a red "death" field a few feet from Casper. He leveled his plasme rifle at Masraik, still with the explosive rounds loaded and opened fire into the neck area of the giant liability. Red fields activated around Masraik as his shots violently exploded.

Grabbing Azreal, Casper dragged him to a small nearby room. As mission commander, he was valuable to the enemy, and had to be either extricated or eliminated. Explosions down the hall drew Casper's attention, and he loaded his incendiary rounds into his rifle, discarding the empty HE cell. Inspecting Azreal, he could see he was still concious, the force field having removed all the punishment and injury parameters it had been applying. Still, he had to be considered incapacitated. Casper was relatively sure the throw could not have killed a Pure One. Under that logic, he assumed Azreal was rendered unconcious.

Down the hall, the gunfire from Kindle and Matt was closer than before. Casper pushed the door closed, and quickly moved to Azreal's side, taking an andrenaline hypospray from a pouch on his belt. Jabbing the needle end into Azreal's leg, he pressed the release, and the liqid entered his bloodstream with a hiss. The force field shimmered and faded, the sim ignoring pain punishment for the duration of the adrenaline rush.

"You're not going out that easy, commander," Casper declared, setting his laser pistols in the Pure One's lap, "Get ready to make your final stand."

Turning to the door, the shots from Kindle and Matt had ended, and the horde of enemies was bearing down the hall, searching for them. "Cover left," Casper said as he knelt behing an overturned piece of furniture. The disyncronous footsepts slowed behind the closed door to the room. The knob clicked and began to turn. Just as it parted a couple inches, Casper opened fire, releasing a stream of bright red plasma bolts into the narrow doorway. The small, superheated beads of liqid energy burst into a firey maelstrom as the first units through the door - a couple primitive andriods - took the full force of the incendiary rounds. It wasn't long before a chaotic blaze was tearing down the hall; the narrow corridor preventing escape or return fire from rear troops. The sustained fire from Casper drained the Incen cell rapidly, and it was dry in only a few seconds. Ducking behind his cover, Casper loaded his half empty AP cell and raised back up.

Just as he lowered his rifle to begin firing, a metalhead at the far end of the hall let out a concussive blast. Casper's targeting systems tracked the grenade as it sailed lazily over the flames and through the threshold of the door. For a machine, realizing the inevitability of your demise did not take long. As a supercomputer, Casper processed this fact, and analyzed it before the grenade was even halfway down the hall. The results: Casper was not fast enough to avoid the blast. Another millisecond later, his programming activated his memory failsafes. His core and central data storage went into lockdown; accessible only by trained Archangles. Three feet from oblivion, Casper's HUD and central processor ceased, his systems shutting down completely.

The grenade exploded against the force field, sending the deactivated andriod slamming against the wall behind it. When the dust settled, the blank-faced C.A.S.P. lay staring at the ceiling, awaiting recovery or destruction.

Azrael was hacking still at corpses around him, barely able to move, barely able to breath under the press of bodies. His vision began to dim at the edge, he was blacking out, and as soon as he did that, it would be over.He felt more than heard the first concussive blast through the pile of bodies. Then another, and another. Then a giant hand came down and grasped Azrael, still on the verge of blacking out he couldn't resist much as he was lifted into the air and yelled at. The shock of the fling was enough to revive him momentarily. <THAT SON OF A BIT...> was the only thought that passed through his mind before it was wiped clean again, by the impact between it and a fairly solid wall.

Next thing he came too to the feel of a needle being withdrawn. He gasped at the sudden clarity. "Ahhh... the pain had receded some, his thoughts were clearer, but his right leg was broken, and it felt like several of his ribs were grinding in very inapropriate ways. His sword had been lost and his rifle's barrell was bent. He took the weapon offered to him by Casper, and drug himself painfully to the best cover available. It was still over fairly quickly. Lack of mobility verses overwhelming numbers did not turn out well. In short order he was incapacitated, and by the sounds of the battle outside, so were most if not all of his teamates.

"Computer, How many sentients are left alive?"

"Zero"

"Computer: Cease Simulation, reset all parameters, remove all wound punishments."

"Simulation ceased, all paramters reset, wound punishment set to zero for all particpants."

The sim room blanked out, turning once again into the plain, gray room that it was when not running sims.

"Computer: Survival time?"

"25minutes and 26 seconds."

"Computer: Best previous time?"

"15 minutes 45 seconds."

With a satisfied nod he stood. His sword lay not too far away, he picked it up. He walked to the middle of the now blank room, and called to his teamates. "Congratulations everyone. WE managed to break the record for survival on that run. That's the hardest sim ever programmed. I made it myself, and no one has ever survived as long as we have. "Computer how many repititions have been run of this sim."

"2459."

"We did very well. We could have done much better. We started out strong, but as the battle heated up our group dynamic fell apart. This was due to a number of factors. Most of us a re used to working alone. We are all used to taking initiative, which is fine, but can be a little overdone. I think we all saw problems in our styles of working together. I want all of you to go back to your quarters, or other rest areas as you see fit, and review the replay of the things that happened in here today, its saved under the sim logfile. You are all dismissed."

He turned to face Masraik, "Except you Mas. I think we need to have a little chat." His voice was ice itself. Calm and cold, but serious as the steel point on his sword.

ooc: more in a bit, and Shari, you should consider yourself reactivated by the computer when the sim resets.

<Oh here it comes.> Mas thought with a huff. <Team work, team work, team work... Its hard to do when everyone runs away from you in completely opposite directions from the start, and with much more speed and stealth than myself! They were like spokes on a tire, moving outward from the axle; the further they got, the faster they moved.>

Masraik knew it was coming before Azrael even looked at him. "Except you Mas. I think we need to have a little chat." Masraik patiently waited to see who would leave the room before he would confront Azrael.

He almost yelled. "Look, I know what you're thinking, and what you're going to say before you even say it. 'You endangered your team mates by your thoughtless charging directly into the enemy! And you even attacked us, twice! Berserking in such close quarters with allies is uncalled for, and you were an uncontrollable mad man out there!' Or something along those lines eh? I hear it every mission, about how I'm a bigger danger to our own soldiers than the enemy is."

Mas had a quick idea pop into his head. "But you know what, that's what you all get for doubting the new generation. And it was an excellent example of what you'll have to put up with in a real battle situation, so prepare yourself, because if this bunker we're going into is anything like it looks like it will be, then you'll see me large and in charge more than once."

He had gotten right into Azrael's face, but a memory shot across his thoughts. Azrael's twisted form flying through the air from his own personnel launch maneuver. He backed up a bit, sighed, and resigned himself for the brunt of the preaching he was about to receive. "Oh yea, and sorry about tossing you... like I said... total uncontrollable mad man."

OOC: Sorry Mas, but I'm pulling a GM here and using some of my powers for the sake of scene smoothness.

IC:
He would have waited till everyone was absent, and then he would have calmly explained the conclusion he had reached. It wouldn't have been a friendly discussion, but it wouldn't have been one containing animosity either. But apparently Masraik had other ideas on his mind. The memory of flying through the air flashed through his mind... well maybe not completely without animosity. Then Masraik began yelling at him. Azrael turned to ice. Not the ice of fear, but of the cold, hard rage that often roiled beneath the facade he put up. He always tried to act gentlemanly, to be cultured and knowledgeable, and gentle when he could. He found that when the majority of ones time is spent as a weapon, it becomes necessary to try and distance oneself from it when one can. His nature though, was not truly so convivial. So it was that he didn't know or care who was in the room when he finally acted.

His inner nature was closer to beast than man, when he let it be. When he released the restraints on it, as in battle, or when he was pushed to far. The now normal sized, if particularly wide man was leaning into Azrael's face. Azrael almost growled at him, feeling his instincts react naturally to the direct challenge to his supremacy. When Masraik finished his tirade, he backed up a little and, sounding somewhat abashed (ooc: guessing by the way it was written) he apologized for flinging Azrael through a building. That might have saved him from Azrael's wrath, had he not ruined it by excusing himself.

The icy cold but controlled rage burst forth in Azrael. In a flash, literally quicker than any man could have moved or reacted, Azrael had his sword out, and had shoved two of his fingers into Masraik's nose, pushing upwards, forcing his chin up and his neck taught. He pressed the blade firmly against Masraik's neck. He pushed hard on the nostrils and flared his fingers slightly stretching the relatively thin skin painfully, and forcing the head further back. In a cold hard near whisper Azrael spoke. "I am going to talk to you now, and you are going to listen to me. You are going to hear me with ears cleared by the edge of my sword, or you are going to wake up in a few weeks in a regen tank. Do we have an understanding?"

Without waiting for a reply he continued. "What you did today was foolish in the extreme but not because of why you think. You did exactly what you are best at, by charging into the enemy. In fact, except for that unlucky break with the tank, you could have been a great asset on the field today. The thing you did wrong, the thing that was stupid? You went berserk, in a thrice damned simulation. IT. WAS. A. SIM. You were not in real danger, nothing that happens in here to you when done by the computer is real. The things you did to yourself, and to us, were. Luckily the buffers held. If they hadn't you could have scrubbed this entire mission. Risking that for a sim? That was stupid."

"The thing is I know you knew that. I know that you had to have trained in other sims, had to know the dangers and limits of this machine, and of yourself. So here's what I think. I think that no matter how much you claim you hate it, I think you are addicted to your little transformation. I think deep down, the power, the thrill of it, get you. You want it. You may hate the tests, but do you really hate the experience? You think you are the only Angel to ever go Berserk? It may not be as dramatic, but I know what it's like, I go... feral. I killed an entire platoon the first time, as well as my whole team. Didn't remember a damn thing about it for nearly 2 centuries. Then it all came back to me when I finally realized WHY I couldn't remember. I didn't want to. I knew the things I did was wrong, my mind simply decided to protect me from the guilt by hiding them. At first I was scared by it, then I realized I had started putting myself into situations where I HAD to go feral. Something in me, whether I knew it or not, liked what I became, liked what I did. I didn't."

"You are a weapon, just like me, just like everyone else. The difference between you and me though? I know where to cut, and when. You just bash your way through, and think it proves how strong you are. I had to learn to control myself when I went feral, I had to learn when to use it, and how. It should be a last resort and nothing else. Until you can control when and how you use it, it will always control you, just like any other drug. You think I disrespect the new Generation. That I doubt them? I helped CREATE the new generation, I designed them. Your template must have been an idiot..."

Template... but he was a Pure one, he hadn't had a template... where... what....? Pain, and the thought fled, the inability to access his own train of thought only irritated Azrael more. Digging the blade slightly into Masraiks neck he said, "Now, this is what's going to happen, I think we'll need you, and I think you're going to be a very useful weapon once you grow up child angel, but just now I think you're a liability. I just think you might wind up being more useful than you are a liability. So here's how its going to work, I'm going to release you, you are going to calmly, acknowledge what I've told you, and then you are going to give me any and all of the berserker serum you have before we depart on this mission. You can't be trusted to not use the serum at the wrong time, so I'm going to hold onto it for you. When and IF I decide it is appropriate I will then give you the vial. If we get separated, I will make sure that whoever you are going with has one of the vials."

His eyes hard, he stared into Masraik's eyes with the power of over 2000 years of battle behind them, "Do you understand me?"

ooc: Mas, if you simply say yes and fail do not struggle, you can post that Azrael releases you, then you can go from there, if you struggle, or object, Azrael will hurt you in some way, mostly by causing pain, not by actually damaging you. Until you say yes and do not struggle at which point he releases you and you can go from there.

ooc: still busy =/ this is my short appearance, for appearances sake

ic:
Kindle regarded the ending sim as time to get the weapons she noticed would be useful. Survival time in the sim meant nothing to her, {Angels exist because there shouldn't be "hopeless" battles, I am a living embodiment of our retaliation against the 'hopeless' corps}, this sim was a failure, short and simple. Kindle needed a modification to her equipment spread, and body armor for her right arm {i will not have half my firepower removed by a fluke shot}.

Azrael's speech with Mas left her stunned, but she figured now was not the time to speak with the Commander, {...weapons, heh...}. While Az waited on a response from Masraik, she stated with a wink and smile to the assembled party members "I'm gonna go request some different equipment, anything in particular ya'll noticed we could've used?" She waited to hear any responses, nodded and stepped outside the door.

She hovered for a moment before walking off, hoping Mas would answer Az and walk with her.

Quantas' bubble opened and the sim ended. It was unnecessarily complicated a mission. They were screwed as soon as Mas threw himself too far into the mess. He would have been an excellent asset had he provided a primary cover and target. Quantas wasn't surprised that Azreal wished to keep him for a few words after. Though he wasn't a sniper, Azreal certainly had some knowledge about secrecy and stealth through his two millenia on the battlefield. He was not at all shy about giving out advice when it was due; it saved Quantas' ass on more than one occassion.

He could feel the anger between the two building up as Masraik spoke. It was a seething searing anger by the time Azreal was on him. Quantas knew that he was no man to intentionally cross, and even less wise to openly challenge his authority with stupid comments like staying "large and in charge". Even though he could feel it impressing itself on his own mood, Quantas could only help but grin in entertainment. It wasn't surprising; Azreal's response. If anything it was warranted. As GC he was king, emperor, and God, second only to superiors like Train.

Suddenly, the little firecracker, Kindle, tried to lighten the mood by asking about armaments. Perhaps the mood had been a little more impressed than he had thought. "I know of one thing we could have done without," he snarled. "Coulda used an anti-armor rifle. I expected something along the lines of individual fighting, but not a sim like that. Expected something a little more like the mission. Arm up based on what you expect, not for every situation you can think of; you'll be too heavy." He was noticeably irritated. Quantas wasn't sure, though, if she would be able to tell the difference, as young as she was.

"Freakin' child," he grumbled and briskly walked out of the sim past Masraik. "too bad they can't find a cure for the common ego," he said out loud but to himself as he passed through the doorway. He tossed his armaments into a bin for some Sim attendant to sift through and restock, and stripped off as much of the armor and additional apparel as he added and walked back to his quarters. Quantas showered and lounged nude on his bed while he went through the sim. It was a simple matter of highlights that told him the strengths and weaknesses of his allies. He could tell both Azreal and Abbaddon were a little older this time around. They weren't done and buried. Far from it. The candle, though, was dimming.

Kindle could hold her own rather well, but up close and personal she left much to be desired. Let alone not adding additional armor. He would recommend that. It doesn't need to be nano-enhanced to be useful. Watching himself he was appalled. He wasn't a good sniper in this mission, and he wasn't an assault or recovery GELF. He was hardly given the chance with the downward turn this sim went. He had to admit the power of Masraik, but power without responsibility is just wild, blind, and useless. Casper was a very versatile teammate. Probably the best performing in the sim. He was limited in damage capacity, but very quick and nimble. Far more useful in a shoot and run situation than spotting. Longview had his own spotting utilities. If he was to work with anyone there again, it would be Casper. His emotional emulations weren't bothersome and he was smart for an AI.

Abbaddon and Matt. What a pair. It was obvious, for both their love of edged weapons, that they would default to that even when a ranged weapon was more useful. No one in that sim is playing the role they were supposed to. Perhaps, though, that was the purpose. The sim they were just in was designed to totally dislocated the participant from what they were used to that they had to adapt.

Indeed, Casper was the only one who found a way to stay in their role. The cold calculations of a machine. Sure, it scored excellent in the SIM. I would love to see him help someone in distress rather than just the commanding officer, Quantas thought. Overall, though, they did do extremely well. The body count for all involved was rather large. Accuracy was not what he would have liked, but it wasn't bad, considering the weapon he had chosen. Masraik had the highest kill score, but also had destroyed the mission.

Had they had more time as a team, they might have the benefit of being the most well-rounded and useful team in the existence of the Protocols. Not only that, but they might actually make it through the unbeatable 'Kobiashimaru' sim that Azreal had designed so many years ago. Longview rubbed his chin and closed the sim. He was in a snack mood, and wanted to see if they still had any of those portable rail rifles left in stock. There was still some time left.

He clothed himself in a tactical skin-suit and opened up the remote console again. Taking another look at the mission terrain he picked out a few nests he would love to get, but probably already were taken. That being said, he would make sure they still had his favorite long range weapon on hand, but take a little less expensive high-speed semi-auto precision rifle. Already planning it out, he estimated only one cartridge. In addition he would take a couple of satchel charges for secured doors needing to be 'unlocked'.

Quantas already decided he'd take a more armored approach with the rigid-body low-powerarmor with gel impact-activated joints that made up his armor in the sim. That should still give him the flexibility to get places that the others might not be able to acrobatically pull off. Additional armaments were the assault rifle from the sim, this time with an HE grenade attachment and HPAP round carrying pistols as sidearms. Better to be overkill than not. If he could fit it, he would also add on an automatic high-capacity pistol. Typical two combat-knife configuration. His goggles he would keep for IR and UV capabilities.

Nodding as he went through a checklist, he felt sure and ready about the mission. Though it was important, it was just another mission. Checking armory levels remotely, he was assured that they indeed had a couple of those portable railguns on hand. Calculating the weight of everything, it turned out to be a good seventy-plus pounds, including ammo and armaments. Grabbing a pair of black cargos an empty bandoleer and an empty utility belt, knowing he'd probably grab a couple other goodies on the way, he slung them over his shoulder and made his way to the cafeteria.

Quickly downing a few high-calorie snacks and grabbing a couple powerbars for later, Quantas walked calmly toward the armory. Loading the queued armory requisition, he went through and picked everything from the walls and laid it all out. Going over it one more time, he was satisfied and methodically started loading it onto himself. Closing his eyes in the armory, he sat fully armed and armored. Per his abilities, he relaxed his muscles and let the armor alone keep him erect. Calming his body and mind, he prepared himself for another battle. Another 99% unknown. He knew he wouldn't have much time to spend alone, the rest would come soon.

ooc: sorry its not long, just something to help ya'll get going. I may have time to add onto it tonight.

IC: He was neither really surprised at Azrael's reaction, nor impressed. It was not the actions of a leader. Masraik reached up, and grabbed hold of the blade with his bare hand. He didn't care how much it cut him. Mas waited for Azrael to remove the blade from his throat, and fingers from his nose, so that he could speak.

"Good luck finding it all. The protocols tend to hide the **** around too..." Masraik said in regards to the formula. He reached within his armor, popped out the vial from his rib gills, and produced it in front of Azrael's face. He crushed it and dropped the glass on the floor." There, there's one. I'm sure the computer can produce the rest for you.

ooc: That's cool, I want you to know ahead of time, I'm not actually putting you off the mission, but this is how my char would play it out, if you decide you just don't have time to play for a bit though, you may just want to take a small break, if you get time time before we are done with the mission, we may be able to work something out to have you join up with us... We'll figure it out.

IC:
Azrael felt his rage flare, he knew he was on the verge of going feral. He growled, low and menacing in his throat, he heard the bestial whispers in his mind, the ones that were not human words, but yet he understood. <Kill him. Dangerous. Challenges you. Thinks he's better than you. Beat him. Kill him. Eat his flesh.> He muted the voices. Ignoring them, knowing them for what they were now. Instincts mixed in with his bestial attributes. His blade had not moved, however from Masraik's throat. The keen edge would cut off his fingers long before he could apply enough pressure to move the blade, braced as it was by Azrael's strength.

His words and actions proved one thing to Azrael. He would have to deal with this one eventually. He was like a child, striving to prove himself and unwilling to accept that others may know of what they speak. In the age terms of angels he was a child. Perhaps a teenager. Azrael knew he may have acted in the heat of the moment, but what he had done was hardly unheard of amongst the angels. They were beings bred for combat, so oftentimes arguments were settled with physical confrontations, though they rarely ended with serious injury or death.

However he couldn't risk taking a child on this mission, especially not one as powerful as this one was. Leaving the blade against his throat for a moment longer, staring with the full weight of his countless years into the eyes of his momentary opponent. He pulled the blade back at last and shook his head, eyes still cold. Calmly he said "As of this moment you are scrubbed from the mission Masraik. I can't afford to risk someone who can't even follow orders at the point of a sword, especially not someone with your tendencies. Your addiction." He checked the time on a terminal across the room, his acute vision picking out the tiny numbers that would have been impossible for a normal human to discern ath this distance. "Computer acknowledge order: Team member Masraik is relegated to mission status standby."

"Order Acknowledged. Masraik has been moved to the backup duty Roster." He looked one last time at Masraik and turned to leave. "You have 4 hours. If you want I'll see you in my quaters in 3 and a half. You know what I want, and you know what you need to do to get back on the mission." And he left. Standby meant that he was not allowed to go on the mission, but that, should an emergency arise, or the commanding officer change his status, he would be shipped out with the others. Had Azrael put him to any other status besides Active, or standby he would have been barred from this mission no matter what. He had another chance. Time to see if he would take it or not. Azrael went off, he reviewed the holo tapes... despite what the others might have thought they had done fairly well overall. The computer had been forced to kick the difficulty up several notches right from the getgo to deal with them. The lucky shot that had nabbed Azrael, slowing him down Azrael initially had come from a high level sniper unit. It had been bad luck that it hit where it had, but more missions had been scrubbed by bad luck than by anything else.

He spent some time in the shower, letting hot water remove the sweat he had produced in the sim, and allowing his full skin to catch sunlight, producing energy he'd need later. Finally he went to the cafeteria and ate another gigantic meal. He then returned to his quaters in order to meditate for several moments, and wait for Masraik, if Masraik would come. He folded his legs into lotus position and closed his eyes. Clearing his mind and focusing, letting the meditation take him where it would, waiting, for Masraik.

ooc: Reservin this slot for a post in a little bit, I'll edit and put it up in a few hours at most, got some things to take care of first

As of this moment, you are scrubbed from the mission Masraik.

It was one thing to not lead the platoon into battle, but be taken off a mission by the standing officer was unheard of. Masraik didn't hear anything else after that sentence; he was stunned. First it was stunned, then it was angered. He smashed the panel in the wall that opened his personal armory.

Leaving his things exposed and his shield on the ground Masraik stormed off, still fully armored, to his quarters. <If he wants the damn formula, he can have it. But I will not keep myself from my protocol given rights!> When Mas got to his quarters, he went into his shower, the only place he was allowed no camera. He smashed his combination into the tiles along the back wall and a compartment opened up from the drain. Masraik pulled out all of his serum and threw it into a pillow case. Except one.

<He can't keep me from anything!> Furiously trying to calm himself down, Mas inserted the new vial back where he had removed his old one under his armor, where it wouldn't be seen without an x-ray of some sort.

Heated, and beyond angry, Masraik remembered that Kindle had wanted him to follow her. Hadn't she? She looked back a couple times after leaving the Sim. He couldn't think straight... where was he going? His head was pounding!

Masraik found himself riding lifts and walking down hallways, entering labs and exiting again. Pain started trickling throughout his body, or was it memory of the Sim he had just encountered? His mind was clouding in and out, and he couldn't determine why. This had never happened from a Sim before!

Azrael. He had found Azrael's quarters and opened the door unannounced. There sat the beast that had lit his anger so easily. Upon realizing who he was looking at, sitting 'peacefully' on the floor in front of him, the pain within him erupted! Masraik fell to his knees, dropping the pillow case of serum vials, and watched as his hands grew too large in front of his eyes. <This isn't right! I didn't take a serum again!?>

All he could do was hold back the change long enough to give a warning. "AZRAEL... SERUM... NOT... WEAK... NEW SERUM... TIME EXTENDED... MUST ONLY ACTIVATE WHEN... THREATENED..." Pain ripped through his body, and he blacked out.

ooc: Feel free to power play me a bit here, I have time to play along though, just once a day instead of 3-4 posts a day like I was doing.

ooc: Ah hell, you are really gonna be one of THOSE players aren't you Mas? Oh well... no one to blame but myself. Now I have to deal with you AND Ren. *martyrd expression Why me?

To be fair while I will try and avoid it, if you keep backing me into corners, I will have to godmode it and take you down hard... Some of us can't regen broken ribs in moments.

IC:
Azrael had been meditating, letting his mind wander through the broken corridors of his mind. His shattered memories were like flashes of a reality he knew, but was not a part of. Things that made no sense, were they delusions or were they real? Snatches of conversations, smells, visions, memories of himself, only his skin was white, and his senses dull. Fragments of battle, rage, and violence, intermingled with gentle summer nights with her and poetry.

He heard Masraik coming, the stomping was unmistakeable. Inwardly he sighed, approaching in that manner likely meant that Masraik had failed to calm down and realize the truth of the things Azrael had said. He would have to remain on base. Retaining the inner peace and balance he had found as long as he could, he waited until Masraik entered, giving him every chance to show that he was not a sulking, angry child. His eyes opened calmly when the bag of serum hit in front of him.

He saw the rippling flesh. In an instant he was on his feet. This was bad, He was unarmed and unarmored. All he had was his sword, and that not one him. Without warnign a memory surged to the surface, he called out to the pervasive security system wired through the base "Computer, Renegade Code 666 full force Authorized."

The acknowledging beep was little comfort as the still armored brute swelled and screamed.Even as he spoke he had moved for his sword on his bunk. It would be of little use unless he could get to Masraik before he came into himself. He charged, vaulting off of his bed, sword before him, aiming for the unprotected throat. An armored fist hit him like a bolt of lightning. He flew of course, slamming into the far wall. His head rang but his thoughts remained clear "Masraik, you have to fight this. Control yourslef. you don't remember because you don't want to but you're in there. This is your body, command it! Don't you hide behind you shield of cowardice any longer. You are still repsonsible for your actions, berserker or no!"

He hoped he was right, hoped it wasn't some neurochemical deffect caused by the serum. He faced off with Masraik, hopeing against hope that the security detail would arrive before he was damaged beyond usefullness, or before he was forced to kill Masraik. At least if he could figure out how.

The mostly peaceful session of mind clearing was distracted by the lighting switching immediately to a flashing red, followed by a non-deafening alarm. "Code Renegade 666 activated. Full Force authorization. Sector APO-2. Initiated - Pure One, Azreal." the voice related. They switched the automated voice to a live person, Quantas thought. His eyes darted open and he dropped the automatic weapons where he sat. Calmly walking to the sniper rack, he grabbed the portable railgun, and a charge pack. Looking at the rounds available, he smiled and grabbed two compound rounds and a cartridge of AP rounds. Popping two AP rounds from the cartridge while he walked through the armory, Quantas replaced them with the two Compound rounds and slapped the cartridge into the railgun. Walking past a rack with the ridgid armor, he grabbed the helmet for it and slid it on. The next rack composed of grenade and mine dispensers, Quantas grabbed a flashbang from the end of the row as he walked by. A few more paces and he had left the armory. A chime allowed the exit from the armory, admitting use of the weapons in the rest of the base in lieu of the alarm.

It was an all-call boadcast to anyone in a position to take down the target. In this case, he had a feeling it was their unstable ally. The last time I had these rounds, Deus was loose, he reminisced, "How ironic. I knew I didn't like him."

OOC: Do as you want with it. If it ends in the next post, I'll have him arrive fashionably late to watch it stop. :)

The compound rounds are AP rounds with an explosive core akin to epoxy. It's a two-part liquid. When the round pierces the target at high-velocity, it 'crunches' for lack of a better word, and blows up. The time it takes for it to mix and blow up is minute, but at velocity, it generally has entered the target by that time.