No civilians this time, no limitations on weaponry. M-60E3, my hand cannons, frag grenades, two kabars, and, of course, C-4. I'm sure this place'll be well guarded, so I had to come up with a way in. I know a private pilot who owes be a favor. Once the clock hits one-in-the-morning, we take off. I'd already called in some favors with the Coast Guard and knew where the ship was. I jumped out at about ten thousand feet, waiting until the last moment to activate my parachute. I quickly steered in and landed on a stack of connexes. I cut my chute and pulled out by cannons, shooting down the guards around me. I reloaded quickly and readied my M-60 after holstering my cannons. I dropped from the top of the connex, landing on a thug. I stomped down hard on his neck, crushing his trachea and took stock of the terrain. I'd landed close to the bow of the boat, so clearing the deck shouldn't be a difficult achievement. Several criminals streamed from a hatch, and I opened up with the '60. Legs and arms flew through the air as they met the 7.62 wall. This area was clear, so I headed below deck. The stairway opened into a sort of lounge or common area, almost two dozen low-lifes hanging around drinking, playing pool and darts, what-ever else punks do. As soon as I entered the room, they all reached for their weapons. My machine gun roared one, long burst that lasted almost ten seconds. Smoke drifted lazily from the barrel of my weapon as I surveyed the damage. Every one of the crooks lay mutilated and dead in a pool of blood. That's the great thing about a 7.62. It'll mushroom to almost the size of a fifty-cent piece and tumble once it hits you. I'm patching one hole in the fabric of society with another. Kind of ironic, isn't it? I turn to the hallway, and barely manage to dodge the gout of flame shooting from the opening. I armed a grenade, cooked-it, and threw it around the corner. The hallway filled with flying metal, followed by a secondary explosion. Well well, looks like somebody had a flamethrower. Too bad it exploded, I could've put it in my armoury. Never know.
By now the hallway was filled with smoke and a shallow lake of blood lay on the floor, rippling as I stepped through it, heading for the captain's quarters. I had to make a quick stop along the way to take care of another thug who jumped out in front of me. He caught a .75 round to the face. The bullet pushed the remains of his face through his brain and out the back of his skull, turning his head inside out and throwing it onto the wall behind him.
Finally I found the captain's quarters. This was it, what I had spent the last three days working towards. John Milton. I kicked open the door. He was sitting behind a nice wood desk. His eyes went wipe as he saw me, and I suddenly smelled urine. I seem to have that effect on people. He pulled a pistol from a drawer and fumbled with the safety, as I crossed the room in three strides. I grabbed his right wrist and twisted, the pistol flying across the room as I snapped his wrist like a celery stick. It made a similar noise too. John was hyperventilating as I lifted him up by his jaw and slammed him against the wall.
"Any last words?" I asked.
He just stuttered and defecated in his pants. I pulled my knife from it's sheath and plunged in up from under his jaw. I pulled my knife back out, blood flowing from the wound like water from a faucet. Milton's mouth opened and closed once silently like a fish, then he was dead. I quickly searched the office for any good intelligence. Nothing useful by itself, but a few things that may serve some good when combined with other data. According to my calculations, I need to get to the engine room and plant my explosives. For some reason, I didn't run across anyone else on my way to the engine room. No sooner had I stepped in the hatch than a mechanic swung a large wrench at my head. He missed, I didn't. I pushed the barrel of my cannon into his stomach and fired. Small pieces of his digestive tract coated the floor, walls, and ceiling behind him. I looked around, I was on a catwalk overlooking the engine room. I gunned down the dozen or so workers present, my '60 making short work of them. I planted one set of charges on the pumps, and another on the propeller shafts. I climbed my way back to the deck. Either I'd killed everyone on board, or they were avoiding me. Now all I had to do was make my escape. There were a pair of jet skies at the stern. I dumped one of the side and jumped down after it. As I sped away from the ship, I hit the detonator. The explosives were well below decks, so the fireballs weren't visible, and the sound was muffled, but the effects were easily visible. Within seconds the ship was already tilted, the stern much lower than the bow. I watched as the ship continued to sink lower in the water, before it vanished completely beneath the waves. Now I have to get back to my apartment. I need to decide who I'm after tomorrow night.
By now the hallway was filled with smoke and a shallow lake of blood lay on the floor, rippling as I stepped through it, heading for the captain's quarters. I had to make a quick stop along the way to take care of another thug who jumped out in front of me. He caught a .75 round to the face. The bullet pushed the remains of his face through his brain and out the back of his skull, turning his head inside out and throwing it onto the wall behind him.
Finally I found the captain's quarters. This was it, what I had spent the last three days working towards. John Milton. I kicked open the door. He was sitting behind a nice wood desk. His eyes went wipe as he saw me, and I suddenly smelled urine. I seem to have that effect on people. He pulled a pistol from a drawer and fumbled with the safety, as I crossed the room in three strides. I grabbed his right wrist and twisted, the pistol flying across the room as I snapped his wrist like a celery stick. It made a similar noise too. John was hyperventilating as I lifted him up by his jaw and slammed him against the wall.
"Any last words?" I asked.
He just stuttered and defecated in his pants. I pulled my knife from it's sheath and plunged in up from under his jaw. I pulled my knife back out, blood flowing from the wound like water from a faucet. Milton's mouth opened and closed once silently like a fish, then he was dead. I quickly searched the office for any good intelligence. Nothing useful by itself, but a few things that may serve some good when combined with other data. According to my calculations, I need to get to the engine room and plant my explosives. For some reason, I didn't run across anyone else on my way to the engine room. No sooner had I stepped in the hatch than a mechanic swung a large wrench at my head. He missed, I didn't. I pushed the barrel of my cannon into his stomach and fired. Small pieces of his digestive tract coated the floor, walls, and ceiling behind him. I looked around, I was on a catwalk overlooking the engine room. I gunned down the dozen or so workers present, my '60 making short work of them. I planted one set of charges on the pumps, and another on the propeller shafts. I climbed my way back to the deck. Either I'd killed everyone on board, or they were avoiding me. Now all I had to do was make my escape. There were a pair of jet skies at the stern. I dumped one of the side and jumped down after it. As I sped away from the ship, I hit the detonator. The explosives were well below decks, so the fireballs weren't visible, and the sound was muffled, but the effects were easily visible. Within seconds the ship was already tilted, the stern much lower than the bow. I watched as the ship continued to sink lower in the water, before it vanished completely beneath the waves. Now I have to get back to my apartment. I need to decide who I'm after tomorrow night.