Daniel - Daniel Jack Investigates: The Prisoner of Ice![Toggle Names]
Description: After our stalwart Agent Daniel 'Jack' Little of Interpol narrowly conquered Charlie Nash and his henchmen in the King of Fighters, the detective found himself imprisoned by his former allies, the Russians. Enslaved to work the treachrous Ice Mines of Siberia, our ace detective found help in the most unlikely places. Maximilian 'Max' Evory, secret agent of MI6 and star of the hit comic series 'Agent Max,' has come to the heart of Russia to rescue the detective from the clutches. Will the master spy be able to seduce Daniel Jack out of his predicament? Or will Daniel forever be... a Prisoner of Ice?! (The cover shows the beautiful, scarred blonde-haired White Angel of Death dressed in a strapless red dress in a boudoir of some kind. She is reclined seductively on a red velvet couch. Joining her on the couch, the suave Max Evory in a white suit is pouring a glass of wine. Behind them, there are several windows showing the ice mines outside. Peering through the window is ace detective Daniel Jack, gawking in wide-eyed as he naked to the waist. Behind him, one of the minions of the White Angel of Death, a dark haired Russian woman, prepares to lash him across his back with a cat o' nine tails.) (45 cents) ***BANNED IN RUSSIA***
General Zima's chopper touched down after its long flight from China. It landed at an isolated military base in Siberia. The sun beat down on the helipad. A team moved out to the helicopter to relive the haggard crew.
Zima stepped out of the helicopter groggy and tired. Sergei had woken and carried with him Daniel Jack. Zima ordered that Daniel be taken to the Dragunov room to await processing.
The Dragunov room was pure white. The walls, floors, ceiling, even the furniture were all the same texture and color. The room was entirely sound proofed, the with even foot steps muffled. The room was designed for a psychological torment known as sensory deprivation. Normally it would be used to break down suspects and make them spineless and blithering.
For now it was an open room. Daniel was placed on the bed, and left there until he awakened. Then Zima could have a word with him.
Vladimir Putin had escalated his challenges to NATO recently, first with the attempted Russian Federal Intelligence seizure of Ukraine and the outbreak of war there, then the support of Bashad al-Asar in Syria. MI6 had elected to gather intelligence on Putin's aims, by studying individual microcosms of Russian intelligence workings, knowing full well that the Russian system Lenin and Stalin had placed in the Russian system since the Bolshevik Revolution was an authoritarian commune, and Putin's KGB training still demanded this style of leadership. Max Evory had been waiting in safe territory in South Korea, the NSA's Echelon satellite monitoring system in Canada waiting until NATO had an opportunity to use the best spies in the West to do their craft.
After Daniel Little had been captured by the Russian government, MI6 had its opportunity. By discovering what questions the Russians were asking Daniel, MI6 could properly ascertain what Russian intelligence's aims were in the region he was captured. Maxwell Evory had orders to recover alive if possible, question if recovery risked his own life, or alternately observe Russian intelligence's oversight capabilities in regards to the confinement if contact was not feasible. Max was ordered to strip himself of MI6 and NATO affiliation, just in case he made an error in judgement. Max suspected that this was how the American he met months ago on that blown operation in Colombia got captured. But Max was an athlete. He always thought he could do better.
Dressed in a Finnish special forces uniform and saddled with a hunting rifle across his back, Max crept forward through the snow near the base, peering through a pair of matte white binoculars periodically with zero heat signature, his own uniform decreasing his own infrared profile to nearly matching the UV rays reflecting off the snow.
It tooks a while for Daniel to wake up.
Getting a full-on Charlie would do that to you. After being battered and barely revived, he groggily opened his eyes. Sitting up, he squints his eyes hard at the bright, bright room. It wasn't the lighting. It was the decor. It was an isolated room. Groaning, he eases himself up into a stand. And what does Daniel do, with the minimal sensory input?
"God, I could use a drink."
The detective stretches backwards, cracking his back. Stepping towards the doorway of the room, he almost limps out. It was an open room. He didn't have to worry about stuff. Well, he knew that he probably was gonna worry about stuff soon. Peeking his head out of the room. "Hey? Is it time for things to suck yet?"
"Or can I have a drink first?"
General Zima heard that Agent Little had woken up. The General made his way to the room and peaked his head in. "Ah, you are awake Agent Little." Said Zima with an excitement in his voice. He walked into the room and sat at a table. "Have a seat Little, we have much to discuss."
Zima poured Daniel a glass of rum. His somewhat cheerful voice fell to domineering tone. " Now I do hope you tell use absolutely everything about the Darkstalkers. If you can, then we can all go on our way with no issues." He hands Daniel his glass. "But if there is any suspicion that you might be hiding anything at all, then I might have to get an interviewer. They will help, convince you."
The base was nestled high in the mountains of the Stanovoy Range. The base was between two ridges of a tall mountain. The curved roof was dotted with antennas and dishes. The front gates were heavily guarded by towers and high walls. The mountains where natural barriers and only lightly guarded by low ranking soldiers on patrol. The patrols were always disgruntled by having to deal trudge through the year round snows.
Max creeps through the snow covered rock and tundra of the mountains that nestle the base, breathing slowly and with conscious methodical calm. He pauses as he sees a patrol move past, sinking down to his knees and watching them in the distance, lifting his white binoculars to shield the only window to view a color besides the faint off-white of mountain snow, the eyes of his mask and hood. He watches the soldiers pass, judging their rate of movement in their head, then calculates the proper timing to move again when they're out of range. Footsteps in the snow are unavoidable, meaning he has no room for error. As soon as a fresh patrol crosses the old patrol's path, he needs to prepare himself to deal with a base search.
As Agent Evory approached the high walls of the base, he looked up at the high walls, reaching into a pack along his outer left thigh, an asymmetrical aspect to his outfit. He pulls out a spring-loaded grapnel with a length of coiled black rope, specially designed to be compatible with his white gloves. Uncoiling the rope, he tossed the grapnel upwards, letting it softly and gently arch over the wall, before hanging on the other side. Max gave it a swift tug, and the spikes in the grapnel deployed with upward friction against the opposing wall, a jerk of the rope jamming it into position. Max began climbing the rope with deliberate care, not wanting to disrupt the tension. As he reached the top, he swiftly rolled over and caught himself on the top of the wall's inner edge by his fingertips. His left hand grabbed the base of the grapnel where it met the rope to dislodge it, then he dropped to the ground with a nudging kick-away from the wall, landing in a squat with the rope flickering over the wall.
Max looked left and right as he put the wall to his back, sliding the grapnel back into shape and coiling the rope back up.
And here was the suck, right on schedule.
Daniel Jack keeps relaxed. Or tired. He either was too cool right now, or was just accepting the suck. As the General returns, the detective audibly groans. Standing aside, he looks towards the table, and takes his seat across. The rum comes. The hand comes. Daniel takes his shot. And the rum's gone. That helped. A lot.
"Well, General. I think I should begin at the beginning."
"It began with the incident at the All Hallow's Eve Ball. Anakaris. The big pharoah thing that was rampaging around there. Long story short, I uh, I ended up doing too good of a job at my job. I fought, I proved myself annoying enough where it couldn't ignore me... and it didn't."
"So it sent me to the afterlife."
"I ended up in some kind of Egyptian afterlife, the details are... hazy." He gets a faraway look in his eyes. "But I wasn't dead. I wasn't dead. I am not dead." He shakes his head, snapping out of it. "I got saved by some dude named Nightwolf and some dame..." He doesn't add more than that. "So I came back to Interpol, gave my report, and nothing more came from it." He pushes the glass back towards the General and his rum.
"You must understand, General, that Interpol doesn't recognize the presence of Darkstalkers."
Zima listened carefully to Little's story. Every detail careful recorded by hidden camera. When little slides back his glass, Zima was still unsatisfied. Zima asks Daniel "Who was this, dame, do you know her name? If not give as many details as you can." Zima pours Little another glass of rum. "Or will you have to understand that the Russian government doesn't recognize the presence of torture?"
Between the wall and the building was a decent space. The area Max had entered was piled with whatever trash that was not worth an incinerator. There was a clear area in the middle that not littered with bottles and batteries used for maintenance vehicles. There was doorway a few dozen meters away locked with a pass reader and keypad. At the far end of this alleyway of sorts, the sound of a vehicle approached.
Max evaluated the situation coldly, his sad blue eyes looking at the scene before him with quick but trepidated intellect. He saw two ways through this situation. One would force him into a kill or be killed situation, but was much simpler. The other would keep him covert for longer, but was much more dangerous. He thought about the patrol he passed, estimated the space between that patrol and the previous patrol in his mind. Live fire was definite, and it would be difficult to get an evacuation vehicle into the mountains that would not be vulnerable to SAM fire. He needed to stay covert as long as possible to prevent his extraction method from being taken down by nearby aerial assets.
Max set down his bundled grapnel, and slid the hunting rifle off his back. He bundled them together with the grapnel rope, before carefully sliding it into the trash, the butt of the rifle sticking out. He then hunched down, moving quietly towards the sound of the approaching vehicle. As he heard the echoes of the alleyway and the vehicle beneath the howling winds of the Siberian mountains, he slithered into a heap of trash near the clear area, watching it. He sunk down inside the filth, pulling a pair of nostril plugs from the sleeve of his left glove, a multipurpose tool, and slid them into his nose, before pulling his mask back up. He could easily move out of it vertically, but not horizontally. He could not see outside it, and crouched there quietly, listening for the engine and for people.
"Well, she was a kind of shrine maiden."
Daniel didn't know why he didn't give up Ayame's name. He was just being cautious for the girl. He didn't know what the Russians would do with her. With Nightwolf? They couldn't catch him. With Ayame though.... he just didn't want to risk it. "Shrine maidens, like the Shinto thing. She was Japanese. Anyways, after Interpol didn't take it seriously, there was The Butcher. He was a serial killing... monster. A whole bunch of teeth, bad temper, ate my soul. A real unpleasant fellow, you dig? LIke, he ate my partner's soul too, but I could just get through with it. Mostly. The stuff your boy Sergei went through? Nothing like losing your soul. It's a deep dark pit, that you couldn't crawl out of. I get on my next mission, the Majigen incident, I go into there, save some beetlefolk, and then... Well."
"That's when I was captured by Doctor Fio Tessitore."
Zima was sitting patiently, listening. He did have a few questions for Daniel still. "Before you move on, I have some questions about that. Firstly, how did you retrieve your soul?" Zima leaned back in his chair. "And I assume the shrine maiden was Ayame Ichijo."
The vehicle came down the alley. It was a jeep of sorts driven by a lone man. He was an elderly man with gray hair and a full beard. He was driving slowly, barely faster then walking. He had a lanyard carrying a key. The key was dangling as he drove up to the trashy area. He then stopped and slowly got out of his car. He walked very slowly to the front of the car to pick of a bottle that was right in front of the tire.
Max heard the Russian version of a jeep stop, listening quietly for the jeep to stop. As he heard the slow footfalls of the driver, he slowly extended his legs, peering over the trash to see a single man and his the vehicle. With a smooth, slinky motion he performs at a particular peak of the howling wind through the mountains, he emerged from the trash with a serpentine swimmer's motion, the trash's movement creating a vague crumpling sound, before he was creeping behind the jeep. Quickly but quietly, he gripped the bumper and slid beneath the vehicle, his booted toes catching in the fuselage beneath the vehicle, his impressive swimmer's and diver's body, trained to perfection since his early teens and kept in shape with calisthenics, flexibly moving into a lock position to keep him stuck in place under the vehicle.
Daniel doesn't answer the second question.
But he does answer the first. "Fio Tessitore fixed it. I was in a coma for several months after a cage fight, and she managed to repair my soul. We hit it off, and, well, I quickly understood that what we consider monsters, are closer to humans than we thought." Daniel Jack pauses a moment, downing the rum.
And then something triggers in him.
"See, Dr. Tessitore was the kind of girl who's a social outcast." Daniel Jack began. "She is used to people fearing her, or being disgusted with her. So I showed her a little human kindness. She ate it up. So I showed her more. I seduced my way out of hell, and learned a lot more about it. The other world? With the demons and monsters? Are culturally sterile." Daniel Jack gestures at the General. "I originally thought we gained our culture from there. Then I went to an Italian steakhouse ran by vampires. You see, General Zima, the other world, Majigen, is dependent on our culture. And it is under the foot of a tyrant, Lord Jedah. And it is ripe to be liberated. But right now, the only reason we can have any point of cultural exchange is through Dr. Tessitore... and as long as I stay in her favor, I can get my finger on the pulse of the other world." Daniel Jack felt slimy.
"You see, General, a seduced Fio Tessitore is a Fio Tessitore that works for us more so than against us, you dig?"
Zima just smiled. "I see agent Little. So we are basicly dealing with a nation under a tyrant." Zima pulled out a smaller bottle from his coat pocket and held it up to his eyes. "But you still have not given me that name. But do enjoy your rum Little, our toxicology department does like their rum."
The old man tootled along in his car down the alleyway. The car kept going as long as the broken bottles were not under the tires. The old man did not hear what was surely broken glass scraping up human flesh. He parked his jeep at the far side of the base. The man then put a tarp over the car. He went over to a rocking chair with a glass of warm tea and looked at the beautiful mountains. Rocking back and forth.
Max clung to the undercarriage of the jeep as it scuttles along, his suit rustling along the back of his special forces suit. Max slowly lowered his feet from the jeep, then smoothly pulled himself out with his arms, clenching his jaw as he focuses quietly. Twisting to his feet with an arm down, fingers brushing the tundra, he makes note of the old man. Making a slow, ducking step with each creak of the rocking chair, he comes up behind him and places one hand on the chair to pull him backwards, the right arm sliding around under his bearded jaw as the left arm notched into position. He pinned the man's Adam's apple down to prevent his throat from convulsing in a gurgle, also pressing his forearm into the larynx to prevent a scream. He held him until he went limp from lack of oxygen, before slowly moving to his knees and setting the old man on the ground peaceful, turning him onto his side in case he vomited. Max is a cold blooded killer, but he has limits.
"You Russians would understand what just a tyrant means."
"Now there's a whole lot out there, but I think you got the gist. I've gone back and forth, Fio's just a contact. Now what got me curious is what you know. Now I know that you and The Chief have gotten along pretty well. I know that this is a working out between you and him. I think I've answered enough. I've showed you just enough, General. But really, thank you."
"You guys are showing me a whole lot."
"See, you Russians don't have this whole... taboo at IDing what is clearly monsters." The detective looks at the general flatly. "See, you think that you and your boy Sergei picked me out, and learned what I learned. But I've learned a lot about your boy, and the fact you take an interest is pretty leading. Sergei's adept in my group. And I am pretty sure the Chief isn't gonna be happy when he hears that you've kept me in holding. I got a tournament to win, and I think I've answered just enough of your questions."
"Oh, and General?"
Daniel Jack takes the bottle of rum. Throwing it back, he begins to chug. Down, down, down the liquid goes down. Finishing the handle, he pounds the base of the bottle back on the table. He gasps hard, choking a bit. "God damn, scuzzy." Was the growl, before he leans over the table. "What's the toxicology department up to?"
"I need to know what I should take as my next mixer."
Zima just shook his head and sighed. "Shame we could not meet the terms we set out." The General stood up. He walked to the door and called out for and interviewer. He turned back to Little. "I think you have avoided just enough of my questions." Zima began to raise his voice. "Now you have until and interviewer comes to 'Treat' you of your 'accidental poisoning' to give me full and proper answers. After that, you will be 'treated'"
"Now, was it Ayame Ichijo?"
The old man was rendered unconscious and was on his side. Near the where the man parked was a door to the base. Out of it walked an officer that looked in his forties. He was carrying two tins, one of fish and one of crackers. He looked out towards the rocking chair, going to enjoy a nice break.
Max reaches out and takes the lanyard with the key on it, slipping it into his pocket, before his senses jerk into a hyper alert state at the sound of the door opening. He immediately rises up and presses his back against the wall, looking sidelong at the Russian soldier with his breath caught in this throat for stealth. As the officer looks at the rocking chair, Max slips up behind him, clapping his left hand over the man's mouth as the right jammed into position around the neck, attempting to yank the jaw upwards and twisting the officer around into a torsion position so he couldn't struggle as Max used another chokehold, this one much more robust.
He was going to go into the next stage.
Daniel Jack squints his eyes hard a moment. The rum was crawling on him. The white room was starting to chip at him. The general was making it very clear that the next few hours... or days... was going to be very, very unpleasant for the detective. Daniel opens his eyes, looking dead on at General Zima. "Treat me. I- General..."
"I don't think you understand who you're dealing with."
Daniel Jack raps a knuckle on the table. "I've been left for dead in a dumpster. I've gone across the entire Egyptian afterlife. I've had 75% of my skin pulled from my body. I've been in a coma for months, and basically had my insides turned into outsides by a mad doctor. I've had more chemicals go through me than a water treatment plant. I've been to hell and back and back to hell and back, in a very literal sense. Now, I'm not suggesting you aren't gonna send your best at me General, because I respect your best. I've been put in a body cast by your best."
"But I can tell you right now, your best isn't gonna be good enough."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll put up with this shit. Whatever. I'm supposed to be investigating why Tess is involved in this tournament, but I'll humor you. Then I'll complain to the Chief, the chief will pound on his desk, barumph, barumph, yada yada, nothing actually gets done. I get it. I get that Interpol and the Russians are run by a bunch of incompetents and psychopaths. But that's just how it is. You Russians are the only ones taking this whole darkstalker thing seriously. Because I need you, I need Lita, I need Charlie, I need Guile, and I even need your golden boy Sergei. So if you want to get one of your torture monkeys in here to waterboard me or whatever, can you hurry it up?"
"I really don't want my team to start freaking out because I'm missing now, you dig?"
General Zima stood with his back straight, facing Little. "I guess we will just have to assume then." Zima went to grab the bottle of rum.
"Now I think we are in agreement Little."
"We would be happy to assist you in your investigations. But you will have to comply agent Little. The matter of Darkstalkers is a threat of international security and should be treated as such. The things you know could decide the fates of thousands Little. We acknowledge the Darkstalkers, so why should you not be fully open about your investigations? I'll even allow you access to Dragunov's report on Tessitore.We both want to help each other, all you need to do is to follow orders."
Zima puts away the bottle. "We will have to get you cleared in depth first. As a precaution. But you won't be missing. We will inform your team that you had to receive treatment after your fight. And given the angry mob you attracted, your absence can simply be explained by security concerns."
"Now do we have an understanding?"
Door of the base was left wide open as the two men were left passed out on the ground. The hallway inside was old and empty. It was littered with boxes of fish, potatoes, turnips, bread, and many cabbages. The door at the end of the wall was marked as the kitchen.
Max kneels for a moment after stepping into the door, drawing a fillet knife from his boot. He rolls the blade into his palm and begins stalking down the hallway, in a just barely bent knee bended crouch. He keeps his left hand out for balance, as he moves to the kitchen. He pauses there, listening, before he moves to the inner edge of the door and gently moves his left hand out, his fingertips carefully moving the door open so he can peer inside, a cold sense of purpose belying any fear. He's not sweating, this is his environment now, not theirs.
The correction was curt from Daniel. But the momentum was shifting. The General had sidestepped. "You want to clear me? How about I make something clear to you. There are good men here, and while I include your golden boy in those ranks, I don't consider you part of that. I know Sergei's on your leash, not mine. And that's a problem for me. Lita got my back. Sergei? Sergei's a lone wolf to me. No, not a lone wolf. A dog taking orders from you. You want to learn my secrets, General Zima?"
"You are gonna have to give me Sergei."
"I don't take orders from you General. And Sergei's gonna have to learn to take orders from me. And whatever I give to Sergei? You'll learn them through him. But before I start telling him things, I need to know that his leash is in my hands, not in your hands. I want command over my men and women, Sergei. And until I feel comfortable that Sergei is my dog, I won't share those secrets. He can report to you freely, that's fine. But this stuff where I'm going through YOU? That's not my cut. You tell Sergei that he's taking orders from me, and mean it? Then you can start getting a good picture of what's going on."
"Does that clear things between us?"
General Zima pondered Daniel's words carefully. The general reached a decision. "Very well, I will have agent Dragunov take orders from you. I find your terms acceptable, as long as you stick to them." General Zima walked to the door and turned to Little. "Now that that is taken care of, you just need your clearance." Zima left and closed the door. There was a soft sound of a dead lock. Little was locked in the Dragunov room.
Zima walked away. He walked though an empty cafeteria. He needed to do the needed paperwork for what had just happened. The important thing was for Little to make sure Daniel was not under Darkstalker control.
Zima stopped in his tracks. He felt something was off in the room. It was too quiet. He did not hear the chatter of old men trying to let the other hear. He walked towards the kitchen's storeroom, to see if the two were all right.
Max creeps through the kitchen, letting the knife slide in his hand from knife up to knife down. As he hears someone walking outside in the cafeteria, he freezes and slides up against the wall, the snowsuit-clad spy leaning against the door, from the opposite of the hinge side this time, and waiting quietly. Someone is listening, and he's listening. His knife at the ready, there's a heavy tenseness in his demeanor, knowing that he's probably close to where Agent Little is being held.
Daniel Jack wasn't sure if things were actually going in his favor. The general was thinking about it. The detective himself waits patiently, waiting for the decision to be made. And the General makes it. "That's great, scuzzy, I'm glad-" And the General steps out the door. Daniel Jack hustles after him... as the door clicks shut. The detective jiggles the handle.
The door was locked.
Daniel just sighs, as he backs away from the door. His nervous system was feeling funnier and funnier. But as his hands laid on his hips, he considered what was gonna come next. This might let him go. This might get him something worse. But right now, Daniel was stuck.
"Well. Now what."
General Zima opened the door a crack. He spied the armed Max, and had to think quickly. Zima immediately shut the door on Max. He loudly and audibly said . "HELLO UNKNOWN INFILTRATOR! I WOULD SUGGEST YOU DROP YOUR DEADLY WEAPON AND LAY DOWN ON THE FLOOR! UNLESS YOU HAPPEN TO WANT TO END UP FILLED WITH BULLETS AND SURROUNDED BY A POOL OF BLOOD! PLEASE BE CIVIL ABOUT THIS!"
Within the Dragunov room there was a drawer in the wall. Above it a little light turned on and inside it was a meal, and a note. The food was rice and potatoes, but the thing of interest was the note. The read the following.
Greeting new agent. You are currently getting your clearance. By this point, you will have already received a fail-safe treatment. Now you sit back, wait for agents who make sure you are not traitorous pig. Make sure sure to eat for food quickly before your fail-safe kicks in.
Max narrows his eyes as he sees Zima from around the corner and their eyes meet, his Finnish special forces snowsuit hiding everything but the strip of flesh around his cold blue eyes. As Zima closes the door and makes the announcement, Max wheels around the door to face it, with Zima holding it shut on the other side. Max whips around with a mule kick into the door's lower half, the sudden, abrupt thrust of power at close range meant to blast out the door from the lower side, and jam it into Zima to make him vulnerable. The mule kick subsiding, Max twists around into a pose facing the doorway, knife still gripped in his hand, pointing down.
Well, Daniel does poke around the room.
The food makes him frown. The note? Even more of a frown. The detective passes over the note, reading it quickly. And then... he mutters aloud his primary concern. "Fail Safe?" There is a rumbling in the pit of Daniel's stomach. And his nervous system begins to grow... numb. Daniel Jack sighs.
"... God damn I hate Russians."
The detective growls as he sits down to tuck into his rice and potatoes.
"Why don't they even have meat?!"
Zima grinned at his newest catch he likely talked down. Then he was launched back as Max kicked the door open. Zima was on the chrome kitchen counter, with the door on top of him. Normally he would be is an emergency and be trying not to panic. But when the general leaned his head back, he smiled.
He had gotten view of Sergei Dragunov approaching gun in hand. Dragunov was followed by several other soldiers with AK-47s. With a weak voice, Zima laughed.
"I think you might wanna reconsider my offer."
As Sergei Dragunov and the soldiers with AK-47s fill the room, Max quickly drops to a knee and rolls to right, on his knife arm to avoid stabbing himself, not giving Zima time to talk before he's around the corner. He yanks a narrow zipcord on his belt and his snowsuit strips itself apart to reveal black combat tactical gear and a bodyfitting suit. A kevlar weave bandolier criss-crosses his chest over tight black fabric with small canisters secured to it in mesh semi-pouches. His Walther is at his right hip, in a slick black holster, and a secondary combat knife is on the side of his right boot. His snowsuit discarded, he pulls a canister from his bandolier with his left hand and primes it with a button, before sliding it through the door. It explodes in a sudden burst of sulphide (better known as brimstone), as he pulls his white mask off and discards it next to the suit. Beneath the mask is a small black filter worn over his nose and face, meant for just this situation.
Max bursts through the sulphur gas with that fillet knife in hand, jumping onto door pinning Zima and springing off it and into the midst of Russian soldiers to create a potential crossfire if they employ their assault rifles in such close quarters. His hand grabs out to one of their faces as he lands and he sweeps his left leg out to sweep the soldier's foot outwards as he puts backwards and downwards pressure on the head, before he wraps around to get behind the soldier and adopt a human shield stance with the poor soul.
COMBATSYS: Max has started a fight here.
COMBATSYS: Sergei has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Sergei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Max
Dragunov was surrounded by the cloud of smoke. Cross fire was a risk. But when he heard a man get grabbed, he knew where the infiltrator was.
Sergei approached from behind. He went to pull the man off his fellow soldier. He was going to wrench him off and throw him to the ground. He may have undermined their firearms.
But Sergei does not need a gun to kill.
COMBATSYS: Max blocks Sergei's Medium Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Sergei 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Max
Max gets stripped off the man he's holding and is pulled off his feet briefly, before he's slammed to the ground. Evory, at least, has enough presence of mind and reflex to release his grip on his knife and turn into the throw, so he lands in a braced position. He looks up at Sergei, recognizing his face from a briefing file of possible threats, and knowing he's in some hot water.
Instead of rising to an offensive posture, with the other soldiers still in play to tilt the balance against him, Max moves to seize the advantage from Sergei as fast as possible. His legs snap out as he pushes both hands on the ground to catch Sergei around his knee, and if succesful, he swerves himself about with his leglock to wrench the kneecap to the side, dislocating it.
COMBATSYS: Sergei blocks Max's Bone Breaker.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Sergei 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Max
Sergei had freed his comrade, and now had to focus on his foe. When the infiltrator went to hook his legs around Sergei knees, he responded. He sent his knees into the kicks. His knees were hurt, but the full assault was disrupted.
Sergei went forward quickly. Max was still low to the ground. Dragunov sent his boot heel down at the man's spine. Sergei was in combat, and a paralyzed foe won't run away.
COMBATSYS: Max fails to interrupt Strong Kick from Sergei with Cobra Headbutt.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////// ]
Sergei 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Max
Max's leglock is broken by Sergei's response, giving Sergei a momentary opening as the MI6's positioning is blown open and he's left on his stomach, back to Sergei. He emits a scream as the boot slams into his spine, causing his head to jack backwards as he howls. He drags himself away with slow, agonized crawls, even as adrenaline pounds through his head and he feels a rush of aggression move through him. He wasn't finished yet.
From his position on the ground, he quietly looks up, spotting Sergei's reflection in some of the kitchenware.
Sergei had control over his foe. He did not have to show mercy for the first time in a fair while. He would break this man, and he would be made to talk. If he was wise, he would turn it over willingly.
Dragunov walked over to injured man. He seemed to not be injured enough. Sergei sent his foot upward at the man on the ground. Sending his toe to meet the mans chin, and sending it into the chrome metal.
COMBATSYS: Max blocks Sergei's Light Kick.
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Sergei 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Max
Max watches Sergei walk over, quiet despite the pain, and makes no show of looking towards Sergei's real form, merely using the reflection. And then, as the kick snaps out towards his jaw, he rolls around to his side and catches it with his arms in a cross, the toe of the boot impacting into his forearm. He grunts and rolls with it, sliding across the floor. He pushes himself to his feet once he reaches a stomach position, and then throws himself at Sergei. His right hand reaches out to grab Sergei's shoulder, as his left slams inward at the Russian's zyphoid process, the little bone at the base of the sternum.
COMBATSYS: Sergei blocks Max's Strong Punch.
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Sergei 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Max
Max's punch was simple and predictable to Sergei. Even in the smog that surrounded them, he could see it coming. Sergei caught the punch in his hand. His own elbow was jammed into his gut, but it was negligible.
Sergei eyed the man in front of him. He brought his leg up to the man's shoulder. He would hook his heel on his shoulder, then twist and flip him to the ground and grab hold of his leg. He would then roll away and twist the infiltrator's leg in a way it was never meant to. Then he would roll away from the man and see if he was wise enough to stay down.
COMBATSYS: Sergei successfully hits Max with Mantis Heel.
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Sergei 0/-------/---====|=======\====---\1 Max
Max catches the leg on shoulder, but too late to do anything about it, flipping about and hitting the ground. He then screams as his leg is hyperextended, tendons visible straining in his neck as his eyes bulge with pain and rage. He rolls to his back and reaches to the bandolier, pulling one of the canisters off and presses a button. He throws it up in the air and then springs away with his good leg, throwing himself out of the room. The canister bursts into phosphorous, the white hot blinding substance igniting and filling the room with burning death, threatening to maim Zima, Sergei, and the soldiers.
COMBATSYS: Sergei endures Max's Blinding Heights.
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Sergei 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Max
Sergei was grinding this man to a red boney pulp. He had expected more from a man who managed to get this far.
Then he pulls out a grenade.
Everyone saw it and ducked for cover. But Zima was still trapped. Sergei had to protect his comrades and his General. Sergei heroically lunged for the grenade and brought it to the floor with himself on top of it. When it exploded, it was fortunately a flash bang. His uniform was burnt, his flesh was singed, the sprinklers were sending out water, and his target was getting away.
Sergei would not let him.
He followed the bomb throwing menace. The burning was terrible, but it did not matter. He charged towards the ducking Max. He went to grab the man by the neck and slam his face into his Russian knee. To make him hurt even more, Sergei would drive his knee into that coward's throat.
COMBATSYS: Max blocks Sergei's Cold Fate.
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Sergei 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Max
Max is lifted by the back of his neck and has his face slammed into the knee, baring his teeth with a low, animal growl. As the knee comes for his throat, he presses his hands against Sergei's chin and he thrusts backwards with all his might, pushing away and rolling onto his right side. He pushes to his feet and suddenly reveals his Walter is in his hand. He aims directly at Sergei's center of mass, in close range, and fires several shots out of the seven bullet chamber.
COMBATSYS: Sergei auto-guards Max's You Know My Name.
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Sergei 0/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 Max
Sergei was getting in close to the combatant. Then the man in white pulled out a gun on the Russian. The only thing that kept Max from getting shot down on the spot was the fact that the two of them were out of view. When the gun was pulled on him, Sergei struck the gun away, sending the bullets into the old cabinets.
Dragunov retaliated swiftly. He launched his fist at the only exposed flesh the infiltrator had. Sergei was going to gouge Max's eye.
COMBATSYS: Max dodges Sergei's Fierce Punch.
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Sergei 0/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 Max
Max gritted his teeth as his gun was knocked out of his hand. As the fist went for his eye, Max jerked his head to his left, narrowly avoiding it at the cost of throwing his center of balance with the sudden movement. "Don't like being watched, hm?"
Max swings his extended right hand, where the gun used to be, inwards to grab Sergei by the side of his face, and then shove his middle finger into Sergei's ear. Max does this as he bares his teeth, attempting to cause Vladimir a great amount of pain and to throw his balance off.
COMBATSYS: Sergei blocks Max's Medium Throw.
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Sergei 1/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 Max
Sergei had missed his eye gouge, but it was a trivial matter. But his foe did make a slip. Dragunov could clearly hear that the man he was fighting was British, sounded of high class. When the Brit grabbed Sergei's head and tried to jam his finger in ear, Sergei just found it childish. He ripped free of the grip before his ear could be damaged.
The Russian turned around as he freed himself. He sent his hand to the Englishman's neck. He planed to then grab Max's arm, and hold him down on a box of fish.
COMBATSYS: Max blocks Sergei's Quick Throw.
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Sergei 1/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 Max
Max's hand flies loose of the Russian's head, causing him to take a step forward, into Sergei's grip. The grab to the neck and arm send him down into the box, Max seething with tension and bridled rage as he's held in place. He takes it for a moment, before wrenching free and charging backwards, attempting to push the two of them across the kitchen and slam Sergei into a metal refrigerator.
COMBATSYS: Sergei fails to counter British Tiger from Max with Pit Fall.
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Sergei 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Max
Sergei attempt to stop the Brit failed. The Russian was sent back and slammed into the refrigerator. He was pinned back. Sergei felt the piercing pain of his burns. This fight was starting to take its toll, but he had to finish it.
Max grunts as they hit the refrigerator together, bouncing forward and turning around. He reaches down to grab at Sergei's waist, and lift him up with rugby player brute force. If successful, he emits a massive bellow of effort, and swings the Russian soldier around into the mass of other soldiers in the kitchen. He's in pain, but he's ignoring it, his wounds only driving him into a controlled anger.
COMBATSYS: Sergei dodges Max's Quantum of Solace.
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Sergei 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Max
Sergei saw his foe coming in for a grab. The Russian slipped under Max before he could be grabbed.
From the ground, Sergei spied a weakness. The Spetsnaz shot his arm up to grab Max by the throat. He would throw he to his side, and keep a death grip on the Brit's throat. While he was slowly strangled, Sergei would pin him down and contort him.
COMBATSYS: Max blocks Sergei's Strong Throw.
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Sergei 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Max
Both of Max's hands snap to Sergei's forearm as his throat is grabbed, before he's wrenched sidelong, his fingernails digging into Sergei's uniform. His face turns red as he struggles, before he manages to pull free sooner than Sergei probably hoped.
Max rips off his black rebreather to suck in oxygen, spittle dripping from his mouth, Max pushes back from Sergei and sidesteps, arms down, watching him. He drops to a knee and pulls his secondary knife off his boot, before he charges forward with a shoulder tackle. Should he succeed and tackle Sergei to the ground, he begins stabbing Sergei in the chest and face, jabbing the knife down until Sergei manages to get him off.
COMBATSYS: Sergei blocks Max's Dancing Blade.
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Sergei 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Max
Sergei could see this man faltering. While be broke free of the grip quickly, he was still gasping for air. When he tried to charge Sergei with his knife, the Russian took him head on. The Spetsnaz reached out his hand to the knife. He pulled away to knife and tossed it aside.
in stride, Sergei went to grab Max by the arm. He was put his shoulder close to Max's chest and flip him over to the ground while maintaining his grip. Then he would kick the dreg into the piles of canned meats.
COMBATSYS: Sergei successfully hits Max with Purge Slam.
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Sergei 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Max
Max grunts as his knife is wrested from his grip, before he is pulled up to Sergei and flipped to the ground. He wrestles from the floor with the offending hand, before he's kicked across the room into the stacks of rations. He pushes himself off the ground and throws himself at Sergei, attempting to launch him with a last ditch attempt at strangling the Russian soldier.
COMBATSYS: Max can no longer fight.
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COMBATSYS: Sergei counters These Hands from Max with Red Alert.
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When his foe makes the foolish choice of standing back up, Sergei rectifies it. Dragunov catches the man's grasping palms. He then jut his boot out to Max's leg, sending him to the ground. Sergei drove him to the ground and pinned him down. He held him there until he stopped struggling.
Sergei stood back up, and dragged the man back to the cafeteria. General Zima had been freed fro, the door and was getting help with walking. In a voiced weakened by weight, he spoke. "Congratulations Dragunov. Get that man restrained, then we can worry about who he is, and what he wants." Zima limped forward a bit, he put his hand of Sergei's shoulder. "Then you may be properly recognized for your bravery."
Max was carried into a hold cell and his mask was removed. He was given a full body search and he was locked in. He was identified as Maximilian Evory. Until he wakened, they would have to relay with Interpol to find out what was going on.
Today was going to mean a lot of paper work.
Log created on 13:48:36 07/11/2016 by Daniel, and last modified on 21:41:17 07/23/2016.