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| Interrupted Exchange; Black Tom, Razorback, Camera | |
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| Topic Started: Nov 25 2008, 07:07 AM (317 Views) | |
| Black Tom | Nov 25 2008, 07:07 AM Post #1 |
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Time of Day: 10:45 pm Place in the Time-Line: November 22 Buford Hollis’ rig that he affectionately named the Big Pig was a modern marvel. With his intuitive grasp on mechanics Razorback was able to equip his ride with technology that surpassed many of the military grade vehicles out in the field. The tractor-trailer was able to deliver devastating damage and give its passengers a comfortable ride finer than any town car. Black Tom Cassidy and two of his teammates were riding in the lap of luxury on their way to procure some merchandise for themselves. This was a bit more personal for Tom than usual. He liked to keep things strictly business, but this small operation was tinged with a flavor of vendetta. Shortly after he’d come to New York he was making an arms deal that went south rather quickly. The police seized the weapons and Tom barely escaped. Those weapons were then liberated from police custody by some felonious fiends from New Jersey, they were Portuguese actually. The weapons were then sold and a large profit was made. A large profit of which Tom had not seen a single cent. It was almost like cheating. Those rat-bastards stole the weapons from the police which was a right sight easier than what Tom had to go through to get them. Thomas and Friends were riding to Jersey City across from New York for a little bit of payback. The Irishman had caught wind of a large drug deal happening between the Portuguese and the Russian mob. Tom wanted to get these drugs and sell them for himself. He’d been selling drugs already and it didn’t seem like a big deal to expand on that enterprise. Lately much of his business had been in New York but if he took out these Portuguese and Russians he could probably wrestle into New Jersey. It would be messy but he wanted his payback. The Big Pig slowed and came to a stop at the docks in Jersey City. Tom’s contact had given him the location of drug deal, in Jersey City. Tom hoped they would catch these motherfuckers by surprise, teach them a real lesson. No one fucks over, Thomas Samuel Eamon Cassidy, he thought. With the rig fully stopped, Tom stepped out of the cab of the truck. He was dressed in thick utility pants and heavy cable knit sweater. He was wearing a Kevlar vest, of course. He limbered up the two machine-pistols on either shoulder. Twin Ingram MAC-10’s with magazines holding 32 .45 ACP rounds. The pistols would be his first line of attack. Tom knew that Hollywood lied to you, in real life you run out of bullets. Yes, the guns were a bit cliche but still. He'd gotten an excellent deal on the armaments. After he depleted his cache of ammunition he’d switch over to his mutant abilities. He’d left his trusty shillelagh at home that night opting for two shortened police night sticks. Tom was going to be prepared for this. It wasn’t his fault that the Portuguese had stolen the weapons and made a huge net gain from the sales. The fact of the matter was that he didn’t make that sale himself. “Are we ready to crash this little soiree?” Tom asked his companions. |
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| Buford Hollis | Nov 25 2008, 07:59 AM Post #2 |
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Mechanical Hyper-Competence
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Buford really didn't know the whole story behind Black Tom and these Ruskies and Portuguese. It was unfortunate that there isn't some sort of semi-derogatory diminutive word for the Portuguese. (Portugoose, maybe?) In all honesty, Buford really didn't care. The sum of the conversation between Black Tom and Razorback went something like this. "'ey, you, Razorback. You wanna bust some Sape skulls?" "Sure, is this a bee aitch thing?" "Nah, but I'll give ya cut of the pay." Good enough for Buford. Didn't even really matter the size of the cut. Ever since joining this little crew, Buford had been surviving on his savings, but that was a finite supply. Magneto didn't give stipends, at least, he never gave Buford one, and a man's gotta eat. A man the size of Buford gotta eat more. A new bit of income would do wonders. Help put some gas in the Big Pig's tank. His little baby had great gas mileage, but it still needed an occasional fill-up. He knew he had the option of switching over to a purely electric model, but that just didn't feel right. Plus, a lot of mutants had powers with electricity. He didn't want to risk some X-dork draining his beautiful baby's batteries. "Are we ready to crash this little soiree?" Buford pulled on the Pig's head. This sucker was originally based on the electric fence, but he then expanded it, and could now zap things from afar with it. Still, it wasn't lethal, but it would knock a guy out. On the plus side, it was menancing, and hid Buford's identity. Then he pulled in his flechette gun. It was like a nail gun, but in weaponized form. Then he grabbed the RPCSL out from underneath his seat. He had been waiting to use this bad boy ever since Wolf's Head. Buford didn't particularly enjoy violence. It was an order and he executed them. But building a weapon, very violent weapons? That felt right. The RPCSL was the Rocket Propelled Chainsaw Launcher. He only had about 10 chainsaws that could be launched, and could only carry two, one already loaded and one in his side holster. Still, the use of these would be sure to make an impression on these poor drug dealers. (And befuddle the cops to be sure. Buford constructed his own chainsaws from scratch, leaving no serial codes to trace.) "Ready an' rarin' to go, chief," Buford grunted, his words softly muffled by the Pig's head. |
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| Camera | Nov 29 2008, 04:13 AM Post #3 |
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Camera kicked back as the Javelina drove his beloved Big Pig. Black Tom had asked the two to come along for a rumble. She didn't know about Buford's and the Irishman's encounter. Their own was brief, and straight to the point. Payback was a bitch, and the blonde was just the bitch to bring along for some sweet luscious revenge. The Big Pig stopped, and Black Tom-Boy hopped out, "Are we ready to crash this little soiree?" She smirked as Javelina gave his reply and after a waiting a beat she replied, “Oh yea… very ready.” Camera hoped out of the truck and went through her arsenal in her head. Two .45 hand cannons on both sides of her thighs, a barrage of knives around her waist, a machete strapped to her back, a small pistol around her ankle, and the ammo to support her cannons across her chest. Oh yeah, Camera was ready. Now it was just a question of what weapon to start out with, or if there was even enough for her to use a little bit of everything she had. Oh well, it didn’t matter. As long as she got to use her hand cannons and do a little stabbing here and there. Either way it was time for a little party crashing. And it was about damn time. |
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| Black Tom | Dec 1 2008, 07:36 AM Post #4 |
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The three of them, Tom, Razorback and Camera, were armed to the teeth. Buford’s weapons were homemade but that didn’t detract from their usefulness or effectiveness. He had a natural ingenuity and intuition about machine that let him construct almost anything imaginable. Hell, he could drive anything. This was the maiden voyage for the chainsaw weapon. Anyone getting in the way of that was not going to have a good night afterwards. Camera, sweet Camera, was a walking arsenal. She had two massive pistols and enough blades to hold up a small Central American country. Tom’s Ingram’s didn’t have the stopping power of her guns, but when you were going to bathe an area in hot lead it was almost assured someone who was standing was going to end up dropping. Tom and his mates stalked closer to the deal going on down on by the docks. He remained in the shadows with a gun in either hand. He drew several deep breaths to calm his nerves. The thrill of adrenaline was surging within him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He knew it was a poor choice, making business a personal matter, but there was no turning back at that point. They drew closer and the words from the exchange were becoming clearer. “…assure you, this White is of the utmost purity. Would you like to sample it?” one of the Portuguese said. “No, no. And I can assure you, when we find out that the product isn’t what you claim it to be, you’ll be the first to know,” the Russian in charge replied menacingly. If they were close enough to hear the conversation going on Tom and Friends were probably close enough to be spotted by and guards or security hired by the dead-men-walking on the perimeter. Under the cover of large container trailer Tom peered around to spy his targets. He ground his teeth and frowned. Bastards. Tom crept around the edge of his shelter and brought both guns up to bear. There was no witty one-liner. Tom pulled the trigger on both guns and fired on the small illegal gathering. The bullets took them by surprise. Some fell while others scattered and took defensive positions. The retaliation was going to begin. |
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| Buford Hollis | Dec 2 2008, 04:39 AM Post #5 |
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Mechanical Hyper-Competence
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Black Tom Cassidy didn't waste time, did he? Not even a word of warning to his compatriots before he started firing. Oh, to be fair, he had asked them if they were ready, but that was to make sure their weapons were loaded and working. (Considering Buford's technological genius, this question was a waste of oxygen. His weapons were always in working condition.) Camera and Razorback were professional revolutionary terrorists, which didn't amount much more than bein' thugs fer hire. So, Buford didn't do anything embarrassing like wet himself when Tom started firing or anything. He was used to gunfire and violence. Still, it'd be nice to get a count of three before the whole thing goes to hell. One of the reasons Razorback wanted a bit of forewarning is that he was a professional terrorists. He knew how to create terror. If you look closely, you might notice that terror was the root word of terrorist. If you're gonna do this, you don't lead off with the little pea-shooters that Tom was sporting. You lead off with your haymaker, and knock the target off balance. What would be worse? Seeing someone shot with a .45 and them collapsing, or seeing someone shot with a mutha fuckin' chainsaw, being split in two, with the top half still movin' before it realizes it died? Razorback hoped the dramatic entrance of his RPCSL wasn't ruined by Black Tom's itchy trigger finger, and complete his complete lack of a sense of timing and dramatic flair. Still, it was pretty funny seein' the Portuguese guy grabbing at his own intestines. The RPCSL worked as well here as it did against those cattle off Route 75. Buford was the proud new daddy in the next step of warfare. He would have to work on that awful popping noise it made when it fired, but that was a secondary concern at the moment. "Hehe, still got it," Buford chuckled. If his teammate could see his face, they might be unsettled by what they saw. His smile was more appropriate for a kid on Christmas morn than a firefight. |
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| Camera | Dec 3 2008, 03:13 AM Post #6 |
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Tom-Boy wasted no time. He must have really been out for blood that night, Camera figured. As the attack began and Buford sliced through his first victim but the look on his face was lost on her for the blonde drew her hand cannons. Un-holstered they looked like they were almost bigger than her own self and weighed enough to make her fall over. Somehow she managed, sure they were heavy but the muscle mimic knew how to carry herself. She blasted a man in half and the another's leg off when she fired the .45 rounds into two men.. Twirling one cannon back into its holster she drew the machete strapped to her back. It was rusted, but all she could find at the last minute. For all she knew the damn thing would snap in two halfway through someone's skull. The muscle mimic turned around and threw the machete into the stomach of a man who was going to sneak behind them and shoot them. Camera quickly re-drew her hand cannon and saw that more men were behind tables and crates. Using those as shield they fired around the corners, most of them were poor shooters, others were average. Camera smirked at the two she had come with and said, "Cover me." Running full speed towards a few of the crates her plan was to run in, flip over and shot them as she landed. But she needed a little backup fire as she ran toward the crates. The blonde did her flip, flying through the air she pointed her cannons away from her body and at the men on the other side. Aiming for the heads. |
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| Black Tom | Dec 14 2008, 03:37 AM Post #7 |
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The carnage had begun. Some of the men looked around stupefied and they fell to his bullets. Others ran for cover. Tom’s teammates had joined the fray as well. Razorback let loose with one of his jet propelled chainsaws. It launched through the air and ripped open the gut of one of the Portuguese lackeys. He struggled to gather up his innards and stuff them into his abdomen. It was almost comical, in a “clown in a charnel house” kind of way. The tech-savvy trucker went onto his next victim. Camera, lovely Camera, was no slouch herself. She fired a few rounds quickly with her hand cannons. She let loose one of her machetes. The slightly tarnished blade sailed out and found a new sheath in the stomach of a man approaching from behind. “Cover me,” she said. Tom laid down some suppressive fire while the blonde ran out. She leaped up onto a set of crates and flipped over. As she gracefully went through the air, she executed a technique of shooting upside down whilst flying that she must have picked up from any of John Woo’s flicks. She was able to put a bullet into the skull of a couple of henchmen. Tom kept firing to make sure she was safe. He covered her as well as he could from his vantage point. Tom fired his guns as he hurried across a small alleyway and took cover behind another large container. He made it to safety just in time for the magazines in his Uzis to run dry. He dropped the clips quickly and inserted fresh ones. The Irishman thought quickly and stuffed the empty clips into his pocket. He didn’t need to leave any evidence at the scene that had his fingerprints on it. Bullets suddenly pinged off the edge of the container. Someone on the other side had produced a submachine gun of their own. The return fire was rapid. These people weren’t going to be the pushovers Tom had hoped. Tom risked a peak around the edge and determined the location of the shooter. He slung the Uzis for a moment and pulled out the police batons, holding them to his chest briefly. He took a couple of deep breaths and then popped around the corner. He fired a blast, a full powered blast, from both batons. The twin beams punched through the barricade and effectively took down the gunman. The Irishman holstered the batons and withdrew the guns again. He stepped out and took aim at the objects of his retribution. |
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| Buford Hollis | Dec 14 2008, 06:38 AM Post #8 |
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Mechanical Hyper-Competence
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All the bullets flying and the screams shouldn't feel so boring to Buford. But this was just the latest in the strings of mass carnage that Buford had taken part in. It was like seeing car accidents, but on an accelerated pace. Buford's heart used to race when he saw two cars crash on the Interstate, but after so many years on the road, it was exasperation that set in, not excitement. This wasn't exasperating, but the thrill of battle wasn't there. Buford didn't get off on killing, not in the same way as that psychopathic Jaguar Girl did, or Primal, the lovable dinosaur did. But his heart still should be racing, he still should be breathing rapidly. He wasn't. Was Buford getting bored with murder and mayhem? He slung the strap of the RPCL around his shoulder and pulled out the flechette gun. He jumped behind the container to avoid being shot by a submachine gun. If Buford's ears weren't decieving him, they were packing PP 19 Bizons. The One-Niners were good guns, well suited for the situation. They were made for clearing out blocks of Chechen terrorists. Damn Ruskies. Luckily Black Tom took out one thug with his bio-blasts. Only problem with their guns is their magazine. It had a bunch of interlocking parts, and unless they were as careful with their guns as Buford, it was prone to malfunctioning. All this would require is some timing. Buford strained his ears to listen in to the firing mechanism. BUHBUHBUHBUH! PHINK! There it was, the toenail in the soup, the fly in the ointment, the spanner in the works. Buford popped out and got the Bizon-toting Ruskie with the flechette. The only noise his gun made was a soft pfft and the cold, sweet, silent sound of death. He caught the eye of Camera and Black Tom. "Let's make a fuckin' move on it, fuckers. We don't want the cops to get here?" He yelled, and popped another Ruskie with the flechette gun. |
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| Camera | Dec 17 2008, 05:09 AM Post #9 |
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Ah Black Tom never disappointed, covering her as she ran in. After she fired into the heads of the henchmen she took one of her hand cannons and blew at the tip. “Bang Bang.” It was then that Buford shouted for them to get a move on things. The blonde stood up from where she was, her area was clear. All the other two boys had to do was watch her back make sure no sneaky bastard would catch her off guard. The muscle mimic sighed and said out loud to the two men with her. “Yeah, cause the Portuguese and Russians would want police backup for their drug operation.” She paused for a moment before the blonde continued, “Chill babe, we’re fine still.” Plus if cops came, it’d be more sapiens to shoot at. That was always fun. The cons in her eyes caught some movement on the side of her eye. Whipping her head to the direction of the movement she quickly fired. On the other side of the door where she saw the movement was a Russian waiting to pounce, he shouldn’t have moved. His slumped body fell through opening the door. Half of his brains sloshed out of his half blown cranium. “Head shot.” Camera said with a smile and cheerful voice. The blonde looked at Tom and kept her smile. “You’re leading this operation, where to next honey?” |
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| Black Tom | Dec 17 2008, 06:22 AM Post #10 |
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"Let's make a fuckin' move on it, fuckers. We don't want the cops to get here?" Buford yelled in suggestion. He was right. This was supposed to be a quick job, totally smash and grab. They were to take out the Russians and Portuguese before either faction knew what had happened. Then they would move in and take the cargo for themselves. Tom had agreed to split the spoils of the drug deal with his two companions. For him there was more fulfillment found in the revenge aspect of this job. Sure, the money to be made from the selling of the goods acquired that night wouldn’t be too bad either. “Chill babe, we’re fine still,.” the muscle mimic said soothingly with confidence. That was probably true. Any cops that showed up first would probably just be first responders. There was a chance that they wouldn’t be heavily armored or armed. Tom for one, however, was running low on ammunition and would like to make an exit as soon as possible. Suddenly, there was movement as Camera whipped around and shot a Russian through a door. If he had only remained still, he could have ambushed them as they drew closer. “You’re leading this operation, where to next honey?” Camera then asked as if what she had done was a common everyday occurrence. Tom looked around to make sure that they had rid the place of all the competition and breathing targets. Bodies littered the ground. Some were riddled with bullet holes while others appeared to be ground hamburger meat thanks to Razorback’s violent invention. One man was hanging half in and half out of a car window. Their weapons lay strewn on the ground. “If this is all of them, I think it’s time to claim our prize,” Tom said. He walked carefully over to the van where the transaction was getting ready to take place. Tom peaked carefully around corners to make sure that there were no henchmen lying in wait to ambush them. He passed one or two men prone on the ground and kicked the guns farther away from their hands. The rear door of the gray van was open and Tom nudged it open further. Inside the hold of the van were several hockey duffel bags. The Irishman licked his lips in anticipation. He unzipped one of the bags and spread it open. Within the large satchel were bricks of what appeared to be cocaine. “I reckon this will fetch a pretty penny,” Tom said with a wide grin to his friends. |
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8:15 AM Jul 11