For several minutes, this place was Armageddon!

[ctu_savior]

WHO: The Dependables versus over one hundred bad guys.
WHERE: El Zorro Azul resort, Mexico.
WHEN: Judgement Day. AKA Friday night.
WARNINGS: EVERYTHING DIES.
SUMMARY: The criminals and mercenaries behind the resort meeting have been planning to bring a war to the City. So the Dependables bring them one of their own.
FORMAT: Open. Don’t worry too

Comments

Cutting the Power (and setting things on fire)

[ctu_savior]

The generator building was as ugly as the rest of the resort, a squat square structure built with pretensions of classic colonialist architecture, as though the humming power source inside had its own private villa. Beside it, the resort’s propane fuel tanks gleamed white, invitingly large and plump. It was surrounded by a chain-linked fence topped by razor wire, which wasn’t much of an obstacle. The small squad of mercenaries in charge of protecting the resort’s power supply from sabotage was more of a problem. Two of them were standing by the door while two more were walking a patrol around the fence’s perimeter, peering into the night. Reinforcements were just a call away. All of them were alert and on their guard: after the casualties they’d taken on the hotel raid, everyone in the resort was on the lookout for any kind of trouble

Re: Cutting the Power (and setting things on fire)

[terminatefate]

Sarah crouched low, settling into the familiar pattern of shadow and vegetation, moving whisper-soft.  She had done this before, in a thousand different ways--Mexico, Peru, Belize, California--and the memories of it came back with a ferocity.  Everything she wore had been wrapped so she made no sound.  Her 9mm was equipped with a silencer so if she had to shoot, there'd be as little noise as possible.  She moved with the wind in the leaves, in the trees, in the hot night, sliding into position.

Distraction was key.

She had placed the first charge just far enough away to get them to investigate.  It would go off in a moment, cutting the squad in half...or if she was lucky, the third chulito would go with his buddies.  In any case, assuming her backup didn't arrive, she could take them.  The next charge would go off a little further away--to give her time to place the explosives under the propane tanks.  Her head ached dully, but she ignored it and counted down the seconds.

Tick, tick, tick.She could feel the generator humming and

The Package

[ctu_savior]

Not all the meeting attendees had turned against one another. At the airstrip, a small group of sharply-dressed men piled desperately into a cargo plane, sweating in their natty suits. The representatives of the City mobs were still committed to the meeting’s agenda, and had been tapped by Sully to ensure the package’s delivery. These people were willing to incinerate a good chunk of their own hometown just to make sure their illicit businesses remained profitable. They crouched in the cargo hold, talking about how lucky they were to be getting the hell out of this place. As they did, they pointedly avoided looking at the large, sinister, white torpedo-shape aboard the plane with them, filled to the bursting with enough flammable material to roast several blocks. The package

Versus Hans Sully

[ctu_savior]

One of the drawbacks to having put so much effort into installing a figurehead to draw attention away from you was that losing the figurehead could be a lot like losing the actual person in charge, especially if there was only one person in the fucking place who knew who the figurehead was and who the actual guy calling the shots was. Sully’s life had become a great deal more difficult during the day that Arius had disappeared, as he tried to keep a meeting going in a resort whose guests thought had been deprived of its boss. And when Arius had been rescued, he was more interested in beating the shit out of that Curtis Buchanan guy than in doing what Sully paid him to do

Re: Versus Hans Sully

[pacifisted]

Trowa knew his cover had probably already been blown. Some people might believe that his making an appearance shortly before everything began going to hell was a coincidence, yes. Then again, those people would also be complete fools, and he had learned enough about Sully to figure that the guy was anything but.

As such, he didn't bother pretending to be anyone he wasn't as he broke the door in, his weapon already aimed at the former CIA agent's head. His eyes automatically flicked to Jose, the young man immediately registering the beefy thug as an intruder, and without hesitation his arm shifted a few degrees to one side. The bullet left the gun almost before he'd finished making the adjustment--he'd warned the man to surrender, and tried to convince him that fighting was a poor idea. Now, he had no choice.

Trowa could pick missiles out of the air with gatlings, one for one.

There was no way for him to miss.

Re: Versus Hans Sully

[ctu_savior]

Sully barely had time to register Trowa's entrance before Jose dropped dead beside him, his life snuffed out in an instant like a candle. A candle that had just been shot with speed and accuracy at the uppermost limit of human talent.

His body moved in a flash, dropping out of the chair and behind the desk, hammering two buttons- one an alarm, the other popping out a hidden drawer full of weapons. "Troi!" He said as he filled his hands with twin Ruger pistols. "Or whatever your real name is. We gotta talk about your job performance. There are one or two areas that could use improvement."

Versus Bennett + enormous helicopter

[ctu_savior]

The Russian-built Hind had a nickname: ‘flying tank.’ It was well-deserved, both in terms of its firepower and its armour. Bullets pinged harmlessly off it as its rotors thundered over the battleground the resort had become. When the shooting started, the mercenary commander Bennett had taken to the air to direct the battle in person rather than remain in the underground command centre. Sitting in the back of the helicopter, he was receiving real-time updates from the command centre while giving orders to the pilots, and the snipers taking aim from the open doors. An attached speaker blared commands in half-a-dozen languages for the resort’s guests to cease fire, lay down their weapons, and return to their buildings, all to no effect whatsoever

[due_punishment]

Shit, a Hind! Flying tank was an accurate nickname. Frank hadn't brought anything that would do more than scratch the paint on that beast. Even the 40mm HEDP grenades he'd brought didn't have the punch to get through it's armor. He needed to find some heavy ordnance, and now before they brought that firepower to bear on the team. He also needed room to manuever so they couldn't pin him down and simply chew through his cover until the obliterated him.

Dashing from piece of cover to piece of cover, Frank blasted his way through one of the resort's verandas, heading for the front courtyard. With luck he'd find something along the way. If not at least maybe he could keep it off the rest of the team long enough for someone to do something about it.

[ctu_savior]

"Sir, we've got a runner down there!" One of the helicopter's sharpshooters said, yelling to be heard over the rotors. "Doesn't look like a guest!"

If it was one of those bastards from the hotel, he was automatically a priority target. Bennett gave orders for the chopper to pursue and engage. Turning like a great ponderous beast, it moved after Frank, firing its chin gun at the veranda he'd just dashed into. In moments the shells had begun to tear the place apart, filling the air with splinters and shrapnel.

[boogaroos]

When Booga heard a chopper, he might've been brave or an idiot to have gone to check it out. He got the bullet from Thursday out of his leg and it seemed that everything was in healing order, but he was still limping like a mother.

He watched, in decent cover in the courtyard. He glanced to see Frank taking his chances and running- the copter shooting right behind him. "Oh balls." Booga was lucky he ran fast- limp or not. He couldn't rely on that though. He had to slow it down- better yet TAKE it down... and suddenly the biggest smile to ever grace the face of a human spread across his face. He reached into his satchel, pulling out his mini bazooka. It was small, but christ did it pack a punch.

He didn't have much ammunition...he had to make it count. With one eye closed, Booga qued his shot. Get it out of the sky, so hit it where it hurts. Before launching, he opened both eyes to finish his aim and stuck his tongue out. Aaaaand... click. BOOM, brotherfucker.

OPEN (Do what you want)

[ctu_savior]

There was not a single building in the resort that didn’t have guns firing out of it. There was not a spot on the resort where something was not on fire. The place was filled with the wicked. A whole complex full of drug dealers, kidnappers, extorters, human traffickers, and murderers was falling apart, a miniature war in northwest Mexico, everyone firing at each other as much as the Dependables. Strategy and objectives could only count for so much in this maelstrom. It was the sort of situation in which simply diving in and finding someone’s ass to kick could be a perfectly valid plan.

[deathdeals]

Luckily for her, Lady Shiva was pretty much a pro at both diving in and kicking ass, although she was not particularly excited at the prospect of being shot (for what would be the second time in her life.) She was currently in the middle of what appeared to be a full-scale battle between two gangs by the pool area, moving in a way that was less calculated, more force of nature as she attempted to kill the crap out of both sides. The unfortunate side effect of this deadly efficiency, however, was that her focus was devoted wholly to kicking people's legs out from under them, dodging their bullets, and snapping their necks, and not on controlling her power, which meant that DUHNUHNUHNUH DUHNUHNUHNUHNUHHHHH was blaring at top volume as she worked her way through the mob. At least it left them disoriented.

[trueltning_fury]

Geddoe's task at the opening of the assault was to make sure a suitable distraction kept the local law enforcement busy clear on the other end of town. Once that was taken care of, he made for the resort as fast as he could, not wanting to be left behind like an old man. Halfway there, he was passed by a youth on a beaten-up old motorcycle, which suddenly screeched to a halt behind him. The kid, probably noticing the sword, called out to him in Spanish, but Geddoe didn't know the language and only glanced at him as he continued running. The motorcycle zipped up behind him a moment later, and the kid asked again, this time in broken English, if he needed a ride. Geddoe stopped and pointed to the fire-tinged smoke palls rising up over the palm trees in the distance. "I need to go there," he demanded