Cashing Out The Cartel RPG

Deny it, if you want but piracy does exist and arguably better then ever. Roughly one hundred boats are held ransom a year with each boat likely to be worth millions. Ask say for sixty percent the value or else, and a business might comply. Loosing hundreds of thousands of dollars is bad loosing an entire boat and crew looks even worse.

It is also easy to organize. Many raid parties only need spend thousands to get ready. Thus playing ones cards right can prove quite profitable. And profit for the those who do this long run can obtain even better gear to conduct business. Many would like to think they've just a boat and some AK-47s far from the case. GPS, Satellite Phones, technology is far from out of their reach. And for the profitable kind who knows what all they could be packing especially if they branch out to say drug and gun running.

The Black Spot is a rather generic name, as the faction wanted. People talk about 'black' or 'spot' nobody bothers to investigate sounds unimportant. The Black however is a prime example of how one conducts business in a world where at any wrong move a "Champion" of "Peace" might come kicking their house over. How many times did a vampire ruin business in Ronins Rest, or a guy in a cowl mess with affairs in Gothic. The Black have been working sense 05 keeping low on the radar. Most work is somewhere between Africa and Japan, the drop offs change almost nightly. When a ship is claimed rather then ransomed it often makes port in various places and often might even complete a shipment before it's disappearance. The best business though comes at times of panic.

Someone launches an invasion on France or kills a leader in Venezuela people get spooked. They want more guns to feel safe and drugs to feel calm. And when it seems all the dangerous boys in blue are preoccupied these days can bring in quality funds. To make the deal even sweater piracy is often a supported business. In a struggling region why not have the few lead figures relate some to the gangs. Take from the rich and give to the pore and those at the ports and drop points won't talk. With all that being said the past few weeks have allowed the Black Spot to become a highly profitable and wealthy organization....

Miranda had been enjoying a glass of wine as she sat along the coast of Osaka Japan. This part of town seemed corporate but had an under layer of filth and corruption. Normally she wouldn't give this kind of place a second of her time unless looking for a fight. To day was different however as she wasn't her but Osiris Ken a Japanese Man who'd been looking into joining the Black so he could try and pay some serious debts to the Yakuza. His ties to said group in the past made him a potential gem. "So where do I take my boat" she said in the accent of another. Her associate kept it simple and brief handing her a paper slip with coordinates and a code to get in.

She hated posing as a dude, on the other hand it allowed her to obtain liquor when underage. With a bottle of whine to go Miranda set sail on her small little speed boat to the S.S Dorothy. The boat belonged to a friend of Miranda's favorite club. Dorothy named after her friends daughter was nothing special but a size that could comfortably fit the team and the supplies they would need. It'd been sailing as staying the move was a wiser call then being in port, before getting close to the ship Mira dumped the body of Osiris. "Sorry. Business only." It was her first time taking care of somebody, she was happy to have the wine made it easier on her conscious. She imagined her sister chewing her out, but the "I'm joining a militarized like group just like mom" didn't come up so that lecture never came. At least not yet.

Reaching Dorothy she pulled the boat in, closed the opening and made her way up stairs to the make shift briefing room. Looking at the map on the wall she put a tack where the coordinates were. "Well we have our heading." Turning on her lap top she went and collected what she could on the matter. "Oil rig, privately owned. It stopped service three years ago but was bought out. The paper trail says it never stopped the hard facts disagree. So that's what intel I got what about you losers do anything fun today?" She asked brushing a strand of pearl hair from her face.

"This mask feels lighter, its feels colder not as naturally accommodating as the other. It digs in under the chin and the left eyes design is bleeding through underneath. But its unknown and thats what matters. The whole point of this was to have a new identity, have a little more freedom a face that doesn't have a name at least for now. When the more infamous Crimson and black is back on it will be because those people need to know Cassius Knightfall was there for them. But for now this will do."

It had been months since Venezuela and that mess is its aftermath. Bones were reset, muscles and reflexes honed once more. But the wounds of his mission had left a lasting impact, yet more scars and a chunk of metal holding his shoulder together. His left arm still felt a little unbalanced but that was inevitable when its weight was altered, spinning his left firearm and raising his arm over and over. Resetting his muscle memory over weeks of repetition till it was almost natural... but not the same.

Walking over to his chartered helicopter Cassius looked down at the letter and gestured his pilot to get moving.

"Who the hell are you? some kind of vigilante"

"I'am the man who paid for the flight, the rest is none of your business"

Sitting back and checking over his map, the pages rapidly expanding over his waist. Tilting the page to the right orientation and then one solitary finger started tracing from his pickup point out into the blue five clicks to the east. Flight time was a matter of minutes , drop time even less. Get in quick access the scene and find out what's truly happening.

Door opens, air rushes in and then the fall. Hitting the release and slowly gliding towards the apparently deserted oil rig, using his birds eye view to look for sentries, snipers and all manner of possible waiting horrors. Spotting only vast empty areas of weathered metal.

Landing on a helipad Cassius couldn't help but feel the parachute approach may have been a little pointless. This could just be a wild goosechase all he had to lead him to this place was a scrap of paper with the GPS of exactly where he stood. This scrap could surely tell him more if he had studied anything other than forms of armed combat, all he knew is the handwriting looked familiar.

His musings cut short at the sound of an approaching boat.

On the Southern Coast of Somalia

The men gathered around the small, wooden table as the joyous sounds of their drunken revelry echoed off of every surface in their makeshift war room. Congregated in this room were men of many nations, from as far west as Belize to as far East as Indonesia, all of them assembled with one common goal: to make as much money as they could. But where most of these individuals were men of ill-repute, intent on pillaging from the poor and murdering anyone that got in their way, there was one man among them who was looking to earn his keep a different way.

A single strand of dark brown hair hung down between his eyes as he pondered his next move. Although his eyes may have seemed as if they were full of joy and laughter just like everyone else’s there, they were much more. They hid a killer instinct, a man on a mission.

For the past few hours he had been expertly extracting every last fiber of valuable information these men might possess. They had told him about their famed “pirate king” who had managed to unite all the smaller pirate tribes that normally littered the eastern coast of Africa under one banner, the banner of the Black Spot. They had told him about all the secret entryways, back doors, and passwords to use when on the oil rig that was now acting as their base of operations. He now knew the codes to the security room, about the countless prisoners in the hold, and even about the king’s crippling sex addiction. They had told him absolutely everything he needed to know….

...and they hadn’t even noticed

Another roar of laughter rose up from the table and again the man with the strand of hair between his eyes was forced to play along. Even here, amongst dirty, lawless men, trust was paramount. They were a brotherhood after all, with bonds forged in battle and in crime. It hadn't been difficult for the super soldier to earn this trust. He knew what men like these wanted to hear. They wanted to hear about the big-breasted pair of sisters he had conquered in Barcelona with his silver tongue, they wanted to know about the time he had killed eight secret service agents armed with nothing but a spork, a cucumber, and a plastic jar of mayonnaise in Prague. Fun stories, yes, except nothing about them was true. They were simple machinations of an imaginative mind, tools to get what he wanted, and now that he had what he wanted, the time for harebrained masquerades was finally at an end.

Ten men occupied the camp when he first set foot on its sandy shore and ten men would now have to die. In one second, he was up. three throwing knives in each hand. Before anyone could even react, he sent one knife flying into the throat of the man standing by the northern entrance, the only one armed with a gun. ONE. As the blood sprang forth from his first victim’s jugular, the deadly messenger of death once again attacked, this time his knife was directed at the sentry standing by the southern entrance, no way he was going to let him run out. TWO. Eight men remained, only now realizing the threat that their supposed brother truly posed. The four remaining throwing knives in the assassin's hands all flew out and all found their targets. THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX. A chair flew at the angel of death who with a single blow from his metallic left arm struck it back down. Pieces of broken wood rained down but not before he was able to catch the biggest, most jagged splinter of the bunch which he promptly plummeted into his attacker’s chest. SEVEN. One of the remaining three men leapt at him, it was clear that he hadn't been paying attention to the current lesson. The assassin dodged the lunge before directing a powerful heel kick downward into the man's skull, propelling the man’s head into the dirt floor below. Queue another splash of red. EIGHT. He walked over to his first victim and pulled the knife out, quickly directing it to a brand new victim. NINE.

For a few seconds all was quiet in the room as the last of the men’s bodies finished their cadaveric spasms. A face peeked out from behind the table, this one a bit older than the rest. Early on in the evening, the assassin had singled him out as the man in charge of this camp. Moments ago, the captain had so happily been regaling the group with tales of all the poor farmer’s girls he had managed to rape in the past year. Now his expression was one of fear, mixed with an overwhelming desire to live.

It's funny that no one’s more keen to live than those that are about to die.

“Who...who are you?”

The assassin found no further reason to lie to the dead man, His tone was somber and monotonous as he answered the his final question, “I am Arian Varhami, formerly of the Turanian Shadow Guard.” He paused for a second as he pulled a combat knife from its scabbard, this one was decorated with the colors of the Turanian flag, a gift from his father so long ago. “But you can call me the Desert Wolf.”

A downward slice towards the crown of the captain’s head brought the total number of victims to TEN. Ten more souls for the devil to do with as he pleases.

Arian walked out onto the beach; to the dilapidated motorboat tied to a pole by the shore. This was only one of many camps that the Black Spot had set up along the shoreline.

In silence he journeyed back to the S.S. Dorothy and as the ramshackle vessel came into view on the horizon, he leaned down over the ship's hull, dipping his knife into the seawater and washing away all the blood on its blade. He, too, wished he could wash away all the blood on his blade.

"Here...it's finished..." The underworld tailor says stretching out the heavy vest towards the shadowed figured, who's melted remains of what you could call a face made his stomach curdle on instinct everytime he took that dangerous peak up.

The client outstretches his hand and grabs the fifty pound vest like it was a wind breaker and he was ready for a run, throwing it around his body quickly and clipping it shut, walking over to the mirror on the far wall and looking at himself.

"Where's the mask." He asks, clenching his fists, staring into his own eyes,

"Here you are...as specified. " He says holding a sock like mask made with cutting edge thermal and compression materials, "I was able to keep the light weight while adding a layer of dragon skin. It's a new form of armor, same as the vest. Both could take a grenades impact and be intact..." The Tailor says with hands in his slacks, the yellow tape measure sliding off his shoulder, "I don't normally ask my clients questions. It's against my own policy. But...why did you want the symbol on the back made of pure silver? It could weigh more than half what it does. What is the practicality?"

Pulling the mask down over his face, the man feels prepared. He feels, ready. "Ex-seals. Killed hundreds from miles away, on my belly. Not one ever saw me commin'. Then I finally finished my fifth tour." Pulling off the mask he steps into the light to show his mangled face, "A buddy of mine gave me a welcome home cigar and told me not to light it until just before I cross back into my civ life, said it was symbolic. So I light it on the front porch."

He plows his fist into the thick mirror, spidering the glass and fragmenting his image

"My daughters, my wife, even the dog was still inside, and when I woke up a few weeks later, I was told there as a pilot light out all night, all it took was a spark. Came to realize, after all the times I was told who the enemy was, all those pulls on the trigger...the only threat I EVER had was both foreign, and domestic...My war is with God himself, That son of a bitch is gonna answer for everything he's done to this world."

He pulls the mask back down, turning to the door and walking out, " Thats the only man I want to see me commin' "

The bell above the door rings, catching the sun and bouncing it off the gleaming, full skull on his back.

______________________________________________________________________

The morning Somalian air is thick and wet, you could almost bite into it. There's a chill but the ragged breath of the dying guards in the wooden tower floor warms the nape of his neck, as he lay between them, their blood reaching out to him and stopping around his belly like an ironic crimson crime scene. When he leaves, it'll look like a dead man layed here.

The village below is almost completely silent. A straying crew of pirates had setup camp here, pillaging the local homesteads and raping their women. It had gone on for hours, drunken grunts and pitiable screams of innocent women and girls.

"In position." He says into the embedded comm in his mask, turning his scope under the guise of the loud morning crickets and snapping twigs to zoom in on one hut. The chieftans.

inside a row of candles fills the room with shadows. On the outside door, the chieftan hangs by his wrists, his face a bloodied pulp of meat and runny juices. Inside his wife howls. She'd been fighting him off the entire time. Good for her, he thought, don't make it easy. But in the end he got the best of her. Now his shadow shakes with the pelvic rhythm of a seizing baboon from behind her body that lay motionless in shock. He wants to take the shot so bad...but not yet.

The sun isn't up yet. But it's rising. It's casting out the stars settin the sky on fire, the heat beating down. Some people in this region...they think it's god waking.

Even from here, over the sounds of the wildlife, he can hear the grunts of the captain, yelling in some trashy form of Japanese, taunting the woman, blaming her for how bad she's getting it now.

The sniper throws a black rope down the tower ahead of him.

Finally, the light peaks over the horizon and warms his back. Eyes open. Rise and shine.

He takes a deep breath, tapping the toe of his steel tipped boots on the ground behind his belly down body, counting the rhythm of the captains thrusts...tap, tap, taptap, taptaptap, tap tap,taptap,taptaptap, tap-

The bullet flies true at high velocity, tearing through the thin walls of the hut like less than tissue, ripping into it's target.

Tthe captain falls backwards. His penis deflating on the matress, some two feet from his body. "<AHHHHHHHH!!! GUARDS! GUARDS!>"

Watch me play

Two heads rise from the south in bed, popping like paint balls with a double kill. The sniper leaves the rifle even though it still has enough in the mag to wipe them all out. Sliding down the rope he pulls out two pistols and goes to town. The silver bullet that kills the unkillable monsters.

______

a twenty minutes later

______

He rides off into the horizon on the newly Acquired boat, the japanese jibberish crossed out, his wife's name written in blood on the side. All the remaining villagers were able to see of their savior was the shine of his back in the distance.

"Silverback to Desert Wolf.En route for pick up."

That first kill had been spinning in Miranda's mind endlessly. She wasn't a killer this was her first time in the field, she'd seen death working with her mom but actually being accountable had such a heavy weight. She'd felt a tad bit overhead not afraid to do the job she just didn't have the experience of the others. Her abilities were quite ideal however for such operations. Willing but timid there was one individual who she wasn't ready to talk to.

"Hey Aria Sand you mind greeting Silver?" The nervous laugh at her Game of Thrones slightly obscure refferances helping calm some of Mira's nerves. Silver was intimidating scars weren't the reason though. It was the man behind them that frightened her. She knew for example where his last opp was. Seeing those sights was something she herself might not have been able to stomach let alone return so laxed. Dessert seemed like a fair individual at least and Cassius had some notion of family.

She'd shut it out. "Just drive the boat Lemur just drive the boat" she told herself in effort to keep her calm.

Arriving at the rig the youngest of the band of soldiers moved to the deck of Dorothy. A hook on an long cord was thrown securing a hold on the iron rails above. Enough to ever so slightly alert the solitary pirate she could see. He slowed down cautious and alert and in such providing Miranda enough to shimmy upward. She might of been a bit creeped out by her team embers and new to taking life but fitness she had covered. The climb came easy, and unholstering her silenced glock she exhaled and took aim.

One soft pop sound and a hole was punctured in the man's brain. Swiftly grabbing the shirt collar the victim was tugged over the ledge. A splash soon followed not nearly loud enough to alert anyone else. Rising to the catwalk Proxy did her best to tip toe around the brain matter and blood spray. Fairly quiet and swift she raced to meet up with the rest of the team on the helipad. "We got a plan? Or improvising."

Hours passing at Cassius lay on the helipad. His eyes ever vigilant waiting for a sign a simple glimpse of a target. For what seemed an age there was no movement no sound, nothing but a bitter wind and the sound of the waves below. Eventually a rattle from directly below as a rusty door creaked open. Murmured chatter creeping out for beneath the perched Knightfall. "finally" reaching for his belt Cassius raised his radio and called out his mind finally remembering he wasn't alone on this ops. "Old habits" he thought as he called out towards his allies "This is Snake Charmer come in.. Movement on top gangway we have our in. Watch for friendlies Sierra Charlie on overwatch. Lets make this quick."

Considering simply pouncing down onto the armed men below Cassius readied himself. "Movement" pulling back from the edge instinctively rolling backwards and raising his better arm with a rapid jerk , a n underbarrel laser meeting the center of mass of Lemur before he pulled his finger away. Lemur bemused continued "We got a plan? Or improvising.". Cutting straight to the point himself adding "the latter. Wait till the door closes then we move"

Waiting patiently as the seconds passed and the chatter below continued Cassius nodded his head towards the edge of the helipad. Gesturing towards the two guards below then back to his eyes, gesturing to the man on the right and back to Lemur. Finally raising his left hand his fifth finger returning to his palm then his fourth, third second. His palm dropping on one as his fired his weapon sending the armed fighter directly to his left to topple forward and plummet into the ocean. Jumping down to the gangway below Cassius helped Lemur lift and toss her own target before walking over to the door.

Knocking firmly on it three times Cassius moved into attack position pulled his knife free and waited. Through the metal he could hear approaching footfalls and then the workings of the door creaking once more. As the door sprang open he pounced knife first his precision strike hitting firmly through his targets throat. The blade colliding with the sentries spine making Cassius weapon retrieval a more bloody mess than he hoped. Freeing his blade sending a cascade of crimson across the nearby walls. The attack though near silent left much more of a mess than he hoped, certainly hard to mask. Opening the door fully to let Lemur through before reaching for his belt once again.

"Lemur and Snake Charmer have secured entry point. Rendezvous on our GPS. Hostiles still active speed and precision gentlemen."

The shapely dark-skinned woman rolled over to her side atop the large king-sized bed. The sheets bunched up between her thighs as she whimpered in pain. Her cheeks were still glistening from the tears she had shed hours before. For a moment she thought she was alone in the room and momentarily contemplated making her escape until a match flickered on between her and the door. A man stood facing her and as he brought the match up to light the cigar in his mouth he revealed a face full of scars.

The woman gasped at the sight of her captor and shied away from the edge of the bed, afraid that he might try to ravage her once more. In response the man only laughed, “Care for a story love?”

It was clear she had no interest in anything of the sort but he pressed on. “Have you heard of the super soldier program that the United States implemented in the late 1940s? It was top secret, real ‘I-can-tell-you-but-I’d-have-to-kill-you’ kind of shit, you know?

Anyway, part of the reason why this program remained top-secret for so long was because it was wildly successful. Do you know why World War II ended so soon after the United States joined the party? Well, now you know.

So in the years following World War II, every country was trying to emulate the Americans and their elite Super Soldier Program. No one could quite get it right, though. That is, until the great country of Ukraine, fresh off of being named its own sovereign country and blessed with two of the greatest minds on the planet created an experiment that would come close the Americans”

The scared man’s jovial tone became one of pensiveness.“I was only ten years old, living in Kiev, Ukraine when they plucked me from a life of crime. They experimented on me. Scarred me. They broke my mind and then they discarded me. Little did they know that I would one day become a king. This experimentation wasn’t without advantages, however, for in the process they gave me the strength of an ox, the speed of cheetah, and the vision of a hawk, but at this moment the most important of all my senses is this,” he said, placing a finger on his nose.

"I can smell everything that goes on in my Kingdom. At this very moment I smell rats, four of them to be exact. They run through my kingdom and spread death. They are here to give me death, but what they don’t know is that my men, my pirates, they specialize in killing rats like them. Many have tried to capture me before, and each have failed. This will be no different."

The Pirate King reached for the microphone on the desk and spoke, his heavy Ukranian accent gave his words a harsh edge that only underlined the graveness of his message. “Pirates of the Black Spot. This is your King speaking. We appear to be having a little rat problem that needs to be taken care of immediately. Find these rats at the Southern side of my kingdom and bring them to me...."

"Lemur. Take the wheel." Silver says getting out of the drivers seat before she responded after she arrived on board.

He felt uneasy about a young girl the size of a pin running with him into heavy combat, only growing when he wonders if she can handle stealth heavy combat. No record of any confirmed kills. Skill doesn't mean a damn if your not willing to use it to the fullest.

Stepping to the back of the Dorothy, sitting on the thinly cushioned planks across from Desert Wolf,Silver rolls up his vest slowly to show a gash left by one of the forty men at the village. Pulling his mask up he reveals a twitching smirk. 'Must be getting old' He says to himself. Applying some first aid to the wound and cauterizing it with a pocket lighter, he looks at the Wolf.

"The intel?" He says, looking into Desert's eyes. The blue was deceptive. It was the abyss of black in the center that told Silver this was a man with a history he'd like to erase.

_______________________________________________

As the Dorothy sputters to the bottom of the oil rig, a tower of flame burning at the highest point, Silver pulls a grappling hook out of a long dufflebag and threads it. "We need to- " His head jerks to the left fast to the sound of splashing water and the spray on his neck. In the water was a corpse floating face up with a leaking hole in it's head. Any doubts he had about Lemur were slowly alleviating.

Throwing the hook he had threaded at the body the military marksman drags him towards the Dorothy, pulling off the dead pirates walkie and sticking it to his vest breast pocket. He wraps the other end of his grappling rope around the anchor that hung on a chain gear beside the ship, then around the body.

He throws the hook up onto the rail then pulls the lever to drop the anchor. The guerilla warrior rises fast to the top, while the body sinks, and the ship finds it's position. No evidence, a secured escape, and an easy entry. He leaves the rope for the wolf.

As he walks with his rifle now strapped across his skull clad chest, Silverback is listening into the frequency of the pirates, as he scopes out possible perches for both himself and any wannabe snipers.

An arabic voice resounds "<North division. Cleared. West?>"

"<Clear> ;East?;" The next man asks, changing to a french dialect.

";Clear as well; ,South?" He asks in English.

"...South." He asks again, this time with a more suspicious tone. Silver realized he was carrying the southern guards walkie.

Picking it up he clears his throat then pinches his larynx. "Clear."

"Good...good. Double round and start over, we'll redezvous for shift change. In two hours. Out" The east perimeter former SAS agent says seeming calm and reassured, his aloof demeanor a facade. The South perimeter guard only spoke Japanese. He switches channels on is comm

"Sir, it's Griswold...I believe we've got company. Also, the men who went for shore leave haven't returned."

Seeing her target of the two Miranda waited as the count down went on. On one her gun barked softly as a bullet entered the heart on zero another tore into the guards head. Jumping down she rolled to make for a softer landing. Falling feet first could be noisy and painful where the role used often in free running not only helped shake off the impact but made less noise. She tried not to let the killing get to her as she attempted to lift the guard over the rail. A "fat fck" was muttered as the teen strained before Cass came to assist. "Thanks."

As the Snake Charmer performed an admirably quick kill Lemur watched cataloging the move in her ever expanding repertoire of moves and techniques. The other two members soon arrive but the comms give an unsavory message. Somehow they'd allready uncovered the team was in. "My bad peeps." She swore she'd been silent and swift but she was the newbie to military opps and thus assumed blame was hers to take. "Silverback want a sniper point?" Her eyes falling upon the tower and it's roaring flame.

It was in less use now but still operational. It also made for a good marker for late night pirate bands. Visual confirmation to go along side technological. It was also the highest point if someone wanted to play sniper or the pirates had one that's where they'd want to be. The flame also masked any muzzle flash in theory from what Silver had heard it would seem the pirate up there was French. Using her ability Mira's voice box became one that would mimic the voice of the man she'd double tapped.

Satisfied with her game plan she ran toward the series of bars and poles that made for the tower. Stairs would take to long and be spottable by the French. She chose to use her abilities of traversing terrain by parkour made even smoother by her ability to climb upward. She'd jumped from one rod to the next before flipping off another and climbing up a pole. She had to admit she chose the right Codename as she reached the top "shift change" she remarked behind the French in his native tongue. He turned to find not the face of his drinking buddy he went to call it in as well as draw his pistol but the walks talkie was shot before he could get any further. Holstering her pistol she gestured for him to do the same and fight her in hand to hand.

He agreed, but not before saying some unsavory things he'd do to her once she was unconscious. Brushing her hair back and shaking off the comment she readied for his starting swing. A rather standard boxing jab she'd easily ducked below it closing the gab his greater reach provided. A quick two shots went into the pit of his arm making the swing that followed less in efficiency and strength. He was quick with his other hand however to grab her long hair and lift her off her feet. It hurt like a bitch having her scalp tugged like that but not as much as how she responded. Her steel toed boot found the groin of the French and was quick in letting Lemur fall back onto her feet. Perfectly aligned by the rail an impact push sent the French over and into wear the flame shot upward.

She didn't enjoy what she got to watch. "Got you that post Silvy sorry if it smells bad." Her attempted joke made more for herself to try and shake off the gravity of what she'd done.

Grabbing his radio Cassius began to fiddle with the dials searching for any rival signals, common practise for a seasoned fighter. Listen out for enemy chatter and prep for radio silence should their presence be known. Solid system having served him well for years as mainly a solo agent. But the addition of his fellow fighters complicating the issue to the extreme. Catching the end of a communication in a what he could only guess was some sort of eastern european language he shook his head. The language may have been alien to him but tone was always universal. Message was clear something was up. Hoping his teammates knew standard radio silence protocol he quickly returned his radio to his teams channel. Pressing the transmitter button on and off three times no words leaving his lips. The signal morse like three short bursts of static letting his team know to kill the radio chatter, should they know like he hoped they would.

Lemur having left his side Cass continued to advance inwards into the internals of the rig. Slowly pressed against the corridor's walls edging along almost completely silently. The silence broken as he heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps repeatedly clattering against the metallic floor. Ducking hurriedly into a door off the main gangway and closing the door behind him slowly and quietly he backed away from the door his firearms primed.

His steps backwards suddenly halting as he struck something with his back.

Incomprehensible Russian shouting

"F*ck"

Cassius turned rapidly firing a ferocious hook with his gun hand towards what appeared to be some kind of Russian giant. His opponent towering at least a clear foot over him with a body the size of most small european cars. Cassius strike slammed into the mans jaw his hand instantly aching like he had struck an anvil or slab of concrete.

Rumbling belly laughter erupting from the towering threat.

Footsteps drawing ever closer, seconds between possible life and death Cassius moved like water trying to carve the titan of russian rock to his a silent end. His knife work a series of rapid flowing transitions. Low left vertical cross tearing knee to thigh at an angle, splitting arteries and sinew. Short forward stab to the stomach region as he ducked under a humongous right cross followed by a slash to the under arm of his towering opponent working his blades edge deep into the tissue severing connective tissues and circulatory system killing an entire limb in the process. The rapid blood loss bring the giant to one knee allowing cassius to spring up from the ground and land one final critical strike. Pulling his left hand to his chest gripping firmly at the handle of his blade as he reached the monstrously sized mans neck. One movement nearly severing the mans head forced the blade with as much force as Cassius could muster through the flesh and sending a bloody aftertrail cascading towards the far wall of the room.

His rapid dissection not without noise however caused a much larger problem. Standing in the bloody and cramped room the unmistakable sound of cocked firearms coming from the door way. Turning towards it with his hands up.