Outskirts of Buenos Aires, Argentina - 2100 hours
Covered in foliage, was an old outpost, which could have easily been mistaken for part of the landscape in the moonlight. Separated from the city by a large body of water, these forgotten lands were rarely visited. Standing at the water's edge, on sand, was a Caucasian man. His face was revealed in the moonlight, the face of a young man, but the eyes of a hardened soldier. Short, oily hair, with tips that curled, bushy eye brows, a narrow nose, morning stubble, and strong green eyes that were set back in their sockets more than normal. Nineteen years of age, on his medium set frame, he wore a tactical vest, clearly used by it's appearance, with fabric fraying at some of the stitches. With too many pockets to count at a glance, he held a wide variety of items and equipment, including a Bowie knife, two hand grenades, a radio, and energy bars.
Unfastening the velcro on one of his pockets, his dirty fingers removed one of the energy bars, a Cliff Bar, chocolate flavored. Taking a bite of the bar with his unbrushed teeth, he pulled the bar from the wrapper and littered the plastic into the waters at his feet. Squatting down, his cargo pants split a hair more at the left knee. Scooping up some of the cool water with his right hand, he splashed it on his face. He shook his head back and forth, feeling refreshed. Spitting into the water, he stood up to his feet and turned about face. With medium-long strides he returned to the outpost and opened a weathered, wooden door.
Striking a match inside the dark room, he lit three candles in the center of the room. The light illuminated enough to reveal an unmaintained room with various items scattered over the floor. Resting on a table with a broken leg, was an Automatic Kalashnikov. It was an old model, covered with spots of rust. He had found the firearm here, left behind by previous occupants. Picking up the rifle, he looked down the iron sights, the fast sighting, pistol like iron sights that were built for ease and speed, not for long range, accurate shooting. Flipping the rifle over, he blew the dust out of the magazine well. On his vest, he opened a pocket and removed a thirty round, AK-47 magazine, fully loaded with the short .308 rounds. Hooking the front in first, he snapped the back of the magazine in and pulled the bolt back. With a familiar sound, the bolt slammed forward, loading the first bullet into chamber. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he removed a state of the art sound suppressor from his pocket, one specially designed for the AK. Taking a few minutes to clean the threads at the end of the barrel, he twisted on the sound dampening device.
Stepping outside, he selected semi-automatic fire, sighted the rifle at a man sized boulder a few hundred feet off, and bent his finger from its indexed state. With controlled breathing, he took sight in the moonlight, and pulled the trigger back. The simplistic, legendary reliability design of the firing mechanism did not fail, as the pin hit the end of the bullet, causing the gunpowder inside the casing to explode, sending the lead bullet out of the rifle at high speeds. Hitting the rock, the bullet ricocheted away. Expectations met, he returned inside and mumbled a few words to himself, feeling forgotten about since finishing his last mission.
A week had passed and nothing. No new assignments, no responses to his outgoing messages. He had been told to wait for further orders once he had finished the job, that is what he was doing. Sometimes he thought to himself why he had ever decided keep this job, the danger, the waiting, it discouraged him at times. Grabbing his cell phone off the table, he turned it on, leaving it off most of the time as he had limited battery. No signal. Meandering around outside, he finally was able to get a signal. An alert message told him he had one new email. Opening it, he read: "Elijah, you are to meet with your new partner, Sam." That was all. No time, no date, no location. Elijah wanted to reply but felt like it would be in vain.
A new partner. How many had he been through in the past six months? Too many to remember. They didn't stay alive long around him most of the time, either taking an unintentional bullet for him or making a careless mistake. A part of Elijah felt responsible for their unfortunate deaths. Another part saw it as fate, that they were not strong enough to survive. In fact, Elijah was not the strongest, the fastest, or the most accurate. He shined with his tactics, tactics which often led him to catching others with their pants down.
Winding down a few hours later, he laid down on a pile of blankets on the floor of the outpost. Rolling back and forth to get comfortable, Elijah found the most comfortable spot and breathed out through his nose. His comfortable pillow made all the difference. Closing his eyes, he heard a faint noise, one that he immediately recognized. The front door!
Flipping up to his feet, armed with a Škorpion vz 61 in each hand (which had been hidden underneath his pillow) he cautiously swept the machine pistols through the room, covering the door to his room with the guns. "Hello?" He swallowed, eyes aware, looking for the slightest movement to unload at. Elijah thought of the text message, maybe they had meant that the new partner would find him that night. If that was the case, they weren't losing their touch. The floor around the corner, just out of sight, creaked. Keeping his composure, he said, "Sam?"
(RPG for Elijah and Sam only)