/wfg/ Writefag General- cartel land edition

user began to reach into his bag, but he hesitated. After a moment of internal debate, he reached inside; a brilliant golden glow radiating from inside the bag. As soon as it came, the light from the bag vanished.

user looked down at the bag. On the back panel, arranged in a ring, were eighteen white lines of thread, in addition to 6 lines of crimson thread, for a total of twenty-four lines of thread. user watched as two more of the white threads developed a crimson color, like blood seeping from the ends of the thread, towards the center of the ring.

With a frown, user drew his prize from the bag; a 27-60x85 spotting scope. A smile crept onto his face as he gazed over the field, scouting for any potential threats.

>[Centaur herds. Fantastic.] user thought.

~

The midday autumn weather was pleasantly cool; the breeze was was just enough to offset the heat of the sun, but not cold enough to chill. Marching with the FAL was practically a walk in the park; the carry handle of the FAL certainly made it more comfortable.

As he watched the herd of horses trot around and gaze, user pictured himself capturing one and taming it.

>[It would be nice to move around faster… I’d be able to carry more stuff too.] user thought to himself.

He shook his head. Even if he did manage to capture one without injuring it, he had no idea how to tame it.

>[I’ll just save up for a horse.] He thought as he continued on his way.

Too busy being lost in thought, user didn’t notice the conspicuous, jelly-like liquid on the blades of grass.

~

Pastebin:
pastebin.com/x7RD2txh

As always, any and all feedback is appreciated. Feel free to ask questions about the world that user is in. I'd be happy to answer any questions.

is that a fucking MG34

nope, it's Ghettoblaster 2000

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BUMP
Hope you're all having a good evening/morning out there, /wfg/ This one goes out to those of you who will no doubt be up in just a couple hours.
youtu.be/CaUhTQuvqlQ

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Pretty enjoyable. Lots of emotion from the rejection.

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I like it

More please.

>thank archive
Archive is lazy and deserves no thanks.

Lies

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So i've been reading taliban poetry, and it's actually really good.

The young bride was killed here,
The groom and his wishes were martyred here.
The hearts full of hopes were looted here,
Not just those two but the whole group is martyred.
The children were murdered,
The story full of love is martyred here.
All their human rights were hurt,
The lover was martyred, the beloved is martyred.
The friends who were escorting them;
Alas, what beautiful youths are martyred.
The bride is drenched in red blood,
Her jewellery is broken and martyred.
Her hands are red with her blood;
Storms came upon her beautiful life.
But the news brings press releases from Bagram,
Saying that ‘we have killed the terrorists.’
How can we know the happiness of a wedding?
‘We have killed many Afghans today.
This is a threat to our crusade,
That’s why we killed those children.’
They give the fighters’ name to the bride,
They say that we only killed our enemies.
The president has appointed a commission once again:
‘Go and see who they have killed.’
Their pockets are filled not to say a word,
Because they have killed our relatives
As if the Red Forces came on their houses.

I don't know how to deal with this

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Alright guys, let's talk about a somewhat sensitive subject... LAW. Now, I know, I know, discussions of Policy are not often viewed in positive light here, but it's GOTTA be discussed. You got a tank, and you gotta lay down the LAW, what do you do? Target the engine? What IS the LAW and what should the LAW be?

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I rocket ride the LAW like an epic fortnite gamer and hop off next to the tank. I then cum on the sensitive tank electronics to disable them and spiderman the crew so they can't see.

Working on kickstarter backing.

Does anyone know of any logo and patch artists?

In other news, working on trying to make patches for Sentinel Securities, the security company for Knight Pharmaceuticals alongside a company logo for KP.

To add some extra backstory, have the history of the company. I have no idea how to incorporate it into the lore of the world.

pastebin.com/6ntJimKy

Everything I wrote after this gives away the main plot points I'm trying to incorporate. What are ways I could feature their backstory without giving the whole thing away?

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So he gets his stuff from a summoning pack, yes?

Also, egdelord inner voice got a chuckle out of me. Looking forward to slotting some centaurs.

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This thread is going a little too well for my liking. it is time for a Jow Forumsleansing. only the inoculated oldfag will survive the weaponized autism

THE CONSEQUENCES WILL NEVER BE THE SAME

CHAPTER 1: WAR WAS BEGINNING

My name is Marisa Kirisame, and I am the only female member of both the Navy SEALS and Delta Force. One day I woke up at the barracks and had gotten a message from General Sheppard that he needed to see me. So I got dressed in my perfectly cute black witches hat and svelte black dress with a tan apron with an embroidered 'M' on it after combing my curly blonde hair with a braid down the left shoulder tied by a green ribbon.

I got to the HQ as fast as I could I passed some gaurds on the way.

"Stop! do you have permission to - oh its you, Marisa" the guard said. "how come your late?"

"Oh sorry, I said. I had to fix my hair"

"I understand,' the guard replied and let me through but the other guard got mad. "How come youre letting her through, she's late," he said. the other guard said "don't be rude to her, She's the best and most decorated soldier in the SEALs on this whole base!"

"Don't worry,' I said, "I forgive you, your probably new here."

When I got to the HQ several people including General Shepard were waiting. General Shepherd was a tall old man wearing a beret and had a handlebar mustache and was a mormon; his appearance reminded me of jeff foxwhorthy. He carried a 1911 on his left hip and I noticed that he was missing most of the fingers on his right hand. There were several other people too

"Hello Marisa,' Shepherd said, "do you know why you're here?"

'No not really."

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"right now i'm trying to get a taskforce together called Taskforce 141, tasked with hunting down the world's greatest terrorists. We originally wanted Private Allen from the Rangers but he was dishorably discharged for misappropriation and inappropriate use of an Army packing mule. The reason you were our second choice is because I didn't think that you could be bothered with a mission that would be so easy for you. You're the fastest person to ever go from enlisted to officer in the history of the Navy, after all.'

"OK, i said, 'I'll here you out"

Shepherd continued. "The mission, should you choose to accept it, is to hunt down Russian Ultranationalist Ivan Chesnokov. He's a mad man with a hate-boner for he West, fueled by his hate and addicion to borscht and vodka. He isn't just a terrorist: he's a mad-dog whore. He also sells weapons AND drugs on the black market with the efficient twist of hiding ounces of the contraband taped into the barrels of the gun itself. On the street they call this a 'two-for-one.' He has directly financed terrorism by selling these weapons to the President of Islam. We must stop him. It is our Duty as Americans because every fight is our fight. What happens over there, affecs us over here. That's why we can't sit this one out. Most people of the world are gentle sheep. But every once in a while, there are wolves. That's what people like us ar for: we are the world's sheepdogs; and I am their Shepherd.'

I'd do it. "i'm in," I said.

"let me introduce you to the team,' Shephard said. "this is captain Price and 'soap' Macavish. Both are from Britain. Here we have callsign 'Roach,' 'Ghost,' and 'Chemo.' our American OPERATORS. and lastly our cream of the crop -"

"no need to introduce us,' I said, 'I already know him'

sitting in the corner was a balding twenty three year old man with the body of a pudgy 14 year old. TF141's CQC, telecommunications, and legal expert. He tought me everything I knew about close quarters combat. I used to wrongly believe that a SMG was the best CQC weapon, but he educated me. 'a general purpose machinegun is the best weapon to use in close quarters,' he told me. 'if you use a SMG, you run out of bullits so fast and then its over. a MG gives you a hundred or more bullets, with way more stopping power. I personally prefer the M60 with Grip and Big Ammo attachments because you only need two hits at close range to kill.'

I first met him on a mission in Beirut, where he saved my life. I was very naive back then, I didn't even know the difference between a clip and a magazine, but he corrected me. "most people who watch to many Hollywood movies don't even know that there is a difference between a clip and a mag, but there is an you should learn the difference: it might just save your life. You see how it sticks out of the gun? that's how you know it's a mag. But if it goes inside, it's a clip." "Oh,' I said, "so rifles use mags and pistols use clips!" "exactly!"

Even though I knew him for years, I only knew him by his callsign: Lima Mike Julliet. We then left and got packed for the mission.

>Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Don't hit on me silly boys

We got into the cramped C-130 with all of our gear early the next mission. I was given an assault rifle and an M9 pistol as part of my load-out.

"Man, how come we have to use the 9mm.' Lima Mike Julliet complained. "I'd much rather use my desert eagle on this mission. It's so much more powerful.'

'It can't be helped,' General Shperd replied. 'We're a NATO country, so for easy logistics we all have to use the same gun in the same caliber. I know it sucks: I greatly prefer the 1911 myself, but that's just the what it is.'

MW2 fanfic?

Except for me. Even though everyone was given a M9 I snuck my FN Five seveN on board with me, because it was my favorite gun and better than even the m9 or the desert eagel or the 1911. While it didn't have as much stopping power, the Five seveN fired armor piercing 5.7 bullets – just like an M 16; and in a wolrd were all soldiers now wear body armor, it doesn't matter how much stopping power you have if you can't pierce his body armor. IN aDdition, it had twenty one rounds of ammunition in a single clip, and the recoil was so low that you barely even feel it.

"Ok boys,' sheprda said. 'I'll buy you guys beres when you get back'

He steeped out of the plane, the ramp closed and we took off on our 12 hour flight to Siberia. A few hours into the flight, I got bored and dicided to talk to Soap Mactavish. He was super kawaii (kawaii meants cute).

"hello, soap' I said.

'hello marisa,' he said. "I have a feeling we're going to be good frends.'

'me too' I said. 'how are you doing?'

'good,' he said, 'but enough about me, I want to here moar about you!'

"well,' I said,' I'm descended from a long line of soldiers and military experts. It goes as far back as Sun Tzu and his wife Mary Tzu. But then my parents were killed in the Tiananmen Square massacre. I was adopted and raised by Americans. It also turns out that I am the rightful heir to the Chinese thrown if the Emperor of China hadn't been couped by Mao.'

'Fascinating,' Soap said.

'Would you like some tea'? I asked. I had been brewing it in a kettle onboard the plane.

'Sure,' he said. I gave him some and he drank

'Wow, Marisa; Chinese tea is much better stupid british tea and crumpets.'

'you're too kind, Price-sama,' I blushed, '~anyone with half a brain could make tea like this.~'

'No,' he said, 'its really that good. I'll never drink british tea again.' And he never did

'P-Price? Do you think that when this mission is over… we could… what I mean to say is…. Would you go on a date with me?

'Sorry, Marisa. I'm a flit.'

He then got up and went into the planes bathroom with Soap-Kun and Roach-chan, even though the bathroom only had one toilet. Even to this day I'll never understand why.

Then several more hours went by after Roach, Soap, and Price returned from the bathroom, all covered in sweat, We had reached our target in Siberia. The Rear door of the C-130 opened up, and we got ready to jump.

Price-sama laughed. "you look worried."

"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke

The green light in the plane turned from Red to Green, and we all jumped out of the plane.

>Chapter 3: Crazy Ivan

We parachuted in the normal way: No HALO jump. A lot of 'pros' think that HALO jumping is great and makes a stealthy insertion, but they're really just a bunch of faggots who don't know how to pilot their parachutes with any skill. The enemy doesn't even barely have a chance to hit you when you're HALO jumping before you open your chute, so where is any skill in that?

We touched down and began unloading supply packages that had been dropped with us. Lima Mike Juliet opened the crate and took out a dangerous looking AR.

"Is that a FAMAS?" I asked.

"yes it is,' he replied. This was the moment I got to see such calculating professionalism at work. No matter how obscure the rifle was, such as the FAMAS, Lima Mike Juliet knew all about it. There was no more knowledgeable weapons expert in the world.

"hand me a clip so I can do some damage," he said, and I handed him some more clips for his M9 pistol.

We then all went off to ambush Ivan and his escorts in the middle of making an arms deal with terrorists.

We stopped when we saw them, and quickly set up an ambush position. They didn't see us, but, with our nightvision googles, we saw them.

"seventeen terrorists.' Soap-kun said, "they're armed with AK-47 ARs and AK-74 submachine guns. Not a problem. Okay on the count of five. One… Two… Five!"

I. I'm at a loss.

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We all opened fire and we cut down several of the terrorists like flies. SO EASY.

Several of the terrorists started running away, and I ran after them with my barret fifty cal.

"Stop right there, Criminal Scum!" I shouted as I caught up to them. They began firing at me and I fired back. With their inaccurate AK-47, none of them could hit me. But I couldn't hit them either, however, because they were obviously experts in the martial art of Gun Kata: The moved in such a way that whenever I was going to shot them, they would dodge out of the way right as the I pulled the trigger.

But I did what I had to. I used the technique of point-and-shoot. Because the hands naturally move to what the eye is looking at, one can blindfire a rifle with relative accuracy. I then jumped in the air, spinning in a circle. If I tried to aim at him, he would use his gun kata to dodge out of the way faster than I could aim, but by spinning in a circle, it guaranteed that I would muzzle-sweep him, and all I'd have to was pull the trigger when that happended.

BOOM! Headsot! His head completely explode. I think it is worth mentioning that this is not how the beret .50 cal. is supposed to be used: I was improvising it to be used against people, but it was actually made for shooting down airplanes with incendiary heatseeking bullets. I was out of ammo though, so I grabbed his AK-47. The other terrorist tried to fire at me, from point blank range, but I dropped to the ground, and opened fire, firing into his stomac, legs, and, ankles. I ran back to the rest of the fight.

By now there were only 9 terrorists left, but things started to go bad. One by one, Our M16s started jamming, and LMJ had run out of ammo for his FAMAS. Even mine jammed! So one by one, we all switched to our pistols.

And that's when it happened. They went over the top of our cover and rushed us! We fired at them with our M9s but it didn't do a thing! They just kept coming! And then I realized it; they were all wearing body armor!

I was about to draw my armor piercing Five seveN, but just then I realized we were surrounded and that everyone had surrendered, so I did too. The terrorists then handcuffed us and sat us down on ground. And that's when I saw him face to face; the true face of a madman: Ivan Chesnokov.

"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE? CAPITALIST PIG DISGUSTING!" Ivan Said. He picked up one of our m16 assault rifles. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? YOU COVER GUN IN SO MANY ATTACHMENTS, BUT NOT MAKE GUN ONE SINGLE RUBLES' WORTH BETTER. JUST EXPENSIVE SHIT TRYING TO MAKE ALREADY SHITTY GUN OF EUGEN STONER BETTER. EVEN SYSTEMA IS POORLY DESIGNED. USING SYSTEMA OF DIRECT IMPINGEMENT IS LIKE RIFLE THAT SHITS WHERE IT EATS"

"You monster!" Price-sama shouted "you sell assault weapons to criminals. Weapons like the m14 are illegal in my country for a reason! No civilian needs that kind of firepower!"

Ivan walked over to him and was about to say something, but Lima Mike Juliet quickly diverted his attention to save Price-sama.

"Hey Ivan? How does it feel to know that the AK-47 is just a knock off of the German stg-44? Even the trigger mechanism was stolen from the American M1 Garand!"

Ivan flew into a fit of rage. "YOU MAY NOT UNDERSTAND, BUT YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD!"

Ivan fired his Mosin Nagant, shooting Lima Mike Juliet through the forehead. The bullet must have passed through his cerebellum: his body collapsed and immediately began convulsing. It also gave him a MASSIVE priapism – his engorged death-erection ejaculating wildly. What a glorious death. I knew without a doubt that he would see Valhalla.

"MY NAME IS IVAN CHESNOKOV' Ivan Chesnokov said, holding up his Mosin Nagant. "AND THIS MY WEAPON. SHE WAS MADE MANUFACTURED UNDER SPECIFICATIONS OF SERGEI MOSIN IN 1891 AND HAS FOUGHT FOR GLORY OF PROLETERIATE IN EVERY WAR OF MOTHER RUSSIA SINCE HER INCEPTION. SHE FIRES RUSSIAN SURPLUS CARTRIDGES. IT COST TWO CENTS TO FIRE THIS GUN FOR TWELVE SECONDS. HER NAME IS SASCHA."

He then cycled the bolt and and shot Captain Price-Sama, killing him instantly.

BOOM!

He then Shot Roach-san, Ghost-chan, and Soap-kun. He then went over to me and spoke

"WOMEN IN ARMY? HA! FEMALE SOLDIER IS GIANT HOLE INTO WICH ARMY SEMEN AND MONEY FLOWS! DOSVEDONIA"

He was about to cycle the bolt, but it suddenly got jammed

"CHERENKOV! FETCH ME TWO-BY-FOUR TO ASSIST IN CYCLING OF WEAPON SYSTEMA OF SERGEI MOSIN!"

This was my only chance to escape. I quickly undid my handcuffs with the ancient chinese art of handcuff-no-jutsu, which had been passed down to me from generation to generation.

I reacted like cat like reflexes, jumping up and running off into the wilderness as fast as I could. Running in a serpentine pattern, I dodged the bullets of the surprised terrorists that tried to fire at me. Ivan then shouldered sascha and took aim and fired. The bullet just barely missed me, but the shockwave of the bullet spun me around. Still, I kept running till I broke contact. Just then I heard sever more gunshots, and I knew that the rest of Task Force 141 had just been executed.

From that day on, I swore revenge, and would Track Ivan Chesnokov to the ends of the Earth.

>Chapter 4: Baww! leave a (you) already!
Weeks past by. I used my art of ninjutsu to stealthily follow him. And I followed him. I followed him across Russia. I followed him across Europe…

I followed him to America.

Then, one night when I was in a hotel, I turned on the TV to C-Span 3 (it was always so exciting) and what I saw I couldn't believe. There he was – General Shepherd – standing before the House Armed Services Committee. He was talking about us.

"As you can see,' he said, "When their M16s Jammed, they were forced to use their backup side arms. Our special forces team was on the offensive and winning up until this point. It was only after switching to their side arms that these best-of-the-best soldiers were overrun. Why? Because their 9mm pistols just didn't have enough stopping power. There's just not enough kinetic energy to create hydrostatic shock. The warnings have been there for years, but we didn't listen. And now, these brave heroes, these sheepdog protectors, have paid for it with their lives. This is what happens when logistics leads practicality, instead of the other way around.

Therefore, it is my recommendation that the American Military immediately return to the Colt M1911 as its standard issue service pistol."

The next day, before I headed out to continue tracking Ivan, I read a newspaper. The headline read "OLD PISTOL MAKES COMBACK AS NEW STANDARD.' – they had re-adopted that 1911.

I followed Ivan down the block; but he didn't notice. I noticed, however, that there was a third party that was watching Ivan, but they didn't notice me either.

Suddenly, a van pulled and ran and men jumped out. The put a black bag over Ivan's head and shoved him into the van. Did we finally get him? It looked like we did, but my Tzu sense was tingling.

So I stealthily snuck around to the back of the van, and got on the ground. I then wiggled my way under the van on my back. In the Special Forces, we refer to this maneuver as 'walking the dinosaur.' I then strapped myself to the underside of the van, and it took off.

This is glourus work of the Jow Forumsube and I love it. I do hope Marissa doesn't kill they're hero of the story, Ivan

After several hours of driving, the van stopped. I looked around and saw my surroundings, and instantly knew where we were: Shepherds secret special operations headquarters base!

I unhooked myself as soon as the van entered the compound and ran off. No one saw me. I then scaled the base till I got to an air duct. I removed the cover and crawled inside. I crawled through the passages until I heard General Shepherd talking. He was talking to one of his assistants on his staff.

"Do you understand what a Sheepdog is?" he asked his assistant

"of course."

"Then as you know, a sheepdog protects sheep. It protects the Sheep from the Wolves. But where do the Sheepdogs come from? A thought provoking question, to be sure. What happened was, the Shepherds took their greatest enemy, and bred them into their best friend. Fighting their nightmare with a harnessed version of that nightmare. In short, all Sheepdogs… were originally Wolves"

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in, Ivan."

Unfettered, Ivan opened the door and sat himself down.

"Thank you, Mr. Chesnokov; you've done a great service to this great country. I'm sorry we had to extract you like that; for the sake of appearances."

"IT IS GREAT HONOR GENERAL SHEPHERD OF U.S. ARMY. YOUR IDEA OF LOADING ALL THE M9S WITH BLANKS WAS TRICKERY USUALLY RESRVED FOR FILTHY RUSSIAN ORTHODOX JEW. VERY CLEVER. AS SOON AS THEIR RIFLES JAMMED, TAKING THEM WAS AS EASY AS SHOOTING CONSCRIPTS IN TIGHTLY PACKED LANDING CRAFT… OR SHOOTING FISH IN A BARREL AS YOU AMERICANS MIGHT SAY. HOW DID YOU MAKE ALL THE M16 RIFLES JAM?'

Shepherd laughed, "I didn't do a thing, they all jammed on their own."

"AND WHAT ABOUT OUR DEAL?"

"Right. As part of our deal, you get amnesty for turning yourself in and cooperating with us. I've already gotten my end of what I wanted. But first – I need to be absolutely certain – did you kill all of them? Every. Single. One. Well?

"OF COURSE I DID WHY WOULD RUSSIAN TERRORIST LIE?"

"good. Now get up and we'll escort you out of here."

Shepherd pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

"for appearances sake."

Ivan gets up and turns around. The General handcuffs him, and then puts a black bag over his head and leads him out of the room. I followed them through the base via the airducts system. Sheperd led him into a Strange Room. The room was strange. In the room there was some equipment and a workbench and a single chair. Shepherd sat Ivan down in the chair and handcuffed him to it. He then removed the bag from Ivan's head

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"

"I'm sorry Ivan, but I have to tie up a few loose ends"
"WHAT THE FUCK! YOU LIED TO ME!"

"What makes you think I wouldn't lie to you after I lied right in front of congress?"

"SO WHAT. LYING IS IN THOSE PEOPLE'S JOB DESCRIPTION."

"I'm sorry Ivan, but this is the way that it has to be. You deserve to know the truth before you die though. You remember the Beslan School Hostage Massacre? Of course you do, it was the reason you went terrorist in the first place. Officially, it was perpetrated by the Chechens. But you know better, you know how it was really caused by Americans. Remember? You found the body of an American among the hostage takers. You did research. You found that the body was that of special operator S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Americans were responsible for the Beslan Massacre, pretending to be Chechens. That's when you vowed not only your revenge against the already hated west, but also against Russia, saying that the new government was soft and too western for not pursuing the Americans out of vengeance.

But what if I told you that it was all a lie? That it was in reality, not a false-flag attack, but a double reverse falseflag attack? That Americans weren't responsible, but instead it was indeed chechens?"

"FUCK CHECHENS!"

"I know it's hard to believe, but its true."

"BUT STALKER— ''."

"There never was a STALKER!1! All the documents were forged. The real STALKER, Gomer Gaylord Pyle, was never a member of the CIA, he was never a member of MEUSOC, he was never even officially a member of the Marines. He was discharged on the grounds of don't ask don't tell, and for failing PT five times in a row, before he ever even finished bootcamp. We chose the name STALKER because that's what he said he wanted to be when he went spec-ops. Hell, I was there on the day he was discharged. 'get out of here, Pyle' the drill sergeant shouted. 'Pyle's not my real name anymore, its STALKER,' he responded. 'GET OUT OF HERE STALKER!' the drill sergeant then shouted back. Pyle then said 'Whatever man, I'm too cool for your brainwashing; you can't fire me, I quit.' He died a short while later from colon cancer from the accumulation of years and years of semen rotting away inside his rectum. We took the body from the morgue, altered the documents to say that he was never discharged, and posthumously promoted him to Master Gunnery Sergeant, where he officially became listed as Special Agent S.T.A.L.K.E.R. We then gave the body to the Chechens for them to leave at the scene, so that the Russians would blame America. I had hoped that it would provoke the Russians into attacking us, a war that I knew we would win. Why else do you think the 'top secret' documents surrounding agent STALKER were so easy to find? We wanted you to find them; well not you specifically, I could have never predicted that you would be the outcome; I meant 'you' as in the Russian Government.

I'm actually glad that it didn't succeed. In retrospect, having terrorists commit an act of terror against Russian civilians, leaving an American body behind in hopes that the Russians would think Americans were responsible and then invade America is one of the most fucking retarded ideas ever."

"IF I EVER GET OUT OF HERE I WILL KILL YOU SO HARD YOU DIE TO DEATH!"

"it's a shame that's not going to happen. Its time for you to die, but first I'm going to have a little fun.'

"HA! YOU CAN TORTURE ME, BUT IT CAN'T DO A THING. YOU CAN KILL MAI WAIF, BUT I CAN REMARY. YOU CAN KILL MY CHILDREN, BUT I CAN ALWAYS PROCREAT AGAIN FOR THE GLORY OF MORE WORKERS FOR MOTHER RUSSIA. YOU CAN KILL BUT I AM LIKE GREAT AND FEROCIUS HONEY BADGER: I JUST DON'T GIVE A FUCK."

"Silly Ivan, I'm going to do worser than kill you. I'm going to hurt you, right where it really counts."

Shepard then dragged over some of the equipment and removed Sasha from a case and set it out on the workbench.

"PUT HER DOWN DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER"

"sorry, Ivan"

Shepherd then cut off the stock on the Mosin, adding a tactical retractable stock and a pistol grip. Ivan Screamed.

Shepherd then rechambered the mosin in 5.56 NATO. Ivan began crying. I don't understand why, though, of all the things that shepherd did, that was probably and improvement. Shepherd then attached rails to sides, top, and bottom of the gun. On these rails he attached a flashlight, an AN PEQ laser, and an ACOG scope which was also covered in rails.

"PLEASE. YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH. JUST LEAVE HER ALONE"

'I'm not nearly done with her yet,' shephered said, opening a can of duracoat.

"NNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT"

By the time that shepherd had finished, and that his Tactical Mosin Nagant lay in front of Ivan, Ivan Chesnokov was a broken man.

Shepherd then drew his 1911 with his left hand and then pressed the barrel against Ivan's forehead.

"I'm sorry Ivan. But sick dogs need to be put down'

I couldn't watch any longer. I had to do something. I suddenly busted down from the airduck, landing grace-full, a pair of tactical flasbang concussion grenades droping from inside my skirt as I gave a small curtsy. The flash blinded all three of us, but I used my memory of the room to run over to Ivan, undo his handcuffs with my handcuff-no-jutsu, and drag him out the door.

From that moment on, Ivan and I swore revenge, and would track General Shepherd to the ends of the Earth.

>Chapter 5: Modirn Gayfuck Stupid

Ivan and I quickly ran as fast as we can. As soon as our vision returned we looked around. General Shepherd was gone. He had run off in the other direction while we were all blinded.

"GENERAL SHPHERD MUST DIE FOR HIS SINS"

"I know,' I said, handing Ivan a AK-47 and a comm link. We tuned our comlinks in to Shepherds channel

"Sir! We heard an explosion from the torture room! Are you OK?" a guard said over the commlink

"It's Marisa,' Shepherd said. "Back up priority Items and burn the Rest. Fireteams: there's no chance on stopping such a skilled Operator; just delay here until we are ready to pull out."

Suddenly some of Shepherd's soldiers rushed at us, but my M4 – chambered in .50 Grendel, of course – tore through them like a hot knife through butter.

"let's go," I shouted to Ivan. We ran outside, shooting at Shephered's soldiers as we sprinted across open gorund. We ran for the Armory to get even more firepower. As we ran to the armory, Ivan and I saw a AC-130 taking off from the runway: Shephered was trying to escape.

oi goy, buy a pass so you can post fasterer

As soon as we got into the armory, we got more ammo, some grenades, and a Strela-3 AAA. We also grabbed a pair of gasmasks, a pair of ghillie suits, and a Pair of Flack Jackets. I normaly didn't wear body armor like the flack jackets, my cute dress was enough layers of clothes as it is. When I did wear body armor, most spec-ops like myself wear the Type-9 Denim-weave body armor. While it was only resistant against lower calibers, it had the advantage of being inconspicuous among civilians.

There was no being inconspicuous at this point, however, so I put the flak jacket on anyway.

Suddenly, we heard a broadcast all across the base via loudspeaker:

"All units be advised. This is callsign Sheepdog-01. The site has been compromised. I'm executing directive one-one-six-bravo. If you're still on the base and alive and you can hear this, your service will be honored. Shephered out."

"this is bad!" I told Ivan "Shepherd's going to activate a tacticle Nuke!"

"THEN WE MUST FIND A WAY OUT OF HEAR AND QUICKLY" said Ivan

Ivan and I ran outside, there were some panicking soldiers of shepherd running for their lives, but I shot them all dead just to safe.

There were several Humvees around, and they were our only form of escape.

"HOW LONG DO WE HAVE UNTIL THE DETONATION OF ATOMIC WEAPON?"

"About five minutes" I said.

Ivan and I rushed into the barracks and began looking frantically: If we were going to get those Humvees started we were going to have to find their keys

"Can you find any keys?!"

"NYET!"

"I Found one!"

We rushed outside and began trying the key in every single Humvee we found.

But none of the keys was the right one!

"only two minutes left!" I shouted

"WE DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO ESCAPE LETHAL RADIUS OF BLAST"

"I have an idea!" I said. There was an Abrams tank on the base. The two of us ran for it, climbed inside, locked the hatches, and waited for the explosion.

Currently rewriting pretty much all of Don's arc.

"I'M SORRY MARISA," Ivan said. "I SHOULD HAVE NEVER SAID THOSE THINGS ABOUT YOU BACK IN SERBIA, ABOUT HOW YOU WERE A WOMAN ON A SPEC-OPS TEAM. YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND, WHEN I WAS DIGGING THROUGH AMERICAN INTELLIGENCE AFTER BESLAN, I FOUND THAT YOU WERE NOT THE FIRST FEMALE OPERATOR. THERE WAS ANOTHER. BECAUSE SHE WAS THE ONLY WOMAN IN UNIT, SHE LET IT GO TO HER HEAD, ACTING AS IF IT MADE HER SPECIAL AND WENT SO FAR AS TO MAKE HER VAGINA HER ONLY DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC, EVEN REFFERING TO HERSELF BY HER GENDER. SHE WAS LATER DISCHARGED FROM SERVICE WHEN SHE WAS ON A STING OPERATION PRETENDING TO BE A PROSTITUTE TO GET CLOSE TO THE LEADER OF A BLACK DRUG GANG, BUT SHE SEEMED TO HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT IT WAS A STING, AND DIDN'T EVEN COLLECT PAYMENT. PERHAPS YOU HAVE HEARD OF HER; HER CODENAME WAS GirL"

Ivan paused

"IF I HAD ONLY KNOWN THAT AMERICANS LIKE YOU EXISTED I WOULD HAVE NEVER COMMITED THOSE ACTS OF TERRORSIM"

"Its okay," I said, " its in the past."

"MARIA YOU REALLY ARE AMAZING. YOU ARE THE BEST OPERATOR I HAVE EVER SEEN"

"oh stop it you, I'm an ~airhead~"

"REGARDLESS, I WANT TO THANK YOU FOR SAVING ME"

"Don't feel special. I-It's no like I like you or anything, I just couldn't complete the mission without you. Baka!"

I suddenly felt sad, "Oh man, weren't those soldiers that we just shot and killed… Americans?"

"NO, IT IS OK, THEY WERE JUST SHEPHERD'S MERCENARIES FOR HIRE"

"Thanks Ivan" I said, "I feel better." Mercenaries were all cutthroat baby killers so I didn't care if they died. Mercenaries weren't really people.

KABOOM!

The nuke exploded outside, rocking the tank back and forth, but we were protected, insid e of it.

We then put on our gasmasks, which were made during WWI to protect soldiers in the trenches from fallout, and stepped out side.

Circling the blast area high above, was Shepherd's AC-130 gunship. Then we heard two jets in the distance and listened to the comlink

"This is Shepherd. You cleared to go on a thunderrun"

But general, we don't have visual confirmation. This could be danger close for any surviving friendlies"

"do it anyway!"

A-10s were going to strafe our position!

"Ivan! Put on your ghillie suits so that the airsupport can't see us!"

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRT

The a-10s cannon fired, sending shrapnel everywhere. We were fare enough away that our flak jackets protected us from the shrapnel.

The pilot spoke on the commlink "sir, we got a hitmarker, but whoever's down there is till alive!"

The ac-130 began cannon-spamming into the ground below. Even with our protection, even though we were invisible with our ghillie suits, it would get us eventually. I aimed my Strela 3 at the ac-130, waited for the tone, and then fired. The ac-130 deployed countermeasures, which worked at first, but the missile looped back around and hit the plane. It exploded into a fireball, and the debris started crashing toward us.

"Ivan run!"

BOOM. The debris landed all around us, and I blacked out.

When I came to, I looked around but couldn't find Ivan. Dazed and confused, I stumbled around clumsily, and then I saw him: General shephered was alive and leaning against some wreakage.

I ran at, him trying to draw my Five-seveN, but he knocked it out of my hand, and knocked me to the ground.

"how the hell did you servive!" I shouted.

"I flew C-130s in the national guard and you think I don't know how to make a crash landing,' shepherd said. "Marisa, I am disappoint."

"You monster! You tried to kill us all just so you could get the 1911 reinstated!"

"and If I had asked you to throw your lives away in a suicide mission that would have saved hundreds of thousands less than the one I sent you on, you would have gladly done so. I don't see how this is any different."

I was furious, "You don't see how it's any different? That would be WAR; but what you did isn't war, it's politics!"

"But war *is* politics. War always has been, ever since it was first invented; and war... war doesn't changes."

Shepherd drew his 1911 and then began speaking again:

"perhaps you don't quite understand.. do you remember the time before I was a general. What was my favorite side arm?"

Sudenly I remembered, "Wait a minute... I know who you are! you were part of the Experimental Weapons Procurement and Development Bureau... Glocks! You used to love Glocks!"

"That's right! A german handgun that costs more than a shit-tier operator like you makes in a month. I used tobelieve in glocks, but then it happened.

I lost three fingers in the blink of an eye, and the range officer just fucking watched!

After that day, I had my eyes opened. I was using a pistol that wasn't even made in America, and I had payed the price. American soldiers were using German made smgs, Belgian made machineguns, and Italian made pistols – chambered in puny 9mm! Where does it end? But our Sheepdogs deserve better than that, They deserve America and American innovation. That's why we need the 1911. it's nut'n fancy, but it gets the job done. And that's why I'm here. Because sometimes, even God needs a hero. I'm sure you'll understand."

He put the gun to my head. Right as he fired, Ivan tackled Shepherd to the ground, the bullet missing my head by inches. They rolled around for a while, trying to redirect the 1911 at one another. But shepherd was out muscling him, and the barrel was inches away from Ivan's face. I had to do something.

"hey Shepherd!" I shouted, "I talked to some contacts in the government, and they're only using the 1911 as a temporary measure: the real caliber that the U.S. is going to adopt is 10mm .40 S&W!"

"you lying bitch!" Shepherd shouted. Quick as a flash, Shepherd wrenched the gun away from Ivan and shot me right in the head. Ivan then grabed the gun from Sheppered and shot him, but the .45 bounced of shepered's body armor.

I lay there for a while, in a pool of my own blood. But then I rolled onto my stomach and began crawling toward my Five-seveN. I could hear Shepherd pummeling Ivan to a pulp in the background. I grabbed my Five seveN and turned to face Shepherd. He was straddling Ivan and pummeling him in the face, but he stoped to look up at me in disbelief.

"But I shot you in the Face!" he said

"fuck you glocksucker" I said.

I then emptied my entire clip into him. The Five seveN's special, superior ammo pierced through his body armor, then split into three pieces, filling Shepherd's body with 63 individual wounding vectors. He was dead as a dead wanker can get.

Now if I could just... Oh yeah, there's a bleeding half inch hole in my head. About that... The truth is, I have a Dark and Troubled Past™. When I was a child, I suffered from nearly fatal seizures from my epilepsy. The only solution was a radical hemispherectomy. Even though I had a male's body, whatever part of my mind was responsible for masculinity got scooped out along with the part of my brain responsible for the seizures. When General Shepered shot me, the bullet passed harmlessly through the empty side of my skull.

"DA. LETS GET OUT OF HERE"

Ivan and I then got out of there and rented a room in a cheap motel.

Ivan through me onto the bed. 'Pomf' went the bed as the air rushed out of the mattress from my impact.

"Wah! What are we gonna do on the bed?" I asked. But I already knew what we were about to do on the bed. Ivan and I then made love.

>Chapter 5+1: epilogue

Even though we had killed Sheppered, I was still very depressed. Shepherd had succeeded in making the 1911 the standard side arm, and all of my friends from TF 141 were dead. I put on my headphones, and began listening to Linkin Park on my i-pod, and began to cry. Then suddenly I saw a cute looking, smiling, ferret like creature with long ears.

"Hello, Marisa," it said, "my name is Kyubei"

"hello Kyubei," I said.

"I can sense that you have a Dark and Troubled Past™," he said. "do you know who Mary Tzu is?"

"of course I do. She was my great great great great great great grandmother."

"She was one of the best warriors in all of existence. She was the real reason that her husband Sun Tzu was such a good strategist. But what if I told you that her warrior spirit was so strong that she was reincarnated over and over again and again down her family line, and that you are her current reincarnation."

"Are you saying," I asked, "that I am a Mary Tzu?"

"yes," said kyubey, "you are one of the greatest Mary Tzu's ever. Because of all the emotional stress from all the different lives spent as a warrior are cumulative, you carry the emotions of hundreds of times what you know. That is why I want you to make a contract with me. If you make a contract with me. When you die, I'll get to turn all of that emotion into energy to stave off the Heat Death of the universe. In exchange you get one wish. You can wish for anything you want; with your wish you can become anything that you want"

Kyubey said I could become anyting, so I became God.

I then used my power to reset the world to before Sheperd's treachery. None of the TF 141 members where dead now, and even Ivan Chesnokov was a member of TF 141, he even began to embrace western weapons and started to go by the callsign 'BOOF'. The Five seveN was now the standard issue side arm, just as it should be. I then also ended the entropic decay of the universe, so no one will have to worry about Heat Death ever again.

But most off all, I became a god who looks after soldiers and OPERATORS, guiding them to Valhalla when they go. So no matter where you are, as long as you use a Five seveN or fight on a battlefield, Whether your one of elite operators with a code-name, or one of the countless faceless Anonymous grunts to wear a uniform, you'll never have to fight alone; Marisa Kirisame will be with you, always.

A great story, but that ending was too happy
overall a 7/556

I have a mob princess character, semi-lewd and assertive. What handgun should I give her?
I can't make up my mind when it comes to her signature weapon.

Any suggestions?

What group of mob? Mexican, Russian, Italian, Irish, etc?

something either shinny or something that appears in films a lot
>itt handled cartel princess

a golden deagle or ivory handled and pimped out 1911

I agree with Poly and user. Maybe a Beretta 92 Inox, or a snubby revolver would be cool as well. Maybe a CZ since I love CZ.

you can't go wrong with a Browning Hi-Power, or maybe a CZ 75? With luxurious custom grips.

Also whatever she has, it needs to have a ton of engraving for flashy looks.

I'd say get her a bitch gun, like a PPK, Raven MP25, or Beretta 84 or whatever that gun James bond switched away from at the beginning of the franchise. Also, you could go the other way and make it some reasonable revolver... Or the other end of the spectrum, a ridiculous monstrosity that's merely a token of status, like suggested, only take note of one thing. MAKE IT PEARL GRIPPED. Ivory signals status, but also TASTE, and as Patton said "No, son, these are Ivory. Only a New Orleans pimp carries pearl gripped revolvers."
Well... A cartel brat would PROBABLY be the exact kind of person to have such inelegant tastes.

Makarov with pearl grips, or if revolver a Colt Python, 6 inch barrel?

if its a revolver, make sure it has a massive compensator thats ribbed for her pleasure

maybe, a Mak PM's a pretty good little hooker gun, but then again, it's very common, and also it's not the shiniest. Also, it's gotta be gold or engraved. probably doesn't hurt.
....
Alternatively, a desert eagle engraved and gold plated.

japanese, sorry forgot to mention.

Man so many good ideas. Shouldn't be hard but damn it is.

Yeah lots of good ideas. Can't really go wrong with any of them. Also let me add the type 54 for good measure.

en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Type_54_pistol

>Anything but a Korth

keep em coming gonna try to decide tonight after dinner.

Thanks Jow Forums

example of shinny

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tie of shinny and appears in films a lot

hi-powers are third most common from personal experience tied with glocks

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Shiny is one N, taco

thanks

That was concentrated autism, and I enjoyed every sentence of it. Well done, Mary, well done.

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ivory/ pearl grip, golden damascened Nambu
youtube.com/watch?v=4KM7ySNWuqU

Working on a rewrite of Don's arc.

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pastebin.com/ZCSMMVnk

bump

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Springfield is perfect.

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Thank you for the (you)s, I'll get writing immediately.

That is correct, his pack is how he obtains his weapons. I'll go more in-depth later in the chapter. A quick rundown is:

>24 threads represent the limit of items he can draw
>White threads represent the ability to draw
>Red threads mean it's recharging/unable to draw from

>Each thread represents 1 kilogram of weight.
>It takes roughly an hour for the red thread to 'recharge' itself.
>You can "loan" hours; the thread will turn orange. This means you've gone over the 24hr limit and will take another day(24hr) to recharge, regardless of how much you go over the limit.

>Only things that will fit through the 'neck' of the pack can be drawn; I.E. no ICBMs or tanks.
(you can bring parts of those items, but you will need to disassemble them.)

Also, that 'edgy' inner voice might not be user's... but that's a story for another time.

Thank you for your question and feedback; I'm always happy to answer any and all of your questions.
Feel free to drop another one.

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I want to tease WA2000 so much

This, but WA2000 is me and the kitty is WA2000

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[Saber Company: Chapter 3: Fuck]

>Sticky for everyone: pastebin.com/97505v6K

>Text to follow.

As we pushed through the ruins of the city perimeter, the rain began to fall. Whitman uttered a curse through our local radio, before ordering me to stop at the edge of a corner, as Martinez rotated the turret left to look down the road.

“Can’t see shit,” Martinez quipped, as Sanders adjusted the seat below his ass.

-“Have you tried thermal yet?” A moment of silence passed by before Martinez stopped checking the viewport to glance over at Sanders, trying to hide a smirk as he realized that there was indeed, thermal imaging on the tank.

“Fuck you, maricon.”

-“Stow it, keep an eye out.

The rain picked up in intensity as the clouds began to mask the blue sky above, turning the bright colors still evident in the town into dulled gray hues. Sheets of rainwater poured across the long stretch of road in the direction of the wind, while Martinez and Whitman scanned fervently for another target.
Nothing came.

“Saber Actual, This is 2-1, We see nothing on scope, permission to advance?” Whitman waited patiently as Saber Actual was most likely double-checking tank positions.

-“Negative, 2-1, That intersection is a likely flanking route. Hold fast. Shield and Gauntlet are trying to push the rest of Crazy Horse towards you and the rest of Saber."

Whitman cursed. Actual was right. He sighed and slouched a bit in his chair.
“Roger that, Actual. Saber 2 standing fast.”
[1/?]

When two PMCs met on the field, they fought like professionals. They killed each other in honor of their profession, in honor of their decision to chase glory.
During the Corporate wars, a few rules were established following the establishment of the major corporations that were agreed upon in Chicago.

>“The first rule is to never interfere in the business of another Corporation’s PMC operation unless you intend to take ground.”

This applied mostly to the corporations surrounding a battlespace, but it could easily apply to other PMCs trying to affect the outcome between corporations. There were a dozen other ones, but the ones PMCs follow were a lot more simpler to comprehend- y’know, for the sake of simplicity:

>“Money steels the conviction. The one paid more will always win.”

>“Treat rivals with respect for their prowess and presence. It takes a god among men-- or a fool-- to choose this profession.”

> “Murder is committed in cold-blood, without a reason. A warrior should only kill in battle, when it is unavoidable.”

>“Keep your word, even if you die for it.”

>“Death is:
>Your mistress-- You shall take no other.
>Your guide-- You shall not betray it.
>Your teacher-- Every instance of death should be treated as a lesson for yourself--or for others.”

>The Word Mercenary holds negative connotations even to this day. Always remember you must earn trust and respect by committing yourself to success-- Train hard, Fight harder. The more you bleed, cry, cuss, and doubt in training, the less you shall do in battle. That is how you prove your worth.”

>“Never betray the company you are with to seek fortune elsewhere. The completion of your contract with brothers is better than seeking fortune alone.”

I remember days when we would run into PMCs armed to the nines with tanks, RPGs, TOW missiles and they’d let us pass by into territory a Corporation wanted--They just let us through..Now? Who knows?
[2/?]

We sat there quietly for what felt like an eternity, listening to our radio traffic. The storm increased in its strength, the wind turning the rain into millions of little knives striking the chassis of our tank. The Radio came to life then amidst the colossal roar of thunderheads striking each other above our heads.

“All Saber, Saber Actual, Mannequin advises that we hold position until the storm passes--WeatherNet, Meteo1, and several other weather observation companies are reading a massive thunderstorm pushing through the region powered by a massive High-pressure system from Africa. Winds in excess of 65 Miles per hour, rainfall averaging-“

A strike of lightning hit the ground in front of us, killing our electronics for a moment, before everything flickered back on. The thunder following the strike of the lighting obscured the radio transmission as the IR scopes flickered from the strike.

It was safe to say we were a little spooked by the sudden change of weather, but it was common, especially near the dead zones in Africa. Nuclear fire purged that place years ago, and the environment had become unstable as a result. Somewhere between Nuclear Winter and Global Warming. Always a storm of snow, ice, dust, or rain. The domes back home helped with the planting and growing...Made me wish I was there now--just for a moment. Saber Actual’s voice came back on the radio, his concern apparent.

“Saber 2, Did you copy my last, over?”
-“Saber Actual, this is Saber 2, be advised, we just got hit with lightning. Electronics ok, we’re good. Still scanning our sectors."

A few moments passed before someone from Gauntlet Company came on Vox.

>“All Companies, this is Gauntlet 2! We have uh-ah...Fucking-big-fucking piece of shit rolling towards us! I have no idea what it is.”
[3/?]

>-“Calm down, Gauntlet Actual-“

>“Fuck that! This thing killed Gauntlet 4, 6, 9, and Actual! Sabot ineffective! Squash Ineffective! Oh Fuuu-“

The line went dead. Whitman looked down the hatch at me.
“Fuck..." He padded the radio. "Actual, this is 2, Do you have eyes on?”

>-“Standby...That’s a Maus.”

“What?! Like, That German Prototype?”

>-“Yeah, but...This is different. Two main cannons, sloped armor, ERA...I saw Gauntlet get taken out. They were throwing sabot right at its front. Shit shattered on impact, it just rolled out from behind that big hill from the northeast...The colors aren’t Crazy Horse Blue. Red Stripes with Black trim. KPW...”

“Shit”, Whitman took a deep breath. “There’s gotta be a way to beat it.”

>-“Flank it. We have to take its flank, Whitman. I’ll draw its fire, I’m at its 2 O’clock. I’ll try and move its turret away from you. Hit that road as fast as you can and push through the town onto the other side. Don’t stop for anything; Crazy Horse, KPW, God, Allah, Buddah, I don’t fucking care. You push. Roll out!”

“You heard the man, Driver! PUSH! Load! Sabot!”
-“Sabot,sabot! Got it! UP!”

I pulled the throttle as far back as it would go, the Tank’s Honeywell engine whirring to life as I fed the girl with speed, her treads pulling the road over her with zealous ambition as the roar of tank cannons could be heard in the distance. Actual had left his radio on Vox by mistake- We could hear the fear, the determination in his voice as he ordered his men.

“30 Degrees, he’s at 50, Get him to rotate the turret! Come on, Goines! PUSH! Load Sabot!”
“Up!”
“FIRING!”
“Watch the terrain! HILL! FUCK-“
[4/?]

The clattering of steel plate, the shouts of young adventurers like ourselves, not of joy, but of fear. I felt chills through my entire body, radiating up to my ears as we thundered through the most direct route out of the city. Sure enough, we careened past a few Crazy-Horse tanks looking in the opposite direction towards Saber Actual.
The guys in my tank didn’t notice, they were too focused on the Maus. It was moving towards us as the turret traversed right, trying to track Actual’s movements and fire ahead of him. We were less than 500 meters from him, and the size of the tank finally came into perspective. The Maus towered over us, it seemed. The height of Two Abrams tanks, plus half. Heat waves from the compartment caught my attention as I pulled the tank closer.

“Jesus, Fuck,” Martinez said. “I’m adjusting angle, don’t get too close, I can’t get a shot on it.”

-“Actual, this is 2, we’re coming up on the Maus now, How you holding up?”

Silence.

-“Saber Actual, this is 2, copy my last, Over?”

No time to ask again, I adjusted to the right, and Martinez Traversed the gun left as we rolled past its heavy plates on the side and arrived at the soft backside of the Maus. I could see the lettering on the Exhaust panel where the engines were churning as hard as possible:

>MAUS 40K. Property of KPW.

I stomped on both brakes, the tank lurching forward and digging its heels into the wet dirt as the rain continued to pour.

“IN POSITION!” I screamed, the anxiety filled my chest as the reality set in that this was do-or-die. Martinez adjusted the muzzle just above the exhaust plate, aiming at the large cylindrical barrel attached to its backside.
[5/?]

I didn’t hear Whitman give the order to fire, but the cannon kicked us back a bit, and I could see the sabot penetrate the rear armor with a shower of sparks and flame shoot out the back, followed by smoke. The fire was yellow like the sun, illuminating the ground, and soaking the ground in flames before being put out by the rainwater above and below.

>“Load, Squash! C’mon! Fast!”

Sanders’ squat body made quick work of changing shells. The guy was a power-lifter in his off-time when he wasn’t boozing or looking for meat to fill.

>“UP!”

Martinez was sucking on his bottom lip, some blood dribbling from his mouth as he pressed his forehead into the scope, trying to get his angle just right. He pressed the trigger and the round came out, the plastic tip smashing into the steel and turning even more of the thin plate in the rear into a void filled with burning gasoline.
Smoke billowed out from every crevice of the tank now, but something told Whitman and Martinez to continue.

>“Gimme HEAT!”

>“UP!”

>“FIRE! FUCK YOU!”

The smoke was suddenly replaced with flames licking the paint off the tank as the hatches roared open with flames, a few people running out completely engulfed in flames.

Whitman hollered as soon as the bodies piled out of the Maus.

>“FOOT MOBILE! GET HIS ASS!”

The chattering of 7.62 brass falling onto the steel of the tank filled my ears as I watched as those burning bodies fell dead face-first into the puddles.

>“Clear the town. About face and clear it, before the ammo goes up...”

I did as instructed, throwing the throttle to reverse and turn back into the town, where the last two tanks in town were Crazy Horse. They still had not moved from their last position, it seemed. I moved the tank forward far enough away that the shells cooked off into the Maus behind us.
We quickly dispatched the last two Crazy Horse tanks, before sitting idly in the tank for what seemed like an eternity.
[6/?]

Whitman rested his head back against nothing, allowing his head to roll back as he took a deep breath, before hitting VOX.
“All Saber, this is 2. How copy, Over?”

Silence, again. Whitman sounded concerned as he relayed the message again and again. Finally, The Mannequin came on the radio, her voice, different.

>“Whitman.” She said softly.

Whitman’s eyes glanced to Sanders, who looked down to me. Something just happened.
Amidst the chaos, the desperation of combat, we did not notice our surroundings.
-“Yes, M’am.”

>“...Saber is gone. Gauntlet is gone. Shield bugged out when the Maus appeared. You’re all that’s left of Saber.”

-“Actual’s gone...”

>“You’re the Acting Commander of Saber, Whitman. Come on home. Our job’s done.”

A moment of silence passed through our tank, the rain still stinging our armor as we sat there. Whitman inhaled sharply, the mark of sorrow in his voice as he pulled back phlegm from his throat.

“Yes, M’am....Driver!” There was a pause. “Roll out.”

The trip back was quiet. No music, no conversation. We drove with the hatches open and the wet air in our face as we stopped at the Port town we were at a few days prior. A few days ago we were on top. Now? Bottom tier. Us and Crazy Horse. Nothing left but broken men and tired souls.

We stayed in port for 3 days, our tank sitting quietly at the harbor, chained. Locked. Put away. Whatever pay we got- a tidy sum due to all of Saber’s unfortunate demise- was spent on room, food, beer. All we wanted. I hated every moment of it...The pain of our loss was only multiplied by our forced exile from the battlefield to return home.
[7/?]

Before that, however...We had to bury our friends. Battlefield recovery had retrieved all the dead from Gauntlet and Saber. We zipped them up in DYNACO corpse bags repainted Sienna and Black--Saber company’s colors for ours, and Blue and Black for Gauntlet. They rested atop the old oak of the shaded dock, as we stood vigil over them, taking the time to contemplate our mistakes, even the snowstorm that seemed to complicate our logistics for the time being.

The tanker that arrived for our tank and the bodies belonged to Saber Company. As we rolled the tank into cargo, and the bodies into the morgue with the help of staffers, we made our way towards the first empty bunks we could find and made our nests.
I found myself a fair distance away from my team, but the isolation was comforting for the moment...
----
I think it was a few days before the Mannequin called for us to meet her on the bridge. We had cleaned up, gotten ourselves cleaned up and squared away.
As we all walked into her office on the bridge, she had her back turned to us, investigating a map of some sort. She stood dressed in all black, her porcelain mask still attached, but lifted away from her face, as we could see the motif of the mask resting atop her head of red hair. Slowly, she pulled the mask down and adjusted it, before turning to face us.

>“Saber Company. I want to offer you all my most sincere thank you...We have forged a path of glory the likes no others have seen...”

What the hell was this bitch getting at? I felt the need to express my frustration, but she stopped talking.
[8/?]

“At least, that’s what I would’ve said to everyone...Had we been successful. Whitman, Martinez, Sanders...Driver...I brought you here because I need your skills. DYNACO has ended our contract for now to free up finances for ground forces into KPW territory...but that doesn’t mean we’re done fighting. We’re just in a new business phase. Barstow wants us. And he’s willing to give us more tanks...But he wants you four to find mercs. In Russia. In KPW territory.”

-“In KPW Territory, m’am? We’ll be dead the minute we hit the beach,” Martinez said, surprised she’d even consider this plan. The Mannequin nodded and gave a reassuring tone as she continued.

“Much to our benefit, KPW’s control of the region is dictated not by Corporations, but by Mercenary Warlords. Each Warlord has a right to trial by combat. Tank on Tank battle between the Warlord and the offending party...Because they’re decentralized, You could get away with acting as an isolated partisan force.

-“So let me get this straight...You want us to drop into KPW territory, steal a tank, then fuck up fuel and ammo depots, and stretch the enemy then. Is that it? ” Whitman’s voice seemed slightly chipper at this suggestion. “...Where do I sign up?”

-“Fuck it, I’ll join,” Martinez said. Sanders nodded with them, before they all looked at me. I looked away, not sure how to feel about this prospect. No money, no real affiliation. We were vagabonds about to invade a Corporation like the Vikings invaded England...Come to think of it, that’s exactly what we were doing...”

>And that sounded fucking awesome.

“I’m in.”
[End]

So, Saber Company looks like they're about to engage in guerrilla warfare deep in some Slav territory. I'm still kinda brainstorming how they'd perform that act, but I think the next chapter may be interesting to some.

Thanks for your time.

//Arms

I'm definitely looking to see more

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b u m p
u
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B-b-b-but that's lewd!

I think that's supposed to be like a Shiba Inu or something.

You get the idea.

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Ah yes the majestic Japanese Turf Dog