He heard the conversation inside, he quietly walked inside and said ?Nice to hear that most of you have firearms, I?m going to have to ask you to surrendered them.?
"Okay, here." Mike handed the man his pistol and stepped away from the spy and his comrade. I didn't think that the army would train spies to be cocky assholes, but I'm guessing he didn't expect the army to train their spec ops to be so defendant of their prowess.
Tom looked around at the man who had returned to the building. "Yeah, that's not going to happen. Not until you tell us who you are or why we're here."
"I think not buddy" said Drake, no-way a bunch of strangers would separate him from his weapons. Sure he had his Socom hidden discreetly in a belly strap but that would be harder to get it in a bind. He stood silently resolute, shaking his head.
"If you cant trust ranking military men with firearms then I'm out of here"
Damien stepped behind Drake quietly, looming over him. "C'mon guys. Do we really have to do this. I'm pretty sure we're all American military here, aren't we?" He aimed a loaded look towards Drake. "Are you gonna calm down? we're not gonna kill you. Relax." Damien grinned charismatically.
"One, I haven't survived in this business, whatever it may be, for this long by trusting strange men. Two, if we are all part of the US military than there is no danger of being shot, unless I'm provoked, which leads me neatly onto my next point. If you sneak up behind me again I will break your neck"
Drake stepped away from the crowd and retook his position leaning against a wall. Not only did it keep his back covered, it also looked damn cool with his shades on.
"I'll follow my orders when I know who the fuck you are" came the sharp response. He was still leant against the side and he was still contemplating back-up plan after back-up plan.
Damien laughed at Drake's actions. "Nice. If you can make good your promise, then I'm guessing you're Special Operations?" He then turned to the strange man. "Oh? I'm assuming you're the handler of this, or at least the brain. So why don't we get to know you? It seem you already know about us."
Ethan was barely able to stand let alone drive. He knew he wouldn't get far in his car except maybe crashing into a telephone pole. He thought about how far the place he just got a message to go to so he decided to walk. After 10 minutes of staggering and bumping into random people he arrived at a abandoned warehouse. He stumbled into the warehouse and noticed a couple of other people.
"Fine if it'll shut you up, take them! I can still kill most of the people in the room hand-to-hand" Said Drake as he slid his visible pistols and knife along the ground to the black clad man.
Sorry if my posts area little short and not of my best quality. I'm trying to keep up with like three, fast moving Rp's while chatting to my GF and talking on the phone XD
Taking a slight liberty with how Cheryl received her "order". I'm also late. Sorry!
When Cheryl thought clandestine, she thought leaving HQ with a Cell and enough need-to-know to give her a fairly solid grasp on what lay ahead. She didn't think 'get-pulled-from-your-next-mission-and-sent-to-abandoned-factory-with-nothing-but-your-wit'. That, in her opinion, was paranoia.
She'd considered asking Grimsdottir. Asking, mind you, not talking back to. There was a significant difference, both in the tone the asking was performed, and in the eventual outcome. Though she'd decided not to and went with it.
Not even half an hour after the curt and cagey revelation, Cheryl Hunt had nestled herself into the comfortable seat of her Honda Civic Coupe, keyed the coordinates she had received into her GPS, and was on her way with nothing but the clothes on her back and her iPod snug in her chest pocket.
She wasn't paying much attention to the road on the way, instead her mind kept going back and forth as she was trying to pinpoint what all this might be about. Far as Cheryl knew she'd not fallen into disgrace with the good people and their paychecks, so it wasn't all too likely she'd get shipped off to Siberia to dig ditches.
When she reached the factory, Cheryl slowed the Civic to a half-crawl and made her way towards the side of the building facing her. Her dark gray eyes scanned the perimeter, noted the vehicles parked there, and a lack of company. Far as she could tell, anyway. She figured that she had either arrived, or was about to crash some private party of cloak-and-dagger nature.
Just to make sure, Cheryl double checked the coordinates, deleted them from her GPS afterwards, parked the car and waited half a minute.
The former intelligence analyst didn't like surprises, even though she enjoyed finding them before they found her. This one though eluded her.
She sighed, stepped from the car, and walked towards the factory. On her way she reached into the back pocket of her jeans, fished a hairband from it, and bound her dark, ash-blonde hair into a quick tail.
She also wondered if she should have taken the 1911 from the glove compartment. Then again, this was work. What could happen? Smiling slightly, Cheryl made for the door.
He picked up the two guns and a knife. He walked to a nearby table and set Drake and Mike's guns down. "You can keep this." He said to him, sliding the knife back.
Cheryl nudged the door open. She slipped into the factory--and stopped mid-step.
Her eyebrows came up as she spotted the rather colourful collection of men, along with the arsenal they had just parted with.
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