Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Page 1 of 2 1, 2  Next

View previous topic View next topic Go down

Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Thu Aug 21, 2014 9:34 am

Description:
Spoiler:


The Yakuza Oyabun, his wife, his daughter, Jin, the head of security, and eight other bodyguards are all riding in First Class. Due to the pull the Yakuza Oyabun has with the airline, who they happen share in an illicit partnership, the bodyguards were allowed to bring with them a single TT pistol each, the lot all having one spare magazine, each holding eight rounds. Jin, on the other hand, forgoes the use of firearms, and thus was allowed to bring along his katana, which is hidden within a wooden sheath under the ruse of a walking stick.

The seating arrangement is as follows, using the picture above as reference; starting from the front-most row of seats, The Oyabun himself is seated in the center seat, his wife is to his left, his daughter to his right. Jin is seated in the center seat behind the Oyabun while the rest of the bodyguards fill the other seats to around and behind him. A few ordinary civilians are seated in the leftover seats behind them closest to the door behind them all, as they were not allowed to get close to the Oyabun

Yakuza Oyabun, Katsuro Jiro:


He's far too old to pose any physical threat, as he is far below even normal human abilities due to his aged body. He carries no weapons.

Yakuza Oyabun's Wife, Katsuro Kaede:


Martial Arts instructor to her daughter and unofficial bodyguard to her husband, she possesses a 6th degree black belt in Aikido, a 4th degree black belt in Judo, and a 2nd degree black belt in Karate. She has peak human abilities across the board. She carries no weapons.

Yakuza Oyabun's Daughter, Katsuro Michiko:


Despite her frail looks, she has been taught self-defense due to her being a high value target for rival syndicates. She has a 3rd degree black belt in Aikdo and is a brown belt in Judo, pushing her reflexes and agility to peak human levels. She carries no weapons.
 

Jin, the Head of Security:

Reflexes are on par with a cat C vampire, while Agility is on par with a Cat D vampire. All other stats are at peak human. Master of Kenjutsu to the highest degree, so much so that he's been nicknamed in the Japanese Underworld as "Hitokiri Jin", or "Manslayer Jin". He is also a third degree black belt in Taekwondo, making him adequate even without his sword.
sword:


The Eight Bodyguards:

All are ordinary humans in terms of stats. Only one out of the eight has peak human physical abilities.All of them are former members of the Japanese Self-Defense Force, making them competent in hand-to-hand combat with a variety of disarming techniques.

Handguns
Spoiler:


Last edited by Dungeon Master on Thu Aug 21, 2014 11:20 am; edited 1 time in total

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Thu Aug 21, 2014 11:17 am

It would be almost impossible to describe the feelings of uneasiness the passengers felt about the unruly looking men seated infront of them, their bulk taking up more than half of the entire first class section of seating arrangements. Everything about them practically screamed that they were not the kindest of people, ranging from their slacked posture to the horrid scars which marred their faces. Their brusque demeanor gave off a vibe of routine impertinence, their behavior, which was ripe with temerity, hinted at habitual violence, and the overall vibe of heinous tension which seemed to radiate from the group was enough to make the entire cabin remain utterly silent beneath the veil of tension which it gave birth to.

The feeling was only amplified by the larger man seated ahead of them, situated in the center of the entire row. It wasn't the same delinquent feeling that the others were saturated with, however, as it was far more refined. Unlike the other bodyguards, who were busy conversing with one another in the fog of cigarette smoke that had accumulated from their combined efforts and occasionally engaging in a bit of roughhousing, this man could easily be singled out as a far more fastidious. Seated calmly with his arms crossed, head down with his eyes closed, and what many could only assume to be a walking stick resting in the crook of his enclosed arms.

The only ones not affected by the uneasy atmosphere that the bodyguards had brought upon the cabin were those who had taken their place in the front row, ahead of the murderous individuals behind them. A man, well into his early sixties from the looks of it, had been seated in the center row, with a young woman to his right and an older woman to his left. The youngest, being roughly around her late teens in age, had fallen into a peaceful slumber against the elder man's shoulder, no doubt wishing to sleep through the entire flight.

Still, given the rowdiness of the eight men behind their seats and the fact that the majority of the passengers within their cabin had left to the bar, it gave the elder man and woman more than enough privacy to discuss the business they were on without fear of being overheard. Then again, they would have privacy regardless because not many people outside of the Yakuza present could speak or understand Japanese. The lot were on their way to visit an old family friend in Europe, who happened to belong to the Russian Mafia, to discuss a bit of business, the likes of which was connected to the several hundred pounds of drugs that had been stored within the very plane they were riding within's cargo hatch, and to celebrate the birthday of one of his daughters.

Jiro, having waved over one of the stewardesses in order to be brought a Mr. & Mrs. T Bloody Mary Mix, took the beverage and waved her away. Taking a sip, the Yakuza Oyabun gave a sidelong glance to his wife beside him. He had noticed the uneasy expression on her face ever since the plane had taken off from the airport, and despite her attempts to hide it by crossing her arms and closing her eyes in a mock attempt at sleep, it was blatantly obvious to the old man's experienced eyes. "I know that look. You're troubled about the trip, aren't you?"

Kaede responded by lightly biting her lower lip, her eyes finally opening to return to sidelong glance. "Of course I am, she responded in a harsh enough whisper, being careful to not wake her daughter who was resting. "We've had five assassination attempts in the past five weeks. Why you settled on taking a public airliner instead of one of our own private planes is beyond me, especially since our daughter is with us! Putting yourself in this kind of open situation is borderline suicidal. It's just not pragmatic!"

Jiro took another sip of his drink, taking a moment to process the situation. She had a point, but luckily he had already taken precautions against the very concerns she had raised. "That is exactly why I have taken care of everything. If anyone would try to make an attempt at my life in this environment, they would be dispatched immediately. You needn't worry, my dear. I have everything under control. Try to relax, will you?"

"Jirō-sama is correct." The gruff voice of the Jin, seated directly behind them, confirmed the Oyabun's claim with a solid ounce of pride in his voice to try and put Kaede's worries to ease, not breaking his posture of imitating sleep. "Everyone of us is armed and capable thanks to Jiro-sama pulling his strings with the airliner, so you should not worry. I will not allow any harm to befall any of you, I stake my pride on it."

"Idiot, this is exactly my point! If we had taken one our own planes, we wouldn't have to worry about any of this!" She replied, a sigh of annoyance escaping her lips in the process."Che... I don't like this at all..." If she were to be honest, the simple fact of taking a public airliner wasn't the only thing bothering her. It was the fact that they were on a public airliner that was packed full of several drugs that belonged to them. Granted, customs were already under their thumb due to payments they had made, but any outside influences could provide additional problems and unforeseeable circumstances. She didn't like that kind of chance even having the slightest possibility of happening.

"Haha, relax. Jin has never let us down before, nor have any of the others, and I doubt they're going to start doing so anytime soon." Jiro replied in an attempt to bring his wife a bit of comfort, which was only reinforced by Jin's comment to solidify the fact.

"I do not plan to, no."

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Fri Aug 22, 2014 2:18 pm

As he was a respectful member of the cosmopolitan community, Americo decided to don a disguise to which reflects a rich heritage and a respected historical people that have contributed much to scientific, mathematical, astronomical, philosophical and even weapon advances that no doubt the world love for their many achievements done so in the golden age of their days, spurred by a non-dogmatic creed and indubitably without any bias cast in their direction with such veneer of decadent and debauched hatred unreasonable. In this case, Americo had worn a fake beard, long, thick, enough to conceal his face as it was akin to that of a lumberjack's, and matched his hair colour, whilst also wearing a white turban, and a white robe with a normal pair of white jogging pants and a wifebeater underneath such robes and some strap on sandals. Most likely people would be comforted by such a scholarly presence as he has come to take the guise of a man of peace, in spite of his purpose being that of not so peaceful entry in the annals of history. Hehe, anal.

Seated next to a fat person named Bob, whom is an Air Marshal as he has already gotten that impression from staring at the uniform, and the fact that fat douchebag had a pistol holstered in full view of him, whilst that land whale took two seats, probably has his own zipcode, Americo decided he needed to help Americ-- HO HO, he almost thought of his name there, oh no no, it's not Americo, even though he DOES have a disappointment of a daughter who is probably FATTER than that man he sat next to, but he is talking about USA... actually, shouldn't he hate that country for helping them Jews hunt him down? Ah well, they all think he is probably dead anyways. So what Americo does after continually surveying for the merest distortion of mundane mediocrity, is wait till the lights go out, which is natural in airplanes, and for every dumbass to sleep. If they all slept that is, particularly Bob, and if not, as long as the passengers to his side at the same row were asleep which he made sure, and such conditions are fulfilled, a swift hammerfist-like blur spurred with his right hand as he didn't sit by the window but rather by the aisle and Bob should be by the window, would, with skull crushing force, with its velocity, be capable of turning Bob's face into a bloody bowl of gore and blood as his face should be destroyed.

Now he wondered, WHY did he sit all the way back at business class near the very end of the airplane at the very last seats that suspiciously an Air Marshal sat next to him? Was it because he was BLACK? Damn whores. They can suck on his flaccid African Django for all he cared, the same that plowed their moms and impaled her from ass to mou-- alright, right, Americo's medicine is beginning to wear off and he was starting to get homicidal. He is a man of peace, and this was not his way for he does not kill people for a living. That is a total and complete lie. He kills people and he feels guilt with the need to atone for every person he kills. That's also a lie, he sleeps like a baby despite having murdered hundreds personally.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Sat Aug 30, 2014 11:37 am

It wasn't long before the lights in the cabin had been dimmed, allowing the passengers within to spend the majority of the trip asleep, sparing those who lacked the electronic items hours of sleepless boredom. A noticeable majority had done just that, though the remaining individuals who were still awaken, signaled by the shining lights produced from the screens of various accessories, such as laptops and ipads, resisted the allure of sleep in favor of mindless entertainment through popular media and social networking sites.

Bob would be among those who would succumb to sleep, though unlike the others, he would not be waking up from his. The sickening crack of bone, the impact of the back of his head slamming against his seat an the latter's clattering, and the spray of blood spraying out in all directions brought an end to his life, but it also awoke those who were seated infront of the two. One, a rather large, bulky man of African descent, somewhat annoyed that his attempt at sleep was interrupted, had turned to demand that whatever was happening stop so he may get some rest, as did the woman beside him, presumably his wife.

However, what followed was far from expected. The man's shock, which was obvious from the mouthed words of "what the fuck", which would have been audible if not for his wife's sudden shriek of terror and disgust upon her eyes meeting the now unrecognizable Air Marshal, who just happened to have a loving family that would never see him again. Reacting on instinct, as well as going off of the fear of typical stereotypes associated with the presumed assailants garb, the large black man, ironically named Tyrone, had suddenly made a lurching dive forward over the back of his chair in an attempt to retrieve the Air Marshal's sidearm.

The cry of terror from his wife, also ironically named Latonya, had also done another job of awakening a few of those sleeping, and gaining the attention of those still awake that did not have their hearing obscured by headphones and music of questionable quality, the likes of which probably sucked horribly due to modern music failing in ever aspect and falling horribly short of being classified as "good". Among the now alert and somewhat confused crowds were two stewardesses, who quickly came from the galley in an attempt to solve whatever might be the problem.

Latonya's followup shriek of, "Terrorist!", however, awoke a massive shitstorm that pulled the majority of those still dazed into the land of the fully alert and living. One of the stewardesses, almost turning pale at the mere mention of the word and the scene before her, had quickly spun on her heels and quickly tried to reach the elevator, or more specifically, the communications speaker situated directly next to it, so that she could warn the pilot and rest of the airline.

---First Class---

Everyone within the confines of first class, with exception of Kaede, the Oyabun's wife, Jin, the Head of Security, the other eight bodyguards, the likes of which were highly alert, two of which having decided to take a standing position on either side of the door that led into the first class cabin in resemblance to stereotypical guardsman, were asleep; these being the Oyabun himself, his daughter, and the very few civilians who were seated outside the perimeter of bodies that the Eight Bodyguards had made around the Oyabun; Kaede herself still awake in her seat next to them.




_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Mon Sep 01, 2014 4:05 am

So as far as Americo divulged, the airline was filled with racists, and racists are douchebags that deserve to die. It is by that logic he had set out forth with the ideal that they no longer deserved to live. Seriously, why would EVERYONE assume the first thing at the top of their heads, hostile intent just because he HAPPENED to wear a turban in an airline? Oh, what? Were ALL Germans Nazis? Such rac-- alright, maybe not. He happened to be German, and a former Nazi, but that's besides the point, well, aside from the fact he was part of a most raunchous affair called genocide, but again, BESIDES THE POINT, and even though malcontent politicals have piggybacked on a moral higher ground despite making ironic use of Nazi ideals of Lebensraum, he is STILL appalled that they don't even have the decency to just call it what it is and say it is apartheid. Well, anyways, asides from his fuming at governments, socio-political factors, and views that are his own and nobody else's, he has a job to do, and that's to... snake on a plane. Americo pulls his hand back, his knuckles imprinted with sheer red from the impact which left in its wake a pile of gore with blood flowing outwards like a waterfall from the caved in air marshal's face, good thing he wasn't wearing the seat belt.

Americo's eyesight registered the Tyrone man turning about as he had gravitated his gaze forward to see he had been spotted and later affixed itself whilst keeping notice of his surrounding in a quick span to defuse this situation and pickle he had come into, as the all too familiar expression of shock had settled unto the African... American? Well, he was an African, a chocolate man, and Americo knew all too well that despite different ethnicity in place, there are universal expressions all too recognizable as they contort into something less than favorable in disposition outwardly clearest in its shape. Still, the African was too slow to the draw, that rather than to subdue the assailant, sought to take the firearm which left his arms reaching out ever too forward as he lurched, a very vulnerable moment to which Americo paid in reparations in blood. Americo had aimed to slam his fist with the same skull crushing force as he bestowed unto Bob, now towards Tyrone's skull, with the other hand to his left also speeding simultaneously towards Tyrone's grubby hands trying to reach for the pistol, to parry both with bone shattering force as well with his palm opened up. With the right aisle actually none but the corridor past all those rows of seat at his behest, he would act.

If he had successfully managed to crush Tyrone's skull within the span of time as his arms were a blur of sudden titanic force beyond human norm spearing towards the African, he would, if the African male was dead, push his corpse aside, and reach for the pistol with his left hand to pull out and hold within his grasp as well as all the magazines on Bob's person to pocket before acting out further with new developments that will come to be as he was flexible enough to act out despite the fact there was a sudden alertness to his presence. Good, at least it means they'll blame it on radicals instead of assassins. They always do for some reason.

"OH SURE, when a guy in a turban murders someone, it's terrorism, but when a black guy does it, it's just homicide. FUCK YOU AND YOUR SOCIO-POLITICAL PHRASES, YOU YANKEE FUCKS. LEARN TO TOLERATE OTHER RACES." This coming out from a Nazi was truly an illuminating experience worth mention that perhaps the civilians within the plane would learn the true ideals of fraternity, behind the barrel of a gun pointed at their faces if Americo managed to unmake Tyrone.

Still, if he had managed to kill Tyrone, he'd point the pistol to the nearest window, and fire the bullet to the aisle adjacent to his own. The sudden loss of pressure oughta keep people seated and muffled up in oxygen masks at the very least, thinking that somehow it'd kill them. Morons. Air plane pressure wouldn't kill them if it suddenly depressurizes due to a hole, but due to the stupid idea that it does, as many as other airplane myths like how airplane crashes have a 100% fatality rate explains that in such regard this will cater to Americo's own psychological warfare on the panicking sheep.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Sat Sep 06, 2014 7:42 pm

Tyrone was a large man, even by the standards set by his human kin which filled out the cabin of the plane they had all been using as transport, that height and size being one of a well-toned bodybuilder and well within the six foot range. It stood to reason that, in terms of taking an impact, he would fair far better than the tub of blob that used to be Bob, even for those using basic problem solving. Granted, Tyrone had not the level of reflexes that his assailant did, but the durability of his well-nourished bones should be able to-CRACK!

Welp, so much for that pride in his own body being tough enough to withstand a punch from what he thought to be a terrorist, but otherwise normal human. If he had known, it was likely established that his thoughts would be around something like "really sucks when the guy you're fighting has supernatural strength", if his brain even had time to process such a thing before the impact.

Tyrone's head, or what was left of the cracked cranium of hardened calcium, was violently thrown black in a violent display of fragment, brain matter, and blood, the large man's body coming to rest awkwardly against and over the seats that were now behind him, sprinkling those unfortunate enough to be seated there with all of the previously splattered elements. This was followed by a shriek from his wife, who quickly jumped to her feet and almost lunged toward Tyrone's mutilated form in a passionate display of concern and worry.

The following gunshot did it's job well enough, the window shattering and the sudden alert that played throughout the cabin, as well as the oxygen masks falling from the compartment above, all played to a perfect distraction in the cabin that Americo currently occupied. The shrieks and cries of those in panic by the act would be the only sound being produced from that part of the plane now, no longer filled with distance hums of rather shitty modern music and other media websites.

However, the stewardess who had ran towards the elevator had already been enclosed in the relative safety of it's metal doors, which carried her up to the floor above so as to give her quick access to the first class passengers and the pilots, to which she immediately bolted out of when the doors parted, her path a direct b-line towards the cockpit doors while saying in a tone that wasn't quite a yell nor a normal level of vocal volume, knowing too well that causing everyone to panic would only make the situation worse, the words of: "Everyone, we have a situation! Please stay calm and stay in your seats!"

The passengers hardly heard her over the sound of their own scramble to place the oxygen masks over their faces, oblivious to the fact that it would likely be pointless to do so given that the plane, likely by the captain's hands, had already began a slow descent to maximize oxygen intake by natural means of elevation, given the instruments within the cockpit showing a leak in pressure.

Oddly, the stewardess's arrival was first noticed by Jin, despite not being closest to the door, though his attuned senses allowed him to dance around such observations. However, due to the sound of the ringing gunshot, everyone within the Oyabun's entourage had already become fully aware of what had happened, at least going off of basic problem solving and common sense. In response, the each bodyguards had already withdrawn their firearms and took a position by the elevator, two of them pressing their bodies up against the wall beside the doors, the others taking mock cover behind the seats while their trained their aim on the door.

The only one to remain seated being Jin.

Following the assemblage of the eight, they began to converse amongst themselves in their native tongue of Japanese, excluding all of those within the cabin from the conversation.

The first to speak was the man named Arata, the apathetic and otherwise dull expression across his scarred features leaving little to the imagination, especially to those of his surrounding comrades who knew all too well the mans thought process. "I'mma' guess whoever tha' was is either packin' there own gun or took it from tha' air marshal. Either way, tha sound of it reminds me of a SIG Sauer P250."

"Yeh.." Daisuke responded, pulling the slide back on his Taurus in his preparing for the likely gunbattle that would soon occur. "Crap firepower though. S'long as tha' guy doesn't start shootin' 'oles through out tha' cabin, we should be fine."

"Should we sen' two guys in first, or just wait for him to come at us?" Waraji said, voicing his thoughts of affirmative action and the element of surprise being on their side. It was, after all. Not many people, terrorist or not, hijacked a plane before finding out a Yakuza boss and several lackies were riding first class, most of them lightly armed. It stood to reason that if any Al-Queda had tried to hijack this plane back in the day, those box cutters would've gotten the shit blown out of them by lead moving at lethal speeds.

"I dunno.. Tha' woman already used it ta' escape up here. Anyone goin' down'd likely get holes put in 'em tha' moment the doors open." Gouro replied, taking note of the obvious flaw in using the elevator now. It was the only way up to first class and the cockpit, so it wasn't pragmatic to place themselves in a fatal coffin. It was, however, pragmatic to put whatever dumbass trying to hijack the plane in one.

"Agreed," Arata confirmed, dismissing the two man assault squad as a viable option and thus ending all discussion for the most part amongst them before any of the others had a chance to chime in, to which they wouldn't have anyway, since the tactic was moronic, to which they all agreed. Their focus was strictly on the elevator the entire time they were conversing battle tactics, ready to fire on reflex should the doors open during the discussion.

Granted, they were wise enough to know to avoid firing any shots outside of the elevator, as any missed shots could potentially turn the cabin into Swiss cheese. If they had to, each shot would be well within the confines of the elevator doors and the flesh of anyone stupid enough to be riding it, using the metal of the transporting box to prevent any potential missed shots from damaging the hull of the plane.

The scene would have likely evoked even more panic in the surrounding first class passengers had it not been for the fact that the firearms were not pointed in their direction, and more so aimed at the potential threat that let off the first shot in the class behind and below them, though the nervousness was still present.

The Oyabun, now wide awake with his daughter, had also turned towards the elevator to observe the situation, though he didn't rise from his seat, and neither did his daughter or wife, the two of which were oddly calm due to having been placed in similar situations throughout their lifetime, primarily his daughter, who had learned to cope with such things.

The only thing he received from the latter, however, was an ungodly scowl that could only be summed up in the words "I told you so, dumbass". The response he gave of which was only a half-hearted shrug, seeing this as another tedious situation that would be resolved within due time.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Mon Sep 08, 2014 6:17 pm

It was like a crescendo of music to him to listen to the wailing banshee's whistle as air decompresses. Whereas most others would be feeling the after effects of sudden coldness, Americo was made of sturdier stock to be able to resist the cold swathe of temperature leaking into the compartment, ignoring the fact most of the people were actually freaking out, but not ignoring their actions. Fighting in an airplane meant confined spaces, which is great for him, in theory, but nonetheless presented a hassle if things turned for the worse. He got that look in his eyes, one that was suddenly some sort of tick as he had seen the wife hug her husband or probably some harlot whore of modern days hug her dick daddy. Though not a religious man, in fact, Americo doesn't have much of a thing known as faith, not out of scientific baptism as much as sheer indifference, as he lives in on the moment, rather than to consider his place in the cosmos, he points the pistol towards the woman and murmured something under his breath simultaneously. It was almost too quick, a blur, pulling the trigger as he had pointed the firearm at her skull.

"Say hi to your scum son of a bitch husband for me on the way down to Hell, wereslut. Ta ta~" Americo grinned, as he made sure to keep his aim trained and consistent unto the African woman's skull, to splatter her brain viscera all over her husband in an ironic echo of their union, from death to life they remain united all the same.

Now if Americo was correct, as far as he recalled upon overseeing the schematics and the make of the airplane, since this was a unique contract in itself that required the target be killed in the most expedient manner possible, he had remembered the exact lay out of what he wanted to do. Destroying the airplane or blowing a huge chunk out of it would be extremely dumb, and it's actually pretty hard to take down an airplane unless he took direct control of it and crashed it unto the land, which would be also self-defeating as he would have completed the contract, but wouldn't be able to enjoy the spoils of his victory as a result, which left him to one option -- back. Well, not really one option, but he likes this one. He wants to maybe one day pilot an airplane and crash it into London or something, in its outskirts on some mansion for shits and giggles. He would've loved to see the faces of the rich old folks whom weren't expecting a direct collision of an airplane that hit them, especially if they are chocolate skinned blondes.

Heading in the direction to the back of the plane in a quick stride in a jogging pace, where the walling was, Americo knocked on it with his free hand's knuckle to gauge the thickness, then shrugged. Screw that, he can bend steel like a pretzel if he wanted to, so he merely slammed the sole of his feet on the wall, sending the wall to burst outward into the small gap that divided the fuel tanks from the airplane's business compartment. Unless he had incendiary rounds, fuel wouldn't explode by gunshot contrary to the myth of how firearms explode cars if bullets hit the gas tank. Aiming the weapon quickly in a blur at the firstmost fuel tank connected to the other fuel tanks by a pipe, downward mostly, he'd let loose a close spread amount of bullets to form a hole as they exited out and shot outwards into the bottom, past the aluminum that wasn't really at a ballistic resistant grade armoring to resist. It formed a hole, six shots all it took to make it the size of a woman's fist from two ends. One before the airplane's compartment that formed a gap between the airplane itself and the fuel tanks, and the other forming a hole within the tank itself to leak down into the ocean below. No doubt that'd really empty the fuel reserves. It'd drain out rather quickly too.

That being done, he still had seven rounds, including one in the chamber, Americo turned around. The entire time, keeping his eyes peeled in case some dumbass tried to play hero. Now the whole airplane is REALLY going to lose acceleration and will have to glide. If it goes to the ocean, all the better for him, if not, good thing he brought the book called 'Alfred's Cookbook', written by some German on airplane based combat, some WWII handsome kommando that has tons of experiences of crashing his Stuka airplane to hit a cargo plane, raid inside, kill a bunch of Brits and an HVT, and get out with no fucks given.

Now he made his way towards the front portion of business class, already with his large strides, a quarter way there, simultaneously snatching up a baby along the way as he yanked it out of its breathing mask, he held it by its collar of its one piece pajama as it dangled in Americo's grasp.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Fri Sep 19, 2014 4:16 pm

The situation had turned rather ominous, even for the likes of the Yakuza maintaining their positions and line of sight on the only entrance to their section of the plane. It had gone silent, as any voices that may have reverberated through the air in the business class below had been muffed by the metal and space between them to the point of being unheard, but the several gunshots that torn through the silence gave rise to a few questions that all of them seemed to share amongst one another.

"What? Is this asshole, whatever it is, tryin' to kill every person on the plane?" Arata muttered in standard Japanese, more to himself than to the others as he contemplated what could possibly be occurring. He only had the logical grounds to guess that those shots, numerous as they had been, were used to put down several of the passengers in a wild display of violence.

"Tha' douchebag's on ah' killin' spree..." Daisuke chimed in, though again it was more an outspoken thought to himself than to anyone else, only coincidentally seeming as a response to what his partner had said. "Tha' bastard smuggled ah firearm on board and waited till we w'er airborne before poppin' off shots. Make's 'ense. Can' run away on ah plane..."

Gouro tilted his head slightly, momentarily taking his eyes off the open elevator as he went over the scenario. He didn't take the precious time to correct his obviously inept friend about the possibility of the shooter having two weapons, as the air marshal, as with all airliners, was armed. Hell, for all they knew the recent burst of gunshots could have been a shootout between that very air marshal and the assailant, though it was unlikely given how frantic the stewardess was. "I don' think anyone goes through tha' trouble to smuggle a gun on board - or to steal one from an air marshal, if tha's the case - jus' to mass murder everyone on board. Even psychopath's follow a certain criteria fer doin' wha' they do. T'is guy is obviously after tha boss..."

Before any further conversation could continue, a sudden quake shook through the body of the cabin, resembling great turbulence. If one were inside the cockpit, they would be bearing witness to confused and terrified pilots staring at fuel gauge that was rapidly dropping. This was confirmed by the voice over that soon became audible to the entire plane through the speaker system, stating that they were, in fact, losing fuel at a rapid rate through unknown means as, due to strong turbulence, they were having to rapidly drop in altitude. The only problem was, they were still over the ocean...

"Ah, fuck! Came the insync reply form just about everyone related to the Yakuza Oyabun, the unison expression of vulgarity being heard even above the numerous gasps and screams that came from the other passengers in first class; the only one remaining silent being Jin, the Oyabun himself, and his daughter. Despite the momentary realization of the the situation, those still aiming firearms at the elevator never let their eyes deviate from that target.

"Right," Arata finally said, glancing over his shoulder, so the fucker shot the fuel tanks... He's officially an asshole. Maybe we should just send Jin down stairs and have him kill this fucker?"

I cannot leave the masters side without his permission." Came Jin's curt response, not even bothering to glance back at the bodyguard who suggested it.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Sun Sep 21, 2014 11:47 am



It was by that time, in his wake without even acknowledging the turbulence as he easily kept to his balance and footwork whilst acknowledging the news told over the PA by the pilots with a sense of glee, Americo had left gory remains and viscera of pummeled skulls, passengers had faces flattened, and the cause were not bullets, no, it was far too traumatic for such an occurrence to happen, but rather something more drastic. His fists caked in blood and with formerly split knuckles which long regenerated, were the answer to the conundrum, as he took his time punching in each passengers in the face, whipping his fist around like it was to sting them, but came in far more forceful as the velocity had undone them. Though to Americo, time is relative, and as such, when taking his time, he in fact was strolling along in a brisk pace, eliminating everyone as they screamed and struggled. Not static as much as they were dynamic in the regards of trying to escape their bonds, running forward and away from Americo, that summarily he points his pistol, and fires. At a range like this, and given the caliber, and the fact they were all lining up, it wasn't that hard to let one shot injure the bulk of them in front, puncturing their lungs as a grievous damage, and from the way it was aligned, some even from their hearts, though eventually even as the bullet moves at around sonic speed, the momentum was killed by the amount of obstruction in the form of tissues it penetrated to a slow, dulling halt.

"FUCK YEAH, ONE BULLET, SEVEN PEOPLE. Triple score for me." And so he went on like this, killing the rest in each aisle he passed, including the former path he went through behind him to ensure no loose ends. The screams downstairs got more hysteric, even more panicky with loud crunching sounds and gunshots wailed on. The end result, for that brief minute and a half, was an entire passenger compartment filled with dead people, each aisle having a perforated amount of corpses, some in their seats, and some laden across the floor, obstructing the path somewhat unless someone just steps over them. Americo's handiwork. He finished off the survivors from the gunshot with a stomp to their skulls as they downed, as by that point, he draped the grooved segmented bony protrusions, spines, on his left shoulder akin to a collection, two of them had skulls attached, and the others did not.

Eventually he made his way forward all the way, covered entirely in blood from head to toe, and still clutching a wailing, crying baby. The brief gunshots that ensued downstairs, right beneath the Yakuza, followed by wails and screams, signaled their imminent demise, well, not really imminent, ingloriously wilting with pain, before finally being once again, physically finished off with a kick to their face or stomachs. It was sorta like a horror movie, minus a killer, and more of a really handsome German gent that obviously gets all the hearts of the ladies. No, seriously, he got their hearts, he had one pulsating in his hand clutched as of the moment, still beating, that he squeezed the love out of till it exploded in a gushy bloody mess.

Eventually reaching to the end of the long winded corridor with his newly made mess all the while remaining aware of his surrounding, from the smallest of differences in the air, to actually visually registering the area with sporadic glances, Americo kicks the walling in front of him which left bare the Avionics, in a dramatic fashion the wall explodes inwards into the Avionics room, already scrambling a few of the electronics such as communication, autopilot, and the radio navigation system. Not that he cared much about those, what he went for was the black box in aim from his position, pointing his pistol as it was down to the last round, pulled the trigger, causing a loud fizzling hiss of electrical sparks to jump out of the boxy contraption as it was disabled, still, he had seen a few interesting things in the room that he would've loved to get his hands on...

Turning around to face his former back direction, he now had a bigger fish to fry, looking onward at his bloody handiwork with a look of relieved smile, sniffling in satisfaction to the beauty, he looks to the baby he had clutched in his hand, "This is no easy way to say this, but Trevor, I am pregnant." The baby's face twists into something of confusion, as if it understood him, only to suddenly cry, "Pshht, Philistines." He muttered to himself at his total joke that made no anatomical sense or possibility, suggesting falsehoods spread for mirth that obviously this undeveloped infant creature thing didn't get.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Mon Sep 29, 2014 8:31 pm

"Can I ask you guys somethin'?" Arata said, his gaze now falling to the floor at the sound of gunfire beneath them. He didn't wait for anyone to answer his question, continuing on with an annoyed sigh. "Why is it tha' every guy who's after tha' boss a total fuckin' asshole? I mean, seriously, tha' fuck tears apart an entire plane jus' to kill one guy? This guy, an' tha' ones tha' hired 'em, are all douche bags."

Finishing his insult, Arata emphasized his dislike for the unknown threat below by lifting the handgun clenched within his digits by his face. Foreseeing their partners intent, who lowered the aim of the TT pistol towards the floor, both Daisuke and Waraji did the same while the others kept their aim level with the elevator entrance. They had no intention of sending an entire salvo through the aircraft's flooring, especially with how dangerous the end result could be, but three of them alone shouldn't cause too many problems... Hopefully. What the hell did they know? They were Yakuza, not aeronautic experts. They didn't give a shit about that complex crap. They weren't paid enough to.

The three firearms from both Arata, Waraji, and Daisuke, homing in on the general location of where the previous shots rang out from, all barked three times in rapid succession, creating a symphony of gunfire that sent a total of nine rounds through the floor of first class and down into the cabin below, their aim was wide and spread out, attempting to cover as much of the lower cabin as possible while also conserving as much ammo as they could, in a blind attempt to at least wound the threat that had now become known as both a douchebag AND an asshole in the eyes of the Yakuza.

Afterwards, they had done the smart thing and re-arranged their positioning so as to lower the chances of any accurate counter-shots being fire back at them should their previous ones had missed. This had made the three switch places with some of the passengers still in first class, any objections being quickly silenced with a gun barrel being shoved against their temple or throat, which essentially turned the poor bastards into nothing more than potential meatshields if any return fire was made. If so, it would give the illusion of wounded bodyguards should the civilian-replacements be hit and blood seeped through the bullet holes.  

Comforting her daughter as best he could, he had draped an arm around her in a consoling hug, all the while being faced with a familiar, disappointed gaze from his wife who sat beside him, to which his other hand fell upon his own features in an attempt to avoid the shameful gaze.

-------
OOC: Next post, that loss of fuel is going to turn into a re~~~al problem. Stay tuned, next time on DRAGON BALL-Wait....wrong series.


Last edited by Dungeon Master on Fri Oct 10, 2014 11:19 pm; edited 1 time in total

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Thu Oct 02, 2014 6:46 pm

Americo didn't need to concern himself anymore with the airline's state in general. Whether it lands on water or on land makes little difference to him. What he needs to worry about rather was to get at the highest floor possible, and preferably at the end of the airplane's tail given many pivotal necessities towards flying an airplane has been substantially sabotaged. As this isn't as easy as piloting an airplane into some mansion by some really handsome German fellow, so his purpose here was done. Even as there was the wailing shriek of air being suctioned out and screaming loudly far ahead, Americo's ears were quite profound to pick up chatter up above. Mumbled, but it was there, it was calm, and that's what brought his attention. He could tell, it didn't contain the frantic whispers of a survivor, but rather the calm and diligent talking of someone composed. Sure, he didn't know what it was about, but he gandered that it was perhaps someone of experience up there, and that itself necessitated the immediate killing of them if his plan was to go without a hitch.

Well, it's not like they know exactly how Americo looked like, or who the culprit exactly was. What Americo didn't know was their return fire was about to commence after the speech, while he strolled over ahead and opposite of the Avionics in general in a calm stride. As the gunshots were wide, and Americo did not anticipate that they were foolhardy enough to try to actually shoot through the flooring, he, to his dissatisfaction, and sudden alertness to the symphony of gunshots with only a moment of pause to shoot another shoot, a blink's pace rather, saw him leaping far ahead in a blur and away from the widespread shot. True, he wouldn't get hit in the same spot twice perhaps, he had found that to his annoyance, he did indeed incur a gunshot wound. A lucky shot, two of them. He bit down his lips to suspect the damage, that out of 9 bullets, 2 had come to punch through his skin and bore past it to form blooming bullet holes. He recognized those pistols, TT pistols, them WWII Soviet era pistols, they use powerful rounds, smaller caliber, but it was similar to the Mauser. WWII pistols in fact tended to have that punch. He could tell as much from the gunshot sounds, or perhaps it was some similar gun, whatever the case, Americo didn't bother to blind fire back, he preferred to shoot them with visual awareness, and it's not like he wanted them to zone in on his position again. He made a mistake of being blasé about shooting, but hey, who is to say one cannot mix pleasure with business? Looking at his palm dripping of blackened ichor-like ooze, a hole centered on his right palm, and another on his left foot, having hit just a few inches shy of his toes, a bit in the middle in fact, he grunted in annoyance lowly.

His blood ate through the carpeting, and soon enough, began to devour the flooring. He could hear the suction coming from the bullet holes at the ground from once more, but moved ahead. His wounds already began to knit themselves, oozing a trail of black as he moved ahead in a jogging pace without making a sound. Better to let them suspect him dead or knocked out than to confirm their suspicion he might be alive. Still, it fucking HURT like a bitch, no matter how many times he got shot, human or as the New Man, it was a HUGE pain in the ass. Well, palm and foot, but STILL, it's the same deal.

He had leaped over earlier any obstacles that impeded his way when avoiding the bullets, but nonetheless, kept his stroll, grabbing something that was highly alcoholic from a tray, as he snatches a handkerchief, and a match stick from one of the passengers, some imbecile that thought to smuggle it in for a smoke. Americo did not seem hampered by the conditions of his wound and neither the atmosphere of the airline, as opposed to anyone else. All taken from a nearby wheeled tray, the same kind for duty free sales abandoned by the attendants in their haste to retreat to safety, that Americo would use to stick into the bottle after popping open the cork with his thumb stabbing into it. Also draping the baby FAR earlier on his shoulder as it made cuddly baby sounds as if comforted by gunshots. Apparently the wheeled tray, in its box-like formation was made of thick steel. Thick enough to resist bullets oddly enough, well, more accurately, these are carts with wheels. Tray is just a misnomer Americo thinks of in his antiquated thinking, one that betrays his origin if worded loud enough to those observant enough to note such archaic terms now revised to mean something else. The wound on his foot and hand soon enough reconnected muscle strands and stopped the bleeding, and was in the process of forming skin, but not wholly closed up. It wasn't major enough for instant regeneration, but neither minor enough for substantial effort to knit up his wounds.

"Oh boohoo, guess their little game didn't work out." Americo thought to himself evenly in boredom, pushing the tray forward, he decided to take his turban off and settle it on the baby's skull, as well as slapping a beard on the baby's face. It was relatively developed for a child, one year old. The fake lumber jack beard made its face look bigger than it really was. The baby made some more stupid retarded gurgling sounds made from children that Americo suppressed the murderous urge to strangle the overdeveloped larva right there and then. Carting the metallic cart along to the elevator, the only way up, in his steady haste, all the while pushing it over the body, regardless of how unevenly it stirred and shook, his grip kept it even on its path past any obstacles that stood in its way, and as he finally reached the elevator after half a minute of pushing this blasted thing. Pressing the elevator button, as he reached by the construct with the wheeled cart in front of him, in its rectangular boxy design, he waited as the elevator descended down, gun at the ready and pointed towards it in the event someone actually was inside.

If nobody was inside, Americo would not fillet the entire person's body wholly in bullet holes. Now, he would step into the elevator, if nobody was inside, pull along the cart, he would reload the gun, swiping the spent magazine in place for a fresh, loaded one into the gun, feeding it. He would follow appropriate steps to load the gun, making sure there was no complication, and making the gun in readied condition to fire upon the pull of the trigger, before pressing the first class button. It was time to finish this. Setting the cart to be in front of him as he faced the elevator door, now closing, and propping up the cart to be facing him in the broad side, Americo ducked behind the boxy cart, placing the baby just from its turban to be held against the cart, seemingly peeking out, whilst Americo let the broadness of the cart conceal his appearance whole.

As the elevator ascended upwards, it finally opened its two door ways, revealing a thick plated food cart, and a turban sticking out as well as some silky pasty white flesh occupying it, but nothing below the forehead. The baby made some stupid eye motions that Americo didn't see, but ultimately ignored to test the reaction from the first class, keeping peeled over any minute change of detail. It was relatively calm in sound compared to the floor below, where the air screamed out and shrieked loudly.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Sat Oct 11, 2014 12:14 am

Silence. The casual chatter they had previously, openly engaged in had ceased, including the terrified gasps and whispers of the first class passengers, leaving only the sound of the plane and it's now horrid condition. The armed Yakuza, all once members of the Japanese Defense Force, were listening, the only form of communication between them being nothing more than glances of inquiry and speculation. No longer did they hear the sounds from the floor below, but experience gave them hesitation, caution towards any negligence that would likely be shown by anyone else in this situation.

They retained their alertness.

Arata, for the briefest of moments, entertained the idea of sending down two or three of them to confirm as to whether or not their previous blindfire tactic had put the assailant down, but then decided against it. No, if the asshole was dead, then confirming it wouldn't be necessary. The only confirmation they would need is the utter disappearance of any further disturbances, and the rest of the flight would only need to worry about the dwindling fuel reserves. This, however, did not mean they would lower their guard. In fact, it heightened it.

Weaving a series of complex hand signals with his right hand, Arata silently dictated the movements and positions of the others within the cabin, and they all nodded in acceptance of the plans before moving into position. Waraji and Gouro quickly and silently took up a position to the flanks of the elevator, their backs to the wall and firearms ready, the distance between their figures being arms length, allowing for the concealment of their entirety. Anyone who would be foolish enough to come out of the elevator could not possibly know they were there, and if that person would step through the threshold, they would receive an unseen, pointblank gunshot from either side.

In addition to this maneuver, Daisuke and two others, one's who had remained rather silent up until now, being Ichinose and Ninabi, had taken up a position in cover behind Arata's position within the cabin, seating themselves within the empty chairs and using the top of the back to rest their forearms against, granting them much steadier aim. This allowed for a clear line of sight and an immediate volley of gunfire to tear into the confines of the elevator without any chances of endangering Waraji and Gorou to the flanks, should anything be stupid enough to take the ride up.

Arata's continued instruction via a silent hand code told two of the others, Kenichi and Jozu, to take positions near the walls of the cabin to his right and left. They did so, and following the method that Daisuke's trio had used, they steadied their aim with the aid of the seats. This position gave them a line of sight into the two back corners of the elevator from the angle they now had, which were invisible to Daisuke's group who were looking at the metallic box tunnel from straight ahead.

Following his own method of positioning, and now that everyone else had done so, Araji himself had fallen into a prone position in the center aisle so as to not obstruct the line of sight that Daisuke's group would possess, while at the same time giving himself a decent firing position and viewpoint, to which he gave a cursory glance around the cabin at the layout he had constructed with his men to further reinforce his confidence in the decision before turning his gaze back towards the elevator.

"Anything comes through that door, make sure it's unrecognizable when we're done with it. Got it?" They all nodded in agreement, maintaining their focus down on the line of sight they all had; ready to fire at a moments notice.

Jin, silently, yet fully aware, had finally shown vague interest, and followed suit with Arata's way of thinking. Turning his gaze towards the Oyabun and his family, he would insist. "Jiro-sama, Kaede-sama, Michiko-sama, please, all of you should lower your heads. It's not much, but the seats will provide at least a decent amount of cover as well as conceal your position from anyone's point of view within the elevator."

They did so, unquestioningly, with Michiko being pulled under her fathers mass to double as a shield, while Kaede had placed herself atop of him, returning the notion. Jin, however, remained in his insouciant seating position, as if unconcerned for his own safety. Truth be told, he really wasn't. Anything or anyone who would use that elevator would surely be torn apart by the barrage that would be unleashed from Arata's group, but his confidence did not come from his faith in them. After all, he was the Head of Security... If something got by his men, then they would taste his blade.

The preparation they had taken was well-founded. The elevator doors soon closed, signalling someone from below had called it down, the action of which confirmed everyone's suspicion that their target had either survived their onslaught and was now coming for them, or someone from below had survived and was making an attempt for their safe haven. It didn't matter to the group, assailant or surviving passenger, they were going to die the moment those doors opened.

The portal pulled to either side, revealing the contents within the metal box, and the moment their eyes caught sight of everything within, a symphony gunfire erupted in a distorted cacophony of gunpowder propelling the lead bullets within the chamber through the respected barrel of each weapon, peppering the interior of the elevator, box cart, child-terrorist, and all in an indiscriminate display of precise aggression.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Mon Oct 13, 2014 2:22 pm

The response suffice to say was expected as Americo thought to himself that it was all according to plan. He did not have faith that his cart will withstand all shots, oh no, faith is not something he places himself under the delusions of unless merited as something to have a guarantee of sorts, nah, logic is Americo's slut, and sometimes, maybe some other vices as his go-to whores like drinking, and homicidal manslaughter, but he had more pressing matters to attend at hand, like the kindly gentlemen whom were addressing the door that propped open in twain. Of course, like civilized people, they will just begin to shoot the area with their firearms, clearly Soviet pistols now that he heard the loud roar from each gunshot resounding in an implementation of turning the elevator into Swiss cheese.

The bullets rang and filled the elevator with holes all around, as blood splattered from the baby's skull, tearing holes in it. Americo dropped the dead baby corpse to the ground, only barely showing the bloodied turban as he let it lean out from the cart's right side in conjunction to Americo's direction opposite of the Yakuza, as a pooling puddle of red fluids leaked out, only exposing the turban and a window of its forehead marked with a projectile entry opening, the smallness profusely obscured by the wrapping of Muslim origin deemed the headwear of the infant.

The Yakuza were not without fault, as their riddling of the entire elevator saw to it holes were made all over, especially centered around the cover. Americo cursed his lack of shared lifespan as it was heightened beyond human limits, with the endowed level of regeneration as it in fact left him to be slightly blasé in regards to injuries, that otherwise were it to debilitate him had he been a mere human, would be a mere inconvenience to him. Were he in his prime, were he a mere human, he would not have been as headstrong as now, but the benefits outweighed the risks. For all the benefits of his gifts, he was rusty in being careful in combat, or perhaps he didn't have to be? Questions that didn't weigh as much now as he was far more affixed in attention spanning at the gunfire and its origins, marking them all to commonly be outside the elevator, generally close to one another, he could tell that much.

The match held in his fingers, clamped there, streaked across his rough, stubbly chin, suddenly sparking with fire, as he would place it underneath that handkerchief, and from the handkerchief, he would ensure its place would be around the alcoholic bottle's muzzle whilst the fabric was lit on fire, hissing, snaking towards the alcohol, done only when the counts of bullets were waning as far as Americo noted from his estimation of how long one can sustain fire with a TT pistol. Not specifically counting the bullets themselves as much as the length of time from the average suppression one can manage in a barrage, to which the length of time shortened considerably, that he would light the booze into a makeshift Molotov cocktail when it drew nearest to the last waning shots towards him.

The brat was only there to give a moment of pause for the goons that Americo was dead. There was red blood, only a brief window of a forehead, and bullet holes in it. Americo meanwhile had sustained wounds, as the bullets had finally punched through the cart's metallic protection, as black ichor oozed downward to the ground, pooling in a small puddle that bubbled and hissed from eating steel in a slow rate, gravitating right below his chest and ahead of his crouched legs kneeling to the ground. His guts were speared from the side cleanly, having ripped through his intestines, and one hole in his liver from its entry point and exit point, knowing such as the numbing pain kept his awareness at the alert.

The holes were being knit to a close as the damage was being erased out of existence. The rest of the bullet holes were surrounding the cart's vicinity around it, as Americo took the opportunity if the gunfire ceased, to peek out of the cart from behind it to take a quick look over it while remaining prone and still within the elevator's confines. It was a blur, the German's motions were too quick, with a burning bottle at hand, had flung it through the elevator door, sailing through the air with its form distorted by speed, towards Araji it weaved through air, already its alcoholic bowels alit by the all consuming fire of its ignition as the combustion spread from handkerchief to fluids, its glassy form weak and ready to shatter either on him directly, or the floor before him. Either ways, the resulting explosion would come with a sudden spread of fire towards the floor and the fabric of the seats flanking both sides, ultimately if left untended, perhaps it would even set the entire first class on fire.

Though Americo did not remain inert and idle when having discarded the booze bottle, he had drawn out his Sig pistol outward with a single hand, coolly and calculatingly aiming from left to right in a swift mechanical motion rife with fluidity in his aiming. First to the two that were giving a clear view of the elevator, centered around their heads as he had within a split second, swept his hand horizontally in a sudden aim of both parties in a sequential manner. Kenichi and Jozu were met with two well placed single shots spiraling through space and unto their heads it made its mark, intended to penetrate their skulls, centered upon the temple. In the middle of Americo's aim in the quick sweep, he'd taken to firing a bullets each in a sequence of wherever his iron sights crossed first, from Daisuke, Ichinose, Warabi, and Arata, though not in that exact order as much as whomever appeared in his sight when it overlapped with their skull in aiming, as they seemed to be bullet whores firing away in reckless abandon. Seemingly they abandoned their desire to live seeing how they're opening fire within an airplane on the Ger-- the not German. The Brazilian man, which is what Americo is, which he swears to Gott, in his mind.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Wed Oct 15, 2014 12:58 pm

The symphony of gunfire brought about the obscure blood spatter of some poor individual, the infant in disguise, which was only seen by all but those two that were position directly next to the elevator, which were Waraji and Gorou, as they did not participate in the slaughter scene so as to not get caught within the line of fire of the others. Thus, the moment all others had ceased firing in an attempt to both examine the scene from afar while reloading out of caution and reflex, they still possessed full magazines that were ready to be emptied into anyone who exited the peppered metal box.  

The only sight they saw was naught but a blur, however, even to the majority of those positioned outside of and looking directly into the mangled insides of the elevator, and that was the orange streak of the lit molotov careening across the space of the cabin. Araji would have been consumed by the flames, his movements restricted by his prone position in the aisle floor, but the threat was far too great and far too quick to be left in the hands of those bound by ordinary human feats, and thus it was intercepted with speeds akin to blackened blur in it's likeness, the lit bottle being securely and easily caught within a black gloved hand belonging to Jin, the Head of Security.

Despite his rather large stature, the man possessed speeds beyond most humans that allowed him to move from his seat to intercept the speeding missile, and a solid disposition that allowed him to remain utterly blase against the threat of incoming gunfire. Unperturbed by the killshots that tore into the skulls of both Jozu and Kenichi, which caused their heads to be thrown back and their bodies to slump to the floor, in one swift motion was the flaming bottle tossed back with nearly the same speed in which it was originally thrown into the cabin, it's aim directly for the elevators center and the concealed target within, the expansive flames that would be created undoubtedly able to consume everything within, even behind the cart, the throw instantly being followed by the samurai's words of, in broken English, "Yeah, that's not happening here..."

This action caused the concealed Waraji and Gorou, hidden from Americo's view due to their position, to step away from the elevator entrance as the missile careened back within to avoid the flames, but still maintain their element of surprise with their eyes remaining focused to target any who would try to flee from the metal death box in order to put several bullets into him from both sides.

Daisuke, having ducked down the moment of the gunshots that claimed Kenichi and Jozu's life were fired, was spared from death, as was Ichinose and Arata, though Nanabi had been thrown back by the serious injury he had received from the bullet tearing off a portion of his cheek during his attempt to follow the same course as his comrades for cover, spraying blood outward in a large spatter and giving birth to a cry of absolute pain with only served enrage the Yakuza even more, in addition to the death of two of their own. The other missed shots would bring death to other, unfortunate passengers who had pressed themselves against the wall of the cabin, being collateral damage. Now having freshly reloaded, and having confirmed that their target had indeed survived, the previous blood spatter likely being from a human shield the assailant had planted, they would again open fire into the elevator intent on pinning the assassin inside with the flames.

The commotion would cause a shriek of terror from the Oyabun's daughter, but would otherwise become muffled over the surrounding commotion. However, Jin, always one to remain on guard, had positioned the gloved hand which had caught the molotov onto the hilt of his katana directly after tossing the flaming missile back within the elevator, ready to cut down any fool attempting to make a mad-dash out the confined space of death it would quickly become.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Tue Oct 21, 2014 8:40 am

Looking ahead, Americo regarded the killshots with a malcontent smirk of glee, self-satisfied with himself as he kept his demeanor rather jovial in the face of death coming so close in throngs skirting at him. Claiming at him, clawing their gnarly wretched nails to take him away from whence life once should have ended, or left him a crippled old man, instead left him a rotting husk of slow decay that will come perhaps in decades time, but not as of today that would rob him of the vitae and vigour alike per annum in their hasty baleful malice. The retort Americo had observed before himself came in the form of a human, or perhaps a werewolf, for that brat's face carried the looks of one animalistic and quite feral in appearance, an irony not lost on the German himself as he reminded Americo of a gay rapist from a manga that once bummed his best friend due to feelings of jealousy, but then again, Americo does not read mangos, so how does he know about that? The man whose confidence carried in the weight of bricks on his anal hindquarters had indicated a willingness to sacrifice himself for his compatriots in the name of some aborted miscarriage of an honour the Japanese LOVE to prattle on about. As the whelp had caught the bottle to actually fling back at Americo, the man contained his surprise with a modicum of modest alertness in the situation, having spotted it when he kept his vision outward the elevator at the resulting situation, because he likes to shoot things. It was therapeutic and a relief for him recommended by his top psychologist (AKA himself) that murdering people can sate his urge to murder people.

Smacking the cart with his left foot aside as it hit the elevator walling to Americo's right, hitting from its frontal portion as opposed to its broadside as the boxy compartment wheeled away, that simultaneously his arm extended outwards, still residing in self-imposed confinement within the elevator's bowels, had grasped fluidly the careening Molotov hissing fire from its bottle muzzle as the handkerchief began to be eaten by the fire that snaked towards the highly alcoholic noxious booze within. Americo's fingers settled around its circumference, as it was held aloft within his grasp as opposed to shattering upon the floor, appropriately Americo's legs were prone as he had brought his general broad figure down. Though that was only one hand, it took him a blurry reflex to spring up his arm, still in the elevator, to aim towards Araji, who in a fit of lack of intellectual prowess, chose to settle himself in the middle of the aisle, ahead of Americo, with a lack of cover... for some UNDISPUTED REASON despite the fact he had an opportunity to take cover.

It made Americo wonder if these modern day morons forgot the fact cover means no bullets. Now as the security chief, Mr. Gay Rapist whale shark, Jin, or was it Gin? Not that Americo even knew the name, for that'd be claiming omniscience, simultaneously would aim his weapon in the same quick motion prior which didn't require much prompt as it was already extended, towards Araji's most precious thing. No, not his cash, it was at the one thing that made men proud, and that was his general crotch area towards the dead center, the trigger from the P226 Americo held spat out an ejaculation of explosive ballistic to propel out of the muzzle, and towards in a spiral -- Araji's ballsacks, whom elected to be in the middle. It was too fast for the naked human eye, or the general naked human, as in Americo... not the bullet, that's quick without saying.

Likewise, coinciding with the bullet, Americo's arm sprang forth as it loosed the Molotov cocktail, in a spin that doused the handkerchief. It was this time intended in the halfway between distance between Jin and the elevator terro- freedom fighter, whom is German, that were it to clash against the ground, splatter against the ground, in its widespread effect, and spread fire against the seating, that no doubt will spread to the Yakuza in cover, AND his targets. Despite this, what followed soon enough was Americo hitting his back against the wall, next to his cart, in a manner that gives him clear vision to the front, albeit obscuring his sight of the Yakuza still hidden behind the seats, now taking potshots in spite of the failed immolation of Molotov Cocktail, the bullets that came after as what followed took an instant, whizzing past Americo, some of them tearing through the fluttering sleeve of his left arm fit that was as wide as a wizard's sleeve. Americo thought it was a waste of good cloth as the rest assailed him not in flesh, but pepper the elevator in holes.

"A minus for effort, and an F for execution, but on the plus side, you all pass on the latest class assignment. Dying like dog." Americo chuckled in his strangely accented English, loudly. He needed to politely let them know, those Yakuza, what he thought of them in his honest factual opinion, in the most eloquent manner possible, "But no worries, I'll make this as painful as possible."

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Mon Oct 27, 2014 4:03 am

Despite how detrimental a confined space was to many who had shared situations similar to the assassin currently pinned within the elevator, the terrorist had turned it into quite the defensible position. Ordinarily, one would have been gunned down the moments the doors pulled back to reveal the interior contents, but the unknown assailant had carried out defenses that were worthy of praise. It quickly became obvious to everyone of the Yakuza that this hitman was unlike the others that preceded him, and that he was a real threat; skilled, practiced, adept, and in need of being put to sleep. Luckily for the terrorist who went by the unknown name of Americo, the Yakuza would do just that for free of charge. They're nice guys, after all, despite the nasty rumors that had been unjustly spread about their loveable organization.

Expertly dictated by logical awareness born from tactical examination, and previous training hammered deep within his conscience, Araji attachment to his prone position within the aisle had been tosses aside like a cheap harlot in light of the defenses that the enemy had, and thought it best to avoid becoming a stationary bullet-sponge that would result in a useless corpse. In doing so, the Yakuza would roll unto his side within moments of the fired round aimed to blow away his prized family jewels and, atop of granting severe pain, would also bring death by blood loss if it had struck it's target. Thankfully, it did not, and instead struck the position on the floor where he had once been prone, the thinness being granted by rolling unto his side being the reason.

Jin, the Head of Security, only watched with stoic alertness at the scene unfolding. The firebomb he had graciously intended to return to the intruder had once again been caught, which was mildly intriguing to the Samurai, and tossed back into the cabin as if given a second chance to carry out it's original intent. Unperturbed, the modern samurai of large stature had finally gripped the hilt of the blade hidden within the wooden sheath that many thought to be a simply walking stick. Utilizing movement that the human eye would register as instantaneous, and almost contradictory for a man of such size, Jin's form would disappear from the sight of those within the cabin from the sheer speed and grace of unsheathing his blade. Traversing the cluttered aisle with the utmost ease, the man easily avoiding the trajectory of the various bullets going to and coming from the elevator as a ghostly steak of vibrant silver was birthed from the scabbard as the blade was brought forth.

The bottle, cleanly bisected at the neck to separate the flaming handkerchief from the flammable liquid within, spewed out it's content to saturate the surroundings with harmless results. Jin, the only exception to the drenching effects as not a single drop touched his frame, effortlessly balanced what remained of the bottle on the edge of his blade, which contained the flaming cloth that was unable to set ablaze the cabin interior as it was held aloft with the bottleneck. The flames danging on the makeshift wick were quickly extinguished with Head of Security's free hand, the thick black glove effortlessly smothering the infant fire that was denied the chance to grow into a vibrant display of burning carnage.

The Modern Samurai had only the time to toss the decapitated bottleneck and the wick within across the cabin, well away from the saturated seats, before the plane rocked and shook violently. Tilting steadily towards the nose end, it was apparent to all within that the aircraft had now began a steady trek into what had the potential to become a full-on nosedive into the ocean that was still plenty below, as confirmed by the worried pilot's voice that crackled to life over the intercom.

Jin had retained his footing by casually grasping hold of one of the seats, though he only did this for a moment before releasing his hold and jumping backwards, to which he once again grabbed hold of a seat to put him in a position closer to the Oyabun. The rest of the Yakuza had retained their positions by roughly doing the same, though they remained stationary in their seats by utilizing their elbows as anchors over the seats backs to maintain their sight on the elevator and continue firing until they ran dry of lead to propel.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Wed Oct 29, 2014 10:49 pm

And Americo is an even nicer guy, seeing how he has managed to do his handy dandy use of putting some of the Yakuza, former JSDF all among his victims, to sleep with shots to the head. Japan of today, disgusted Americo as the Yakuza he fought had the techniques, the methods down, but none of the substance to actually make for someone's true worth in combat. But then again, it could just be him trying to grasp something worthy among the sons of the Imperial Japanese Army, and sadly finding none for a lack of a better word. Then again, technique, as he figures, is there to compensate for weakness, but he had seen among those that actually had no need for it, to make use of pure strength and power in the simplest of forms, as there was no weakness to begin with that needs technique to encompass it. Sadly, he was not someone that is at a point where he can perform such and so, as he was still, for a lack of a better word, human. Lesser than many others, but still a human.

Americo pulled back the slide on his firearm to check for any signs of its depletion. Should it be close, or rather almost out by a quarter, he would deftly exchange the clip-- magazine from below the grip, and latch on another piece freshly fed unto it in an almost instantaneous motion from long years of practice with semi-automatics, of course, from within the confinement of cover adjacent to the same direction parallel to the cart, otherwise, had he half or almost half the amount of bullets, he would merely aim at the Yakuza Samurai playing with swords with a disregard to the flamboyant display with blades. True, Americo liked the passionate things of the past that had to do with swordplay as that took more skills, but boys playing war should not be around with the adults, and to Americo, he nonetheless saw everyone of them as children.

The outcome remained the same, with Americo sticking out of cover, firearm pointed towards the Samurai's central bulk of mass, whilst he had bisected the bottleneck of the bottle in twain, making use of skilled swordsplay like a slut magician waving around their dong in full display of a crowd in quick motions that typically normal humans could not follow with their eyes, that otherwise the faux-Brazilian could spot the blade's very swings around in its fullest figure without the blur veiled by speed, but read and predicted in its sway by his sharp optical read of the situation via eye, what with the pseudo-Samurai leaping backwards and away from himself, and the bottle averting from ever coming into Americo's physical reach for some sort of shattered retaliation, instead deigning elsewhere. Then the airplane shook, with Americo himself noticing the feeling of a lack of gravity inserting itself, when really it's a full on nose dive pushing him upwards as he felt light. He used that opportunity to push aside the cart with his freehand unto the threshold between elevator and passenger seatings, and let it speed down the aisle in between seat rows, onward it careened in speed picked up in its haste and straight for the pilot's cockpit door, ready to slam for it and disrupt whatever efforts they had to salvage.

(OOC: As I've attained information beforehand about the state of Araji from the Dungeon Master, the pointed answer to it was that he was NOT strapped to his chair, henceforth I shall dispense with the hostilities, and show pleasantries instead. The common consensus is... WOOP WOOP WOOP, flung from the safety of the chairs as he was not strapped into anything or holding unto much really to secure his footing like the rest.)

The only exception to the rule was the ball-free wonder, Araji, whom just scant avoided the most debilitating of strikes yearning to render him far less a man than he should be, that to his good fortune and quick wits, had averted a fate worse than any deaths anyone could suffer. Araji's position shifted to expose his crotch once more, a small opening, but nonetheless well within Americo's sight, whereas the rest of the man was not, but Americo followed the maxim that if one cannot see him, he can't see them either, or vice-versa. Gravitating the firearm to once its prior intended target, being those family jewels of his in vulgar vernacular, the German pulls the trigger and lets loose a bullet, ejaculating out of the barrel in a very violent discharge as the slide shafted backwards, with the projectile itself lancing once more straight for the man's particularly most favored pieces which would no doubt bare him many children of retarded qualities, now no more would Americo's ploy of denying him such manly rights come to fruition.

It was within that same instantaneous span, his form generally disappeared, relying on the walling that is in front of him, just by the threshold, to lean on as the gravity came to tilt downwards adjacent to the nosedive. Bullets from the Yakuza sputtered out after they took their positioning, whizzing past Americo, but ultimately from what opening was present, and what lack of his figure was obvious, none had reached him, only filling the metallic confines of the elevator in more bullet holes of neatly made black gaps sized to the TT pistols each of these Japs had at hand.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Thu Nov 06, 2014 4:41 pm

The damage inflicted upon the plane had finally began to show it's detrimental effects, much to the utter dismay of the surviving passengers who had, upon being subjected to the aircraft's sudden shift in alignment, began to spasmodically panic, all of them wildly clutching for the suspended oxygen masks which had dropped moments after the incident had began as a part of the emergency oxygen system, the current conflict between the Yakuza and unnamed terrorist becoming nothing more than a minor detail to the majorities mental faculties which had become consumed with fearful thoughts of the plane's imminent crashing.  

Unfortunately, the interior conditions became hazardous even for the Yakuza within, as all with exception of Jin were lifted from their seats rather violently despite their best attempts to anchor to their seats, resulting in their assault ceasing and all of them slamming into the cabin ceiling before being dropped rather harshly back to their seats in the most uncomfortable manner possible, as gravity is a cruel mistress.

Sadly, Araji had become yet another casualty in this daring game that the assassin had instigated, as a shout of utter agony that reached such a height as to overpower the surrounding mayhem escaped his throat as the bullet, aimed rather sadistically towards his testicles, had successfully fulfilled it's intention this second time around, the pain of the event causing the former JSDF officer to black out and, given their current situation, would likely bleed out within a few moments given how the human body worked, labeling him as yet another statistic.

The Head of Security, however, managed to collar the natural force as the others did their best to recover from the daze that had enveloped them from their rough landings, as he remained firmly in his stance, left hand firmly gripped upon the top of the Oyabun's seat to adherently anchor himself into the position he chose to be his own. Observing the situation with a peculiar zen-like perception, the giant of a man merely extended his leg and slammed a hard foot into the oncoming cart's side, which had been sent down his aisle, preventing it from reaching the cockpit as it was now firmly wedged between the seating from being knocked off course by the samurai's quick action.

That having been defended against, the samurai-esque bodyguard once again set his focus upon the assassin, though he had never truly let the assailant leave his notice, and had decided it was time for his own game to be played. Pushing off of the seat with the hand previously tasked with anchoring, the other hand deftly gripping the tsuba of his katana, the massive man had, in an amazing feat of agility and grace that could be thought impossible for a man of his stature to preform, leapt across the seating, using the heads of the chairs as stepping stones by means of inhuman balance and agility that defied reason, to cross the distance in speeds that would render as a blur to human perception.

The streaking gleam of silver that was his deadly blade of lethal purpose would arch forward toward what would be eye-level for Americo, having dashed across the cabin's interior to intercept the hitman with speeds that rivaled - if not dwarfed - his own, the bloodlust radiating from the blade betraying it's intention even more than what could be registered by the human eye to cleave the cranium and all that was harbored within in twain with masterful precision.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Wed Nov 26, 2014 8:06 pm

He could feel it, the airplane's turbulence, the wavering sway of air beating against its belly as the dorsal anterior came under a barrage of wind reacting against the descent rather tenaciously. Inflecting within his feet, seeping to distort his foothold and gravity that otherwise would have given him a considerably handicapped time at actually measuring himself and at the same time simultaneously coming into blows with those totting Soviet era firearms against the WWII veteran of renown as they stupidly trade bullets and expend ammunition. They are not within a full capacity to spend ammunition so freely like candy and yet it shows that they are. Suppressing fire either born out of military instinct taught by the JSDF, or perhaps amateurs when it comes to gunfights. One thing for sure is that they have military precision when it comes to coordination, and they're not aiming for his head like some novices would consider, unless skilled enough to pull it off. They have training, not that it helps them. Theirs was a meager amount of training compared to the wealth of experience Americo has from almost a century's worth of combat, from battlefields to mere 'small time skirmishes' that amounted to nothing more than a distraction and a nuisance to the man.

Americo reached upward bodily as he would be thrown up, absorbing the shock into his gunless arm via the elbow, he recoiled downward and landed on his feet in an audible thud rather briskly without staggering into a bobbed down crouch, only barely recoiling from the landing given the airplane's condition of throwing people inadequately positioned upward and then downward to the ground to plummet in the most abrupt fashion, a sharp contrast to which professionalism leaked out of every movements of Americo as he once more recalls the famous German by the name of Alfred in the art of airplane based combat, although most of those involves making use of airplanes as a weapon, rather than fighting IN them. He was a nutter, spending too much time around the Japanese, but mostly a fun kind of guy. Shame Americo never heard from him after his fateful mission in Britain back in the Blitz, something to do with an overly annoying harridan harping at him for what he has done back then, and ever since, he's probably had to move back to Germany and into obscurity. That aside, modern times brought to mind, the Faux-Brazilian takes a peek into the gap between the elevator walling to see that there was no more Yakuza aiming for him, but downed by gravity from that abruptness, and then there was the bodyguard acting like some demented grasshopper across the seats, a blur to normal human eyes and yet to Americo, annoyingly paced but not something within a lack of reason. That stupid fuck must have trained his body with such discipline to attain such speeds. Nonetheless, velocity, and the ease of it are two different things, and Americo, though his reaction speed is not on par, his reflexes were, and he does override the whelp in terms of strength.

The Samurai seemed to have closed the distance between the elevator and the seating, using them as stepping stones for the oddest of reasons, having done a horizontal slash as to bifurcate Americo's skull in twain, as the man, whom was momentarily behind cover, that after taking a peek outside by standing in the middle of the gap between the two parted elevator doors, beheld Jin at his fullest, whilst not exactly stepping out of the elevator itself. Now as Americo was still in the elevator, and there wasn't exactly much space to slash at Americo himself unless he was slashed at, the slash itself would most likely be screwed over by the elevator's tight fit, and as katana's are 60cm usually to classify within that category, that in itself complicates the action of slashing itself by screwing over momentum, or even blunting the sword, or given a katana's construction, snap it, due to the walling of the elevator, and the harsh force summoned to swing the blade itself into a streak of silver, something that tends to be the case when swung fast enough, perhaps due to convoluted logic that coincides with anime in their love for shining weapons and glasses.

Of the two outcomes, had it been logically slashed vertically, which even then, would not amount to much, Americo would merely step to the side to his own right, if it were a HORIZONTAL slash, that being the case, Americo would duck underneath, without arching his back downward so much as his legs to go prone, the blade itself traveling in a blur right above Americo's head without ever touching a single hair as it tasted space, and perhaps the walling. The blade ultimately would not reach Americo's face, as his weapon being the gun itself is not pointed outward extremely, so much as casually trained in aim within immediate counter attack that simultaneously would coincide with Americo's ducking, spit out five bullets in a quick twitch of the finger hastily whilst Jin was atop the seat heads in some emulation of Chinese Wuxia Hidden Dragon Dangerous Tiger movie stunts, to hit his body mass instead of any other parts. The proximity that put Americo towards Jin's reach, would mean that the man was in point blank range. Said bullets were intended towards the chest area's complete middle, for the first shot, and the rest were aligned in update to hit him still in the middle chest area, or perhaps even his armpit, were he to try to somehow dodge. Whichever the case, the aim would remain consistent with the Japanese man's chest area, all the while he was running in a forward momentum. Everything else mattered not but the scoring of the bullets as to hit him from the chest area. A baleful smirk crossed Americo's face as he suppressed the urge to cackle like some juvenile mad scientist of sorts, which he is not. He hadn't invented anything of merit... yet.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Tue Dec 02, 2014 3:45 pm

The lethal instrument held within Jin's right hand, outstretched and in motion with the intent of delivering a lethal injury in the form of a slashing horizontal arch of streaking silver meant to cleave the assassin's skull in twain, had stopped instantly upon missing narrowly it's admittedly skilled target. The expert attention and dedicated skill of the Samurai-esque bodyguard being so refined that it was easily able to prevent the swinging action from carrying with it's own momentum, which would have likely been detrimental to the blade's integrity and utility, and thus it stopped directly after with the tip of the blade halting a mere centimeter away from the walling, as if in an act of defying the laws of motion. The same was done with his own body's forward velocity, as when he took the final step to initiate the slash, he had stopped himself with a firm footing, which allowed the slash to carry out as it had.

Immediately after, Jin, acutely alert and enshrouded in a focused serenity, followed the Assassin's intent by a mere glance, and upon witnessing the firearms barrel aligning itself in such a way that it's lead projectiles would, should he not have moved, tear into the muscled mass of his body and bring an end to his life. This result, however, would be avoided, as in yet another display of seemingly impossible agility and nimbleness, Jin would torque his entire upper body to the right whist pushing with his powerful legs, initiating a technique that would be most accurately called cartwheel, though more of a side flip in which the blade would be retracted with the pull of an arm in the middle of it, that would bring him to his feet to the right of the elevator and out of the bullets paths with but a narrow margin, boasting for the Samurai's reaction time and physical speeds, and out of Americo's line of sight.

Upon landing, The Head of Security would once against raise his blade toward the doors from his positional advantage so as to cleave in half any limb or firearm that should dare peer out around the corner for attempted blind fire while mentally cursing, with a rather monotone dialogue, the annoyances that firearms provided. Even within such confined spaces, he would need to remain alert, as while it did provide himself with an environmental perk of close-quarters, it also limited his space to move about despite his impressive nimbleness. Nonetheless, he was not alone, as those who had previously been discombobulated by the recent turbulence, the primary ones being Daisuke, Gorou, and Waraji, who were once again utilizing the seats as cover and a stable platform in which to aim, had already regained their composure and, upon reloading during the time it took the previous actions of the two combatant's to play out, once targeted the elevator to begin returning gunfire into it's confines in hopes of riddling it's inhabitants.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Sat Dec 13, 2014 9:48 pm

Americo had beheld and lamented in his head that truly was this a big pain in the asshole for someone as awesome as him not to actually conclude this battle. GOD, this assassination was as annoying as Justin Beiber and Rebecca Black's, except that time, there was no hot lady firing some .50 caliber rounds at him, which admittedly he found at least thrilling as opposed to the soul crushing madness found at the Church, and then Rebecca Black... it truly tested every fiber of his very being to resist every urge to explode into a homicidal rage. It killed any kind of respect he had for the human species for them to be so enamored with a foul harpy singing a shrill song as that, but hey, at least no singing now filtered through his ears. So as it goes, Americo thought that it was dumb to prolong the inevitable by jumping backwards when the only prize he had was to murder the SHIT out of that Yakuza Oyabun peon, as paid to do so, and also for a little extra for a dosage of more in the contract department, but right now, as it goes, Jin was hazard pay, if not only for wasting his time. Feeling that nothing, not even a thrust would truly inspire Americo to act so immediately. He had two magazines left on him, pity, but as he considered it, more than enough to deal with the combatants in the airplane. Not like these morons whom wasted magazine after magazine just trying to hit one target, infantile larval creature prior excluded.

Americo's bullets had ceased upon the third shot as he had considered conserving the ammunition when he had a clear line of sight to the enemy being Jin, blocked by the clever devilry the son of a whore had employed in his wake to prolong his already speck of a life in the greater sight of the cosmos bearing down on him in infinity. Funny that, how little either of them knew of one another, besides the fate's ordained roles meted through her titties at the two of them of assassin and bodyguard, one a former soldier once whom served his nation, now serves himself, and the other some Yakuza kid that personally Americo had no idea what philosophy he could pontificate on further to stoke his already bulbous ego inflated in his skull, which speaking of skulls...

Americo with his free hand, grabbed a skull he had perched around his shoulder from far earlier, that same one he had ripped out of some poor bastard's face with spine still intact, with much of the inner making missing, such as eyes, tongue and what have you, save for the brain, and from there, Americo would bite down his teeth unto his palm holding the skull loosely, eyes posed for the door as he did not want to trod outside. Black ichor oozed out of his newly created teeth marked wound from his ripped and skewered flesh, as a decent amount poured into the skull in itself, enough to dissolve the brain, and even then, fizzled with acidic properties as it threatened to eat the skull as well. From there on then, lowering the skull upside down as it dangled, gripping the spine from the very end whilst the black blood fluids were contained within said skull, a temporary container now daring to ebb away even as minute nanoseconds flow by, Americo's recollection of last the position Jin escaped to would whip said skull in the direction of Jin's newest cover that is positioned to bifurcate whatever came out. It was a fully engrossed skull coated in blood, the kind of macabre bone collection someone like Americo took the time to carve out of the people below after he had massacred the bottom hold's passengers for uhm... tactical reasons, right.

The skull in itself wasn't filled to the brim in blood, but enough so that a quarter of a liter was present, swishing inside the skull and some of it spilled out of the eye sockets, and even some oozed out of the now weakened skull interior teetering to the brink of collapse from the slightest physical force of collision, already having cannibalized the brain in a dissolved melt. Americo's hand wound closed up by then, still smeared in black that effected him not aside from aesthetic displeasure, and Americo himself did not stretch his hand out enough to point out of the elevator, paying no heed to the bullets that filleted him in his chest several times widely around his organs, particularly his intestines being carved through by bullets and lodging there, and some stray rounds passing cleanly through his calves in the most meatiest of side. Well, it didn't seem to matter much, as Americo proved most unfazed, still obliging with continuation of his swing that as soon as the skull rounded the edge of the elevator, he lets loose of the spine, sending it hurling with momentum towards the two after the bend of turn what with the spine contorting around, showing a blood covered skull with one eyeball dangling from above in its eye socket speeding towards Jin and whomever was dumb enough to stand next to him, and by dumb enough, that goon who took to standing next to the elevator, that Americo had no prior knowledge of his existence.

That being done, Americo smugly decided to stand still, like a jackass who is egotistical and a dick, and let the bullets being shot at him in the elevator, that at first, had considered them as a human would, grew bored of dodging it overall. As if to prove his point, and to stoke his glee at the expected reaction, soon enough, from out of the fabric of his black soiled cloth fizzling with dark ichor stains, bullets pop out like zits from a teenager, dropping to the ground with a distinctive clutter, right in the view of the Yakuza whom had a clear angle of the steel coffin turned immeasurable defense. Now suppression fire goes under the distinct idea of keeping the defender from shooting back, and also to keep up pressure with the potential of being harmed, hence them being pinned and unable to fire back, but in Americo's case, that being out of the equation, he was at his leisure, pointing his weapon with swiftness, aiming for the three in a left to right manner for a single shot's each worth, and pulled the trigger, the way he held his pistol one handed, not too far extended as to stick out, betrayed EVERYTHING about Americo's archaic shooting mannerism -- it was a Nazi's manner of holding a gun ingrained in his experience, rather than any modern military, as if exterminating rats as German doctrine would reflect but not necessarily convey by design, at each of the three men within his line of sight. The bullets each single and deliberate, unto their skulls aimed at the center of their temples with mechanical precision with none the time wasted for each intervals between each shots, hasty and blurry and as quickly and coordinated as his aiming went.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Mon Dec 22, 2014 4:29 am

Unadulterated panic. Those are the only words that could describe the situation within the cockpit of the plane as the dedicated pilots, skilled as they had demonstrated to be, watched as all of their efforts to keep the aircraft aloft were finally losing any form of influence. The precious fuel, finally having been drained completely through the previous damage done to the fuselage, rendered the massive machine powerless in flight, and with the gasoline having been spent and wasted, all delusions of landing the plane safely were shattered by the harsh reality that came in the form of another rapid drop in altitude, as displayed by various gauges.

However, unlike the previous situation, they had lost any and all ability to halt it's course of action - though to the pilots' credit and utter dedication, as well as fear for their own lives, they didn't stop from trying everything in their power to do so, even if the effects were extremely minor - and thus the massive aircraft merely coasted through the open skies now, still well above the ocean and several dozen miles off the coast, while steadily dropping towards it's blue surface in what would be an inevitable crash landing that, judging from the rapidly approaching scenery of sparkling azure that the pilots were allotted, would only take a few moments to occur.

The Samurai Bodyguard, whom possessed a serenity unlike any other aboard the aircraft, refined through what many would classify as inhuman martial discipline, had immediately anticipated some method of counterattack from the assailant still within the elevator, and this situational awareness would come to save his life. In the instance that the makeshift sling, fashioned from a skull and spinal cord, whipped around the corner with it's blinding speed, Jin had analyzed it's intended purpose during that brief moment and instinctively reacted by dropping down to a knee, allowing the macabre improvisation to sail harmlessly over his head to spare any detrimental affects that may have occurred.

Ichinose, on the other hand, suffered the consequences of his positioning. Standing behind the Samurai, slightly to the right near the closest row of seating, almost near the corner of the cabin, having been ready to shoot anything that stepped forth from the elevators confines, was smashed directly in the face by the crude weapon that the Assassin had fastened. The bone, weakened by the black liquid contained within, shattered instantly upon impact as the poor Yakuza was thrown back against the wall, the force being enough to force his head backwards and crack the window behind it. That pain, however, was the least of the problems, as the acidic properties that came with the black ichor began to devour him in the most agonizing display of flailing and shrieks that everyone within the cabin had ever hear.

Unperturbed still, Jin gave a cursory glance over the edge of his shoulder for a momentary analysis of what he could be dealing with. The thought of combating an assassin that favored some form of acid was, in Jin's mind, not unexpected, as plenty of others' had come up with odd and unique ways to try and take his master's life, but it was certainly troublesome and extremely gruesome with the utmost potential for extensive injury should a single mistake be made. Given how quickly the strange substance dissolved Ichinose's flesh and brought about a gory death, it further motivated the Head of Security to not provide such openings.

In that same moment that Jin had taken to momentarily observe the acidic effects with a cold stoicism, the other Yakuza who currently had a view into the elevator's confines had become dumbfounded and paralyzed by shock and confusion as to what they were witnessing. The barrage of gunfire they had put within the elevator had been futile?! How was it that this assassin could take so many lethal rounds and stand, as if nothing had happened? The idea of a bulletproof vest had all but vanished upon the observation that most of the projectiles had struck elsewhere, beyond a vests protective reach, and they were left in bewilderment.

"How the fu-!?" Waraji's vulgar inquiry, or what began of it, was instantly silenced mere moments before it could be completed as one of the bullets Americo had fired tore into his temple with the clear results of death, throwing his head and body back unto the seats that he had taken position on with his brothers in a violent mist of crimson, spewing the likes of blood and brain matter across the cabin as the firearm he once aimed towards the assassin fell from his grasp, his corpse settling in an unnaturally contorted positioning between them.

"He's fucking bulletproo-?!" Daisuke attempt at ducking back down behind the protective wall of metal and fabric that were the seats failed just as horribly as the Waraji's desired comment, the ducking motion causing the bullet to miss it's intended mark, and to instead gruesomely skid along the Yakuza's scalp to peel back to flesh and bone like a crude lobotomy. The body, thrown headfirst in a backwards topple by the impacting force, also came to rest unnaturally upon the top of the seats that were position behind him, draping over the seating in the most macabre of displays.

Luckily, though that would be a subjective term to use, Gorou had managed to sink behind the protective cover by the time the assassin's firearm had leveled in his direction, and only by a stroke of pure luck did his head make it down in time to survive what would have been instant death - the very same that regrettably claimed the rest of his comrades - where upon the bullet instead tore harmlessly across the open space that was once inhabited by it's target. However, there were zero signs of any plans for a counter attack, as the Yakuza's mind had still been racing after what he had witnessed. In fact, the racing mind had only been able to conjure up the most dull of inner monologues. "What the hell is he?! What in the actual fuck are we fighting right now?!"

Jin, the Head of Security, by this time, after the cursory glance he had given to Ichinose that lasted for only a second, having gathered what knowledge he had wished and felt content with, had already risen back to his full stature before the two fellow Yakuza had met their untimely end, though his guard had never been lowered. He had caught the brief words of the two, and the fleeting thought of a bulletproof vest being worn by the assailant crossed his mind, but he discarded the notion with blase disregard. He cared not for what kind of armor this fool bore, nor for what tricks he may be harboring; who ever this assassin was, he would cleave him in two.

Never having lost the intent to send forth a lethal slash towards anything that dared exit the elevator, keeping a perfect lengths distance between himself and the metallic lifts edge so as to give his sword the perfect area of influence, he would continue to stand in his vantage point with his blade at the ready. He would strike the moment the assassin displayed any part of his body, and keen eyes for detail would make sure that it was the target before striking, with an awareness that covered both the top and bottom of the doors so as to give him the ability to attack at any angle; be it high, center, or low, or any in between.


=======================
OOC:

Plane will crash into the ocean in three posts starting now.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Fri Dec 26, 2014 3:20 pm

Bullets prior stung like mofo, as they popped out like zits, complete with smoke in each former bullet wound, and a spread of black ichor in the clothing. Suppose Americo has no more use for the robe any more, now that it has been tarnished khaki with sheer black blood. The bullets stung his skin and tried to kill him, but instead found themselves laughed at by a body unyielding to the likes of death, and hosted by a patron indifferent to Americo and a source of all life. Separate and distinct and yet never one to dwell within the likes of another's spidery spindely fingers, ugly and crooked whose voracious appetite deserves naught but the confines of cancerous death, but not he, Americo, liberator of his bondage own, and fighter of his fate unperturbed.

Americo noted the screams came and smashed against the window which remained in itself still to a degree, intact, but nonetheless perilously close towards showing the passengers a delightful time of introduction between the cold air of the atmosphere, and the potential of vacuum that no longer exists as a result of pressurization being withheld from being completely lopsided, as already a long length of time passed to at least acquaint the interior with the exterior. To whomever was not exactly supernatural, no doubt rigorous activity would see them more tired than usual, but not to an extraordinary degree given falling heights. That in mind, there was no exact time limit to the mission, hence Americo seemed to regard this whole ordeal with a leisureness, relaxed, and smiling in spite of his caution that seemed to be replaced by faux arrogance. He observed for any signs of screams to originate, any signs of panic to start shrinking into their ranks. The civilians were non-essential, no doubt they'd be panicked. The bodyguard with the sword would no doubt be cool headed, but he was not the one Americo looked for in panic, but in any sign of cracking from the Oyabun. ANY hints to show his sheer displeasure, if not freak out. It was far too gruesome, Americo thought, of his techniques, and no doubt the proximity and lack of resolution from any failed assassination attempts, would see to it that it would unnerve them.

He chanced into a mistake like a shark after fish's blood, and soon resolved to himself that conventional fighting is unsuitable for such an unconventional location, hence a sudden need to do something else. Then he thought, what if... that bodyguard wasn't really dead? The screams did not reflect the man's vocals, it were far too different, but perhaps... someone else hid around the corner? Well, it's not like he was in some vacation to take liberties in assumptions, and as Americo figured, better sorry than dead, hence looking at his wounds which are all closed up, grasped his traditional clothes not of his own people, but of desert dwellers, grabbed the dead baby as no eye sights were around him, at least not from them, wrapping said clothing around said baby from the neckline as he tightened it around its neck so it would not leave its form, leaving the rest, such as sleeves and the hem of the robes loose, so to obscure the fact nobody occupied it, would then without need of extending his arm far enough to reach out of the elevator, so much as to remain within its confines, flung the said baby towards the middle lane between the two seating aisles straight out of the elevator, and towards the pilot's location. A test, and also a trick. Never once relinquishing his firearm, as he kept his eyes for any Yakuza in his field of view. There were none, as he had sighted them dead, and one lucky bastard alive through sheer fortune, but it would only prolong the inevitable.

Underneath, the German was wearing a normal set of attire, Hawaiian floral pattern T-shirt, and a pair of khaki pants slacks as a revelation of true wear. The child on the other hand still wore the turban, and was covered in blood. Sailing like a missile in open space through the void surrounded by floor, ceiling, and chairs none too near to impede the progress towards the pilot's cockpit door, it would no doubt at least draw some into panic, seeing that it was too fast to clarify what details of its origins, that in spite of its general outline and details, was clear enough to be told as a human, and even more so, matching the attire and wear of Americo.

After reactions were waited for, at least lapses of panic, Americo would wait, pointing his pistol towards any Yakuza foolhardy enough to react, and bide his time for the likes of those that stepped into his gun's iron sights whilst also keeping to the confines of the elevator as his pistol kept aimed without complete extension of his arm as much as quarter extension, which he would re-align to any living human that matched the criteria of those he fought from recent memory, those being the Yakuza, into his field of vision. He remained quiet, silent, and keeping his back to the edge of the elevator that for some odd reason, didn't seem to close. Then again, what with the sensors reading passing objects, it would no doubt keep open as if 'more passengers' are coming through to enter or depart the confines. The machinery's sensors too dumb to differentiate what is truly human and what is not, remaining open due to proximity and amount of traffic at its threshold.

Now if only he'd have time to spend here, he'd have probably ordered Tequila, but seems like he can't mix business with pleasure nowadays. Pity.

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Dungeon Master on Fri Jan 09, 2015 8:35 am

The delight that the Assassin would seek from the Oyabun, and any of the family still seated next to him, would be present, but well out of his line of sight to deny him the chance to revel in it. They had remained ducked down within their seats throughout the entire ordeal, shielding themselves from stray bullets and other visual location on part of the attackers. The nervous anxiety of the plane inevitably crashing loomed over them like an ill omen, but only the daughter gave forth audible signs of distress, though likely too muffled to be noticed.

The infantile distraction, of which was the child's corpse disguised, registered to the keen eyes of the samurai-esque bodyguard as it flew forth from the elevators threshold. He immediately recognized it as a non-threat, and thus refrained from slicing it in twain the moment it came into his view, thus it flew harmlessly down the aisle with real purpose aside from crashing rather grotesquely against the locked door of the cockpit. The grim impact drew disgusted gasps from the remaining passengers, though also muffled by the air masks confined to their faces.

Jin remained in his ready stance, awaiting an opportune moment to slice apart the assailant if he dared exit the elevator, though the feeling of the plane rapidly lowering in altitude was not lost upon him. It seemed as though the plane, while not nosediving into the ocean below, was speedily dropping parallel to the oceans surface. The problems that would come with that would be obvious. If it came down to it, Jin would wait for the last moment to take action...

Gorou, on the other hand, was still in a mild panic over what he had just witnessed, stayed ducked down behind his seats. He gave a custody check of his remaining ammunition, which was roughly half a magazine, and silently cursed under his breath at the idea of how useful the bullets would be against someone who just withstood a hail of the very same gunfire.

===================
OOC:

Plane will crash in 2 posts.

_________________
Official mission NPC account for staff members.

Dungeon Master
Dungeon Master

Posts : 269
Join date : 2013-10-14

Character sheet
Souls: 77
Organization: Staff
Race: Immortal

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Americo on Sun Jan 11, 2015 4:30 pm

(OOC: If nothing of importance would happen, and no such actions will presume, I'd like a stand off to commence till the very last moment of the airplane crashing into the sea.)

_________________
"Nanomachines, son."

Spoiler:

Americo
Admin

Posts : 62
Join date : 2014-01-20

Character sheet
Souls: 4
Organization: Gun-for-hire
Race: Advanced Human

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: Atlantic Flight to Nowhere (Mission for Americo)

Post by Sponsored content


Sponsored content


Back to top Go down

Page 1 of 2 1, 2  Next

View previous topic View next topic Back to top

- Similar topics

 
Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum