View Full Version : excelsior number 4.

08-13-2009, 09:24 PM
goddamn. I cant ever finish this. heres what i have so far, but just a section so you guys will be all MOAR MOAR MOAR.



General Marcus B. Grubbs hastily jogged up the stairs of the giant UCN structure in New York, the building much taller than any other nearby. The building was almost entirely glass, the sun projecting a magnificent image on the tiles. Marcus got to the top of the stairs, and while adjusting his sleeve, he snuck a glance at the marines posted outside the building. The only thing showing out of their faces was their eyes, which were blandly pointed forward.
Their heads were covered with helmets and their mouths and noses covered with gasmasks. They had, among other things, tear-gas grenades on their belts just in case anybody tried to breach Nova, which was generally impossible. Marcus finished his wrist and faced the door in front of him. With one arm, he gently pushed it open while slipping inside.
Inside, there was a large reception, a ring of tables in the middle, diplomats on the outside, and Nova staff on the inside. Marcus let the door go as he buttoned the remaining buttons on his jacket, but didn’t hear it close. He didn’t turn to see what happened, as the door’s hydraulics quietly closed the door. He didn’t check though, to see if someone had come in behind him.

Frank walked around the old man in front of him and made his way to the far side of the entrance, towards the pavilion. He hefted his duffel bag closer to his chest as guards patrolled nearby, their M-29s ready to blow him to pieces. But as long as they saw him come in with the General, he was safe from any inspection. But he knew his target, and as long as he knew who he was after, he didn’t have any worries. Inside his apparently harmless duffel bag, Frank had an AK-47 and several charges of C-4 which he would use to bring down Nova. His ear piece sizzled with static as a voice spoke to him.
“Frank, are you in yet?”
“Yeah,” replied Frank, checking his watch. It was 10:47, thirteen minutes from the time he would reveal himself. “How about team two? Did they make it?”
There was silence over the radio as the operator took a breath. “No, they got stopped before getting in.”
“Did they get the bombs?”
Frank paused. He knew that if the guards had found the explosives, the three men in team two were dead. “How about team one?”
“They said that they’re ready.”
“Teams three, four, and six are outside. Team five should be in position just about now.”
“Good,” repeated Frank, as he glanced at the pavilion in front of him. The four men spread around the small park exchanged nods, and one of them snapped a determined look at Frank. They all had duffel bags too, except for one of them, who had a backpack. Still, they all either had AK-47s or M-16s. An unusually cold breeze blew against Frank, and he closed his eyes, remembering a time when people didn’t use terrorism to achieve freedom and liberty. He remembered a time when all was just and fair, but then he remembered when the UCN took over. He joined the Resistance to fight off the real terrorists, but was accused of being one by doing so.
“Check your timers, its 10:52. The wire-cutter team is in position. Power shortage in eight, prepare equipment.”
“Message received.” Replied Frank, approaching a bench and sitting down, “is there anybody else out on the team COM?”
“Yes sir,” was one of the static-laden responses, among others. “This is Jonathan Shepard from team five.”
“Gordon Foster here on behalf of team three, ready for engagement.”
“This is Dominic Mendez, leader of team six.”
Frank breathed uneasily. He knew that probably everybody would die on this wild operation. But if it hurt the UCN, it helped the Rebellion, and as far as war went, that was a good thing.
“It is 10:55. Be advised that in five minutes we will begin. Good luck and God bless you all.”

Marcus lazily tapped the “UP” button on the elevator, and saw one laden with passengers come down one of the many pipes around the inside of Nova. It came down with a muffled hiss, and the doors slid open. A minute passed as the passengers got out, leaving the car empty. Marcus stepped into the claustrophobic pod and palmed the button with the number 76 on it. He turned back to face the doors close, and saw a man sitting on a bench on the far side of the room, looking back at him. He had a black duffel bag that was laid carefully next to its owner, zipped tightly. Out of courtesy, Marcus gave him a sharp nod, which the red-haired man didn’t return. The man did, though, keep staring hatefully at Marcus until the pair of doors closed.

Frank watched as the elevator glided upwards, and was soon too high to be accurately seen. Frank stared blankly as the rich diplomat inside floated to his next million-making meeting, which he would spend basking in money, while the average citizen like Frank rotted below. Frank felt a surge of anger as he thought about it. Those were the people that made him the way he was now. Those were the people that killed both his brothers, and those were the people who were mere minutes from death.

Marcus didn’t understand why the man that he had met below was so cold to him. It was the third time it had happened today, starting with the large group of men with similar duffel bags to the three other men inside the car entering the garage right before he went inside to the man in the waiting hall with the same duffel bag. He glanced out of the elevator and could barely see the man stand up, and followed by several others, began to do something with the duffel bags. Then it hit him. They were about to attack. Marcus panicked as he looked around the elevator, searching for an exit. But half of him knew that he was doomed. He couldn’t do anything to stop them. But that was the way war went. Diplomats sent out soldiers to kill other soldiers when the situation fell out of hand. And now was one of those times. He checked his watch quickly.
10:59. he searched for something he could do to make noise, when he spotted the emergency fire button. He debated whether to press it or not. Was it just a coincidence that so many people were below him with what could possibly be weapons? He struggled with the idea, but then one side of him won over the other side. He pressed the red button, but didn’t hear anything. He pressed it again, nothing. He once again searched the elevator, but didn’t find anything. Then he checked his watch.
11:00 AM.

The numbers 11:00 popped up on Frank’s watch as the lights blinked off. The people in the reception stopped and looked around, puzzled. Little did they know that a massive blow was about to be dealt to the very people they worked for. He stood up casually, and hefted his bag. He unzipped it and pulled out his AK-47. He threw the bag away, and faced his six victims. They looked at him in terror and fear, and for a minute, Frank felt sad. He didn’t want to kill these people. But his mission demanded for it. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He heard the rapid staccato of gunfire as his rifle rocked back and forth with the force of each shot. He also heard screaming and terrified yelps, but he zoned them out. He eased his finger off the trigger, and opened his eyes. All six of them were dead.

Marcus panicked once more as he looked around the elevator, searching for an exit. He was half-way between two floors, and the door above him was splitting open. There were three soldiers, two holding the doors open, and one holding out his arm. Marcus was unsure that he would take it. Those very soldiers place their lives into his hands, but he wasn’t willing to do the same. Marcus gathered his wits about him and took the soldier’s hand.

Frank checked the reception once more as the four men on the pavilion rushed in with Kevlar vests and assault rifles. The guards inside the building quickly fell under the rain of bullets directed at them. The eight guards in the entrance spun around and opened fire upon the reception with their M-29s. Two civilians and one Rebel fell to the ground as semi-explosive armor-piercing bullets sprayed across the room. Frank lunged behind the reception table and took cover. He saw three more men come towards him, and recognized their features. They took cover beside him, and exchanged shots with the guards hiding behind the pillars at the entrance. Jonathan Shepard began shouting at Frank, but Frank could hear him.
“Frank! Get the bombs! Get the bombs!”
“Get the bombs!”
Frank spun around and saw his duffel bag on the floor, the charges messily piled onto the ground. “Cover me!” shouted Frank, sprinting for his bag.
Two guards saw him run by, but as they poked their heads out to take a shot, one of them gripped his neck and flew back while the other took cover again. The guard who got shot in the neck thrashed wildly on the floor before succumbing to the pain and laying limp on the floor, Jonathan cheering as he stood up and fired an extended burst at the pillars to cover Frank, who had the strap on his duffel around his wrist. Frank pulled the bag up, but the remaining charges fell out. He crouched, and hastily gathered as many charges as he could carry. But as he reached for his bag, dust and sparks began to fly out of the duffel and the floor as one of the guards began shooting at him. In panic, Frank stood up and ran back to the table, before tripping and spilling the charges behind the reception.
“Great job Frank,” announced Jonathan, as he primed and activated a charge. “Suck on this you communists!” He screamed, throwing a charge at the guards. It fell between the pillars and exploded. All six of the pillars were engulfed in fire and collapsed, exposing an empty entrance. “That should hold them off for a while, now, Frank, get to the elevator with Jim and try to see if you can call one up. I’ll hold them off.
Frank stepped up and began running to the elevator alongside Jim, who was wearing a ski mask and was armed with an M-16. They reached the elevator, and pressed the “UP” button on the steel console. The elevator casually came down, and opened with a friendly chime. Jim turned around and waved Jonathan forward, as Frank stepped inside and fixed charges onto the sides. After he was finished, he turned to Jonathan, and waved him forward too. Jonathan rushed forward, as fresh guards ran in through the entrance and began firing at him. He jumped inside the elevator, which was made of reinforces glass that could withstand the bullets that the guards were firing at it. The glass, however, wasn’t designed to withstand explosive rounds and would soon shatter if the last man didn’t get on it before it did. The last man stood up to make a run for it, but was knocked over by a sniper’s bullet. Blood began pooling out of his broken head as Jonathan hastily tapped one of the buttons on the console. 76.

Lieutenant Patton reloaded his weapon as he carefully walked up the blood-soaked steps of Nova. The staccato of gunfire had almost ceased, when a second group of insurgents rushed the building from the back. A group of sixteen, they gunned down the three guards inside that chased after the elevator before taking cover. Patton’s group of twelve charged up the stairs as Fiore’s Fireteam would go around the back and flank the terrorists inside Nova. Patton rushed up the stairs, ahead of his men, and threw a grenade at the insurgents.
An explosion tore through the reception as two of the terrorists simply exploded out of existence, their melted rifles and burnt scraps of clothing all that was left of them. Four of Patton’s AI followed him, firing in short bursts at the exposed delinquents, felling two more. One of them received a bullet in the thigh, but shrugged it off and kept running.
The AI, (Advanced Infantry) were the soldiers above the BI, (Basic Infantry) but were not as advanced as the super-secret Templars, which was considered a religious cult to some. The AI, however, were equipped with “Enforcer” armor, which made them considerable opponents. The AI was only used in extreme hot-spots, not in large numbers for larger operations. The AI was more improved at stealth, but excelled in sustaining firefights with entrenched enemies, having received extensive long-range training.
The AI was perfect for Patton’s operation. They had excellent aim, were strong and fast, and were generally smart. Patton slid onto his back behind the reception table, his M-29 drawn tightly to his chest. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, however, which made him a prime target to snipers. Another explosion threw dirt and marble into the sky, landing harmlessly on the ground. Patton peeked out of the table and saw the other insurgents by the elevator, hiding behind the pillars and wreckage that lay strewn on the floor. Patton lifted his rifle and squeezed the trigger. One of the Rebels collapsed face-first into the floor, holding the base of his neck. Patton saw the elevator come down behind the Rebels, and they loaded onto it. Patton swore as he fired at the five-inch thick glass, knowing that his bullets wouldn’t do anything. Patton knew that he wasn’t going to catch up with them, until he heard a message on his COM.
“This is fire team Bravo, on the roof.”
Patton cheered silently, as he knew that the other team would probably be able to box in the terrorists and take them out. “Do you know which floor they’re going to?”
“Uh, I think they’re on 75. Oh wait, scratch that. They’ve stopped at floor 76. We’re going in.”

08-18-2009, 08:45 PM

The parts I did read however, were good. Write more and I'll read it when I don't have a throbbing headache.

08-20-2009, 06:37 PM
tl:dr meaning please?

anyways, thanks for reading, but could you be more descriptive?

08-21-2009, 08:37 PM
tl:dr means "Too long, didn't read."

08-22-2009, 02:08 AM
oh ok thanks. btw, did you read this?