Specialists: Soldiers of Fortune
Chapter 1: Kill Day
"Emphasized Talking/ Loudspeaker"
"Talking in a different language"
*SFX* - Rare appearance
'Thinking' – Available in third person
'Talking in Telepathy'
[Enemy Radio Chatter]
March 8th 1988/ New York, US
Dark grey paints the clouds in the sky, tall buildings covered it. The smog from the cars and factories are making the rain worse. Seeing rain as none of my business, I blindly walked forward.
'What do I do?' They say. My "job" involves more than those average Joes in offices or those big bosses and CEOs in big companies. You could say that I'm not your average person. No, I'm not a hero that goes into the rescue damsels in distress and I'm no villain that wants to conquer the world, basically… I'm both. I'm what you'd call a mercenary, a gun for hire, a soldier of fortune, or any shitty terms that you have for me.
Mercenaries are somewhat similar to soldiers; the only difference is that we get paid more that the . Like soldiers, we do peace keeping or killing, guarding or attacking, escort or assassinate, and any other military shit.
I'm Joshua Campbell, a mercenary. Like all other mercenaries out there, I use guns. I kept this M1911A1 that was with my great grandfather who served as a general back in the Second World War, I must admit… this pistol has saved me a lot of times but I also tend to use other guns with more fire power than a .45 ACP.
My trust is easy to break. There was one time I trusted a militant leader back in the Middle East then suddenly he pointed the damned .44 Magnum at my face with a threatening to kill me if I failed one more time. He received the end of the barrel with a gaping hole in his head and his brains on the walls. Heck, I'd have to fight an entire army in that hell hole just to get the heck out of there.
Suddenly someone bumped into me. A pair of brown eyes looked up to see who he'd bump into… but those set of brown eyes looked too familiar.
"Sorry! Wait a minute… Josh?"
Ruben… of all of the people of this world I bumped into, why'd it have to be this person? That kid annoys me every day. Bugging me at the firing range, constant delivering of newspapers and that music he plays beside my room is too loud that it reaches the street.
Pushing aside, I kept moving towards the bar, my destination in the first place. I opened the glass doors of the bar and went inside. It's still the same old usual routine every day, a bar fight going on, drunkards rooting on the winner. Like usual, the bartender draws his revolver, an S&W Model 14, and press the trigger to put a well placed hole on the ceiling making the two drunken fighters look on the bartender with a gun.
"Take your shit and get the hell out of my bar!" The pissed off bartender removed the used bullet from the gun and loaded a new one. The two drunken men saw the gun and immediately went outside to finish what they started.
Taking a seat, I thought about the next 'job'. I don't see any more contracts around to provide any shit I have to do. Maybe helping the army might make me money; perhaps pulling a few strings would give me military grade weapons instead of this scrap metal resting on my thigh.
"You must be Joshua." A male voice snapped me out of my thoughts; I turned my head to the voice to see a suspicious man in a black coat. Sensing trouble and predicting a three… no… ten possible scenarios, I brushed my hand on my pants and moved it towards my holster. Suddenly, his mouth moved.
"Ah… I know what you are trying to do… I must remind you that you will die first if the bartender would get a hold on his gun." He said with caution. Fooling this man would be a good idea, instead of resting my hand on the holster I moved my hand towards my pocket and grabbed a piece of paper and placed it on top of the bar counter.
"Name your price and your task." I said, this made the man looked at me and laughed… this made me suspicious; I realized… something was wrong. My eyes scanned whole bar and found a couple of possible threats that might be with this man. I moved my right hand away from the counter and moved it near the holster while my legs prepared for the next move.
"Ha, ha! Oh… I'm not here to employ you stupid ass. Let's say… I'm finishing my job." The man grinned. That was followed by moving his arm and punched me in the face before grabbing a M9 Beretta and leveled the pistol in front of my forehead. The bartender saw what was going on and aimed his revolver's barrel on my assailant's face.
"Any last words?" The man said, ignoring the warnings of the bartender.
"You're dead…" I replied with the coldest tone I have. The man was unfazed with the tone and proceeded to click the trigger; a loud explosion followed a blinding light appeared from the pistol like lightning and thunder; the bullet escaped the small hole of the pistol and propelled itself to where my head supposed to be. I already moved to avoid the bullet and away from the line of fire, catching my assailant off guard. Taking this chance I punched the man in the face and wrestled the pistol from his hands, making me the new owner of the 9mm pistol. I shot him in the leg and forced him to the ground.
"Oh my goodness! He shot someone!"
"Shit… what the heck did you do?"
"What in the world are you trying to do here!"
The sound of voices filled the air as a large crowd came to witness the execution of my assailant. Let this be a lesson to other people. If they try fucking me up, they end up with a departing gift from me.
"Like I said… you're-"
The bullet left the 9mm pistol and drilled a hole in the man's head. It made a disgusting mess, rather, a nicely placed decoration on the floor. "…dead." I continued the last word to the corpse on the floor.
"He killed Thompson!"
Several men stood up and brought out a couple of MP5 submachine gun and opened fired, leaving several holes in the wake. This caused people to scream and scram out of the bar, others weren't that lucky to be alive. Seeing myself in the open; my instincts moved my body to the nearest piece cover I could find, behind the bar counter. I quickly vault over the counter and hid behind the piece of soft and splintered woodwork. The thugs opened fired again and destroyed almost everything behind the counter, woodworks turned into splinters, concrete turned into nothing but fine powder, and glass turned into shards. Poor bartender… he became a magnet for bullets… his remains can be no longer recognizable.
After hearing a couple of objects hitting the tiled floor, I drew my .45 cal pistol and turned off its safeties. Using this small window of opportunity, I stood up and unleashed the same hell against my enemies. Two of them dropped to the ground and became history; the rest of them saw the disadvantage and used another advantage. They flipped the tables to use as makeshift cover and proceeded to return fire. I ran to the middle of the bar and shot two more men into their deaths. Moving towards a column near the exit, I holster my empty .45 Cal Pistol and blind fire my 9mm against my assailants until it was empty. That wasn't my real goal. I tossed away the empty 9mm Pistol aside, seeing it's uselessness without ammo. I burst the glass doors open and ran out.
Rain once again washed my face. Police sirens rang out from the distance. I should get out of here; I took a left turn and ran towards the dark and narrow alleyway.
Getting away from those thugs weren't my only problem. A black van suddenly appeared at the end of the alleyway and dropped its passengers into the narrow alley. The men were fitted with body armor and they are armed with AKs… one of them saw me and fired his weapon at me; his friends followed his lead and launched a storm of 5.45mm at my face. Using a dumpster nearby, I faced it towards my enemies and reloaded my .45 cal pistol.
Shit… damn it all. A second van blocked the opposite direction and started unloading its men into the narrow alley. I'm surrounded… that's just great. With a little chance and a little time, I pushed the dumpster towards the first group while returning fire.
"Shit! He's getting closer!"
"Quick, waste your bullets at him!"
The sound of panicking men, what a beautiful sound to my ears, I usually hear that when I do something smart against thugs and any unlucky soldier that came across me. I kept on pushing the dumpster until I'm close to the group.
Damn… the second group is getting closer to me. I stopped pushing the dumpster and opened fired at the first group. I killed two in rapid succession and pistol whipped the guy closest to me and ended his life with lead for his breakfast. Another thug dropped his gun and ran away but no one ever leaves me and tells the story, I gave him a nice parting gift, a gift that he'll surely 'remembers'. Moving on to the last man on the group… ha, the expression of fear thrills me. The last man standing pissed on his pants with fear until I ended his life in embarrassment with a .45 ACP.
A bullet whizzes by me, I looked back and saw the second group of thugs getting closer to my position. Grabbing an AKS-74u from the ground, four magazines for the gun and a lucky frag grenade; I'm starting to slaughter all who are against me. I hid behind the dumpster, grabbed the grenade, pulled its pin, and lobbed it on the group of thugs.
"Fuck! Grenade! Get the heck out of-"
A scream of agonizing pain can be heard after that, I could even hear some thugs crying over their lost limbs. I decided to peek at the damage and saw the bastards who received the package; it didn't look to good when you include the two mutilated bodies in the alley. The rest who are still alive struggled to get the concussion and shellshock out of their heads, I ended their miserable life by wasting a full twenty gold cylinders of my submachine gun…or is it an assault rifle? Damn it, there is now time to debate if the AKS-74u is a submachine gun or an assault rifle! Or… was it a carbine?
Shit, there is a thug with a RPG on his hands… damn it! He opened fired! I dropped down to the ground and dodged the swerving rocket that took out the van behind me. Without giving the man chance to use the launcher again, I pressed the trigger of my gun to let out a couple of bullets to finish him off.
"We lost most of our men! Pull back!"
I stood up and removed the used magazine and loaded a new one with a gleeful grin. Satisfied of with the sound of a magazine being in place and a bullet being loaded, I aimed at the retreating thugs in my iron sights and shot them in short bursts… sadly, I let some of them get away.
"Hard day…" I mutter to myself as I reminiscence today's events.
"It only gets harder if you look it that way Josh. By the way, you look like crap."
I looked at myself and saw my ripped clothes before turning around and found a familiar face that I haven't seen in a meantime, this man is a friend of mine.
"William Baker, what a pleasant surprise…"
That's a wrap.
Feel free to review and say something good or bad on my story!
Previous A/N: (I'd always put them there for a reason.)
Hello there guys! I'm Chris 'SG-17 and I'm presenting you Specialists: Soldiers of Fortune! Now this story follows the point of view of a mercenary named Joshua Campbell and all of his troubles he has to go through... like avoiding death from a dude with an RPG, or fixing a weapon jam...
Anyways... I'd say that this is a reboot of my series named "SG-17" but don't even bother searching in on my profile or Fiction Press or Google it, it is completely gone from Fiction Press but not from my mind or to those who have read my beautiful stories of gun fighting and such.
Toon in to the next chapter to find out what happens next!
as always... Chris 'SG-17 out!