YNA01 - Assignment

From Your Next Assignment
Wraeththu RPG
Part I

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Your next Assignment:

Objective: Infiltrate and prepare the city of Tacoma, Washington, for a nuclear attack that is the first phase of wiping out the sub-culture terrorist threat known as Wraeththu ('Ray-thoo'), and establishing a level of law and order in subjugated cities and suburbs currently under threat by the rising mutated sub-species.
Opponents are known to be fearless, often crazed and maniacal, and to be considered armed and dangerous, even if unarmed...


   Connor stared at the paper, reading the last line one more time.

   '...to be considered armed and dangerous, even if unarmed...'

   Crazed and maniacal? Fearless, and subjugating whole cities? This sounds like a worse case scenario than flat-out terrorism...

   Reading over the long briefing document, Connor found himself wondering if all these pages were filled with actual information, or just more theories about a subculture of rebels and anarchists that had more intricate and deeply disturbing activities and views than any other major terrorist organization or effort. This subrace of humanity that somehow bent to loathing and hating humanity's world and culture had grown exponentially in almost every major city of the West, and even other cities all over the world. Even the German and American allied forces could not overcome them as they rioted for weeks in the streets at night for the past month and a half, just outside of the largest American military base in Germany's most orderly location in the foreign world.

   As soon as Raythoo had begun to hold sway on a few of the activities and major influences of the larger cities in America and other foreign countries, Washington had deemed them a threat and accordingly (due to the rioting and 'naked' aggression) a terrorist subculture of the world, and of America and the American public. The most commonly pronounced rendition of the spoken word they called themselves was the most common human term; Soon after the media released the spelling, it was renounced as being written 'Wraeththu' by an anonymous tipster, then reacted against by political parties by purposefully mis-spelling the name in an effort to dismay, disrespect, and turn the group aside as if worthless and unworthy of the attention the media had given them in their rise; riotings and uprisings began soon after.

   Grossly understating the Wraeththu threat and causing panic and fear, the American people began to lash back in individual ways, which caused further violence and kidnappings. While the American government was distracted and focused on different socio-political and terrorist groups worldwide, a small subculture in the major populated cities began to take hold in ways unimagined before. Kidnappings had become homicides, and now a new threat had been discovered; these individuals had a way of amassing more members through a strange and cult-like process of blood-rituals which would literally change a person's mindset and perhaps even their physiology, though the official statement on the matter was that little was known and now special task forces were being sent in to collect vital information about this group and lay the planwork for a small nuclear attack on a homeland city in order to prove to the major leaders (if there were any) of this group that the American public and government would not tolerate such terrorism, and that they would do everything they could to annihilate such an in-borne threat in homeland areas, including sacrifice potential inductees and all raythoo if it was necessary for the survival of the human race and the American people.

   A plan had been put in place by top members in the executive branch along with top war strategists who deemed the threat of the raythoo high, active and immediately endangering, though without any apparent declassified intelligence about their motives, organization and structure, nor how or why they had succeeded in growing in numbers and power as quickly as they had. If such information was known, it was information that Connor had not been privy to. As a veteran officer involved with top secret and subterfuge missions, he was used to being told only as much as he needed to know. In his opinion, it was better that way.

   A small stealth-augmented nuclear warhead was to be dropped from a high-flying bomber and let loose to fall directly down to the city and explode over head at a mile and a half above the ground, so that a minimal explosion impact would occur, perhaps sparing the geological, architectural and structural stability of nearby cities. Three sites, the cities that were most populated and infected by raythoo members, were passed aside in favor of a less populated set of areas. In the end, three secondary cities being bombed was traded for a minimal aspect attack, a single nuclear warhead dropped over Tacoma, Washington, only miles from the major Seattle area, which was the fifth most raythoo-influenced city, preceded by Chicago, New York, SanFrancisco, and Miami Beach/Ft.Lauderdale. Tacoma had been named a less-populated area after first-line task forces had suggested that Tocoma was a fear-ridden, mostly unpopulated area that could potentially withstand a wide-scale attack such as this.
Sighing, frustrated that maybe this time the officials had done everything they could do mislead themselves into believing they knew how to deal with the threat at hand, and secretly fearing that this may be more dangerous than he first assessed from his pre-briefings, Connor puts down the papers, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his left hand, yawning wide at his recent lack of sleep.

   He'd been doing a lot of double time lately, and now it was catching up to him. He'd have only a single night to get enough rest to satisfy his senses before he was issued to infiltrate the city in civilian uniform and concealed gear and armors. He'd be outfitted with one of the latest sets of gear the military had procured for their special forces, a suit and mask set that would prevent a large amount of radiation from entering his body during his mission.

   He pulled his dark black military-issued duffel out from behind his seat as he sat in comfortable, relative privacy, in a curtained section of the first-class military airliner that was sending him from the capitol to his final destination for the night. As the early pre-morning sky was still black outside his jet window, he flicked on the overhead light on his control panel to inspect his gear once more. Pulling open the zipper, he slips out the neatly-folded suit, pressing his fingers against the somewhat rubbery material of the fabric that would he wear beneath his civilian clothes. It was like a thin sheet of enchanced latex that felt soft like fabric, but flexible and non-permeanble like rubber or plastic. The augmented woven and steam-pressed vinyl poly-strand material was enhanced with a finely-dispersed aluminum alloy and a layer of dense graphite, both molcularly-engineered to be aligned in many different patterns and directions for maximum radioactivity protection. The latest released materials technology from the US Military Foreign Technology Department's pre-release list, the suits had been issued to officers nearly twelve months in advance of their original release date, but because of the severity of the task at hand, they were rushed through inspections (which had proven well enough to begin with), and directly put into application. This mission would be their christening event, and a landmark in nuclear cleanup personnel technology and materials for the future. Scientific endeavors such as this would make future nuclear attacks less severe for those on the front lines of after-effects, reconnaisance and cleanup.

   He would later change in to civilian clothes, pack all of his gear into a small normal-looking backpack and weapons case, with this rubbery fabric lining his body beneath them all. In his backpack, he would carry a mask similar to a gas mask but augmented to be used in surviving in radioactive, smoky, and carbon-monoxide-rich areas. A pack of single doses for dangers like poison, many varied diseases, radioactivity poisoning, a few randomly-encountered ailments common for the area, as well as three doses of a cyanide pill were also included, in case of an emergency that would require Connor to relieve himself from duty, or in case an ingested poison could be used to secure himself better footing or safety. Trained for years in poison uses, survival tactics, mission duties, subterfuge and espionage, he felt more than ready to handle his mission with clarity, since he was not afraid to commit suicide if it meant the success of his mission in Tacoma. It was not top priority for solutions on his list of bad breaks, but it was a possibility and required the attention his trainers had put into him and the officers of the mission. All of the officers were from a small group of partners who had served together in the wars of the recent years as a small scout and recon group in top secret classified actions and missions. They had all gained a repertoire of team work among themselves that had proven useful in some of the most difficult situations they faced in their lives, and were now being brought to the rendezvous point at the base just south of their mission city.

   Sighing, Connor re-folded the suit, tucking it back into his duffel, checking his mask, weapons, and gear once more before zipping the bag closed once more. He set his backpack where he had pulled it from, and tucked his briefings back into their manilla envelope until he would arrive at the base, when he would take a bit more time to consider their many details and hypotheses. Yawning and stretching once lazily in the chair, he leans back and closes his eyes to try to catch a quick nap on his last half-hour of the trip, perhaps sneaking another in the drive from the air field, though he doubted it would happen with all of his comrades and a superior meeting him at the arrival. One more sigh of relief is the last thing he could remember before falling almost instantaneously, as he'd programmed his body to do many times before.

---

   "...And along with your -47's, you will also be outfitted with a compact set of high-density grenades, and set-up and maintenance gear for the Billy Drop," which was what the professionals were nick-naming the nuclear warhead phase of the mission, "...you will also be accepting the term use of the army's newest unreleased technologies, including your suits and masks which you have already received, and these..."
   Major General Gerald Andrews stood watching over the technology expert's shoulder as he held up the latest toys in the playing realm of war-games.
The scientist held up a vial-shaped metal cartridge in his open palm, lifting it up for the team members of the three special task force units to see before their subsequent missions.
   "If I could ask you all to put on your dark goggles for safety purposes, I will demonstrate the use and techniques of the following new technologies, starting with the light bomb. This weapon does make a vibrant burst of light that can be seen through your eyelids just as well as if your eyes were open upon blast-time. Please use caution and care when utilizing the flares, and be prepared to be blinded if you are not wearing your safety vision goggles. The goggles, also NT, will prepare themselves for the flare at the first sign of a radio-transmission that is put out by the bomb milliseconds before it goes off. And if everyone's eyegear is on," the young scientist pauses and puts on his own goggles, seeing that all team members were outfitted properly. The night-vision, day-vision, dark-sight multi-purpose goggles were also NT (new technology) produced by the US military, and were created to coincide with the effects of the light bombs via a pre-cursor radio signal that would transmit to the goggles to begin dark-vision.
   "After your goggles are on, and safely sealed around the eyes, the goggles can be set to receive mode by pressing the button here once, and shut off by pressing it twice. When operating the flares, a simple command series will be used to set the device, which your superiors will release to you before you depart, and have three different modes: standby, flare, and flash. From standby mode, you can access the flare mode by pressing this code (demonstrating), which will create a constant, high-lumen flare that can last as long as the battery charge on the device."

   As the demonstrator stood before all of us, the code he punched in caused the device to emit an intensely-bright white light to shine from the head of the device, which was made bearable by the dark-goggles' immediate reaction, which was to darken the room's light to accomodate for the intense light without losing vision. The immediately responding goggles meant that sight would not be compensated for the sake of their other equipment. The flares would inhibit their opponents and targets, but would not cause them to lose footing. The demonstrator showed that the device could also be set down to pulse a flash of light, as if it were a grenade, with a timer that would allow 0-20 seconds before it went off, and could flash more than once if set to do so.
   As the team units were further informed of their light gear, Connor made a point of looking most of the people in the room, 43 men and 5 women, directly in the eye, hoping to remember the faces of his allies in one final attempt to make his mental network secure in his mind.
Six Army and two Marine Special Task Force Units, six men each, occupied the room, and all were expected to learn about the new technologies being handed to them. The units would be armed with minimal weaponry and gear for themselves, but would enter the city via the main interstate route in armored, gear-packed Hummers provided by the US Army. The vehicles would be more than equipped to provide all means of communications, offensive, defensive and intelligence materials necessary for the procedures outlined in their briefing documents, which Connor felt fairly safely informed about. His doubts were not about his or any of the units' information about the task at hand, but what they knew about each other, and their enemies.

   The military had already experienced dwindling numbers, and a fairly immediate response to the threat after their rioting around the country and the world, and so this final pick of officers and unit members was one of the most rushed, and ultimately unfamiliar. Connor himself was not used to working with new members in a unit, having trained himself to form close-knit units, which he found were the best in survival and hostile situations. Two of the six members of his group were new faces to him, and most of the Army's team members were also unfamiliar faces in a room of very skilled combatants and tacticians. As the Unit Leader, his good friend, Lt. Col. Roary Baldwin had to choose within a matter of hours, those who he had served with who were adequate and ready to fulfill the position. And so it was with that, that two of the men in his unit were to be new to him in these mission phases.

   Connor had been informed of both his teammates and the general roster only hours ago, and now it was upon him that it could have been detrimental, now seeing how many unfamiliar faces would be in his network, trying to do their job and learn each other's methods at the same time. Situations like this were the most frustrating for him, and it was because of this that he had a bad feeling about the whole mission. He couldn't describe why or where his fears were emanating from, but the entire event had felt like a looming ghost ready to swallow his soul in its gaping maw. All of his technical training could not have prepared him to deal with such an elusive instintive feeling.

   The units were given detailed maps of the city's infrastructure and layout, and told to expect the unexpected, since most anything that could have happened had already happened, and it wasn't pretty.
   Now it was Major General Gerald Andrews that spoke to the units.
   "Hara, as they like to call themselves, have wrested control of many of the local materials, productions, transportation and many other resources in the city, and have left many, if not all of the human population, to be in a dire situation. They have created an atmosphere of fear, hostility, and deprivation of resources, because they claim they can outlive and out-survive the human citizens that they have lain claim to. To them, people are a commodity, a resource to be bargained over, and as you know, the official stand on terrorism is that we do not bargain with the enemy, regardless of the casualties. This is creating a dangerous ground for us in these times, but anything we can find out about these enemies will be helpful to us and to our loved ones..."

   He went on to speak about how this fight was one for all of humanity, and how intelligence-gathering was going to prove just as important as any combat or appropriations activities. It was clear to Connor that they were one of the first of a small few units to gather such intel, since these 'hara' had proven to be an unreliably communicative and line-of-sight networkers.

   One of Connor's strengths had always been that he was adept, nearly a savant, about sociological networks, psychology, combat mentality and tactics, and similar network-oriented methodolgies, and it was for this reason that he was considered an invaluable asset to the military ever since his first days in boot camp. He had always been quite skilled in finding the methods behind how people work together, why they do things they would not do working alone, how one person's actions could affect and allies' or enemies, and similar sociological effects on group mentality. As an intelligence officer in the war against terrorism, he had proven very effective as an officer, constantly uprooting the most secret and mysterious of facts, predicting enemy actions before they took place, tactically maneuvering units to cooperate with opponent tactics and doing countless other things that had earned him a large stash of medals and honours. It was for this reason alone that Roary had penned his name down on the unit roster within moments, while many of the others who were there took more time to consider in the hours that the unit was being put together.

   "What do we know about what happens to someone when they go through this change that happens to become one of them?" Connor asked aloud when it was time for questions.

   The Major General answered thoughtfully, "We know that the process of changing from human to wraeththu is less than a week, but longer than a 24-hour period. It has been seen that people who have been changed are sometimes not seen for five to six days, though we are yet unsure to whether this is the timetable for it, or if this is how long they hide out before showing themselves, or if it is because of time they need to pass through rites of passage, which have been known to take some of the most revolting forms possible, including sodomy and blood rituals."
   He cleared his throat, having been speaking for most of the day, then continued, "We know, too, that the changes are biological, and that in some way, the changed person becomes hermaphrodite, though the scientific and biological details of this are at best sketchy. There have been rumors of genetic engineering, but nothing concrete, and certainly no evidence of a culprit involved in the project, which is why the origins of this particular threat is so difficult to find. We do not yet know if becoming one of these things will in fact change your mind or view of humanity, nor do we know of a cure for the condition, which makes it all the more dangerous. This is, of course, because of the movement's relative newness."

   Someone else asked what was on everyone's minds but could not say it, "What if we are taken prisoner, and instead of being in a hostage situation, they decide to change us?"

   There was a terribly tense moment of silence, where the Major had to compose himself to deliver a speech that had never been delivered before. When he began, it was as if the entire world had been listening at a historic moment.
   "If any of you find yourself in a position where all of your weapons, gear and unit members have been stripped of you, and find that you are in a position of dire need and consequence..." he paused as if he did not actually consider the next course of action.
   "Alright, I'm gonna lay it out on the line for you all right now. This is not our normal military situation. This is not something that goes by the hostage guidelines. This is much closer to the terrorist mindset, but even more dangerous. The enemy wants you alive too. I will not lie. Some of you may not come back out of this the same. I may lose some of you in this, and it might not be to death." He paused, letting it sink in.
   "Some of you may die. Others of you will survive... But I am not sure how dangerous this mission will be for you. I have not heard of a single woman who has survived such a changing, and I know that there are a lot of guys in here who would give anything for me to tell them that they are better off killing themselves than joining the enemy. I won't lie. Suicide is never the first choice, but it is also not the last. We are still unsure about the mental effects of undergoing this change, and because our info is so little, it is up to you to seek out and find such intel, for the sake of the officers who will go on after you, for your families, and ultimately for your country and the world. This will be your most difficult mission to date, and I hope that God is on your side when you are in there."

   It was not the end of the session, but it might as well have been. The depth of the situation before them was as great as the Pacific Ocean just off the coast. The dire consequnces of getting caught by the enemy just had its stakes upped. This could turn out to be a kamikaze mission for some of these guys, and even the women were not safe, since they would be killed in front of the men in some cases.
   It was chilling and convincing. Connor, at that very moment, had experienced fear in a completely new way for the first time in his life. He did not know whether to be afraid of dying or surviving. Both choices were like alien landscapes to him, and neither seemed welcoming at the moment.

---

Characters:
-Lt. Connor D'Andrei - [xido], Wraeththu RPG Character
-Lt. Col. Roary Baldwin - NPC Squad Leader [xido] human NPC
-Mikael King - [Kim_Lundin]
-Cliff Stocker - [Blood Raven]
-Morgan
-Lenny

---

   They had loaded up the armored cars themselves, so that they would be comfortable with the placement and variety of gear within the vehicles, following detailed plans for the best method of stocking the large Hummers, and were now off, driving up the Interstate 5 freeway, readying themselves both physicaly and mentally for the mission they were now on.
   Roary was driving and Connor sat just behind him in the seat, zipping and unzipping his civilian-style coat, which he was wearing to try and fit in despite the somewhat bulky radiation suit he wore beneath it.
   "So, anyone else scared shitless?" he asked out loud, knowing full well he might make an ass out of himself by saying it out loud.

   "Scared? Bah!" One of the new guys, Cliff Stocker, spoke up. He had already seemed to Conner to be something of a loose cannon, and this answer was little surprising.
   "As long as these youth are made of flesh and blood, my only enemy is running out of ammo. And ammo I've got plenty. Seeing I only need one bullet per person, I'll be killing loads of the bitches before the mission's over. Why don't we just go in and shoot them all anyway? We're still the ones who own the bullet factories. It'd be good sport! Haha!"

   Mikael, previously busy with making sure all his gear is in check, grits his teeth when he hears Cliff's laugh. He hasn't known the trigger-happy man for long, but he had soon grown a disliking with the man's talking about killing and bloodshed, and has thus tried to avoid being with Cliff as much as possible. The current situation made avoiding a bit trickier.
   "I know I am at least anxious about this, sir." he answers Connor "But I think everything will be all right as long as nothing unforseen comes up.".

   Connor gave a thoughtful look at Cliff, a troop leader just one rank lower than himself, and gave him considerable assessment before answering, "Well, good, at least we're all in agreement that Cliff is leading the head of the line, right?" Connor smiled at him, knowing that he'd take it as a compliment... or at least he'd hoped. Having a loose cannon might be good for defense tactics, but it could also pose a very real problem if he were one of those guys that made it all the way to the top, but still had a problem with authority.

   Roary cleared all that up with one phrase.
"Oh no he's not. Only one asshole gets that spot, and he's driving."
Looking up into the rear-view mirror at the other unit members, Roary winks at Connor, who merely half-smiles, hoping that this mission was as Mikael called it... According to the plan.

   "Alright, so let's talk this out, guys, while we still have time."
   Connor set to work on making sure they all had a chance to talk about the plan when they dropped to foot.
   "The undercover units are in the city as we speak, right? They'll be the ones taking out as many innocent civilians as they can and be evacuating them to nearby city hospitals and safehouses. If you see someone lagging behind, it might be a medic or an undercover MCO (OOC: Marine Corps Officer, also MCP - Marine Corps Private/Soldier), so keep your fire rational, and keep an eye on who..." he thought long enough on the word to pause, and continued, "or what, your target is. Make sure they are not an innocent. You guys all had your drills in training and before deployment. Make sure your enemy is your enemy with visual confirmation. Without that last thought, you may as well be the terrorist."

   He looked around once more at all of them, six trained well-armed men, and sighed. He couldn't help but feel a heavy weight on his shoulders, as if being forced to march into open gunfire.

   "We've got 96 hours of full-force real-time work, before a possible airstrike occurs, and we have to be sheltered every 40 hours after, on the hour mark, or be in the way of massive payloads. After thirteen consecutive airstrikes, we must be prepared with radio-preventative gear for a 1.5-hour-delayed airstrike that will the prelude to the 'billy drop'. Only one airstrike will occur delayed, and after that strike, we've got to take out what we can take out, and find shelter with suits on and prepped. On that hour, we will be the first survivors of the first nuclear attack on American soil."
   He let the words take hold, while he watched his men prep and listen.

   Roary merely looked up, intrigued by the tone the words had taken, which sounded remarkably un-Connor-like, despite the military efficiency with which he described the event. He had the vehicle driving in the far left lane, easily going over the speed limit at its current pace, and accelerating.
   Connor could tell that Roary hated being stuck in a vehicle at such a high point in their mission, tense from the urge to be doing his job and ready to get the hell out of this infernal moving machine. He was practically pins and needles, but Connor said nothing. He knew from experience that Roary had to work on his own level, and not to question it. He had his own time.

   Currently, they passed the farthest extent of the military base, and in the side mirror Roary could see the sign of the base they had left. Leaving sanctuary. Could he now feel it too, what Connor had explained to him in confidence earlier. He almost felt sick at the heavy sensation weighing in his gut.

   "Mikael, you got the communications checked out for us to enter cellular territory? Lenny, Cliff, are the weapons all stocked? Are we ready to drop off immediately when we stop, or do we need to find another drop point?" the unit leader, a red-haired 34-year-old man whose voice did his build no justice, asked the unit members, making a final check of their equipment while he counted exits to their primary drop point.

   Provided things did not look overly dangerous, they would drop off immediately and scan the major portions of the area where the nuke would be dropped on foot, with minimal weaponry and civilian clothing. Roary slid the sunglasses on his head down over his eyes to seal the disguise, and looked back in the mirror at them.

   "All weapons are stocked, sir." Cliff said. "We can get moving immediatly, and we'll have 96 full hours of 'fun'." He said the the last with a smile and a bit of an awkward tone, he knew the rest of the crew didn't quite like this. But they were all trained to kill, as fast and efficient as possible. They'd just have to get used to it, they knew the dangers. He checked his own civilian clothing: a large leather jacket, big enough to hide two handguns, several clips of ammo, and a large knife. He'd pulled on baggy trousers as well, and managed to get some more clips in there, and even a grenade, without obviously showing it. He had a throwing knife hidden in each boot, and when he had seen himself in the mirror, he had laughed - he looked like one of them goth punks 10 years ago, when he'd still been in school. It never occured to him they could hide weaponry this well. "How do we recognise these wraithu, or whatever they're called, anyway? They might as well act as normal citizens for all we know."

   "Comm is good and ready, sir." Mikael answered. He buttoned up the long brown coat he was going to use and made sure that his pistol was well hidden and that none of the grenades were visible, he had put the assault rifle in a leather bag, along with his medical equipment. A beige wide brimmed hat was put on, along with fake glasses, making him look a bit like the main character in one of his fauvorite TV-shows.

   "Communications are ready and functional, and weapons are stocked and ready," Roary repeated, making sure it was noted for the com which was hidden dangerously well under is jawbone, a slender flesh tone patch that would pick up any sound within 20m of good audibility. The green light on the tiny brown box had flicked on five times to show that it was funcional before he had spoken it. "I'm sure we could make the ammo last longer than 96 hours, but let's hope we don't have to use it. Better still, let's hope the truck's still around for a backup stock when we need it, right? Connor, you can explain these things better than I can, can't ya?"

   "These guys... these things have a habit of blowing stuff up with common explosive materials," Connor mused, remembering the notes of his briefing shortly.
   "Like trucks... 18-wheelers in particular, so watch out for that."
   Connor smoothed out his clothes one last time as he had done about ten times in the last hour, like it was something that would make him more prepared for drop to foot.
   Right in the middle of town.... Let's hope there's still people to save in there. That's my hope.
   "Um, well... Alright. You guys remember David Bowie, that rock star guy from back in the 19s?" he asks, hoping for mild memories from the soldiers.
   "Well, imagine a guy like that, but with even more, um... I guess, slender features... I mean, they're like he-shes, guys. A large amount of the known members of this movement are fairly brutish, and mostly man-like, having slightly more masculine features, but photographs of more common and less known entities, and human accounts claim that some of them look quite like females, but without noticable breasts. Like people? Similar. Trust me in this, Cliff," Connor looked over his shoulder to glance at him in his peripheral vision, saying, "You'll know one when you see it. Look for someone who looks otherworldly, like they're out of place in their own environment. Chances are, they'll be gang members, and armed, so keep an eye and an ear open at every moment, is my suggestion. Look for he-she rockers from the 19s, man."

Cliff frowned, but remembered what had been said. "Stay away from trucks, look for transsexual alienated people, gotcha." He checked if his own comm patch was working, and it did. "These things aren't using any high-tech equipment right? They can't distort our signals, or anything like it? That'll be an advantage."
He rolled his shoulders. He'd put a light bulletproof vest under his shirt, but it wasn't very comfortable. "And blowing up trucks, is that detonating at a distance, like carbombs, or do they like throwing grenades at trucks? If they use carbombs, any vehicle is a potential mine, and that would make walking around the park erm... unsettling."

"From what we've gotten so far on inside workings, we do not see any large-scale technology use, but we are also being asked to treat the enemy as armed and dangerous, even if they are not visibly so... I am not sure what this idea contends about their use of technology," Roary answers Cliff, continuing, "but that may not mean that they are not as dangerous as any given terrorist group... That is what they have been compared to among intelligence officers. The car bombs are most certainly being detonated with cell phones or another digital communication, however. No Raythoo has been seen anywhere near an exploding vehicle thus far in our intelligence reports."
Roary looks right and back, making sure he has room to slide into the lane next to him. After he is in the exit ramp lane on the interstate, he checks his own comm quickly, making sure the light flashed on his set.
"ETA to drop point, 15 minutes, guys," he says, checking his clock to the mileage they plotted before leaving.
They drove off the freeway ramp, stoppinf for oncoming traffic once at a light, before starting into city traffic once more. High buildings on either side of the road looked old, greyed by aging, and full of ghosts and memories. Ragged-looking clusters of people huddled together, chatting openly on the city streets. They all looked in mild interest at the relatively-luxurious vehicle drove by, watching as the passengers in the tinted, bullet-proof windows rode past and beyond. None of them looked altogether out of place, and already Connor was wondering if they'd known that the military was on its way.

Cliff looked out the window. He didn't like the idea of cars which could explode out of nowhere. Watching the groups of people, he mumbled: "If they all gotta go out, them MCO's will be very busy people..."
He grinned and gave a slight cuckle. "Good thing we get to do the shooting then, less demanding, and more rewarding. Wouldn't y'all agree? Good thing this city's becoming a slum already, at least we won't have to be considerate to the architecture! Ha!"

Mikael looks at the small groups of people and seem a bit worried "If we get in a fight, all those people will be in the way." he sais "And they're all potential hostages.". 

"As long as I can see their face, I can hit them without hitting any hostages. Don't worry." Cliff said. "Some of us actually paid attention during gun training, ye know? Of course, not everybody can become a sniper." He grinned. "But that why they've thought of sometime else for you to do, haven't they?"

"Yes, I'm the one who'll dig bullets out of you and fix your broken legs during this operation." Mikael sais with a cold voice.

"Only if they don't blow you up first, but it's a comforting thought to have a medic around, ey?" Cliff grinned. Just to make sure, he stashed another grenade in one of his pockets.

"Good to hear I'm appreciated..." Mikael sais and looks out at the people "I still don't like the ammount of civilians, though.".

"Getting the civilians out of our area of effect will be crucial. We will start by checking out the area on foot, then begin convincing people to get moving, even if by force. When we get an open base of operations, and our human civilians are out of the way, we will lead them out into the open to take our first account of their war tactics."
Roary spoke without hesitation, obviously having gone over a tactical plan with other team leaders many times to make a crucial tactical infrastructure.

"How forceful are we gonna get with them when we start moving them out?" Connor asks Roary.

"We won't take lives to save them, but we might have to shoot off warning shots if a crowd gets too rowdy or we have a problem we cannot solve with words," Roary replied.

"Will we tell them exactly why they must leave the area or should we try to hide that as long as possible?" Mikael asks.

"Our mission here is classified, so we should keep all information about our mission and objectives completely secret to civilians," Roary answers abruptly, to make sure that it was not questioned.
"We will move them, one way or another. Do not be afraid to get them to move, even if it means making distractions or using some force or persuasion."

"I can live up to that, no problem!" Cliff grinned. "Let's get them civilians out there fast as possible, so we can get to the fun part! I mean, hehe, we haven't been trained to ship out civilians, right?" he asked retorically.

"Lets just get them away from the area ASAP." Mikael sais "The sooner they're gone, the sooner we can get to the... 'fun'.".

Cliff grinned and looked out of the window, to see if they were nearing the drop-off point yet.

As the city streets and tall buildings continued to roll past them through their tinted, bullet-proof windows, the nearly-empty city streets seem so strange, given the state of the country's major cities not even a year ago. Only small clusters of homeless of people gather where there had once been populated city blocks of working, living, breathing citizens.
It is almost as if many of them had gotten the hint when it first began, as if the city herself had told them to escape while they still could, beckoning them to flee to the fields and forests of the rural countryside. As if some silent voice had spoken of forecoming dangers, only a handful of humans remain, often in plain sight, where they were more likely to be in contact of other humans, a fearful look on every one of their faces as they had obviously heard gruesome and horrific stories of what could happen to them if they were caught unawares.
Wide, bloodshot eyes, tired of staying open all night peer at the fast-moving vehicle as if pleeing for release. An old man lies on a half-broken city bench, trying to catch some rest while his two companions watch on over him as he rests, their own eyes full of sleeplessness and grief. Perhaps they had been here in the earthquakes that had torn apart the city and the west coast previous to the incursion of the Raythoo. Perhaps they had lost everyone.
A young girl sits by herself, staring deeply into the jeep's windows as it passes, a mixture of a look of anguish and curiosity as they pass by. She can be no more than 12 years of age. She pets a ragged kitten who crawls back and forth on her lap.
The scenes before them bring back the thought that there are potential casualties here to be avoided.

"Ninety seconds to drop-off, guys. Be ready," Roary comments, seeing the signpost for the road they are taking as they turn the corner.
"Downtown is only two blocks this way. That's our home base for the time being. Move 'em out from the center. That's the deal, that's our job. If you have to use force, make the rest of aware of it on coms before you go starting a war out there..."
He looks both directions, and turns from South Union Avenue to South Center Street. As he turns, he hits the gas to begin cruising down the empty street at nearing 60mph.

"Okay, last seconds planning, what will you guys tell the civilians?" Mikael asks "We shouldn't mess up by giving them conflicting information.".

"To get the fuck out of the city." Cliff said. Noticing several annoyed looks, he added: "What? Because it's dangerous, right? And because we'll shoot them in the fucking head if they get around by accident."

Mikael is one of those giving Cliff an annoyed look "We mustn't cause complete panic, that won't do us any good.".

"Well, you do the talking then, doc. I'll keep an eye out." Cliff said with some irritation in his voice.

Connor looks back at them both and replies, "If you really gotta give them a line or story to get them on their feet, then either thy aren't worth pushing, or you're probably telling them too much, and we don't want to attract attention with a outline for our tactics, so if you have to tell them anything," he says, taking a deep breath and chewing his gum he offered back to them, "Tell them there's gonna be a killin' tonight. Some kind of dancin' ritual or something. We'll say we overheard it from someone who told us about the plans for it only last night, and there's no time to lose."
Turning back forward, he tips his sunglasses back up on the top of his nose and finishes, "If you have to feed them all a line of bullshit, do it, but don't give out the real plan, no matter what. You guys know your hostage and torture protocol, right, guys? You didn't sleep through that one, did you now, Cliff?"
He shoots them both a shit-eating grin.

---

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