Welcome to Gaia! ::

Keeping the black hawk in reserve, Red's team took five minutes to surround the building. A few critical but isolated sentries were taken out the old fashioned way, a knock to the head, tied up, and gagged. In the old days, they would have had their necks ventilated by Red's bowie knife. The others had been ordered to use non-lethal methods whenever possible, but were not strictly bound to it.

Soon they would be in position to storm the warehouse, ropes launched into the overhang of the building would allow them to make a grand entrance. A team of six would crash through the wide, thin, industrial glass and start shooting before the occupant's knew what happened.

Red would be outside, with a reformed team suitable for recon. A game of spot the sniper. Maybe Lieutenant Dorian had already noticed that her commander had not done anything fatal to the enemy. The sentries Red had taken down were done so with blows to the neck or a chop to the back of the head, then tied down. Red had only fired in non-lethal area's. This would be okay as long as their luck held out, but........

A nearby sniper had his crosshairs on Red's forehead just as Red had spotted and taken aim at the sniper with her revolver. Her aim was for the snipers head, and both their triggers would be pulled in a fraction of a second, with Red having the slight advantage if she didn't hesitate.

Question was, would she hesitate. This was a person, possibly with friends, family, loved ones. Wasn't their another way? That person was alive.



She hesitated, dodging to her right. A shot from a Dragunov model sniper rifle traveled through her left shoulder before sparking off the pavement. The force of the close range shot sent her backward as her own shot knocked the Dragunov off its stands without touching the sniper himself.

The wound was bleeding, badly.

As firefights rang out throughout the city, as rampant chaos roared through the streets, as people desperately avoided death, a figure wearing a burn-scarred, shining black jacket with stitching all across it over a ripped and blood-stained white T-shirt limps his way home, ignoring it all.

It's been a while since he had returned to his apartment in the mechanized city, and he really needs some R&R from that marble ordeal. The physical wounds were healed, sure; someone had called in a squad of medics. They were only mildly surprised that he was still living...this was Gaia, after all. Though they did manage to repair all the damage with promise of little scar tissue, they were unable to remove all traces of the odd tattoo he had received from the Circle of Justice. The faint outline of that tattoo would remain with him to his dying day, a reminder of his participation.

Anyways, he was mentally exhausted. Three days without sleep does that to a guy. After a turn down an alleyway to avoid the flaming remnants of a vehicle charred and twisted beyond recognition and a quick stop to exchange epithets with a cab-driver in a hurry, he reaches the apartment complex. With a swipe of a keycard he fishes out of his wallet, he enters and numbly climbs the stairs. One cardswipe later, he boots open his door and collapses face-first on his bed. Though he can't see it he knows the spartan interior (think cheap motel, plus a couch and a table) of the apartment is dusty and unkempt, revealing the length of time between his return and the last visit. With a sigh, he rolls over to stare up at the ceiling, a smile on his face.

Gareth: "It's good to be home..."

Eripse's fireball eyes lit up keenly, and that gripped arm would be joined by a hand digging into the tear, before hydraulics would go into overdrive, as she aimed to bring the robot skyward, in a neat little arc, bashing him once into the ground opposite side... Neatly, she'd drag, keeping the momentum going in a half-circle, before release the behemoth in a throw of epic-awesome proportions. The beast would go, atleast a mile or two.