Snippet #2729282

A strange thing was happening in The Decline, the usually tomb-like streets had begun to seethe with life. A veritable sea of life had set up shop surrounding the ancient RIP building. Every street for miles was blocked off with concrete-alloy barricades, each alleyway, and off street had been converted to makeshift Ranges. Faitges as far as the eye could see.

Armored Jeeps with heavy EM turrets wove between groups of soldiers, while alleys flashed red with ceaseless laser fire. Fumes, and crisp, burnt target paper choked the air.

It was pure, absolute heaven to First Lieutenant Mason Harding.

The gruff Thirty-Nine year old Officer stood in his preferes spot, the direct middle of everything, barking orders left, right, and center. His booming baritone carried over even the loudest Jeep.

With absolute glee he whirled around, addressing soldier after soldier that had amassed around him. "Jenkins," he snarled, his voice carrying that distinct military tone. "I want Overwatch feed in the CT two hours ago, get it or I'm sending you in for Commando Live Fire!" He waved the man off vigorously.

"Sir, yes sir!"

Without hesitation he turned to the next man. "Karigg!" He snapped, sounding an awful lot like a displeased D.I. "Where the in all the countless hells are my grenade crates?"

"Sir, I don't know sir!"

Time seemed to freeze, every soldier went corpse-rigid, except the Lt.

"Ex-frickin'-cuse me, you bucked tooth little gnat?" He stabbed a heavy finger at the man. "We did not train, equip, and feed your dumb ass to know," saliva flew as his green eyes flashed with anger. "We invested in you, so that either you can bring me my goddamn grenade crates, I serve as target practice."

He stared the man down without mercy, drawing himself up to fill height, and glaring. Large, brutish looking, and an experienced warrior, The Lt. carried the weight most Officers didnt.

"Do I make myself clear?" He hissed.

"Sir, yes sir!

Harding nodded in approval. "Dismissed."

He was about to address another soldier, but someone beat him to the punch.

"HEY! WHICH ONE OF YOU RAT FUCKERS TOLD THE CREEPY BASTARDS AT THE HOSPITAL TO 'TAKE CARE OF ME BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!'"

The entire street froze, three soldiers tripped, six rifles went off, and two Jeeps almost collided.

Every eye there defaulted to the Lt.


The man's stone-like face was slowly gripped by rage. An armored arm shot up, pushing two men aside with relative ease. A very pissed Harding stepped forward, striding until I was free of the crowd, and steps away from Maxwell.

The entire time his steely gaze was locked on the cyborg's face plate.

"The 'rat fucker' that told the hospital to save your increasingly worthless ass," He spoke cooly, not monotone, but pure contempt. "Is me, and by me," He stood at attention, his COBRA Var1 hanging at his side elegantly. "I mean the man you are to address as Sir, or Your One True Savior.

He looked the man up, and down intently, he sure looked like he could get the job done. Still, Harding wasn't sure how integrating one of the usually narcissistic Commandos was going to work. Only one way to find out.

Bristling as he spoke, he never wavered his gaze.

"As of 0200 tho morning, The GWPS Squad, Nightviper, was officially wiped out. A critically injured you was all that was recovered." He sneered a little. "A few G.I Generals throught, for a reason beyond me, that you might be useful to us in the field."

The troops around him whispered, most excited at the thought of working with a Commando.

"So, and news son, you've been drafted." Lt. Harding nodded somewhat earnestly. "You are now the entire Infantry Corps of Engineers. If anything in my army breaks, Private Gilbert, it is your ass my boot shall seek. Welcome aboard." With that he turned back to the men around him.

He issued a few more orders before motioning towards Pvt. Gilbert. Once the soldiers around him dispersed, he turned around rather gracefully, and began to take off. He assumed the Engineer for the order to follow, assuming so, he addressed him.

"Welcome to First Battalion," grunted Harding. "You'll be with me, and a few other semi-competent soldiers in Knight Squad." He side stepped an oncoming Jeep. "We'll be leading Platoon A in this shit show." He turned left into the main street, it was even more crowded.

Range instructors, and makeshift ranges were everywhere. Shouts, and live fire consumed the sound scape. Harding had to tell just to be heard.

"My condolences about your squad, by the way," This time a hard right, it emptied into a large alley. At the dead end in the back sat a large, ratty canvas tent.

Harding jerked a finger towards it. "Welcome to HQ," he said rather flatly. "The rest of Knight, along with the other teams are in there, prepping." He pivoted to face the Private.

"Go meet your new family, Tinman."