Ishmael Ardura's Story

Across the city, a towering office structure was going through what was supposed to be a normal day. Several burly men in suits were standing by the main door, and stepped forward when a much shorter and leaner figure approached, but nodded in acknowledgment once they got a look at his security pass and let him pass. Said person, Ishmael Ardura, had to take a much different approach to infiltrating the city and the target organization. Indigo Foundation, long time concern for the PSCTF, and only now were they acting. It was at least a few hours before the bus of students that had another member would arrive, and while having friendly faces here would be potentially useful, it also increased the risk of detection. But it was what it was. He had went ahead of the rest of the team, integrating with the security section of a closely linked corporation, a medical firm that supplied a healthy amount of all sorts of pharmaceutical drugs. For what, security grunts like himself were not told, but it was suspicious the amount being sent with exclusive rights. He had been with another truck full of these supplies, and had recorded the contents to forward back to command at a moment that would not risk detection. He entered the security office, and relieved the man who had been working the graveyard shift, and after a few pleasantries, sent the man on his way. As soon as he was gone, he flipped on a recorder to keep all the video and audio footage for future dissection. Then something caught his eye, the experimental medical department was having some issues with a patient.

Hitting a switch, he called up the security chief and told him what was going on. Soon enough half a dozen guards were there, helping the doctors restrain the patient. Usually allergic reactions occurred, but something was wrong here. Considering several guards suddenly backed off, yelling silently on the cameras in that section, as the man started twisting and mutating in unnatural and unusual manners. A giant clawed hand, the other gone completely, slammed the doctor into the wall, clearly dead. Ishmael cursed, silenced .45 pistol already in hand as he stood up. The guards were pouring 9mm fire into the thing, to no avail, and they were dead. Ishmael kept moving, leaving the camera room behind, he could already hear yelling in the building for the situation to be contained. Problem was that others were also changing, but they were slower shifts than the patient had been. The thing was rampaging through the few people who hadn't started turning yet, and several hollow point .45 rounds tore clean through its midriff. The thing turned and roared, but nothing was where the shots came from. Several more rounds hit the thing, and it swung to the right, finding only an empty magazine on the ground. It was confused and angry, but not for long.

The front of its face blew outwards, Ishmael standing behind the thing, not showing a hint of being disturbed. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lit one and returned the pack to his pockets, taking a drag before heading for the exit. The evacuation alarms were blaring, some dying fool probably pulled them down. Holstering the pistol back in his jacket, he kept walking, a thin trail of cigarette smoke following him. Diving around like that had left the large thing confused, and open to a clean execution shot to the back of its head. By this point, he had reached the front of the building, and found the dead security chief. Something had turned his stomach into something comparable to marionette strings, and paused long enough to collect his security clearance. He had healthy access to more than just this building, so it might help. Worse came to worse, better than leaving it for someone else to find. He vanished into the streets, dying coffin nail left next to the dead chief, heading for his apartment in the area, and then would figure out what to do from there.

Ishmael was off on his own still, heading for his apartment building first. It was a relatively upscale building, made for the various members from the high end business complexes and such that populated the part of town Indigo had favored for having business partners in. The front door was slightly ajar, and with a quiet sigh, tapped the precise place of a hidden button on his glasses. The AHUD system that another agent had started using first, and proven its value as well, kicked on, spotting two mutants in the lobby of the apartment building. That splattered mess next to the door was probably what was left of the front door security. Drawing his USP45 pistol, and no reticule would pop up with any of his weapons. He didn't need it, and didn't understand the purpose. This wasn't some cheesy FPS survival horror game that needed reticules to pinpoint where one was aiming. Moving fast, he kicked the door open, sending two rounds into the head of the first mutant. The other one started to rise from its meal, hissing, and got several rounds into the face as well. Lowering the pistol, but not holstering it, Ishmael took off at a brisk jog, heading for the stairs. Only two or so floors up he exited the stairwell, heading for his apartment, and kicking the locked door open. The power in the building itself was out, a barely operating emergency generator kept the lights up. It wasn't enough to operate the security doors each room had, however, so he had to bust the lock himself. Walking in and confirming the room was empty of mutants, he flicked the lights on and grabbed a suit case. Opening it and dumping out the components, he immediately got to assembling his UMP45. It used the same ammo as his sidearm, which helped in he didn't have to worry about supplying different ammo types to himself. Finishing with the fore grip and silencer, he slung it onto his back and stood, changing the left lens of his AHUD active glasses for a bit.

Using retinal movement, he ordered the AHUD to detect phone signals linked to the system as well. A few moments of scanning registered an active call, and cross referencing it on the map of Tranquility, he found they were heading for this bar called Rattus Rattus. He shook his head, turning off his AHUD and picking up his pistol. He left the building at a brisk jog, constantly checking his corners and moving through a variety of alleyways and small streets, avoiding the main roads. That was just asking for trouble, considering most of the mutants would probably have head there first, where the most flesh was for consumption. Moving forward, he eventually neared this Rattus Rattus place, and flicked on the AHUD again to check. There were a few non mutants outside the bar, and he assumed those were the other agents, or at least survivors. Either way, an UMP45 wasn't unknown amongst security forces here, just reserved for extreme situations. Well, this passed as an extreme situation. A hissing behind him made him spin, ducking a claw that embedded itself into the wall, and he flicked his wrist, and gripped the punch dagger in his fist, and uppercutted the mutant, angled to sever the spinal cord, and the thing collapsed, getting an execution round to the head. Slipping the punch dagger back into its slot, he walked out of the alley quietly, lighting a smoke while he was doing so, stealth not being a major factor at the moment. He nodded to Sage and the others gathered outside, and took another drag before saying anything. He currently spoke with a clear British accent, this time sounding like he hailed from London. It changed as often as he went through smokes, so fairly often. "Well met, ladies and gentleman. I hope I am not too late for the pub crawl."

Ishmael smirked and inclined his head to Isabella in response to the comment given about partying and getting attacked. Faust was taking care of things the best way he did, and the other woman got the man inside to open the door, one Agent O'Connell no less, and everyone piled in before he re-barricaded the door and went back to his guitar. Ishmael immediately went to the corner and did a quick inventory check on his gear again, making sure nothing had been lost in transit. Going through and checking his gear, he just shook his head with a chuckle at the comment about 008, speaking quietly in response as well. It was one of the few things he bothered responding to when it came to comments from the other Agents. They made enough of them, sure as sure, but he never returned fire about it. It wasn't worth the trouble, and honestly they had much more to concern themselves over rather than him trying to go about seducing the mutations out there. That might lead to some rather nasty diseases, something more than your average lotion could handle. "Service in the SIS doesn't make me an instant James Bond, and the numerical system isn't as accurate as you believe. I've explained that already. Or MI6, for you American lot that don't get SIS and MI6 are the same thing."

The others went back and forth, it was clear O'Connell did not approve of the newcomer woman being here. Relation of some sort, most likely. He honestly didn't see a concern about whether the girl was here or not, or what happened to her for that matter. They had a job to do, and if they wanted to include keeping the girl alive, so be it. He glanced back as he finished inventory of his gear, and sat down on a chair, lighting a smoke as he did so, UMP45 resting in his lap. Leaving her here wasn't an option. She was under equipped, poorly trained most likely, and wouldn't last five seconds if a mutant got in here. Which he assumed it would easily, given time. He took a long drag and blew the smoke out, in deliberate ignorance of the sign that said no smoking. "The building isn't secure enough to leave anyone untrained here. That's the equivalent of leaving her here with a single bullet, and the doors unlocked. Multiple entrances, already damaged from a previous break in, by the looks of it. Barricades wouldn't go back up very well once we left. Just my opinion on the matter."

Ishmael went back to smoking and checking and rechecking his gear. Just one check wouldn't do, and he couldn't trust it not to fail at the worst possible moment if he didn't constantly keep an eye on the weapons and such and catch any potential flaws before they became issues. So that was what he kept doing until a decision was reached, or if it took too long he might just move on as a foreword scout and vanguard. He traveled much faster on his own without tag along people. Even trained agents, he preferred to let them catch up. But that was a last case scenario, unless there was a secondary objective that needed to be seized. Then he would gladly head off alone to take care of whatever was in needing of being taken care of.