Description
Damocless is not a man, nor woman, nor machine; it is a four-man team of year-long comrades that have trained to the physical and psychological breaking point. They know every inch of each-other; no secrets are kept between the members of Democless.
Don't fuck with Domacless without a bullet-proof vest and a few thousand meters (minimum) between you and them.
And who are the members of Domacless?
Meet (codename) Cyclops, Mousetrap, Mercury, and Blacktop.
Their names aren't nearly as creative as their group-identity. In fact, they're rather straight-forward. At least they tried though, and for most, that's enough.
"Cyclops," usually called Mono or monocle, is the sniper/spotter lookout.
Mousetrap, the only girl in the group, goes by Mouse. She's petite and thin, and the team's demop. She doesn't look like much, but she'll take your arms in pieces and turn your car into a nuke.
Mercury is the close-quarters expert of the group; he likes shotguns, pistols, and SMGs, particularly pumps and those that fire .45ACP; 9mm parabellum rounds don't have enough kick. Speed and guerilla-warfare are his trademarks.
Blacktop is your typical East-European heavy-weapons guy with the bad accent and predilection for miniguns and/or AK47s. He also goes by "Mouth," as interrogation is as much his job as fire support. He's the largest out of them all and he builds for strength where everyone else trains for lithe muscle.
Personality
Cyclops is critical and precise; he doesn't let anything slip his attention-it's his job, after all.
Mousetrap is sweet and carefree; she's as unpredictable as the chemicals she mixes in her basement.
Mercury talks fast and with more masochist chuave than he generally has any right to afford.
Blacktop is pretty quite. He does a lot of atmospheric knuckle-cracking and gun loading.
Equipment
Every member of Damocless has a M9 with a screw-on suppressor and four clips of ammo. They also get a survival knife, serated saw-head combination 4'' with a compass in the hilt and a luminescent strip in the center of the blade. There is also a combat knife, 6'', black blade and oiled sheathe. Between the group, food, water, and other tools are split depending on whether they're out working, for what, and where, or if they're just fucking around in the bar, wasting their post-war pensions on booze.
Cyclops: [img]http://images.wikia.com/battlefield/images/f/fa/M24_PMG.jpg[/url] M24 with some modifications. The bolt and chamber are elongated with a telescoping screw that lets him switch between .338 LUPUA for anti-armor/material penetration, .308 for hunting, and .30-06 to make noise.
Mousetrap: [img]http://www.google.com/imgres?hl=en&safe=off&tbo=d&rlz=1C1TSNF_enUS463US463&biw=1517&bih=710&tbm=isch&tbnid=W178CVLP_xMLiM:&imgrefurl=http://world.guns.ru/smg/smg13-e.htm&docid=W7B1EkB9SNInDM&imgurl=http://world.guns.ru/userfiles/images/smg/belgium/1287829331.jpg&w=600&h=257&ei=Ho3DUK2XII2u8ATo0YCQCw&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=171&vpy=193&dur=318&hovh=140&hovw=325&tx=82&ty=50&sig=112801732225521440244&page=1&tbnh=117&tbnw=275&start=0&ndsp=26&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:0,i:153[/url] FN P90; ambidexterous SMG developed for tank-commanders and aircrew who can't carry full weapons due to their tight working spaces. The magazines are so thin and well-shaped she can carry more magazines for her SMG than other members the group can for their weapons.
Mercury: Kriss Vektor SMG. Fires .45 ACP
Blacktop: An AK103's firing capacity and range, AK74's reliability, 6.7x9.12mm's whole-ripping damage output, and an M4A1's night-optic iron sights for all-day use.
So begins...
Mercury shrugged and leaned against the table. "Eh... You ever see someone jump out of a burning MMVD tank at fifty yards over mountains?"
Mercury continued to ignore Brian. "Of course if taking on a zillion to one odds in God-forsaken deserts with nothing but rocks to eat doesn't impress you..." he shrugged.
"A zillion comes somewhere after Googleplex, which follows sexthousand. I swear on my life those are both real numbers." They were, as far as he knew, too. "And the MREs we were issued way back when Damocless was a military unit might as well have been rocks; it was all hard tack and water-purification tablets."
Mercury shook his head. "Sexthousand. It has six-et-vingt-une zeroes. In English that's...." he thought about it, and his laziness got the better of him, so he lied, "I don't know the conversion."
Mercury shook his head. "Huit is eight, and you don't combien numbers a la Francois when doing long-numbers. It's like saying twenty-one in English. You say vingt-un because vingt is twenty and un is one. Or for a feminine word, you use 'une' instead."
"Um... I think I left something at my booth..." Mercury had met enough strange girls to try bailing at the first sign of trouble.
"Woman? Eh..." Mercury got up. He took a careful step back....
"Someone say mousetrap, lass?" Mousetrap looked up from her seat and raised a glass questioningly.
"Well I'm fucking leaving..." Mercury returned to Damocless' seat. "Eh... anyone else ready to head out?" Mousetrap and Cyclops put their hands up. Blackhead shrugged. "Puny girl with tiny knives. What is worse that can happen?"
Blackhead didn't move, other than to bring his vodka/redbull glass to his mouth. When in doubt, die with a swig in your gullet. "Nice toys, child girl."
Blackhead put the drink down and laughed slowly. "I did not mean to hurt your little feelings, girl."
Mousetrap chimed in. "Anyone want waffles for dinner?"
Damocless ordered pancakes, bacon, and eggs for dinner.