by Thaedael » Tue Apr 02, 2013 10:09 pm
He lies prone on the asphalt covered roof of a small office building, his black clad form laying mobile as he looks through the crack of the metal siding that lined the lip of the building's roof top. Slowly, he controls his breathing, counting to three as he inhales, counting to three as he holds it, and once more to 3 as he exhales, the body pumping his blood in a slow, controlled manner. He can see at least seventeen of the walkers around, something that would not have bothered him under different circumstances, so far as being un-bothered by the walking dead a man could be he supposed. Yet, he couldn't just leave them be, there was a woman in the van along side the metro stop of his vantage point, one of the many cars that didn't manage to get as mangled in the panic that had overtaken the main artery leading through this sector of the city. He sighed, the his breath fogging up the lense of his ballistic facial mask that doubled as a HAZMAT filter and re-breather. It was a miserable day to be hot.
He let his smg lay prone across the edge of a bag full of sand, with a free hand squeezing at it as the grains of sand flowed from the open end of one side, the aim of his weapon slowly lining up with the closest of the walking zombies near the girl. He controlled his breathing once more, blinking the sweat from his eyes as they continued to burn under the suffocating heat within the mask and the sweat beading at the corners of his eyes. The AGOG scope slowly moved, the reflective red cross-hairs tracking the target, before coming to rest on the head. He muttered a small prayer, a gloved finger squeezing the trigger.
A small burst of rounds let loose, their sound nothing more than a trio of air moving as the bullets flew to their target. He had missed, he cursed himself gritting his teeth. The smoke slowly raised from the barrel of the gun, escaping from the flash guard and silencer of the his weapon. He tried to control his breathing once more, counting to three in his head slowly, before lining up the shot again. Once more the trigger was pulled, a salvo of three bullets flying to the furthest target he had missed before, only one clipping against the head of the zombie as it fell.
One down, seventeen to go, he muttered to himself in the face mask. He shifted his body to the side, looking at the nearest group. He shimmied on his for arms and thighs, moving himself into position towards the next group of six, slightly further out from the group. Once more he counted his blessings, throwing a prayer up to the heavens above that his next shots would fell these abominations against nature. He squeezed the trigger, one more fell. Confident he let five more bursts out. One after another they fell, more bullets finding their marks than not, faces caving in from shots, skulls shattered, or spinal chords severed.
He rolled onto his back, thumbing the release of the magazine of his gun, letting the empty clip drop out into one waiting hand. He tucked it into the webbing of his body, pulling a fresh clip and letting it ram home. He cocked the smg one more time in hand, the round sliding into the chamber with an audible click. Once more her rolled onto his stomach. He had to calm himself, letting his pulse rest again, counting to himself. One-Two-Three, his breath slowly becoming regular again, the next group of zombies lined up, oblivious to the fate of the other's around them. Suits him best, he figured, sending them to hell was his job.
Again, the kick of the smg in his hand against his shoulder, the rhythmic pulsing action from the rounds being fired in three round bursts. He fell them all in succession, the whole engagement lasting over the span of ten minutes. He switched out the clip once more, before taking the sling around his neck, the gun hanging from one shoulder. He picked up the bag he had used to steady his aim, tying off the open end and placing it in a thigh bag that hung from one of his belts, before sliding the bead fully closed, closing the sack off. All around him the casings stood, a testament of his shooting, before he turned his back on it.
He walked towards the ventilation unit working lazily on the office rooftop, tying off a rope onto the support where it stood bolted to the stack of an exhaust. He pulled hard, tensing the rope and laying it full out, and then leaned away from it, testing his weight on the structure. It held. He tossed the rope over the edge of the building, watching it fall to the shattered glass of windows on the ground, the landing sight bordered on all side by trash, corpses, and the remains of desperate fights. Grabbing on to it, he fed his carribeaner through the rope, using it as a guide to rappel down the side of the building, he jumped, falling at the rate of a floor between each mini-hurdle, his feet impacting against the windows of the office building, or the frames where the windows were broken. He could see the zombies shuffling through the building already, the once clear building already infested once more. He fast roped down the last length of the trip, landing on two solid feet before quickly bringing the gun to ready, the sites lined up to the thick lense of one eye piece of his suit. He looked at the corpses, unsure of whether they were truely dead, walking at a steady pace with gun training back and forth among the corpses. He walked towards the van, making sure his approach was visible, the last thing he wants is to be shot by a survivor, though the kevlar vest with ballistic trauma plates should take care of that. Though being careful is what got him to this point.
