Ruger Man...

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We started something years ago. It's time we finish it.
 
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I accept your challenge! We must kung-fu fight!
 
The Viking
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I'll ref this one. The venue will be a Texas ranch. There's a huge amount of cattle, so don't forget the occasional cow tipping in your fight. But first, let's see some more smack talk.
 
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I'm going to rip out your heart, barbeque it Texas style, then feed it to the cows, you low down piece of scum.
 
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I'll show you the difference between done and well done!
 
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Let the battle begin !
 
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A little rushed, and hardly a great post, but considering I've never actually seen a ranch on anything other than television, I figure I could have done worse.

- -

The Sun's rays shone down on Jericho's head and back unrelentingly. He had been walking for days, and his body was now weak from exhausting, dehydration, and not eating for well over a week. His clothes were ragged, and he had made a head garment from his striped shirt to protect his head, as to avoid heat-stroke. The once white t-shirt had collected grey and brown dust to the point where he doubted the t-shirt would ever be white again, even with the use of industrial grade bleach. His slacks, once pristine, - and in some people's opinions stylish - were now tattered, and he had ripped them off from the knee down. Dirt on Jericho's face had collected - no one would suspect him of being anything but a bum or lower class white trash at this point.

Jericho swore loudly. His right shoe's sole was worn out. Groaning, he removed the shoe from his blistered and sore feet. "That's the last time I jump out of a helicopter in the middle of nowhere," he muttered under his breath. He presumed that "the middle of nowhere" was somewhere in west Texas, but considering the precarious situation he found himself in, there was no way of knowing. One thing was for sure: Wherever Jericho was, it was desolate. Vast deserts with cacti and shrubs everywhere. Half an hour ago, he thought he spotted some kind of animal on the horizon, and had tried following it, in hopes that it was domesticated. A hill was ahead, and he wearily climbed it to the top. In the distance, a number of bovines were being herded towards what Jericho thought looked like a ranch.

"Finally," he said, continuing his slow march towards civilization.

- -

"What the hell do you mean 'He got away,'?!" Grant Remington shouted at his subordinates. "You had him in a helicopter. How do you lose someone who's in your God damned helicopter?"

"It- uh, it went down, Sir," one of the three men explained, in a fearful tone of voice.

"I know it went down, you imbecile!" Mr. Remington gripped the revolver in his hand, and raised it for a moment in anger, before letting it fall to his side again. "You’re telling me you had him and lost him?!"

"H-he's not an easy t-target, Sir." The operative justified himself, still fearing for his life.

Grant Remington paused. It was true that Jericho Dark was not a simple target. Henchmen like Bob would not suffice: experience had proven that. Grant raised his revolver, ****ed the trigger, and shoved it into Bob’s right cheek. “I’ve had it with you ****ing pussies." he said, holstering his gun and sitting down at his desk. With a tired and irritated motion, he grabbed the phone on his desk, and dialled a number.

"This is Grant Remington, director of the Special Activities Division. I need a special kind of operative for a mission." the head of the CIA and NCS' more shady operations said firmly, before pausing. "The hybrid we recruited is available? Good. Let him know my team is coming to pick him up.”

- -

A quiet, paced knock on the hotel room door woke the Ruger Man, sleeping with his eyes open in a chair facing the door. Silently and quickly, he pulled out his silenced pistol, and walked to the door, aiming where an average-height man’s throat would be while doing so. His right brown eye carefully approached the peep-hole. Two men in government-issue suits were waiting outside. His hand swiftly unlocked the door, opened it to the chain's full extent, and aimed the gun at one of the men's heart. “Identify yourselves.”

Both agents showed their IDs. “We were told you would cooperate.”

“I don’t like working on teams,” the assassin stated, lowering his gun, removing the chain, and opening the door.

“We’re professionals. You’ve worked for our branch before.”

The Ruger Man knew all too well what the Special Activities Division was tasked with: assassinations to benefit the United States, and he was more familiar with them than he preferred. “All right, I don’t suppose I have a choice anymore, do I?” he asked rhetorically, while tapping his heart. Underneath the suit, next to his heart, was a bomb to ensure his cooperation. “We still do this my way, comprenden?

“We were told you were in charge.” An agent explained, and handed over a manila envelope. “It’s imperative that we attack now, while we know where he is.”

Skimming through the target’s file, the assassin realized something, and said to himself: “This isn’t going to be easy.”

- -

Jericho Dark stared at his empty plate. If not for his being a guest, he would probably have licked it clean. Starving for a week did that to a man. The owners of the ranch had been gracious and apparently thought he was some kind of vagrant. They told him he could stay the night, which was an offer he had no intention of turning down. The commando’s body ached of exhaustion; some of the injuries from the crash were still bothering him. Silently, he made a promise to himself that he would never knock out a helicopter pilot in mid-air ever again while being inside the helicopter.

Hitting the ground had been extremely painful. By his account, at least six ribs were broken, along with his right arm, and both his ankles. It took around three days before he could walk, and even then, walking was no picnic. Regeneration only worked efficiently when it could focus on one smaller problem at a time, like a gunshot wound, a cut, or a single missing limb. The ordeal had put his body completely out of commission.

Who was after him this time was unknown. There were a whole slew of people who wanted him dead; either for what he knew, what he refused to say, or who he had killed. The helicopter and expertly trained operatives that captured him pointed to one man: Grant Remington. It would not be long before they came after him again, and by then, he had to be far, far away from this small ranch in west Texas.

He looked out the window. “Tomorrow night’s a full moon,” Jericho thought to himself, as he made his last trek of the day, walking towards his bed in the cramped guest room.

- -

The SAD plane landed in Texas around one PM. No one said a word about the mission. Everything had been planned out to the last detail. This time, Jericho Dark was not getting away. There were six people in the team; a pilot, a gunner, three of SAD operatives – and of course the invaluable werewolf assassin. The Ruger Man found himself repeating the plan over and over to himself in his head.

There were only a few signs of civilization left in the area where Jericho crashed, and they had scanned the area with a new, secret satellite project that allowed long-range thermal imaging. The satellite had picked up on Jericho heading for the ranch, and after that, his fate was sealed. A modified Huey awaited them, and they rushed to get to it. The helicopter had a mounted M60 machinegun, and the gunner merrily informed that it fired explosive rounds.
“ETA is two hours,” the pilot explained, starting the engines.

- -

Jericho woke up to the sound of his door opening. Groggily, he opened his eyes, only to see the silencer of a black Ruger Mark 1 aimed at his head. “Get your clothes on,” the Hispanic man with suit and red tie commanded. Jericho slowly obeyed. He had no desire to get shot.

“Remington sent you?” the commando asked.

“I don’t know his name. Drop your gun on the floor and kick it over to me.”

Jericho could barely resist the temptation to whip his gun out from the pillow and shoot the man in the face, but there was something strange about him, and so he slowly complied. The man removed the magazine from the Colt 1911, before tucking it into his pants.

“Try anything funny, and you’re a dead man. Let’s walk outside.”

The surprise wakeup call had left Jericho oblivious of the noise outside: a helicopter. There was no way in Hell he was getting on another one. They were close to the front door now, and Jericho had no choice but to act. The Ruger Man was no fool, and kept Jericho at a healthy distance in front of himself, but this was no guarantee against the commando’s attacks. He prepared his muscles for the challenge ahead. In the time it would take if Jericho dropped a pin, he spun around, and lunged towards the assassin.

“Ugh,” the Ruger Man involuntarily said as the gun flew out of his hand and slid several yards away. They were still inside the house, and the helicopter noise was too loud for any of the agents to realize something had gone wrong. A well-placed round-house kick sent the assassin straight to the floor. The Ruger Man then began crawling rapidly towards his gun, but to no avail. A solid kick to the abdomen left him groaning, and Jericho walked over and took the Ruger – before cautiously checking the window to see if the agents knew something was up.

The instant he felt The Ruger Man’s fist make contact with the back of his neck, Jericho knew he had been incredibly careless. He tumbled to the ground, dropping the gun, wincing in pain. The assassin did not stop there. A solid kick to the groin followed. Jericho’s eyes saw the man’s right hand pick up his gun again.

“You’re one hell of a pesky bastard, aren’t you?” the Ruger Man said, smirking while blood crept down the side of his mouth from Jericho’s attacks.

“Right back at you,” the commando responded, still experiencing excruciating pain from the Ruger Man’s solid blows.

“You know, I was told I didn’t have to bring you in alive.” The Hispanic said, apparently musing over the idea. He aimed his gun at Jericho’s head and pulled the trigger, but Jericho’s combat instincts were sharpened now, and dodged. The commando bounced back on his feet, and sent a devastating strike towards his attacker’s solar plexus, which he easily countered, returning a fist of his own aimed at the kidneys – but the assassin was too slow. Jericho grabbed the assassin’s wrist, and in an instant channelled enough disruptive energy into the man’s nervous system that he nearly collapsed then and there.

“It’s been fun, but I’ve really got to run,” Jericho excused himself, before sprinting towards the back door.

- -

Less than twenty seconds later, the Ruger Man awoke. An agent was hovering over him with a somewhat disappointed expression.

“He escaped,” he explained, dazed and confused. The agent helped him up, and the others quickly entered. “The back door! Go! Now!”

The Ruger Man was in no mood for a game of hide-and-seek. The four men spotted Jericho run behind a shed roughly fifty yards away, and opened fire. By the time they were finished shooting, the shed was riddled with bullet holes. They all sprinted towards the shed. Some fifteen feet away, Jericho was limping towards the barn. The Ruger Man took solid aim, and pulled the trigger…
 
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Finally!

Sorry it took so long, apparently puppies can't be left alone for long.
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I am running across a rooftop as fast my recently broken leg will allow me. I can feel him chasing me, but I do not see him; I reach the edge of the rooftop and force my legs to push against the ground. My body faintly pulls away from gravity for half a second and then I fell like dead weight; I miss the edge by a good meter. I fall face first into the ground, as I am falling the world seems to slow down, time is melting down. I can see the pavement where my head is going to hit face first, it is the only spot that is lit up in the darkness but I cannot tell what is lighting it. As the floor looms towards me time decides to stop completely. A figure appears from the darkness, even without his face I can tell it’s him; I can see his smile through the night as if it glowed in the dark.
His smile doesn’t waver as he talk, “I’ve had fun ‘Ruger Man’ but you knew this was going to have to end soon.”
I can feel the panic pull at my face to contort it into impossible shapes, and I fight the urge to seek sanctuary inside my head.
He starts to circle me, my eyes stayed fixed to him, and my body seems to follow him as he speaks, “Tell you what, you seem to like to have fun; maybe I’ll leave you a little present. Normally the virus would kill you, but I think you’re special. Yes, I think you’ll enjoy this...”
He starts cackling, obviously amused with his theatrics. He opens his mouth, and fangs that look impossibly huge move towards me; he goes for my neck.
I wake up with a layer of sweat over me; I look at the clock in the wall. It’s barely 2 in the morning, it was going to be a long day; I sit up to bring my breathing back to normal. After a minute I stand up to go to the washroom and stop midway as I hear my phone start to vibrate, I pick it up with still clammy hands and answer.
“I’ve got a job for you”, I didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but I knew who the commands came from, “there’ll be a car for you in an hour.”
The phone cut off before I could even protest, it was going to be a long day.

I look out the window as the plane starts to descend, aside from the airport I see nothing plains and cattle. It was a little difficult to believe that an assassin wanted for the murder of over a thousand people would choose this place to disappear from the grid. The man has evaded capture for nearly 20 years and according to the file on him he a master of close quarter combat and a perfect shot with almost any weapon. I didn’t find anything of any great use in the file; other than the basics (name, height, weight, hair colour, etc) which I could already discern from the photo.

I arrive at a motel on the side of the road; it was the closest thing to the farm where Jericho had been spotted. Inside I’m greeted by an old man who seems disinterested in everything around him, and almost forgets to ask for money after he gives me the key. I make my way to my room which was consisted of a bedroom and a bathroom. I fall lazily into the bed I’m in no shape to go collecting info on the farm; the satellite photo showed as many entry points as there could physically be in a house without it having no walls. I had been told to bring Jericho alive, which I would have normally declined if I had a choice. I had three rules when I worked for myself, first no children or women, second never go into a job without complete preparation, and last never torture your targets, quick painless deaths were preferable. If I handed Jericho over to the company I knew he would face torture that would replace all of his memories until he would be nothing but a shell of a man. I had been given two days to take him in, and today was already gone.

In the morning I open my briefcase to check my tools, and I quickly go over the checklist in my head; a silenced Ruger sits in the top compartment of the case and I quickly load a magazine into it. I shouldn’t have to use the gun but, it’s always nice to have as a backup; next is the hypospray which looks like a glue gun, I insert a cartridge that reads “stun” into where the glue stick would go. The drugs should leave him incapacitated for 40 hours or until I inject the antidote. I set the equipment in their corresponding pockets and make for the door while going over the plan in my head.

I climb the wall with the care of a lion sneaking up on his prey, getting to the house had been fairly uneventful, and aside from the cattle and some kids cow tipping, I had yet to see any sign of life. I grab onto the window sill and push the window open, the window is missing its screen and I slip in without delay. Inside I find myself looking at a hallway with the stairs to my right and three doors to the left; I make my way to the last door and slowly open it. It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the complete darkness inside; the windows are covered by thick black drapes that let no light pass through it. Right in front of me is a bed with a blanket covering its owner. I can hear the slow breathing of someone inside, and I slowly take the hypospray out of its holster. I take careful aim as I make my way towards the bundle under the thin blanket. I aim carefully and fire off 2 darts, both of them hit the target and a small grunt is given before the breathing goes back to normal. I can hear an alarm going off in my head, ‘Too easy!’ ‘It’s a trap!’ I calm myself and fight off the urge to run. I slowly shorten the distance between my target and pull of the cover, the hypospray still in the grip of my right hand.
The person doesn’t move, and I force my left hand to go to his neck; I check his vitals and slowly let out a sigh. It’s definitely Jericho, and he’s knocked out cold; I go to holster the hypospray at the same time as I take out my cell phone out of its pocket.

I hit redial and speak into the phone, “It’s done, be ready for extraction in ...” I stop as I see Jericho’s hand’s twitch.

Something is wrapped tightly in his hands, it’s a detonator; I pull out the hypospray out of the holster with lighting speed, but it’s too late. Fire surrounds and engulfs me completely, my sight goes black and I’m pushed out of the door. I can feel the fire growing as it claws at me; I force my eyes to a split second, enough time to spot the window at the end of the hall. It beckons to me, the darkness at the end of the tunnel; my sight goes before I can take a step. I start sprinting towards the window, feeling its cold embrace and jump without fear. I miscalculated the jump and my foot hits the edge of the window; I fall face first into the ground below. I hear a crunch as my nose move into my head, and feel the blood gush into my mouth. I gather enough strength to stand as I wonder who the **** plants bombs into his bedroom. Anger gnashes at me to loosen my grip on it, and I swallow the blood in my stomach and open my eyes once again. Sight returns to me after a couple seconds of blinking, I can feel my nose push out again and can only wonder that it looks like a tape is being played in reverse. I can feel energy coming back to me and make my way to the front of the house; I can see a hole where the window of the bedroom was. The two windows and the open door helped to make the blow less severe than it could’ve been but nobody could survive an explosion of that size from close range. I take a breath as I go to for my cell phone; I burn myself on the melted plastic and drop the phone on the ground. Completely useless, I check my remaining equipment, my Ruger has fused with its holster and the clips are hot to the touch but otherwise in working order. My hypospray is missing; I probably dropped it during the explosion. I grab the binoculars at the small of my back and find them to be broken as well. All in all, not too bad considering; I take a seat on the patio with the house burning slowly behind me. I try to not to think about what just happening and wait for reinforcements to arrive. Then I hear it, movement upstairs, I take out my Ruger and aim.
I can see a shadow in what used to be the bedroom; I unload three rounds into the shadow, but he’s not there anymore. I turn around just as he throws a punch; I block it instinctively and throw a counter with my right. Bad idea the explosion must’ve done more damage than I thought, the Ruger in my hand slows down my punch; he steps into my punch and kicks me off my feet. As I fall I get a glimpse of his face, a badly burnt Jericho, his face is missing most of its skin and his eyes look like they had been fried by a particularly amateur cook. I pull up the Ruger again and fire a round into his chest, it hits him in his left lung, but he doesn’t even flinch. I take another shot into his left knee; this takes him down to his knees and even brings a grunt out of him. I roll backwards into a stand, gun tight in my right hand; I keep my aim to his heart. Then I hear a sound, like a nail falling on the ground, I see the bullet coming out of his knee. Then it clicks how he not only survived the explosion, but managed to get a hit in. He’s a regenerator; this was going to be a long night; his face turns into a half smirk as he slowly stands up. His face is still completely covered in soot, but filling out slowly and his eyes a dark green. He could’ve been a decent model and according to the file I had on him, he very well could be a regular Joe who happened to have a curse thrown on him. His fighting style however told a different story, he took an offensive stance and rushed in while I was thinking of what to do with him. I fired off the remaining five rounds into his midsection and he staggers down again. I go for my clip while trying to figure out how to capture a regenerator, killing one is much easier if you have enough ammo, capturing one was a different story.

I decide that talking to him might be the best way out for both of us, “Jericho, listen, I really don’t feel like seeing how many bullets in the head it takes to put you down. So why don’t you do us both a favour and surrender.”

I try my best to make a smile, but it comes out as a smirk.

Jericho, stumbled as he tried to get up, “**** you!”

I felt bad for Jericho, and if it were me in that situation I would’ve probably have said the same thing. Being thrown into the ‘Company’ was the worst thing I had ever experienced and the only thing I had gained from it was information on Magus, and how pain I could take before I blacked out. The latter would help in this situation, my pistol wasn’t going to be enough, and the fire was a nice start though. I default on the only other weapon I have at the moment. I slow my breathing while I take the time to concentrate enough; on a night like this I couldn’t do a full transformation, but the moon was close enough to full that I could at least draw some power from it. As I do, everything gets brighter, and I can feel myself slowly grow in height, width, and strength.

“Last chance”, I growl through clenched teeth, I really didn’t like to use my powers, especially when it reminded me of what Magus had done to me. I holstered my gun in preparation of what was to come.

While draining Jericho of his blood was not on top of my list of things to want to do; I had no choice. It would strengthen me slightly while taking away his power of regeneration. Of course, all of this was based on the assumption that his powers were like mine.
Jericho was fully erect now, and aside from his burnt clothes, didn’t look like he had just been inside a burning building. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said...”
I didn’t give him time to finish, and lunged in with my hands clawing empty space, he dodged easily, but I was gaining on him. He sidestepped out of the way but I was already on him before he knew what he did. I pounced on him and start to bite his collar bone; Jericho finally letting some emotion through and started to scream. I bit of some skin and fought the urge to swallow, I hit the side of his face with my hand and he stopped screaming as he fell sideways. His face was on the ground breathing moving the dust under his mouth, I moved over him in all fours; ready to finish the job.
 
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I've read both of them, though I'll need to read em a few times more to determine the outcome of this match. I'll probably have more feedback tomorrow.
 
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Sorry guys, had a busy week. :p I've given it plenty of consideration and, I'm going to give the first round to Avenger. Allthough Clen's 1st person view was a nice touch, it just didn't feel immersive enough.

If I were you, Clen, I'd avoid those huge lumps of text. Spread it out a bit more, with more alinea's.

Let the second round begin.
 
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Clen has withdrawn himself from this fight, which makes Avenger the winner by default.
 
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