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  • Subject: [Story] Studies and Observation... An Assassin's Story.
Subject: [Story] Studies and Observation... An Assassin's Story.

About me: I am a vicious wolf of a man.

But really am sweet at heart. =)

Prologue: Quiet....

14/10/2531 0200 Hours
Harvest, 20 miles outside Utgard in northern mountain regions...

"A lone warrior standing on an open plain..."wrote Dab-dib on his data terminal. He hated getting the early morning watch, sitting in the cold, warming up a food nipple under his arms. At least it allowed him to write his book. Dab-dib was the only Ungoy in his squad smart enough to read. He doubted anyone on High Charity would find his story interesting, but it was better than sitting and freezing to death for another four hours.

"The warrior picked up his plasma pistol and shot the puny human into dust with grrreat vigor and strean-"

Dab-dib dropped his datapad....and never picked it up again, his corpse had fallen to the ground and was pooling in his own blood.

A single human stood up from his prone position, slid his combat knife back into it's boot holster and raised his hand. Four more men materialized from the vegetation behind him, concealed by dense suits that were approximately the same to the brush.

"This is SOG 1, the way is clear Bravo 2, begin assault in three."

Recon squad alpha stepped carefully over the now cold corpse of the "proud warrior" once named Dab-dib: Now another nameless corpse in an already too long war. They disappeared as quickly as they came moving up the steep slope.

Beyond it, a Covenant dig site. None of them knew what was in it, all that mattered was that the Slip-Lips didn't get their hands on it. To keep that from happening, SOG was going to kill every last one of them.


[Edited on 11.25.2010 7:08 PM PST]

  • 11.25.2010 7:06 PM PDT
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Posted by: chotato
smart, interesting, seems out of place.


Official fan of Assassin's Creed, Call of Duty, (Problem with that?) Halo, and Bungie, also a total gaming junkie.

I like it, very well written, although Slip Lip is a new name for me. I don't see much that needs improvement.

  • 11.26.2010 7:30 AM PDT

About me: I am a vicious wolf of a man.

But really am sweet at heart. =)

Chapter 1: ...We've Been Through Worse

6/4/2526 1100 Hours...
Low Orbit over UNSC Colony Harvest.
UNSC Fanshaw Bay

"SIXTY SECONDS" The dropmaster of the Albatross cargo ship called from the rear exit ramp.

Corporal Michael Peterson snapped from the strange half-aware euphoria brought on by the mixture of pure O2 and the combined stink of one hundred men cramped in a space designed to hold half that number.

He looked around at the human mob around him, seeing the terrified faces of recruits fresh out of boot, and sometimes the hardened face of a senior NCO--someone who knew what he was doing. A bump on his shoulder once again kicked him from his inner state: A Private Jenkins...only the Lord knew how many Privates Jenkins had already died on the hell hole of Harvest.

"TEN SECONDS" At this time, every Marine in the compartment strapped into safety bars mounted inches from their heads. Michael didn't bother, all they would do is strangle you if you DID fall, and it was so packed he couldn't do that if he wanted to.

Suddenly a heavy lurch sent the dropship plummeting away from the artificial gravity of the Fanshaw and they were free falling towards Harvest.

"Jesus, I'd rather be in an HEV than this -blam!-." Jenkins was praying now, he had a rosary around his neck and had begun sprouting Hail Marys like crazy, forgetting that just seconds ago he had used his savior's name in vain.

Was that all it really took to save your divine soul? Say a few prayers? Ask for forgiveness? To Michael it didn't matter, all that mattered was killing Covenant, getting home, and trying to not be picked by ONI for some special mission.

The vertigo of zero G left as soon as it came. Michael, as well as all of the NCOs landed firmly on their feet. The butterbar lieutenants and the privates relied on their safety straps.

Suddenly, another thump, but more pronounced that the delatch threw the new guys to the ground again as they began unstrapping.

"Well honey, I'm back..." he whispered under his breath, "Hope nothing changed." He filled his mind with fond memories of kicking the bastards out of Utgard as he stepped off the "barf-bird".



And into Hell.









So....that's it boys and girls! I decided to actually try to write a story! Note that all of this is COMPLETELY off the top of my head as a write it. The idea came to by ironically by playing Black Ops. Marine Corps MACV SOG existed in the Vietnam War and was designed to defeat the VC in unconventional warfare. There will be explosions, there will be cool ONI weapons, and it WILL be hardboiled.

If you thought the Prologue was gruesome this may not be for you. Anyway, please rate, if this doesn't get regular decent reviews I'll assume nobody likes it and stop.


[Edited on 11.26.2010 8:51 AM PST]

  • 11.26.2010 8:50 AM PDT
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Posted by: chotato
smart, interesting, seems out of place.


Official fan of Assassin's Creed, Call of Duty, (Problem with that?) Halo, and Bungie, also a total gaming junkie.

If someone thought the prologue was gruesome and over-violent, then they shouldn't even play Halo. Must say though, this part drew me in completely. And your opinion is somewhat similar to mine, I nearly stopped writing my now buried story because nobody ever commented on it. I hope your's will become much more popular, and don't pull any pranks, this forum appearently don't like it.

  • 11.26.2010 12:52 PM PDT

Looks good so far.

At first I thought this was a story about a Grunt assassin. I guess I was wrong.

  • 11.26.2010 1:15 PM PDT

About me: I am a vicious wolf of a man.

But really am sweet at heart. =)

Chapter 2: Welcome to Harvest...
6/7/2526 2200 Hours
Utgard, Mall District.


Two days, and already half the unit was dead.

Michael knew Harvest would be hell again...a hell that had last time left him covered in third degree burns and puncture wounds, but this...this was different. The Covenant knew how to fight, the 4th Marine Division didn't.

He was leaning crouched in a half bombed out trench with four other Marines he didn't know, and 2 green Army troopers. They were all silent, because of what they had seen, and so a Jackal picket wouldn't hear them just yards away.

Someone shifted behind him. "Sergeant!..." he waited for someone to answer the call, "Sergeant...Peterson." Then Michael remembered that in two days, the entire NCO corps had been eliminated, he had been promoted twice, to Staff Sergeant, a rank that normally took years to get. War accelerated things, mostly lives.

"What is it private?" He whispered over his shoulder. "When are we gonna make the attack?"

Ahh yes, the attack that he had heard every ONI spook whimpering for over the past days. The shadowy intelligence agency was trying to get the generals to order a frontal assault on the mall complex to get their hands on a dig site on the other side of Utgard. Suicide, but ONI didn't care about bodies.

"Oh-Nee doesn't know -blam!- about the officer corps if they think they are gonna order us across open ground, get some sleep private, it'll be Church Hour soon." Michael said using the vain term for the hour at which the Covenant began firing random mortar shells at the UNSC positions overlooking Utgard. It got its name based on the men crying out to their God to save them when they were hit.

People found it amusing until it happened to them.

Michael flexed his right forearm.

Suddenly loud footsteps came from the rear of their lines and a shadow dove into their trench. Five rifles snapped to the ready on their would be assassin. It moved to reveal not a Jackal, but a man.

"Sergeant, I'm Lieutenant James Maxon. We'll be leading the assault."

"We, sir? And what assault?" Michael said putting his weapon down.

"I'm ONI, we're making the move in 2 Mikes, so get your asses in gear

  • 11.26.2010 4:14 PM PDT

About me: I am a vicious wolf of a man.

But really am sweet at heart. =)

Chapter 3: Level 2, Dresses, accessories, dig-sites, and spooks.

6 Hours later.

Michael dove from the minimal cover of a concrete beam into a steel mesh pit that at one time had been above the mall, and found himself staring at where he was a second ago, it was all glass.

Another close call. A yank on his shoulder strap pulled him to the present. It was the Spook, his gray tiger striped BDUs were covered with white soot, really making him look like the nickname all operatives were given.

"Sergeant! Rally the men, we're sitting ducks out here, we NEED to get inside the building!"

With that he was off in a flash, charging into the battle.

"You heard him Marines, double time it!" Peterson shouted as he stood up and followed the LT. Around half a dozen men followed him...the ones that still had limbs:Michael jumped over a trench where a field surgeon was removing a fried limb of a PFC...

After a steaming 200m run the impromptu squad had made it up to the edge of the mall where Maxon was already ordering Troopers and Marines into action.

"Peterson, glad you made it,"he said with a smile that had no humor in it. "Move up to the left terrace and provide covering fire while the main force pushes straight through. With that he was off again moving to closer cover. As he ran he pulled an M7 from his hip and fired at a trio of Grunts trying to set up an energy mortar...and killed them all.

"3 clean hits from fifty yards with an SMG? Spook ain't too bad." he thought.


Although the mall was just a mess of rebar and concrete, the main structure had survived, the shell of the building was simple, a ground floor with terraces above it on either side accessable to escalators. It was on one of those colapsing terraces that Peterson found himself now.


"To the right!" A corporal called out and blasted a Jackal with his MA5. Michael crouched into a firing position and nabbed the 2 Grunts behind him. Below him Maxon and 3 Troopers were under fire from an Elite with a concussion rifle.

"Marines! Firing positions! Frag Out!" With that, he looked over the ledge and lobbed two M2 fragmentation grenades into the mob of Elites and Grunts. All the grunts died, as well as two Elites, one was still alive: it's legs severed at the knees.

Maxon moved up and shot it with out looking.

"Thanks for the assist Peterson." Maxon called on his comm.

"Well, I'm just surprised to see a spook care about his men is all." Micael replied as he calmly shot a Jackal sharpshooter in the head with his DMR.

After a few more moments of leapfrogging...and 2 Marines lost, they cleared the mall. Within minutes they had reached the old Covenant firing positions.

"We saved a lot of lives, the Covenant have no more high ground now until the mountains." Maxon said as he cleaned his M7.

"No, something tells me we're just getting started." Peterson replied.

Maxon stood up and walked over to the Sergeant who was leaning on the rebar railing on the terrace. They sat in silence for a moment, looking at the view of the destroyed city, and the blue lights of the dig site miles distant.

Maxon pulled out a package from his pocket and offered a StrikeEasy cigarette.

"Nah, sorry, don't touch the stuff." Peterson said apologetically.

"Hope you don't mind if I do, I get more nervous every time I do this -blam!-, typical spook -blam!- I know, but I'm a naval academy graduate, I expected shipside duty." he said taking a long drag of nicotine.

"I hear that, I wanted to be a corpsman, they picked me out for the Corpse because I can shoot." Michael sighed.

Their conversation was cut short by the whine of a Pelican passing overhead, and landing below them on the ground floor in front of the mall.

"That's not my ride." Maxon said as the dark green dropship landed i the rubble.

A UNMC captain stepped out and walked the destroyed steps to the balcony.

"Captain, sir!" Michael said as he stood and saluted.

"Lieutenant, Staff Sergeant. Follow me."

They got on the Pelican. As they stepped on board the LT and Sergeant were grabbed from behind. Michael felt a black bag go over his head and a hand clamp over his face. He passed out as he felt the engines warm up.

  • 11.26.2010 5:45 PM PDT
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Posted by: chotato
smart, interesting, seems out of place.


Official fan of Assassin's Creed, Call of Duty, (Problem with that?) Halo, and Bungie, also a total gaming junkie.

Still great, this really feels like a war to me. Keep up the good work.

  • 11.26.2010 8:34 PM PDT

About me: I am a vicious wolf of a man.

But really am sweet at heart. =)

Chapter 4:Get the Door...
7/7/2526
LOCATION: {SEARCHING} SATCOM ERROR

Maxon woke up to the familiar experience of a black bag over his head.

Inauguration day all over again. The sights and sounds of ONI boot camp were something you soon didn't forget.

Suddenly the bag was ripped from his head and he had a second to visually explore his surroundings. He was tied to a metal chair with his back to a wall, to his left and right were poly-plastic which he could see through. To his left in the other cell Michael had just had his hood removed.

He then turned his attention to the man in front of him.

"Thanks, I really didn't like it, no offense, but you guys need better fashion sense."

To his surprise he didn't receive a slap to the face or any physical response. Instead the man pulled out a slip of paper and read from it.

"You have hear by been reassigned to HIGHCOM/NAVSPECWAR/MARCORPS/GROUP 3/SOG. You have been selected because of your incredible combat record, intelligence, mental toughness, and dexterity, if you accept this binding contract you will be immediately folded into the group stated earlier. If you say no you will receive targeted amnesia and return to your prior post of duty." With that he put the card back into the chest pocket of his BDU and stood at parade rest.

Maxon turned and looked through the glass at Peterson, who had just finished listening to his speech. Michael nodded once. Maxon returned it.

With that the guard: A Sergeant Major, went behind him and unbuckled his restraints and lead him out the door. The guard from the other cell walked away and moved into the next one. The SaMaj turned and simply said "Follow me to medical."

"Any idea what's going on?" Peterson whispered as they walked abreast a few feet behind the MP.

"We got folded into UNICOM it seems, strange that the Corps would do this kind of thing though, normally we do the cloak and dagger kind of stuff.

Maxon saw Peterson's shoulders tense up as they reached a door marked "Infirmary". They were lead inside where several medical techs were working at several terminals around the room. One of them, a Navy captain turned to face them.

"Lieutenant, Sergeant, I apologize for the way you were brought here, but SOG operates in complete secrecy, we need to in order to stay in line with ONI. If you will please sit," he said gesturing to a line of identical operating tables in the center of the room.

"What's this about sir?" Michael said as he pushed himself up.

"I'll cut to the chase, you two are total bad-asses." He said as he slowly pushed Michael down into a reclining position.

"Peterson, you survived a near direct plasma mortar hit and have one of the highest ground kill counts in the UNSC, Maxon, your intelligence gathering has been responsible for almost two dozen militia groups being taken out of action."

He secured Michael to the table with leather restraints as medical injectors simaltaniously put a chemical cocktail into Maxon and Peterson's systems.

"SOG found you before ONI it seems, we operate in tandom with them, the Marine Corps own little pet project, we operate behind enemy lines doing recon, POW capture, and demolitions. Most of our methods of insertion would kill a normal human, that's why your getting some special augmentations courtesy of Halsey's Spartan II Project...you don't know what that is and it's never gonna leave this room that I told you." He said as he stepped back and looked at a terminal.

"Sir," Maxon said as he lifted his head against his neck restraint "what kind of augmentations?"

"I'm not gonna lie to you, they are risky, we learned from our mistakes but almost 40% of Spartans that recieved the mutations died or were crippled, but that number is less than 5% now. In the end you will be much faster, will have unbreakable bones, and have heightened reaction times."

He moved with two syrenges and injected Michael first, followed my Maxon.

"You'll be alright, when you wake up training will begin immediately, so sleep as much as you can." With that the Captain pressed a button on both of the auto surgeons and left the room.

A spinning roulette wheel of chemicals were immediately injected into both of their thighs. The sedatives helped some, but it still felt like fire running inside Maxon's veins. He held on to the sensation before he passed out.



[Edited on 11.28.2010 12:52 PM PST]

  • 11.28.2010 7:37 AM PDT
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Posted by: chotato
smart, interesting, seems out of place.


Official fan of Assassin's Creed, Call of Duty, (Problem with that?) Halo, and Bungie, also a total gaming junkie.

May I suggest taking more time to write them? Make them a bit longer. Other than that I see nothing that needs improvement.

  • 11.28.2010 4:30 PM PDT

thumbs up

  • 11.28.2010 8:07 PM PDT

Can someone explain this to me so that it makes some goddamned sense?

Read the prologue and skimmed the chapters. Very good so far. The only thing that I can suggest to you is to lengthen the chapters. If at all possible, try to make the chapters between 1-2 thousand words (10-20 thousand characters).

  • 11.28.2010 8:21 PM PDT

About me: I am a vicious wolf of a man.

But really am sweet at heart. =)

5/2/2527
LOCATION: UNSC Firebase VIPER: REACH

A platoon of living killing machines stood in the middle of the parade ground of the Forward Operating Base: VIPER. Each man and woman standing there, chest out at parade rest knew twenty three ways to kill a human, grunt, jackal, or Elite, with their bare hands. They had gone through physical and biological augmentations that would make a SPARTAN-II cringe.

Each Marine was wearing black and gray tiger stripe fatigues with minimal combat gear of matte black elbow and knee pads, black composite gauntlets and combat boots. They each wore a green or black beret: green for squadmate and black for squad leader.

They weren't however, SOG yet. Captain Kyle Everett, stepped forward to do that. He walked calmly to the front of the formation and saluted. 128 heels snapped together and sixty four hands snapped to their owner's heads.

He dropped his salute and bellowed:

"Good MORNING recruits!"

"Good morning sir!" they all replied.

"You are officially SOG Marines, as you know, we don't stand on ceremony, report to your team's DI's to receive your patches and pins, Congratulations."

With that he walked towards his personal Warthog and drove back to his barracks. the formation fell out and Michael met with his team: Team Black, and met with their DI: SSgt Crawler.

He wordlessly handed out the red and black hammer and sword patches of MACV SOG and the identical pins. After he had done this solemn cerimony for all five members he simply said "I'm proud of you boys, you did good."

He then walked away from the group. Maxon took pride in noting that some DIs simply said nothing at all to their teams or outright threw their patches on the ground, as if they were ashamed that they had made it through training.

Michael looked at his team, now with the velcro patches on each of their shoulders and thought how lucky he was to get such good brothers.

Maxon, an inspiring leader.

Ghweber; could take out a tree turkey from a mile away.

Daniels; could wire ten tons of kerosene to go off with a force of a JDAM, or a shaped charge to go off with a whisper.

Claude: Could handle a knife well enough to make a Covie a filette in a few seconds.

Finally, Jacobs. He had joined the squad halfway through training after his suffered an accident with live anti-tank mines. He knew his way around an MA5 to be sure, and was mostly a jack of all trades, but he had patched Michael up after missions again and again.

"Well guys, congratulations." Maxon said putting his hand out, they all put theirs on top as part of a "team spirit" thing.

They all stood in an almost awkward silence.

"So...Lieutenant." Michael said trying to get something going, "Whats it like knowing people have to call you 'sir' now instead of recruit?"

A look of wonder came over his face, for the past months they had lost all rank, they were boots again while training, and while they had been promoted, they were still called "recruit, maggot, worm, and scumbag" by the DIs.

Now, Maxon was a 1st Lieutenant, Peterson was a SSgt, Ghweber and Daniels were Sgts, and Jacobs was a Corporal.

"Wait....we can leave the base now!" Ghweber exclaimed in his gutteral German accent."

Claude was the first to pick up on it, "Lets go drinking!"

Within ten minutes they had hitched a ride with some Army junkies in an M879 and were heading to New Alexandria.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Michael woke up in his team's barracks the next morning, he was still in his uniform, now crumpled and trampled. His team was strewn about the barracks in a mostly dead state.

"Never again," Michael muttered as his headache began to set in. Knowing full well next leave he would binge like hell.

Maxon sat up from the chair he had been straddling and looked at his chrono.

"Sorry boys, we've got PT in five."

A series of groans was his response.



  • 12.07.2010 5:12 PM PDT