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Some of you may have had the misfortune of reading Ultima Farce on the main site. Like a bad rash, the concept has re-entered my mind and I hope, undergone improvement. There are numerous changes, including what I hope is a slightly more dramatic edge. The story below has a total of six parts. Here are the first three.

It is at basic level, a parody/pastiche of ITV1 Drama/Unintentional Comedy Ultimate Force and FF7, with a pinch of Rainbow Six and some other things thrown into the harrowing stew that has already been made

This fic contains some violence and swearing. Additionally, it pretty much ignores the spin-off material to FF7 and is even prepared to call itself an AU to ignore some parts of the game. It's that damned arrogant.

Let the Wall of Text commence.

Over the Counter Terrorism
1

The elite forces of SOLDIER are without equal in their skill with blade and bullet. The world's most feared fighting force, and capable of any mission. But even within an elite, there is often a force of greater ability. In SOLDIER, this force is the Airborne Service. Hand-picked, SOLDIER First Class troops, thrown into the most gruelling and torturous training regime on the planet. From a hundred candidates a year often only a few pass the test that is selection for the illustrious unit. And when they do, they are a name feared by fear itself. No mission is beyond them. No foe invincible. They are the pinnacle of SOLDIER.

These are their stories.


***

Midgar, May 1994


A darkened room, illuminated only by a television set flickering the light emitted by the image of a prattling gameshow host as his onscreen persona flirted with the busty female assistants. There were five shapes in the murky room. Two of them were tied up. Both bound men were blindfolded, and could only hear what was going on when the door flew in, and all hell broke lose.

The door had blown in as a result of explosives planted there, and the next thing in a second after the remains of the door had been two submachine gun armed men in black coveralls, gasmasks and helmets. They fired four quick bursts, the three other shapes in the room being struck with three to five rounds each. The head of one fell off and bounced on the floor as two other black-clad solders stormed in and grabbed the two blindfolded and bound shapes. As the six were leaving, one quickly emptied the magazine of his submachine gun into the television.

The blindfold was yanked off Jamie, and he almost blinded himself again by staring at the midday sun. He winced as the light flooded his eyes, only able to hear a strange high-pitched whistle in his ears. He struggled with the ropes tying his hands behind him.

He looked away, the whistle still ringing in his ears as he heard something to his left. It was Alex, who was not struggling with his ropes, but instead lying face down and looking towards him. He seemed to be asking if Jamie was all right.

'WHAT?!' he shouted back.

'Are your ears buggered too?!' Alex presumably shouted.

'I THINK SO!'

A murky underwater voice said something like "cop grouting"

'WHAT?!'

A bald man picked the two deafened men off the ground, stood them up, and then headbutted them. Then Staff Sergeant Henry Silas removed his gasmask and helmet.

'I said, stop shouting.'

'Er, Henry, they're deaf. We did just blow up a door beside them.'

Sergeant Silas then headbutted Corporal "Dangerous" Dave Poyton for this information before realising it was correct and that Dangerous had a remarkably solid head. Then he noticed Dangerous was still wearing his helmet.

As the bald headbutting Staff Sergeant swore, the other Sergeant approached. Sergeant Peter McPollock, a fire-haired explosives expert who operated to the simple equation known to anyone who blew things up: P = Plenty, Too Much = Impossible. He stood the two dazed men up and cut the ropes away.

'Sorry about that, lads, overpressure from the explosives. Must have overdid them a little.'

'A little? Pete, you planted the bomb on the front door of the house,' Silas pointed out as he blinked his helmet-headbutt caused headache away.

'Your point, Henry? '

'That was the explosion that blew in the upstairs lounge door in. And it's on the other side of the killing house.'

The two mock hostages and three black-clad men were all members of Crimson Troop, Airborne Service SOLDIER. An elite within an elite. Tasked with a variety of covert roles including counterterrorism, today, the troop had been using the infamous 'Killing House', a seemingly normal house in an Upper Sector Four Army base. As the name implied, it was in fact a live fire exercise building.

It was also now on fire thanks to Crimson Troop, a problem the other two members of the troop were trying to solve. Corporal "Diamond" Dave Dempsey and Corporal Sam Redshirt. Their conversation inside the burning building filled the silence caused by the troop not talking.

'It's still on fire, Sam! Why is it still on fire?'

'Quick, use this bucket of water!'

'Aaaagh! That’s not water!'

Henry listened to the flames grow more intense as the turpentine ignited. The base fire brigade approached, as did the troop's officer. The officer parked his car and exited it. The fire truck smashed it out of the way and parked where it had been as Sam and Diamond ran out of the blazing house.

'Morning Staff,' Lieutenant John Dotsy said to the still-blinking Silias. 'How was the exercise?'

Silas looked at Sam and Pete as they chased a burning Diamond around the garden with the assistance of two firefighters.

'I'd go so far as to say we're really on fire just now, Lieutenant.'

'Capital. Are these the two new men?'

The officer had pointed towards the still slightly dazed Alex and Jamie, who were watching the pretty flames.

'Yes sir. Corporals Alex Redshirt and Jamie Manchester. OI, DEAFIE!' Silas shouted to get their attentions. They turned. Alex saluted. Jamie missed his head with the salute and fell over.

'HOW DID YOU ENJOY YOUR LITTLE INITIATION TO THE AIRBORNE SERVICE?'

'VERY JOLLY SIR!' Alex replied.

'DON'T SHOUT, CORPORAL, I CAN HEAR FINE you deaf scrote,' the officer yelled then muttered.

'Sorry, sir.'

'REDSHIRT, EH? RELATIVE OF SAM?'

'YES... Er, yes sir. Adopted brother.'

'JOLLY GOOD. AND YOU, JAMIE?'

'Yes sir?'

Dotsy paused.

'CAN YOU FIX A CAR?'

'Yes sir. Not sure if I can fix yours though, that fire engine seems to have wrecked it.'

'OH, IT'S NOT MINE, THAT ONE'S YOURS. PAY ATTENTION TROOPER.'

'I, er, don't have a car, sir. It's a motorbike I have. Sir.'

'Well, bugger, whose car is it?' Dotsy asked.

'Your ex-wife's, Lieutenant.'

'Capital! Well lads, I've got to go, got a meeting about finances with the Child Support Agency. '

'Remember the trick, sir, you know where they live as well, and they know you live on an army base and have access to explosives!'

'Yes, yes, Sergeant. See you all later.'

The lieutenant left. Silas surveyed his troop. He had two deafened rookies, one singed corporal, two chortling corporals still spraying a fire extinguisher at the singed one, and a pyromaniac Sergeant watching the burning house be extinguished.

'Best bloody bunch of soldiers in the regiment,' he beamed.

***

Across the vast city of Midgar, six men met for the first time in a dingy hotel. Only one knew them all. The other five had never seen either him or the other four men before in their lives. The six sat around a bare table, the walls stained yellow with nicotine and the only other item of furniture being a shabby chest of drawers.

'My name is Boss,' the man in the know said. A balding, moustachioed man with a penetrating gaze. The five men assumed he had at one point been in some leadership role. Now he was leading a gang he had apparently hand-picked. None knew why.

'You will only ever refer to me as Boss. You will only ever refer to yourselves by the nicknames I give you. Your real names, we don't need to use them.'

Boss stood, and pointed to the first man, a short stocky blond man with a face that looked as if it's nose had been broken many times.

'You are Pug.'

The next man, a baby-faced brown haired man with the look of an enthusiastic puppy was nicknamed Moron. The weaselly-looking man next to him was nicknamed Badger, the bushy-eyebrowed grey haired man was nicknamed Weasel. Boss paused on the last one. There wasn't anyone there. Boss wondered where the sixth man had gone only for said six-foot-tall idiot to burst in the door. He looked like he had ran up the stairs to get here despite the room being on the ground floor.

'Sorry I'm late!'

'You will be,' Boss muttered. 'And this idiot is Lofty.'

'It's funny because he's a shortarse,' Moron said. Everyone but Boss stared at him.

'You are a Moron, aren't you?' Badger said.

'We will be carrying, and if we have to, using weapons. This job is once only, and we will never see each other again hopefully. A million each. No one will make contact with the outside world in any way. Give me your phones,' Boss ordered. Four cellular phones rolled across the table followed by a handset from a payphone.

'You really are a Moron. Anyway, weapons.'

Boss picked up a holdall from the floor beside him. He pulled a sawn off shotgun out, sliding it to Badger. Two pistols were handed to Moron and Weasel, the former being given a revolver and the latter a small compact handgun ironically enough called the CDS Weasel. A Shinra Model 4 Police pistol was slid over to Pug, and Lofty was handed a pump-action shotgun . Boss himself picked up his own Cobra One machine pistol.

'We will conceal these on ourselves when we enter the target. In the event we are forced to use them, we have two heavier weapons. Any questions?'

'How come I get this peashooter and he gets a bloody cannon?!' Weasel complained.

'Because you get to use one of these if the shit hits the fan,' Boss said, pulling out the two WCR85 assault rifles. All that remained in the holdall was the four loaded magazine for the rifle and a longer magazine for the machine pistol Boss had taken for himself.

'Complaint withdrawn.'

'Thought so.'

'Who uses the other one?' Badger asked.

'You will. But unless we do something wrong, you won't. '

***

Alex and Jamie had been sent off to the quartermasters to collect their kit and weapons. The two of them had been less than impressed to discover that the six foot Jamie had been given trousers intended for the five foot three Alex.

'So where are the weapons?' asked a squeaky voiced and compressed testicled Jamie.

'Right, we've got your four-point-five by twenty-two millimetre M6A Pistol and four magazines, P/M 5 submachine gun in the same calibre with seven magazines, holster, sling and magazine pouches in addition to whatever materia you want to use. Plus your tactical ops vest which you will note has a shitload of shotgun shells on it for no apparent reason. Don't ask why they're covered in shotgun shells and you shall be told no lies,' the Quartermaster Sergeant told them.

'...Alright,' Jamie replied.

'Anything else doesn't fit, get someone else to sort it 'cos I can't be arsed at all. Sign these and then piss off,' Quartermaster instructed, handing over two forms.

The two newcomers left the Quartermasters store and were intercepted by Sam.

'Sarge says we're to head for the airfield and figure out what we're doing for the rest of the day.'

'Shouldn't he already know that?' Alex asked.

'Nope. Besides, you two still need to see what Rangers we drive.'

They soon arrived at the airfield and found, in one of the hangars, a collection of Ranger four-by-four Utility Vehicles. Four red, four blue, four black

'Red is us and Indigo Troop, Counter-Revolutionary Warfare. Blue is Air Troop, Black is Mobility. We'd have green ones here but Mountain are out on a mission. Don't bother worrying about what they do, we'll wind up doing it anyway I bet,' Sam explained. 'They're not only a bunch of lazy bastards but for some reason Sergeant Silas seems to get us all the interesting missions.'

'Speak of the devil, here he comes,' Alex said. Silas neared, and headbutted the new recruit.

'Right then, we have an entire day left to get something done, and as we nearly blew them up this morning, why don't we let the newbies pick what we're going to do?' Silas said as Alex picked himself up off the hangar floor.

'There are some new MG's over at the skidpan,' Diamond suggested.

'What, Shinra MG sports cars?' Alex enquired, apparently talking to one of the wrong ones of three Diamonds he could see.

'No, General Purpose Machine Guns. Makes trying to drive a skidding car a lot more interesting.'

'We could borrow a helicopter, do a little fast roping?' Pete suggested.

'Nope, since Trooper Legolas in Indigo troop fell out of the helicopter we've been banned from going in them for a while, health and safety,' Silas said to shoot that plan down.

'Wait, what? We can't jump out of helicopters because of health and safety but we can drive a car around under machinegun fire on a skidpan?!' Jamie asked incredulously

'Well, Health and Safety don't know about the skidpan. And hopefully they never will.'

'Shooting range? See if the newbies can shoot?' Dangerous weighed in.

'Killin' 'ouse. See what it's like from t' other side,' Jamie said. Henry headbutted him.

'What?'

'Sorry, meant to say killing house. With a G and an H,' said the man on the floor.

'Good, because the Killin Ouse is actually a sex change clinic in Sector Seven. Don't ask how I know that,' Silas said.

'His daughter Brian,' Pete whispered to the two newcomers.

'But don't Indigo Troop have the killing house at four?' Sam pointed out.

'Yes. But it's only 1PM just now,' Silas grinned. 'Killing house it shall be.'

***

The six men had bundled into a van and drove into the lower city, four of them in the back with the holdall and six sleeping bags. In the run-down slums of Sector Four, a ruined and abandoned section of the city had become a haunt for those who sought to hide themselves, as well as vicious wildlife. The van arrived at the gates of an apparently abandoned warehouse. Boss left the van, and unlocked the padlocked gate of the chain-linked fence that surrounded this derelict storage building, topped off with concertina coils of barbed tape. The other men hopped out of the back of the van, stretching their legs and thankful the uncomfortable ride was over. Badger remained in the drivers seat.

'What's all this ?' Lofty pondered. Pug meanwhile was looking at the fence. Rusty, but in good repair.

The sixteen mile radius of the upper city loomed a hundred feet overhead, and here in particular the lights that adorned the bottom of the giant structure many slum-dwellers called the rotting pizza were rather dim. But then again, the upper city did everything it could to keep the lower city in the dark.

'Drive it in, I'm walking the rest around the grounds,' Boss ordered Badger.

As he had indicated, the rest were shown the area surrounding the warehouse. Rusting piles of twisted steel, abandoned cars, and pools of murky water were all around even though rain had not fallen on the lower city for over fifty years. What few working lights there were scattered around the area were nothing more than sodium lamps that bathed what little they could illuminate with a ruddy glow that simply turned darkness to shadows. But all the shadows and broken lights were towards the warehouse. The fence was illuminated well, and in fact, it seemed the lamps there were just a little brighter.

He took them near one of the pools of shadows, where a careful eye could spot, in a small depression near the centre, the shape of coiled wire. Boss produced a torch, and revealed the coils to be the same barbed tape that topped off the chain link fence, stainless steel metal strips with razor sharp edges and cuttings in the coiled metal. A little tougher than barbed wire, and also a lot more damaging. A man caught in it could slice himself to ribbons. There also wasn't much lying around one could just throw over the wire to cover the barbed edges.

'There's more like this. Anywhere not lit up, you might injure yourself. Only ever walk in an area with light.'

He took them to the fence and proved that it was still pretty touch when even a kick did nothing but shake some rust loose.

'The fence is thick. No one will cut through it very quickly. Anyone approaching us will be very visible. I assure you this location is safe from any unwanted guests.'

It occurred to some of those who had been in the back of the van, that it was also in a nondescript location. This sector was filled with dozens of similar places. It might not even be in Sector Four, for the lower city had countless areas of urban decay like this. However, Boss had finished the tour. Following him to a steel door, with flaking paint exposing more rust, the group finally entered the warehouse. The van was parked inside, with Badger waiting by it. The warehouse itself was coated in debris and grime, and more than a few holes were in the roof. Beside the van, a number rusted oil drums, rotting crates and palettes were stacked up, some bearing a Shin-Ra logo from over a decade ago. A pile of crates near a door to the rear of the warehouse was covered in boxes of ammunition for the various weapons.

'For the next few days, this shall be your home. You will all sleep here. You will eat here. You will learn to shoot here.'

'Er, what's for dinner?' Moron asked.

'There are supplies in a kitchen at the back of this warehouse. If you can't cook it yourself you don't eat. Weasel and Badger, you're going to learn how to use the rifles. The rest of you, if you want to eat, go eat now.'

Moron and Pug wandered through the warehouse to the kitchen, Pug looking closely at the various brass casings, drinks cans, shards of smashed bottles, holed boxes and other detritus lying around. The kitchen itself was barely a gas stove, woodworm-eaten table and a battered copper kettle. Carelessly discard wrappers of dehydrated noodle packets littered the floor, as did a few empty beer bottles. Pug opened a cupboard to find piles of noodles and tinned food, as well as full drinks cans and bottles.

'He's used this place before,' Pug murmured.

'Huh?'

'Don't you think it's odd? None of us know each other or him, and he brings us to a hideout that's already been used before. I smell a rat.'

'I see a rat. He's over there.'

Pug sighed, and realised Moron was probably too stupid to be the one to talk to about this. Perhaps Lofty would be more intelligent. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out in the kitchen and both men jumped. Pug turned to see Boss standing in the doorway, machine pistol smoking. The rat Moron had saw was now a red stain.

'As you will notice, gentlemen, we have a small vermin problem. Rats and mice often get in here. They don't get out if I see them. Sometimes we get big rats. I hope we don't get any of them. Their bodies are rather hard to clean up,' Boss said, staring icily at Pug.

The intention by Boss had been for a cold silence to fill the room. Moron, however, had no sense of drama.

'Cor! If we get a big rat, can I shoot it?'

Pug and Boss simply stared at him in disbelief.

'You really are a Moron,' both said simultaneously.


2

A brunette woman sat in an office on the other side of the Sector Four base. She sat at a neat, well-kept desk. The other four desks in the room were in a state of disarray, files, newspapers, bullets and maps strewn all over them. The walls were bare except for a few maps of the world and certain countries, with a crudely-drawn stickman urinating on Wutai on the world map. The windows looked out on an empty parade ground.

Dotsy walked into the room then, and addressed the woman.

'Er, Caroline, why are you at my desk?'

'Because when you and Crimson Troop last went out on the pissup, you and Henry signed an order to have mine shipped to Mideel,' she angrily replied.

'Ah, good times.'

Crimson Troop then entered. Dotsy wandered over to a desk with the nameplate "McPollock" and began rummaging in a pile of papers.

'Killing House, Caroline. Can we have it?' Silas asked.

'Indigo Troop have it booked.'

'At four,' Dotsy said, pulling a slice of pizza out of a blue folder.

'Oh, forgot I had that, could you bin that please, Dotsy?'

'Eurgh, it's moving.'

'Alright, fine, but no explosive entry. Leave Indigo troop some doors and windows,' Caroline sighed.

'No explosive entry? That's what she said,' Dangerous smirked, only to get a slice of rotten pizza in the face.

'It's "as the actress said to the Bishop" you tit,' Dotsy informed him.

'Oh god, it's trying to go up my nose!'

'Right lads, let's get kitted up and get in and out of that house long before five,' Silas said as Dangerous fought with the living leftovers.

'Four!' Caroline stressed. The troop excluding Alex and Jamie ducked as did Dotsy.

'Oh, false alarm, CO isn't practicing his putting on the parade ground, Caroline was just correcting me.'

'Er, why did everyone duck there?'

'Well, you know what a M11 MRLS is, right?' Pete asked.

'Yeah, Army rocket artillery system,' Alex chimed in.

'Imagine that playing golf.'

'That would make a hell of a mess of the green....'

'Yeah. Why do think most golf clubs in Midgar have banned him?'

***

Ten green bottles and two cardboard boxes, sitting on a plank propped on some crates. And if two men with assault rifles should deliberately shoot them, there'll be no green bottles if they can aim.

Sadly, the first shots fired were as well aimed as that joke.

'You may note on top of the guns there is a little notch just above the magazine? If you line that little notch up with the little post bit sticking out of the top of the barrel near the front you might hit the bloody bottles!' Boss screamed. The next shots resulted in two smashed bottles.

'Oh. Oh well. Keep that up.'

A few more bottles shattered into green splinters.

'Empty the mags into the boxes. Full auto.'

The bursts of fire mostly slammed into the wall behind the boxes, but the first four bullets tore into the cardboard. The two gunners placed their weapons on the ground.

'Set up more targets,' Boss instructed them. 'The rest of you, get ready to learn to shoot.'

Shortly, the five men were lined up, weapons in hand. Soon, the wall suffered even more bullet holes. Pug noted there were far more holes there than could possibly have been fired by the rifles. Boss did not approve of their shooting skills on the whole.

'If we have to use these weapons, we had better get a lot better at it, and get better fast. Best case we get a have a go hero running at us, worse case, it's a SWAT team,' Boss warned them after their poor showing.

***

'This is a live fire exercise. No blanks, which means, if you cock something up you're going to get injured, or worse, annoy me,' Silas said, handing loaded magazines to the troop.

'Pete is in command in there. His show. I'll be watching you lot. Don't make a complete arse of it and remember to keep things intact. No explosives, just your weapons. Oh and remember, a target is an x-ray on the radios. '

'Roger that, Henry,' Pete nodded, and addressed the troop.

'Right, it's bare just now. Half a dozen targets in there somewhere. Get in, hit them, get out. Two groups of three. On ops, we'd normally have two four-man teams but Mountain borrowed Louis Squeaky and our cuddly staff sergeant is sitting out to watch us.'

'Louis Squeaky?' Jamie queried.

'Yeah, we call him "the mouse" for short, since he's shortest man in the regiment,' Diamond clarified.

'Anyway. Diamond will take Sam and Dangerous in the back to clear the west side of the house, I'll take Alex and Jamie in the front door and clear the left side.'

'Left is west, Pete,' Dangerous said. Henry headbutted him.

'Fine, we'll clear the east,' Pete said. 'Now shut up and move your arses into position. Jamie, you're Charlie Alpha Two, Alex is Alpha Three. I'm Alpha One, obviously. Diamond's team will be Bravo one, two and three if you need to contact them.'

The whole team was kitted up in their black coveralls, gas masks, helmets and tactical gear. Their vests, apart from being covered in shotgun shells as earlier noted by the Quartermaster, mostly held pouches for dumping empty magazines in or holding grenades, but three of their loaded magazines were inserted into a right-hand pocket just over their stomachs.

Radios were rigged up to throat microphones and could be activated either by the PTT button on the radio, or a small wireless press stud mounted on the front of their primary weapon. Their submachine guns were attached to three point slings that would allow them to quickly drop the weapon and draw their pistols in the event of an emergency like a jam or exhaustion of all ammunition.

Their belts held their spare pistol magazines to the left hip, as well as also giving extra support via two straps leading down to the triple magazine pouch for their submachine guns strapped to their left leg. Other pouches to the back of the belt held multi-tools for wire cutting and lock picking, plastic wire cuffs, and even a length of rope to allow them to rappel a short distance. Combat knifes were sheathed by their right hips, and their pistol were strapped to their legs in quick-draw holsters.

The killing house was a two-floor building a little larger than an average house. Expert support staff could repair the windows and doors of the building in under six hours, or redress it to fit different scenarios. In this case, the building was "bare", with only metal targets set up in certain rooms. More complex systems could be used in the house, including a computer simulated scenario using a virtual reality system. But right now, the only electronics were cameras and sensors on the targets to register if they had been hit.

Diamond took his team around the back, and a few moments later, they radioed that they were prepared.

'Alright lads, remember that we're firing live rounds. Check your targets and don't fall over.'

The two new recruits stacked up behind the junior sergeant, submachine guns ready.

'Three... Two... One... GO!' Pete yelled into the radio, and kicked the front door open.

***

Boss was pleased that his motley crew had quickly improved their shooting skills. By the time the shooting stopped, most of the targets were down. A new set was lined up, ready to be blasted down.

'Boss?'

'Yes, Pug?'

'Er, what do we do for entertainment?'

'Cards and a radio. Remember, no one leaves. If you were planning on wandering over to the Honey Bee inn or some other whorehouse, forget it.'

'I think this is fun enough for me,' Moron noted.

'We can't fire bullets off all the time. Maybe you can use empty casings for money and gamble. But until later, we're going to shoot. As soon as I'm sure we can hit the broad side of a barn, I'll explain the plan to you.'

The other four shrugged and got on with it. Pug hesitated, before reloading his weapon and joining in.

***

Pete had raced in the doorway, and into a large room. He had yelled it was clear, and Jamie had followed him in. The sergeant gave him cover as he raced to the next doorway.

'Clear!'

Another burst of fire from elsewhere in the house was followed by a crackle on the radio.

'X-ray down, room one echo,' Diamond radioed in.

Alex was next, racing past Jamie and to the next door. He confirmed it was clear and Pete soon ran past him. A burst of fire rang out before Pete hollered that the target was down.

'X-ray down, room one Charlie!'

Jamie leapfrogged forth to the next door, which led to a stairwell. He saw a target there, and raised his weapon. The submachine gun bucked in his hands, but all three rounds were on target. The metal human-shaped sheet jiggled as the bullets passed through.

'X-ray down, stairs one Alpha landing!'

Alex was halfway up the stairs, by the time Jamie had released the button on his radio. The other new recruit was now aiming up the stairwell from the landing, as Pete ran past him.

'Charlie Alpha Two, move up with me!' Pete shouted. Jamie ran up behind him...

...And moments later almost tripped over the sergeant, who had dived onto the stairwell. Jamie dodged his comrade, realising the sergeant was simulating an injury. He did not stop, instead, he simply radioed in.

'Man down, stairs two Alpha.'

He covered Alex as the other trooper moved into the next room. He had fired three rounds into the next target before he actually realised what he had done. The delay after the gunshots stopped echoing was a little longer than the near-instant reporting from the other two troopers.

'X-ray down, room two Delta.'

Jamie presumed that Pete had taken himself out of the exercise as a test and ran to the next doorway. He heard another two bursts of fire elsewhere in the house less than a second apart.

'Two x-rays down, room two golf,' Sam reported.

'Six x-rays down, objectives clear. Mission accomplished. Clear remaining rooms and pull out,' Silas ordered. The last few rooms, as expected, were empty.

The five soldiers who were not "wounded" left the building by the front to find Silas and Pete standing there.

'Nice work, gents. Jamie especially. That little trick usually catches the newbie's with their pants down, but you nailed it. Man down, move on,' Silas grinned.

'On the subject of performance, we did well. Sam got greedy and found a room with two targets, but in real life the x-rays won't line up and give us all a kill. I believe that we all fired no more than six rounds each?' Pete asked. The rest nodded.

'Good. Shoot sharp, not pretty, and shoot fast. Sometimes we'll be asked to arrest targets, but frankly, don't go out of your way to do it unless I say otherwise. An x-ray has one mission as far as you are concerned, and that mission is to stop being a threat to you, and to hostages. In layman's terms...'

'Kill the bastards before they kill a good guy,' Diamond interrupted. Silas did not, for once, headbutt him. He had learned his lesson about headbutting someone wearing a helmet earlier.

'Now then. Shooting range. Then pub,' Pete instructed.

'Sounds good,' Jamie interjected.

'First two rounds are on the new guys. Troop tradition,' Henry pointed out.

'Not so good.'

'Could be worse. We could go to a wine bar and ask for a vintage Junon claret...'

***

Below and a few hours later, the gang of six men were trying to sleep. Pug, however, was trying to talk.

'Don't you think it's odd?'

'What?' Lofty asked.

'Boss.'

The other man pondered this.

'His moustache seems perfectly normal. A bit Nibelheiman Porn Star, but normal.'

'No! This! This setup. Think about it. The warehouse is tricky for anyone to get in or out of unnoticed, it’s already filled with rubbish like other people have been here, and then there's the fact he knows all of us, but we don't know him.'

Lofty turned to look at the other man with confusion in his face.

'Huh?'

'What if this is a setup?'

'How do you mean?' Lofty asked, interested now.

'This isn't right. I think Boss is....'

'Shut up in there!' Boss hollered from the kitchen.

Pug nearly jumped through the roof. Lofty turned away and put his head down.

'Not right at all. I can feel it,' Pug murmured to himself.


3

Many a paper target was now in a situation where, if they had been alive to start with, they would now be dead. Or cursing their creator for making them be living sheets of paper that now had holes in them.

The shooting range was a standard range, with the targets able to go up to a hundred and fifty meters from the shooter. Up to thirty could shoot at any one time, thirty cubicles that held ear protectors and kept each shooter hitting their own target. The right partition wall of each held a clip-board and sheet, which bore the signatures of the numerous men who had been in that cubicle this month. The cubicle floors were made of a steel grating that was, in theory, intended to catch the stray spent cartridges. Every night, the grates were pulled up and the tray below removed, often filled with brass casings. More than a few casings worked their way into the concrete floor of the range itself, and were rarely, if ever, cleared. Dozens of weapons lockers lined the rear of the room, each bearing the name of the weapon's owner. Most of Crimson troop's lockers were at the far end of the room, away from the door to the armoury.

'Right lads, that’s eighteen hundred hours, weapons clear and in the lockers,' Silas ordered. Within a few minutes, the troop was assembled by the door as Silas ensured the lockers were all sealed.

'So, Henry, which pub we going to?' Pete asked

'Well, happy hour's in fifty minutes over at the Wolf's Head, but they stop serving food at half seven, the footballs on, Rovers game,' came the reply.

'Well, then, lets move our arses to the cheap beer and footie I say,' Sam noted.

'Agreed. Oh, and new boys, don't hit on the barmaid, she used to be a man. Don't ask how I know that,' Silas warned.

'Brian again,' Pete whispered.

However, this agreement was temporarily put on hold as Captain Fred Barrowman approached, with a less-than-pleased looking Dotsy in tow.

'For the last time, lieutenant, it is my call, not yours. Now stop complaining or I'll put you on a charge!'

'Oh shit,' Silas commented.

'Who's he?' Alex asked

'Captain Barrowman. Biggest arse in the regiment. And you'll have to salute him.'

The troop did so.

'...When he's actually over here, you prats!'

The Captain approached. The troop saluted again.

'At ease,' he barked. A parping noise emanated from the region of Dangerous's backside.

'Not that at ease, Trooper Poyton! Anyway, to business: Trooper Dow, your mother is ill.'

The troop stared at him blankly.

'Captain, it's Trooper Manchester whose sister is ill. Trooper Dow was killed three weeks ago in that piano accident. And it isn't actually a...' Dotsy began, but was cut off.

'Quiet, Lieutenant. Manchester, you have compassionate leave.'

Jamie was about to speak before Silas did.

'Is his sister at deaths door, or does she just have the flu? Ill is a phone call, dead is a few days leave.'

'I'm not at liberty to discuss such matters, Staff Sergeant!' Barrowman barked.

'With all due respect, I'd like to know the same thing as Sergeant Silas. Sir,' Jamie said.

'She's been in a car accident. Her condition is unknown just now.'

'Fine. You'd best be off, Jamie. Hope it's not too bad,' Silas conceded. The captain walked off with Jamie, leaving Dotsy standing with his eye twitching.

'Go on ahead, lads, I'll catch up,' Silas instructed the others. Then he heard a sound hiss out from Dotsy's lips

'Ffffffffffff...'

Silas ducked as the profanity detonated with full force.

'Feel better, Sir?'

'Bloody arrogant stuck up wanker bastard shit bollocks f-ampersand asterisk exclamation mark-ing arsebandit!' Dotsy roared.

'Quite. Pub, sir?'

***

Later that night, Boss was patrolling the hideout. Flashlight in one hand, submachine gun in the other, he walked back and forth inside the warehouse itself. A noise outside caught his attention. He raced to the five sleeping men and kicked them awake.

'Get your weapons, now!' he hissed. 'Torches in the holdall as well!'

'What...' Pug asked, sleepily rubbing his leg.

'We have some visitors outside.'

Boss was out and searching first, the beam of the flashlight sweeping left and right. A sound to his right. He swung round, machine pistol raised. Nothing there. Then a scream of agony fifty meters away towards the gate. Boss ran there, following the scream. Whatever had screamed had the sense not to keep screaming, meaning that after thirty meters, he was searching for his targets.

He found them a few seconds later. The beam quickly illuminated two shapes, one in one of the barbed tape traps. The second was trying to help the other one out. Boss lowered the light and levelled his weapon. One of the shapes let out a surprised yell that was drowned burst. The shape fell, screaming. A second burst and it stopped yelling.

'Oh gods!' the trapped shape said. Boss approached, shining the beam of his flashlight into the face of the shape trapped on the wire. It was a young Wutaian boy, no older than sixteen and bleeding from a number of cuts caused by the wire. His face was spattered in the blood of his friend. The dead shape was about the same age, but Midgarian. Boss knew he had been called Cloud Callman for fifteen years of his life until he had taken that life away.

'I warned you, Johnny, if you came back here, you'd leave as worm food,' he addressed the trapped figure. He knew he was not called Johnny, but he had never bothered to catch his real name.

'Why did you kill him?!' "Johnny" wailed.

'Because when I warn you, Johnny, I warn you friends as well!' Boss growled, forcing the muzzle of the weapon into the forehead of the stricken teenager, who yelped as the still-hot flash hider burnt him.

'Look, please, I won't tell anyone... Just let me go...'

Boss replied with a squeeze of the trigger as the other five men raced up behind him.

'Get back inside, all of you. We're going to have to go early, and that means you need to know the plan now,' Boss said, wiping blood from his face with a handkerchief.

The five all reacted differently to the scene before them. Moron let out a laugh. Pug turned white and almost threw up. Badger looked at the dead bodies with no emotion. Weasel looked almost disappointed to have not been the one to kill them. Lofty looked at the scene with distaste.

'My god...' Pug murmured. Then he did throw up, causing more laugher from Moron.

'Move your arses!' Boss snarled, already halfway back to the warehouse. Badger and Weasel followed quickly. Pug and Lofty lingered, and Moron kept turning to look back, a grin on his face.

'How... How old were they? And he just gunned them down!' Pug wailed.

'Shut it and move, or he'll kill you next,' Lofty warned. Pug nodded, and the two followed on. Boss had produced a folder from somewhere, filled with photographs and papers.

'Our target is here,' he said, producing a photo of a white building, taken during a clouded day. It was either on the upper city, or outside Midgar. It was a large building, and the photo had been taken from some distance away

'Looks like a hospital.'

'It is. The University of Midgar Sector Six Medical Campus. A training hospital but also a medicines research lab. Large amounts of potentially valuable materials. And if you will all listen closely, I will tell you the plan. Ask your questions now, because when we go over it again tomorrow, there will be no time for questions. Anyone who forgets what they are doing gets a slap and had better remember quickly.'

The five men tried to look interested. Pug, however, was not truly paying attention. He did not see the photo. He did not hear Boss talking. His mind was on the two dead bodies near the gates.

***

To the almost delighted surprise of Silias and Dotsy, Jamie was back on the base the next morning by nine fifteen. They met him at the checkpoint as he was being cleared back through. The checkpoint was nothing more than a shed with an entry gate, manned by an often disinterested rent-a-cop security guard unless the base was on alert. However, anyone who planned on putting the base on alert by say, shooting the guard, would find that the real defenders were two troopers sitting on a rooftop a quarter of a mile inside the base who more often than not were trying to use the scopes on their rifles to look in people's windows in the houses that surrounded the area.

'Well, that was a waste of time,' he remarked from the saddle of his bike.

'Not major?' Silas asked.

'Fractured ankle. Some silly bitch lost control of a four-by-four and slammed into the side of her schoolbus.'

'How is she?' Dotsy asked.

'Dead.'

'From a fractured ankle?!'

'No, the driver of the other car. No seatbelt. Smashed her head off the dashboard when the airbag failed,' Jamie clarified.

'What make car?'

'Nibelheim General Motors Sports Utility 2000. Why?'

Dotsy grinned.

'Oh good. If there's a fault in the line, we can get them on the cheap if we get in before they fix them.'

'We like to blow up foreign cars on the grenade range, you see,' Silas explained. Jamie shrugged.

'Anyway, Trooper Manchester, you're back just in time for an exercise. Crimson Troop are going to play some wargames with the Midgar City Police Special Tactics and Rescue squad.'

'Oh good, STARSEHOLES.'

'I see you know some of the lingo already, Trooper,' Dotsy said in praise.

'Well, let's hope he puts his money where his mouth is. Go get your kit. We're doing some live fire later on in the day so get a full load, grenades included,' Silas instructed. Jamie nodded and left, the bike roaring off deeper into the base.

'A bloody fractured ankle! I'll bet that shit Barrowman knew the whole time,' Silas said.

'On the record, watch the language, he's our superior officer blah blah, on the record, too bloody right, Henry,' Dotsy agreed.

'It's like you're an NCO with an degree, sir.'

***

An hour before, and a hundred and fifty feet below, the six men were awake, and preparing to move.

'We are clear on the plan, I presume. What are we all doing after we do our little errand?'

'I'm waiting in the van outside,' Pug said quickly.

'Correct.'

'The rest of us are walking into the General Practice building. I'm holding the door,' Badger said.

'Me and Lofty are waiting for your signal to go in to the get the drugs. Weasel holds reception,' Moron said. He was a little too eager for an idiot, Boss thought.

'And I shall ensure that the doctors and nurses remember the patients in the GP's reception are in their care. We're in, get the drugs, and out in less than three minutes. Response times are trebled during rush hour so even if they do hit the alarms we're unlikely to encounter police for a while. Remember, anyone tries to be a hero, blast them. If they're just mouthing off, give them the back of your hand,' Boss finished. The men moved to the van, weapons tucked below their coats and balaclavas in their pockets.

'Remember, you do not take your masks off once they are on. The people will shit themselves when you put them on, and they're very likely to forget your faces in their fear. Put that fear into them if it's not there. No one will try and be a hero if it's a small child or a pretty woman,' Boss told them. That was why Pug had volunteered for the getaway driver role. But Boss did not know that.

'If he tries anything when we're inside, kill him,' Boss whispered into Badger's ear. The soon-to-be doorman nodded.

The drive up to the upper city did not take long, and nor did whatever Badger,Boss, and Moron had done in a house in Sector Seven, but the traffic was still. By the time they had reached the hospital, it was nearly half past nine. Pug drove the van up to the correct entrance, a two-storey annexe building. A clean building of glass and white masonry, which housed both their target, and the General Practice rooms.

The five men left the vehicle, weapons still tucked away. Badger and Weasel wore motorcycle helmets, carrying their rifles in a holdall each. The others took up positions as Boss spoke to the receptionist. He had to cough loudly to draw her attention away from a fashion magazine

'I have an appointment with Doctor Green,' he said. The disinterested young woman typed on a keyboard to summon up the appointment list. Boss noted that she would not make good leverage to ensure hostage compliance even if one of his men actually shot her. He would be surprised if there was not one person in the building who would not cheer the gunman on.

'He's available just now,' she droned monotonously and returned to her fashion tips and gossip.

'Thank you,' he said, and walked off to an office marked "Dr. Julius Green."

'Good morning, Mister Spencer. I believe you are here to check your prescription?'

Boss said nothing and simply passed a photograph to the doctor. His face turned as white as his lab coat. The picture showed a woman, a young girl, and a dog, held at gunpoint by two masked men.

'As you can see, I have two men with your wife and daughter. Do as I say, they live. Don't, they die and you join them.' What Boss did not say was that his wife and daughter had no one with them at all and that they were tied up in the basement of his house. Boss had however shot the dog.

'What do you want?' Doctor Green asked.

'Have security cut the alarms and stay away from here, have your secretary tell my men outside that they are to do their job, and make sure no one resists. Oh, and I'd like the keys to the controlled substances lockers.

This post has been edited by Del S on 9th March 2008 10:23

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

"Only the dead have seen the end of their quotes being misattributed to Plato."
-George Santayana

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
-Abraham Lincoln, prior to the discovery of Irony.

4

The three red Ranger four-by-four utility vehicles were caught in the gridlock that was the streets of Midgar at rush hour. The Shinra, when they had contributed over fifty percent of the money into it's construction, had requested the upper city have a minimum of three lanes in all major traffic routes. The middle lane would be reserved for emergency services and military traffic, and used to allow the flow of evacuating vehicles to leave the city very quickly in case Wutai were to launch an assault. No one had ever told the citizens that in a nuclear attack, it would have been a waste of time because the odds were the weapon would detonate above the centre of the city and drop the whole thing onto the lower city.

But that small piece of emergency planning had been subverted as the threat of a Wutaian assault faded to see the third lane opened up to the simultaneously increasing numbers of cars that hit the road between seven and ten AM. Now, the emergency services and armed forces got stuck in traffic like everyone else. Unless, of course, there was a real emergency in which case other motorists were expected to try and park on the adjacent cars to let the ambulances or fire engines past. The increasing number of four-by-fours and sports utility vehicles had not only made that theoretically possible for some drivers, but also had wasted even more space on the roads.

However, Crimson Troop were technically the Army, so they could get away with having big cars. Big cras or not, though, Silas and Dotsy had a car to themselves since the rear seats had to be collapsed to fit all the extra kit in. The other two were almost full with just ordinary weapons and kit, never mind the additional equipment required for the training exercise. All team members were wearing comms and civvies, for people tended to get excitable when they noticed carloads of SOLDIER's in full battle dress.

'When we supposed to be there?' Diamond asked from the rear seat of the rear Ranger. Dangerous sat beside him, engrossed in a book entitled "Artillery: The Gentle Art of Getting Fired". The three vehicles had managed to get stuck in Sector Six, a mere three miles from their destination.

'Ten-thirty,' Pete replied from the drivers seat.

'What time is it now?'

'Ten to ten.'

'Can we stop at a Burger World?'

'No.'

In the Ranger in front, Caroline had decided she definitely did not want children.

'Are we there yet?' said Jamie for the three hundredth time

'No,' Sam quickly replied

'Are we there yet? No.'

'Hey, Jamie, that's my line!'

'What? Are we there yet? '

'No, No!'

'That's a double negative. So we are there!' Alex said.

'If we're there, then get your arses out of this car and stop bloody annoying me!' Caroline screamed.

'Having bother with the children?' Silas enquired over the comms.

'Yes I bloody well am!'

'Well, spank their bottoms and tell them to behave or they'll never get to the Golden Saucer.'

'Can she spank my bottom please?' Dangerous chimed in.

'I'll kick you in the knackers, how about that?' Caroline retorted.

'I'll pass.'

***

Part of research into medicine at this hospital involved study of new applications for previously known drugs, including properly refined and stored quantities of illegal drugs that were almost completely pure. The street value of these drugs uncut could be trebled by simply mixing in other substances that looked about the same. Boss did not plan on doing any of that, but he would sell it on to true traffickers of such illicit vices. He didn't really care what was mixed into them along the line. It could be drain cleaner for all he cared. But the pure substances were worth enough before then to make this worth his while. And especially in the vast quantities held here.

Outside, however, Pug was nervous. His mind was racing, thinking of the risks of capture. Or worse, if he escaped. He was certain that Boss intended to kill all five of his minions and keep the money to himself. Then he saw the black uniformed shape in his wing mirror. A policeman!

He decided there and then that he would rather be caught and maybe get a bargain for turning the rest in than be dead in the slums. He slowly and carefully flicked the indicators on. He saw Badger was not watching him too closely. The policeman, however, did not seem to notice. He tried a different tactic. He quickly and gently reversed the van. That caught the attention of the officer, who began moving toward the van.

Badger however had also seen it. The rifle was out, loaded, and firing in under four seconds. The burst of four rounds shattered the side window of the van, and also tore through Pug's head. The aspiring informant was dead before he could breathe his sigh of relief at seeing the approaching officer.

'Holy shit!' the officer yelled, fumbling for his sidearm. Badger fired three more rounds off, and they struck the officer in the chest. He did not scream, but made no sound as he fell except a strangled gasp as the impact of the seven-point-seventy millimetre Wutai rounds tore his lungs and heart to shreds.

Inside, Boss had heard the shots, and quickly filled the holdall he carried with bags of white powder. He hollered to Moron and Lofty to fill their own and get to the van as he raced to the door. In reception, Weasel had his own rifle out and was screaming at the hostages to pile into Doctor Green's office. Boss ignored that and kept going, only to see Badger taking aim once more. A police car was racing towards the annexe. Boss quickly took up a position beside Badger and emptied all fifteen rounds of his weapon into the driver's side window. It turned red and white, from blood and the fractures in the glass. Badger's burst of two into the other side of the car had similar results.

'What the hell happened?' Boss screamed, looking at the dead Pug, half his head missing, and the policeman lying in a pool of his own blood, eyes wide open and blood dripping from his mouth. Boss opened the van door and took Pug's pistol while Badger responded.

'Little shit tried to warn that cop,' Badger grunted as more sirens began filling the air. 'Where'd these bloody rozzers come from?'

Boss had moved over to the dead policeman, grabbing his radio and pistol, which was identical to Pug's except for being in better condition and having spare magazines. The radio chattered away, mostly various units responding to the incident just caused by Badger and Boss. Badger threw his helmet away and fumbled in his pockets for his balaclava.

'...Sierra Three Oscar, returning from incident at Byres Lane, we can be there in three...'

'They were on the way back from another incident. Get inside. There's no way we're going to be able to drive through Midgar with a blood stained and bullet riddle van even if we didn't have half the sodding police force raining down on us,' Boss informed Badger, as they both pulled their masks on.

They ran into the other three, already masked as they were trying to leave.

'Back inside! Get hostages !' he ordered. A few seconds later, people who had thought they had seen the last of the armed men soon realised their ordeal was just beginning.

***

In the front Ranger, Silas sat in the driver's seat, staring at the back end of a bus. Dotsy was reading a newspaper. Suddenly, the car phone rang. The lieutenant answered.

'Dotsy. Yes sir... When?'

Silas listened in. He could only hear one side of the conversation however.

'We can be there in five minutes... Er, I said we can be there in five minutes but it'll be closer to ten unless we run some things over... Oh, okay, sir.'

He hung up and turned to Silas.

'That was the CO. An incident at a hospital a short distance from here. Three plod dead, one possible suspect down, unknown number of gunmen holding a GP annexe hostage. No info on weapons either.'

'Terrorists?'

'Not sure, Henry. Might just be junkies after the prescription drugs, but they want us on site ASAP since it'll take STAR forty five minutes to get there and the top brass are worried the gunmen might start getting violent again long before that.'

'Well, this sounds like the exercise might be postponed. Hopefully we can be back at the base in time to do something useful with the day,' Silas grouched.

By the time they had arrived, the black and white squad cars of the Midgar Police. The beat officers were scrambling around the area, dressed in the black uniforms worn in the upper city rather than the garish red overcoats for duty in the colder lower city. Most had pistols drawn, and there were still crowds of civilians being evacuated from the hospital itself. Two helicopters buzzed in the sky overhead, one a Midgar Dynamic Aerospace H135 marked Police, and one a slightly smaller, blue and white Shinra B1A helicopter coming in to land in a car park. Silas could clearly three occupants sitting in the back of the helicopter about to jump out, wearing blue suits.

'What the hell are they doing here?' Silas enquired, mostly to the air.

'Who?' Dotsy asked

'Shinra Internal Affairs Unit. Bloody Turks,' came the contemptuous response.

'Oh, yeah. Bollocks. Men in blue showing up is never a good sign.'

The three blue suits approached as the AS pulled up to a parking spot hidden from view from the annexe. The five troopers were out and getting kitted up before the three Shinra agents were even near.

'Lieutenant Dotser, glad to see the Airborne Service is quick off the mark. Hopefully you won't be needed,' the lead Turk said. The long black-haired man and the blond-haired man flanked him in what appeared to be a laughable attempt at a power walk, made all the more ridiculous by the fact the lead man was a good foot shorter than the other two men. Dotsy ignored the mistaken name.

'I am Deputy Director of Counter-Contraband and Illegal Immigration Barland Webber. This is Unit Commander Tseng of Counter-Terrorism, and Unit Officer Simons of Counter Extortion,' Webber introduced himself and his cronies.

'Well, this is Staff Sergeant Henry Silas and Crimson Troop. Hopefully we've had a wasted detour and this ends without any more bloodshed.'

Simons and Tseng shook hands with Silias. The latter was the only one of the three who seemed pleased at the Airborne Service being there.

'Silas. Heard a lot about you. Glad to put a name to the face. I understand you saved the raids on the Cosmo Canyon terrorist camps?'

'I played my part that day, sir. We all did,' Silas said simply. He didn't want to go into that mission, especially considering that it had seen a large number of regular SOLDIER troops killed as well as dozens of AS troopers. It had also forced the commander of his old unit to take a rookie and only one other 1[SUP]st[/SUP] class SOLDIER on a mission later on that had turned into another bloodbath. An entire village burned to the ground and the squad wiped out.

'To business. I'd like your team prepared for an ad-hoc assault as soon as. I'm just waiting on the Public Safety Maintenance Military Police to arrive and your troop can return to your base,' Webber quickly said.

'PSM MP's? Sir, with respect, if you have to go in there, your lads will only cause the casualties to rise,' Silas pointed out

'They're trained to the same exacting standards as your men, Sergeant,' Simons pointed out.

'I sincerely doubt that, Agent Simons. I presume you're supposed to be the negotiator?'

'Yes, that is correct. Your point?'

'How many times have you seen the PSM MP's in action? Real action, I mean, not exercises.'

'Never. Because I do my job properly.'

'I hope for the sake of the people in there and for the MP's, you get it right this time,' Dotsy said.

'Pardon, Lieutenant?' Webber said with a face like thunder.

'Staff Sergeant Silas is blunt, but often correct. I would agree with him for now. We don't know numbers, hostages or x-rays. We don't know weapons. We don't even know what kind of entry we can take into the building.'

Webber seemed ready to roar a reply when his cellular phone rang.

'Webber... Are you sure, sir? I don't think... Yes sir....'

The crestfallen Deputy Director of Counter-Contraband and Illegal Immigration hung up.

'That was Deputy National Director Amador. PSM MP are coming in a support role to the Airborne Service. Direct from the President.'

"From the President" meant only one thing from a Turk. President Shinra. It certainly didn't mean the President of the country of Midgar, supposedly elected by the nation and it's three hundred million inhabitants to be their leader, but of course, the true power in any nation was the Shinra.

The trouble was, why would he have taken notice of this matter so quickly? Whatever the answer, the three Turks left, leaving Silas and Dotsy to get their own kit ready.

'Trooper Dempsey, you're carrying three submachine guns. You only have two arms to start with, and one of them is just a training laser marker,' Dotsy informed Diamond.

'Oh, sorry sir.'

***

A phone rang at the reception desk. Moron and Lofty stood at the doors of two offices. Twenty terrified hostages were inside, the two gunmen watching over them. Boss and his two riflemen sat by reception, letting the phone ring. Finally, Boss answered it.

'This is Boss. Who am I speaking to?'

'Hello Boss. This is Peter Simons. I've been asked to see what sort of requests you may have so that this situation can be ended to the benefit of both parties.'

'You could all bugger off.'

'I'm, ah, afraid that isn't possible. Any more reasonable requests?'

'It seemed perfectly reasonable to me that if you left, we could leave, and no one else would have to die,' Boss said bluntly. 'But tell you what. A helicopter to take me and my group out of this place.'

'How many people need to fit in this helicopter?' Simons tried.

'Twelve. We're taking some insurance with us.'

'I'll pass it on to my superiors for consideration. I'd like to make a request of my own. We will attempt to deliver a throw phone to you, so you can be reached wherever you may be in the building.'

'Fine. I know these things take their time, but you have until two PM to get me that helicopter or someone dies. That's nearly four hours. That should be plenty of time to think it over,' Boss warned, and hung up. A few moments later, a policeman neared the door, and left a small phone behind. Boss cautiously moved to pick it up, keeping his mask on.


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

"Only the dead have seen the end of their quotes being misattributed to Plato."
-George Santayana

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
-Abraham Lincoln, prior to the discovery of Irony.