Alright people... Here it is from the begining, it'll be added in segments so it won't be so long to read all at once. Let me know what you think.

*Disclaimer, All original Characters, weapons, accessories and vehicle/AI as well as the plot are the sole property of my myself. Any want or desire to make a continuation of this story, or use any of the characters must ask for consent before proceeding(just out of courtesy... I'm not a hard @$$)*Added after 2 minutes:

The year is 2382 and the world as it was once known is no more. War, greed, and corruption have corroded the once serene and peaceful surface of the world, if such a world ever truly existed. The valiant attempts of mankind to prevent a third world war, failed miserably centuries ago by the distrust the world held for their brother nations.
That, however, is a story in itself.

The year was 2102 and the once great United Nations held a prominent gathering of all the world leaders in the hopes of finally obtaining world peace. The representatives of all nations had gathered together under one roof, under one flag; willing to set aside their differences and attempt to come to peaceful resolutions to the scores of issues that commonly instigated their wars. Then tragedy occurred...

An unknown sect of terrorists invaded the UN building, killing the guards and taking all parties hostage. Their ransom demands included an undefined sum of money and the release of captured soldiers from a region that was never specified. Negotiators were brought in and soldiers from all nations of the world were called to deal with the volatile situation, but due to disputes over who had proper authority to enter the property and rescue the hostages, no one dared to venture past the gates. It is bitterly ironic that the purpose of the nations gathering was the same instigator that led to the downfall of the free world.

At last a truce was called and the soldiers mobilized to deal with their one common enemy. However such a plan had been previously anticipated. Upon reaching the entrance of UN headquarters, the terrorists ignited several homemade bombs filled with an unknown chemical compound that successfully demolished the building, all the hostages, soldiers, bystanders and anything else within a ten block radius. The compound was later named “Aries” after the Greek God of war. Although the exact formula was never duplicated, it was referred to as the "non-radioactive nuclear bomb ". This only became the beginning of the nightmare that has yet to end.

that is a nice openning, it really sets the mood!
I'll keep a close eye on this one

Expecting the worst, Collaradi quickly set out to prepare battle plans that could best cripple the enemy's power. As the plans were being finalized, reports came in that some unknown group of insurgents or rebellions had simultaneously destroyed several ammunition caches, vehicle hangers and supply caravans behind enemy lines. These reports were shortly followed by reports that several maximum-security holding cells were assaulted and the convicts freed while three key political figures were assassinated. The party responsible left a calling card at each scene. Written in the blood of the genetics killed at each location, was the single word: Shockwave. The reports of the sabotage, prison breaks and assassinations increased drastically for two months before stopping altogether. At this point, the human army had suffered great casualties and withdrew from battle fearing swift execution by the expected genetic onslaught. Unknown to them however, was that the genetics were also suffering great losses. The loss of ammunition, food rations, transportation, medical supplies, and the assassination of people capable of administering medical treatment, forced the genetic army to withdraw to their nearest military headquarters.

While trying to salvage any aid available, and in the attempt to draw battle plans to crush the human race into submission, the city wide military base came under attack. Using vehicles and prototype weapons confiscated from the destroyed hangers and caches, the Shockwave army, led by Marissa Votch, relentlessly assaulted the greatest force of the genetic army, subsequently defeating the army and winning the war.

Now that the bloodshed has ended, and the world has been able to rise from the darkness that was the genetic war. An irreversible law was passed worldwide that allowed the remaining genetics and humans to co-exist together worldwide. However, without a collective group of world leaders to delegate their nation's needs and requests, the world found itself under a constant threat of war. What remained of North America and parts of Europe bonded together to created the United Alliance, a new superpower that hoped it would act as a beacon to the free world. Marcus Collaradi, feeling a sense of dread at the prospect of another world war, created five units to perform specific tasks in the event that such a crisis should arise.

Added after 8 minutes:

Lode Runner:

Description;
An elite group of mercenaries who partakes in freelance jobs around the world for countries that is most in need of military assistance and protection. Using the British definition of “Lode” meaning “waterway or channel,” they are a fierce, efficient unit who prefer to infiltrate areas via sewers, beaches or any other area where a water is accessible.
Original leader;
Marcus Collaradi.
Current leader;
N/A (No contact established: Unit presumed missing)


Vengeance:

Description:
An elite team of originally eighty head hunters; this unit was responsible for the apprehension of key political figures wanted for acts of war. Said prisoners are believed to have never been heard from again.
Original leader;
William O'Hara
Current leader;
N/A (No contact established; Unit presumed missing)


Ravage:

Description;
A specialized team of scientists and engineers, this unit was responsible for the research and development of robotics, cloning, weapons and technology. The approved products developed in these fields are then shipped robotically to a facility known only as base Delta twelve located in zone fifty-eight of the universal grid. No living person has ever seen or confirmed the existence of this base.
Original leader:
Emily Bunte
Current leader;
N/A (No contact established: Unit presumed missing)


Fury;

Description;
A specialist in covert operations and assassinations, this unit is the proclaimed "Dark Side" of all the units. It is greatly advantageous based on the need for stealth and information, however, it is greatly believed the unit is unstable, and a great risk of turning rogue. All aforementioned units are to keep a vigilant watch over the members involved.
Original leader;
Hughes Anthony
Current leader:
N/A (No contact established: Unit presumed missing)


Shockwave:

Description;
Consisting of vagrants, convicts, murderers, rapists and all other forms of low life; this unit abducts the degenerates of the world for recruitment into the ranks. Unknown to the other units, it exists solely as a last resort unit and as such, has the authority to enact the traits of the other mentioned units. This unit was created by the authority of Wesley "Reckless" Savoy, the second in command for Lode Runner.
Original leader:
Marissa Votch
Current leader:
Michael "Nighthawk" Matthews

For the last one hundred fifty years, the world has been able to rebuild to its once former glory. At last peace has found its way back into the world, but I am left to wonder how long it is to last. The units of Lode Runner, Vengeance, Fury and Ravage ceased all communication over the last set of months with no way of re-establishing contact. The outer alliance boundaries are getting restless and hostile, while the United Alliance balances on a delicate thin line. The loss of contact with the four parent units have left me unnerved, and the soldiers are starting to believe that a new war is already falling upon us. We are all that stands in the way, but even I have my doubts of success. Darkness is to fall upon us again, but now we are ready to fight it.

We are the night, creeping through the shadows. We are the living entombed in the halls of the dead. We are the merciful, for death is mercy. We are the dead, walking among the living. We are the hope that all has abandoned, and we return with the fury of a thousand vengeful angles. I am Nighthawk, blue, and only of that color, the leader of Shockwave.

We are the army that doesn't exist, and these are the stories that never happened...

*END OF SECTION*

Added after 4 minutes:



Thanks for the support. I'll try and keep it interesting as it gets into the actual story line. Expect blood, guts, and LOTS of incompetence!!!!

Remember, I'm always looking for feedback. If you like, LET ME KNOW!!! It helps motivate me to continue people!!!!!!!!!!

_________________
You and you: Panic. Everyone else, Follow me.

It is a very cruel world you've painted, makes me sympasize with those who live there.
It's a very indepth look, keep it up!

Frantically, she ran down the dark, twisting, alley. Her long, raven black hair waving recklessly behind her as she desperately dodged the obstacles that littered her path, as she overcame the treacherous twists and turns in the unending mazes. Although it was only a few short minutes ago, it seemed like eternity since she was having dinner with her family and friends to celebrate her husbands' promotion, in the field of sensory enhancement studies. After dinner they had left the restaurant and a group of people opened fire on the street. Killing all her friends, her family, her husband, and several unfortunate bystanders who had just exited from the nearby exotic bars and taverns. As she ran she both cursed and thanked God for the fact that at least her daughter was not there, because she had to work a late shift at her job.

She made another turn in the alley, hopelessly lost, before she came to a staggering halt. The powerful stench of decay caught her senses and brought the taste of bile to her throat. Before she could begin to fathom the source of the smell, the opening in front of her was illuminated by several bright lights, lighting up the secrets they held, and finalized her sense of nausea. She fell to her knees and vomited on the blood stained asphalt. In front of her lay what could only be considered a garden of bodies. Cadavers placed with a morbid sense of loving care along the clearing, placed in neat rows, supported by poles like human scarecrows, while some were placed in the same loving fashion along the walls supported by the wrists with either ropes or chains.

"It looks like we have a guest." A voice spoke from somewhere among the bodies. She turned in the direction of the voice as a man appeared from behind one of the rows. The man could have easily been mistaken for a corpse himself, with purplish patches littering his features. At first thought, she believed him to be an animated corpse, or a victim of some rare and unknown disease, but as she regained a minor amount of her senses it was apparent that they were in fact scars from burns, that were never medically treated. He wore an almost medieval ensemble, consisting of a leather jerkin, trousers and knee high boots that had to be buckled along the sides. He even had a broadsword strapped to his side and a pistol strapped to his thigh below it. In his thick, muscled arms, he carried several poles and rope.

"These are for the others," he commented in a dry voice, laying the items on the ground, "the ones we didn't miss that is." Off to the side, in her peripheral vision, she caught a movement, something falling from the far roof, and into the clearing. It landed without a sound, and after a tense moment, nothing stirred from that corner again. Most likely it was a rag, or some fabric of clothing that had escaped its' holding along the walls.

"W-who are you?" She stammered, wanting to run back down the alley, away from this never-ending nightmare. However fear paralyzed her and she remained frozen where she stood.

"Who am I?" The man echoed, slowly approaching her with his arms spread out in a gesture of peace. "People call me Brimstone. Survived a fire, that's how I got my name you know." He then chuckled morbidly to himself. "No. Of course you didn't know that. We just got acquainted." He was now standing only a couple of feet away from her, too far for any defensive attack, but close enough for the stench of stale liquor to cause her to cringe in disgust.

"Say." He continued, his voice rising to sound more like an excited teenager over twenty years his junior. "You're kind of hot. Wanna be my girl? I know it's sudden and all, but you know how it is. The others can be so greedy. You'd think marriage gave a person ownership or something." The comment threw her back so suddenly that she almost fell to the ground in shock.

She was able to properly phrase her reply in a slow blurb of words. "Go ... to ... hell." She whispered. Brimstone was momentarily taken back by her refusal, but regained his composure with a satanic laugh. "Go to hell? I like that. Remember my name? Brimstone? It won't be that bad. I can give you things. Money, power, you name it. Besides, it's not like you're married now. And that worthless ex-husband was a dead lay anyways, last I heard." He chuckled slightly at his own joke and went into a slight coughing fit before focusing on the woman again. "Come on. What do you say?"

"I say you're a deranged sociopath." A voice called somewhere in the clearing, echoing off the walls and masking the location of the new party involved. Brimstone, shocked by the intrusion, grabbed the woman, and brought his pistol to her head in one swift motion, slowly dragging her to the center of the clearing. "Who's out there?" He demanded.

"I am." The voice replied calmly. "Let the woman go and surrender so you can face the judgment awaiting you, or continue your present course of action and face the penalty."

Nice... I like a lot. I'll add you to my sig.

One thing that really bugs me, though, is in the beginning, you said that the war and Black Sun changed population of Earth from 9 billion to 3 billion. I think the population of Earth would be a bit higher. 10 - 12 billion would be my guess for 2012...

Keep it up!

_________________
Final Fantasy Forever!!!
Scarlet Spider: You know, before I joined, I thought Cybella was the most intelligent person on the board.
Narutodesu: Are you man enough to watch Clannad?!
Kathleen: if guys were made of chocolate i would be straight.
Scarlet Spider: I grew up watching porn.
Stricken: Everyone wants my cock.
Xagan: Do-it-yourself sodomy kits are not good ideas. Don't let your friends talk you into it.

Thank you for your comment. Very astute observation. However, please keep in mind that it is possible that the population could again boom to reach such a staggering populace, but by doing so, there would still be many wars and battles.

On top of all this, famine, massive droughts, diseases prior to the war, global warming, plagues and natural disasters are also expected. These could easily keep the human populace at a level the earth could more or less "sustain", but it is hightly unlikely that we will ever see the human race exceed 12.5 billion while still on this planet.

Nature will find a way of balancing out.

_________________
You and you: Panic. Everyone else, Follow me.

*CONTINUATION*

"I'm not letting her go until you show yourself." Brimstone retorted. "Now who the fuck are you?"

"I am me." The voice replied

"And who's that?"

"Who I am."

"No shit! And that is?" The question was greeted by silence. Brimstone kept his firearm at the ready in front of him, slowly pinpointing the origin of the intruder. "Fortunately," the voice finally commented in an irritable undertone, "not you. This is your second and last warning. Release the woman and surrender, or face the penalty." A slight glint in the shadows caught Brimstone's attention and he violently shifted the woman to face in that direction, planning to use her as a human shield. "Well guess what? In order to kill me, you have to kill her as well. Now show yourself!"

The silence although only a few seconds long, seemed to last an eternity. "Why is it," the voice commented, calmer then when it first had spoken, "you dumb fucks always go off to assume that we're in front of you?" Although she couldn't see Brimstone's reaction to the subtle threat, she felt his body go rigid at the last few words. He then tossed her aside causing her to stagger before she violently twisted her ankle on something covered by a small mountain of rags, causing her to collapse on the ground in a flash of pain. She then watched helplessly as Brimstone fell into a gunner's crouch and fired three shots into the shadows. Originally, she thought it was the echo reverberating off the walls that made it sound like five shots had gone off, until she saw brimstone drop his pistol, and after a few seconds, followed his weapon to the ground.

Added after 8 hours 42 minutes:

She turned back to where she and her captor had originally faced to see a man step out of the darkness. He looked ridiculously like a cross between a modern-day knight and a ninja from some Holo-Vid she watched with her daughter. His entire ensemble consisted of a pure blue cloak, vest, shirt, pants and gloves. The only difference in colors lay in his silver gauntlets, black half-knee combat boots with silver plating along the shins and a gold headband with the letters "S" and "W" intertwined in a black circle. The lower half of his face was covered with silver mask that seemed to be holding a visor over his eyes. The visor gave off a faint, almost undetectable green glow before fading to a matte black color. Attached to his belt was a sword of some unknown design and under that was a large pistol resting comfortably in a metallic holster. Despite the short gunfight, the gun appeared to have not been used, and she wondered slightly as to what, or who had killed Brimstone.

The man dressed in blue walked slowly toward the body and nudged it with his foot, before kicking the firearm into the shadows. "A good guess though," he commented, "you didn't need to sketch out like that." He then made his way toward the woman, walking in slow, cautious steps. Unsure of this new person and believing him to be a threat despite apparently saving her, she tried scramble away, but the pain in her ankle hindered her attempt. Before he reached her however, he stopped where she had fallen and knelt down and remove the rags, revealing a metallic cylinder. He then stood upright and brought the gauntlet on his left arm to his mask. "Package acquired. The woman fell over it, revealing its location. Repeat: Package acquired, fall back to designated extractions points."

"Team Green reporting." A voice replied from the gauntlet. "That is a negative. Hostiles are making their way to your location. Accessible paths to extraction points are denied. We have to revise our tactics sir." The man brooded silently for a minute considering his options. He then raised his gauntlet back to his mask. "Affirmative Green. Execute plan Alpha-Delta-3. New extraction point is to be grid fifty eight. You and Orange command are to meet me there. Leave your men where they are to cover possible escape routes." A second voice called over the gauntlet immediately after the commands were given. "Orange command reporting. Green command has left the area and is preparing grid fifty eight for your arrival. Pattern Zulu is being laid out and will be ready when you get there."

"Ramrod reporting." Piped an unusually high pitched voice over the gauntlet. "Permission to assist." Again the man stood silently, considering his options. "Permission granted." He replied anxiously. Apparently either not liking all the delays, or the help being offered. "Roger that," the voice came again, "will assist Orange command in reaching new extraction point. Estimated time of arrival: three minutes." The man nodded silently, and then made his way to the woman, stopping at a respectful distance.

"My name is Nighthawk, and I am here to help you."

"My name is..." she began, but was abruptly cut off. “Dr. Melissa Edward Anthony-Galantine. Daughter of George Michael Anthony and Samantha Dorsey-Anthony. Mother of Elizabeth Camille Galantine and until tonight, husband to Dr. Christopher Cameron Galantine. Place of residence is 2835 Woodsfield Way in New San Diego. You work for Anderson Corporation specializing in the field of Human psychology, and serve as an analyst for people testing experimental drugs for the enhancement of Holo-Vid realism through vapors emitted via aerosol methods. Studies, tests and funding are sanctioned and provided by the United Alliance as well as the Outer Alliance, solidifying a truce-through-trade agreement, and by the all venues of the entertainment sectors worldwide."

"How did you know all that?" Melissa asked, shocked that so much classified information was known to this man.

"It's my job to know." Nighthawk replied matter-of-factly as he helped her to her feet. "How's your ankle?" She looked down at her feet and winced slightly at the pain, then nodded.

"It hurts, but I can still walk."

"Can you run?" He asked, lifting his hand to reveal two small grenades. She nodded in reply. "Then run," he ordered. She didn't hesitate, breaking into a half-run. She started limping toward the way she came from when a gloved hand caught her shoulder and spun her around. "That way," he said as he motioned toward another alley with his head. He then removed the pin from one of the grenades and tossed it down the alley she came from.

The grenade exploded in a ball of flame and was followed by several voices either screaming or shouting curses. Nighthawk entered the other alley and stopped at the entrance. He lifted the gauntlet on his left hand and opened a compartment on the top and bottom of the metallic device. He removed a small amount of an unusual pink paste from the top and placed it on the grenade which he then placed on the wall. The grenade remained where it was as he removed a wire from the bottom of his gauntlet.

He closed the compartment, cutting the wire, and removed some more paste from the top before closing that compartment as well. He then quickly tied one end of the wire around the pin and applied the paste to the other end. Making a quick leap, he stuck the wire to the other side of the alley, as bullets peppered the wall beside his hand. "Run!" he ordered above the sound of gunfire.

The grenade exploded in a ball of flame and was followed by several voices either screaming or shouting curses. Nighthawk entered the other alley and stopped at the entrance. He lifted the gauntlet on his left hand and opened a compartment on the top and bottom of the metallic device. He removed a small amount of an unusual pink paste from the top and placed it on the grenade which he then placed on the wall. The grenade remained where it was as he removed a wire from the bottom of his gauntlet. He closed the compartment, cutting the wire, and removed some more paste from the top before closing that compartment as well. He then quickly tied one end of the wire around the pin and applied the paste to the other end. Making a quick leap, he stuck the wire to the other side of the alley, as bullets peppered the wall beside his hand. "Run!" he ordered above the sound of gunfire.

Together they ran a short distance and made a couple of turns before coming into a new clearing, this one had no exit. "We're trapped!" Melissa cried out, feeling a sudden wave of despair come over her. Suddenly, another explosion resounded down the alley, followed by more cursing and screaming.

"I know," Nighthawk replied calmly, "please go over to the far wall. That distraction will only slow them down for a moment." Unsure of his plan, and seeing no other option, she reluctantly obeyed. Once she reached the wall, she turned around to see Nighthawk staring at green "X" made of chalk drawn on the ground. After studying the letter, he advanced halfway through the clearing and searched his pouches before removing a stick of blue chalk and drew another "X" on the ground. He advanced again until he was almost three quarters through the clearing and placed a small black cube on the ground.

Once this was done, he opened a compartment on his right gauntlet, revealing what appeared to be a computer console and advanced toward the woman. "No matter what happens, you are to stay behind me. Is that understood?" Melissa nodded in reply. Giving a slight nod himself, he turned to face the opening with his arms outstretched, again in a symbol of peace. The visor that had once covered his eyes were now gone, and Melissa was able to make out his hazel eyes, but also noted that there was a scar that started above his left temple and cut across his eye, disappearing into his mask.

A mob of people started to enter the clearing four abreast. As they entered, they spread out in opposite directions, until a quarter of the large clearing was crowded with people. All the people were armed, some with swords, some with pipes and knives, but the greater majority held machine guns of various makes and models. Those armed with firearms readied themselves in a firing squad formation, the first row lay on their stomachs, the second knelt behind them, and the third row stood, creating a virtually impregnable wall of guns. Those armed with pipes or blades stood between the gunners mostly for protection, but were ready to advance, burying their target in sheer numbers.

"I count almost a hundred of them." Nighthawk whispered. "Not including the ones my teams eliminated or apprehended. There are still about twenty seven missing. Probably all killed or injured by the grenades, but most likely guarding the alley or acting as snipers on the roofs."

"You can't seriously hope to stop them all." Melissa whispered back, a tinge of hysteria in her voice. Nighthawk merely shrugged his shoulders in reply.

"Nope." He said plainly then turned his attention back to the mob of people. "You, the gang named 'Deaths Garden.' You are in violation of Curfew, accused on charges of three hundred seventy two counts of manslaughter, seventeen being tonight. You are accused on charges of two hundred and seven counts of attempted manslaughter, twelve being tonight. You are accused on charges of four hundred thirty two counts of kidnapping, forty three related to key political figures, one being tonight."

"We weren't going kidnap her!" A voice called out from somewhere in the mob. Nighthawk started suddenly at the outburst, probably surprised that only one charge was being argued against. "I see." Nighthawk replied. "What were your intentions?"

"We're going to hold on to her until she got picked up by the person who's paying us." There was a brief pause. "What? It's not like he'll live long enough to tell anyone." Nighthawk let out a deep sigh. "Fine. You're holding on to her for someone. Do you have her permission?" There was a slight pause. "No." The voice replied.

"So then you're doing this against her will?"

"I guess so."

"That's kidnapping." After a brief pause the voice piped up again. "Oh... Sorry about that." Nighthawk shook his head slowly, and then continued. "You are accused of seven hundred seventy three counts of extortion, four hundred and thirty eight being political..."

"But you just said four hundred counts kidnapping and forty were political." The voice piped up again, followed by several deep groans and a few voices telling the speaker to keep quiet in several variations. Nighthawk was forced to groan himself as he faced the crowd. "Four hundred thirty two kidnappings and forty three ... Forget it! Who keeps interrupting?"

Several people in the mob pointed to a rather large, almost abnormally muscled man wielding a rather large pipe. He looked and dressed similar to the late Brimstone though without the scars, and carried a broad sword strapped to his back. "Alright. First, may I ask as to what the extent of your education is?" After receiving a blank look in return, Nighthawk groaned and decided to reiterate. "Highest grade completed." The man suddenly lit up like a candle. "Five." He replied proudly, his face beaming with pride. "And how old are you?" Nighthawk asked.

"Forty two." The man replied, his posture not dissipating in the slightest. "Alright," Michael nodded, "let me explain. Extortion is a method used to get money from people. This can be done in ransom from kidnapping. However, blackmail is also used, threatening to use secrets against a person unless they pay a considerable sum of money for the blackmailer's silence. This is also what you're being charged for. Now.... Since I have educated you on this matter, and since you have openly admitted that not only are you probably the oldest here, but also the dumbest and least educated person in the entire United Alliance, may I continue?"

The man's face suddenly became deep red at this comment, and he changed his posture from that of a man of pride to a whipped puppy now staring at his shoes. This was also helped by the several members of the gang who started chuckling at his expense. "Thank you." Nighthawk commented sourly, he then resumed in his calm tone. "Now, where was I?"

"Extortion!" A female voice called out. They were toying with him, Melissa realized. Letting him speak out the charges before they did whatever they were going to do to them. The most frightening part of it all was that despite coming to this same conclusion himself, Nighthawk didn't seem to care. He was stalling for something.

"Thank you." Nighthawk commented, nodding to the sound of the voice. "You are accused on eighty one charges in the killing of police officers, and before Einstein over there cuts me off again, the governments decreed last month that the killing of a police officer is no longer considered and act of manslaughter, but a charge of its own. Finally, as of this moment, you are accused on the count of terrorism. You have been found in possession of forbidden chemical compound labeled ANTARI-Z-42, used specifically for the purpose of deep space mining. In your possession was enough to level a small city. These are the charges against you. Surrender now or face the penalty."

Several of the gang members stared dumbfounded at each other before the female voice from earlier piped up again. "What are you? Some kind of cop?" Nighthawk chuckled in response before replying. "No. I'm not remotely as merciful. This is your second warning, surrender now or face the penalty." At this, several gang members chuckled in reply as all the members who were not carrying firearms made their way toward the pair.

Nighthawk let out a sigh and dropped his hands. "So be it," he muttered. "Just don't step over the blue 'X' in front of you." At this, those making their advance broke into a foil run, stepping over the chalk marking only to have a large garbage dumpster come crashing behind them, missing the farthest one by mere inches. The entire advancing party stopped and turned to the noise with the exception of the one person the dumpster missed, who stood almost as a statue, relieving his inner contents into his pants before fainting.

"Shit!" Nighthawk hissed, pressing the flashing red button on his gauntlet. Immediately, the black cube on the ground launched a pale blue beam into the air, stopping almost at level with the roofs of the buildings, before spreading out lengthwise until it reached the walls in either direction slicing people in halves, or dismembering limbs as it created a pale wall between them and the guns.

The people on the other side immediately opened fire, but stopped as the bullets were refracted off the wall, killing or wounding their own. Several people ran towards the wall and started bashing it with the butts of their weapons, trying to get through, but they were suddenly distracted by a scream as the sniper they had positioned on the roof fell eight stories to the unforgiving ground. Shortly after, the sound of metal and concrete grinding caught everyone's attention as a wall farther down the alley exploded outward in a cloud of smoke, revealing three bright fog lights in a triangular formation.

The object approached rapidly as it made its way through the alley and into the clearing, running over the lookouts and stopping on top of several gang members who tried to scramble out of the way. Melissa remembered seeing something similar to this vehicle once in a data pad file when she was younger, but it was different. It was shaped like a stealth bomber dating back to the end of the twentieth century, but instead of wings, it had eight tank-caliber wheels, and where the wings were originally supposed to be boasted many different types of weapons, in the cloud of dust it looked like death's carriage, ready to take them all into the pit of hell.

"It's about time you got here!" Nighthawk yelled over the commotion. Instead of replying, the fog lights turned off, and a deep threatening voice called out. "Powering down, electrodes active. Cease and desist. Surrender now or face the penalty."

"I already went through all that!" Nighthawk called again. "I also had enough time to mention all the charges against them. What the hell took you so long?" Again his comments fell on deaf ears as two members of Deaths Garden leapt on top of the tank and started bashing the canopy. Suddenly, blue lightning streaked across the body of the vehicle and into the two men, electrocuting them before launching them into the air. Their bodies remained suspended slightly as all the weapons on the tank opened fire, tearing into the two bodies and tearing them apart before two small projectiles launched from a side mounted gun. Smoke trailed behind the objects as they launched at the corpses, missing the remains and exploding in the far wall.

The remaining Deaths Garden members opened fire on the tank, only to have their bullets ricochet off the hull and into more of their people. Three members had enough sense to flee toward the opening but were stopped suddenly. The one closest to the hole jerked his head back as his feet flew out in front of him. He struggled on the ground for a second before his throat was mysteriously cut open.

The second person had managed to get past the first before something caught her by the hair and pulled. She struggled on her feet before her head twisted violently to the side, breaking her neck. The third person, seeing the fate of the first two, raised his gun and released a volley of bullets. When his clip was emptied, he quickly reloaded and fired again.

Satisfied that the attacker was dead, he reloaded and advanced to the hole. He didn't get more than three steps before he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. He looked down to see the hilt of a throwing dagger protruding from his chest before his body fell lifelessly to the ground.

The ones armed without guns gave up their attempts to beat the blue wall into submission, and focused their attention back to the pair. There were twenty of them still able to fight and he was only one man. They resumed their march of death. On the other side of the wall people finally realized the opening made for them by the stray pair of missiles, and began flooding toward it. Nighthawk removed his holstered firearm and let off three shots, successfully taking down three gang members who had gotten too close for his liking, and also succeeded in slowing down the other seventeen members. "Ramrod!" Nighthawk called out to the tank, hoping this time someone would hear.

"Why aren't you stopping them?" He then fired another shot and took out another gang member, a fifth one required three shots before she fell, and Melissa began to worry that there may not be enough ammo to stop them all. To her surprise, and to that of the fleeing gang members, the tank responded in a voice much higher than before. Melissa recognized the high pitched voice from the orders Nighthawk was giving out before.
"I'm out of ammo." The tank replied almost sheepishly. Nighthawk let out two more shots taking out another Deaths Garden member for good measure.

"Is that all you're good for?" Nighthawk bellowed. "Find a way!" The tank suddenly lurched forward and started to plough through the fleeing gang members. Those who weren't buried under the sheer weight of the vehicle were sliced in two by razor sharp extensions protruding from the sides.

The tank effortlessly cut down the gang before plowing through the wall and deep into the building. Nighthawk let out four more shots, taking down four men before a metal ping chimed to inform him he was out of ammo. The then unsheathed his sword, revealing a type of modernized ninja blade and charged the nearest of the attackers. That person, carrying only a dagger was quickly felled before a new attacker charged in with a ninja sword of a traditional blade design. The two of them matched blades effortlessly, and Melissa feared she may not live through this ordeal, when a large hand covered her mouth. Before she could begin to struggle, she saw Nighthawks' hand dart up and it was immediately followed by a dull thwack. The hand over her mouth slipped away and she turned to see the man who had held her fall to the ground, a throwing dagger embedded in the center of his head, turning back, she noticed Nighthawk has reversed his blade and was now holding it so it rested on the back of his arm.

He then spun low and severed the mans leg at the kneecap, then grabbed the man by the wrist, putting his back to the crippled man, before driving his sword into the man's chin and through his head. He let the body fall to the floor, grabbing the man's sword and driving it into another attacker.

Four men fell on him at once, three of them carried daggers and the fourth held a short sword. Keeping the sword wielder just within his sight, Nighthawk stepped off to the side as one man charged in with his dagger, missing completely and stabbing the man across from him, he then ducked, letting the sword glide over his head and into the first man who accidentally stabbed his own partner, impaling them both. Without hesitation, Nighthawk leapt up, bringing his sword up in an arch and cleaving the sword wielder through the face, he then spun around and thrust the sword into the last of the four gang members. Her body jerked violently, and then went limp.

As her head fell forward Nighthawk barely saw the large pipe before it connected with his head, launching him violently into the air, and onto his back. He struggled dizzily to get back to his feet, as the large man approached him.

"Dumbest in the United Alliance eh?" The man said, swinging the pipe in an upward arc, again making contact with Nighthawk's head, and forcing him onto his back. He stood over the downed soldier and grinned manically as he raised his foot and brought his platform boot down heavily on Nighthawk's face. Nighthawk had recovered enough to raise his hands in a protective barrier. As soon as the boot made contact, several blades extended, tearing through his hands and reaching the other side. Nighthawk let out an anguished cry of pain and removed his right hand, bringing it up in a fist to the man's groin. The large man staggered slightly and fell to the ground in a heap.

Nighthawk slowly got to his feet and recovered his own sword before making his way back to Melissa. Before reaching her, something caught his eye and he bent over to search one of the bodies. He then erected himself, lovingly holding a rare Tibetan Kris dagger. Carefully tucking the dagger into his boot he was about to make his way again before the dagger fell from its new home.

Frustrated, Nighthawk again bent over to retrieve it, only to hear a grunting sound from behind him, and a slight breeze from where his head had been mere seconds before. Without hesitating, Nighthawk leapt to his feet, turning as he did so, and placed his sword to the hilt into the attackers' chest. Pain shot through his stomach as he looked down to see the attackers' sword lodged half deep into his own abdomen. Both men fell to the ground in a heap and lay unmoving as the remaining gang member rose shakily to his feet, removing the broadsword from its scabbard, he then made a vengeful path toward Melissa.

Melissa tried to back away, and only succeeded in placing her back to the wall. He slowly raised his sword over his head, and in a toothed grin grunted. "Nothing personal." He then brought the sword down heavily, intent on cleaving the woman neatly in two.

She closed her eyes and prepared to the inevitable, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes to see Nighthawk standing in front of her, the sword that had stabbed him had been discarded, and blood flowed freely from his wound. The Behemoth's sword was lodged neatly in the silver mask, leaving Nighthawks' head angle in a rather uncomfortable position. Furious at the intrusion, the man kicked Nighthawk in the open wound, causing to fall to his knees in pain. He once again raised his sword and brought it down on the soldier's neck only to make a muffled sound of metal on metal.

Confused, the man looked down to see his sword embedded in an orange sleeved arm. Following the sleeve, his eyes rested on a fit looking man dressed in an orange uniform identical to Nighthawks, though he didn't have the gauntlets. Despite looking to be in his early thirties had long ghost white hair tied up in a ponytail. "That's not very nice." The man muttered in a dry voice as his visor fell into his mask to reveal eyes that mirrored his hair. "Courteous fighting dictates that you never attack a man when he's down."

Finally recovering from his initial shock, the thug pulled his sword free and drove it into the stranger's heart, sliding the blade to the hilt. The stranger looked down at his mortal wound, looked up at the man with shock and terror in his eyes, then burst out laughing, clasping the man on the shoulder. "Now you've got it!" Suddenly, the laughter stopped, and a grim expression crossed the soldiers' face. "That still wasn't very nice." He then spun suddenly, lifting the gang member into the air before throwing him into the blue wall. Upon impact, the little black box overloaded, retracting the wall before it exploded in a blinding flash of light.

The man in orange walked up to the dazed and winded thug, lifting him to his feet. "You should never play with sharp objects." He lectured dropping his head to indicate the sword still embedded in his chest. "Because somebody," he roared, punching the man in the chest.

There was a loud cracking sound, and Melissa knew at least half the man's ribs were broken as the body sailed across the rest of the clearing before crashing into the wall. "Might get hurt." The stranger concluded as he lifted the thug back to his feet. He then raised his arms to the side before bringing them forward into the thug's temples, collapsing the head in a shower of blood, bone and brain fragments.

"Nothing personal." He muttered as he looked around at the carnage. His eyes finally came to rest on the woman who was now curled up in a ball along the far wall. A man dressed identical to Nighthawk, though wearing green, suddenly materialized at his side. "Uh... I think you went a little overboard this time Bruno." The stranger commented, surveying the mass of bodies. "Hey! That one's still alive." He then walked over the gang member that had fainted earlier and was forgotten. "Oh Jeez! He shit himself." Bruno simply shrugged his shoulders. "I missed."

"Now's not the time." Nighthawk groaned as he rose slowly to his feet. He made a quick glance at Melissa who was in a ball, completely overcome by shock, in the background the sound of sirens began wailing in the distance. "Great. That's the last thing we need. Chameleon, what have we got?" The man hi green had his gauntlet to his face, reading little blurbs of information that darted across the screen. "It's the military. The police radioed for backup with the all the reports they've been given by the locals. They think it's a war going on here."

"Fine. We'll work with that. Chameleon, radio your team and tell them to stall their advancement. Ramrod... Ramrod?" He looked around the alleyway but saw no sight of the tank. "Ramrod!" He bellowed, and immediately the tank tore through the wall beside the hole it had left through. "Ramrod, calculate an escape route while we get her and the captive on board. Oh, and Bruno?"

"Yes?" Bruno replied, showing little interest in what Nighthawk had to say.

"Get that fucking sword out of you." Bruno looked down and started. He immediately removed the sword.


**End of Segment**

"Three Minutes!" The man bellowed, slipping a hand through his dirty blond hair. "I was promised three minutes. Not five, not fifteen, but three!" He stood fuming in front of his chair, taking in the expressionless faces of the twelve people in front of him. The people were divided evenly into groups of six, with one group wearing olive green pants and shirts, the other half wore orange, as he wore blue. All wore silver gauntlets with the exception of one man with white hair in orange, who leaned comfortably back in his chair with his feet on the table and eyes closed.

"Relax," the man muttered in a dry voice, "we got there didn't we? No one that mattered was killed, and we got the package. No problem."

"No problem." The man in blue grumbled, turning his dark glare on the speaker. "No problem? In case you missed what I just said, I was told three minutes. I had to wait twenty!” He then slammed his hands down on the glass table, threatening to have it shatter under the sheer force of his anger. "Michael, if I may," a high pitched voice came from a speaker box in the center of the table, all eyes now focused on this device as the man in blue growled and snapped his head in the direction of the voice. "What?" He spat. "I would just like to point out," The voice continued, "that three minutes was an estimation of the time it would take me to arrive. Unexpected variables were excluded in the estimation, and due to said random event not calculated in my evaluation, I was thus delayed."

Michael was taken back by the explanation presented to him. He blinked a couple of times before he reverted back to his previously angered self. "Unexpected variables? A random event? God damn it! You tear through buildings. You plough through them as though they weren't there! The entire United Alliance military couldn't stop you if they tried. What in the hell stopped you from getting there in the three minutes you stated when you were only two minutes away?!" He then raised his hands in defeat, and muttered weakly. "Don't answer that Ramrod. If I have to ask, I don't want to know."

Woah... I don't think I've seen something as deep as this... have you considered going proffesional?

I'd like to buy one of your books...

_________________
Shake my hand, join the game.

Actually, "Shockwave: Blood and Water" is my first work of liturature. It is recently finished and in the editing process, but I hope to have it out to publishers within the next few months.

I am currently working on "Shockwave: Reaper of Man", which is a continuation of this novel. I won't be posting it until this one is done though. as well, if the book does hit the shelves, please keep in mind that this is an unedited original protected by Canadian Copywrite Law, but the completed version will have some differences in regards to what is mention and will hopefully be easier to follow.

Thank you for your comment.

_________________
You and you: Panic. Everyone else, Follow me.

He then turned to face the people in the room. "The fact of the matter is we took more time then necessary. We fought more than what was required. The authorities were alerted to our presence, and will now try and find the party responsible for that mess. That means we risk becoming exposed anytime we do something in that area. From this moment on, New San Diego is to be declared a red zone until further notice. Under no circumstances are we to enter that zone unless it has a direct threat to global security. Furthermore, to make matters worse, we have lost nearly two hundred potential recruits in the killing of the Death's Garden gang. We had our sights on swarming their lair and forcing them into submission within the next set of weeks, but now we were only able to abduct twenty eight, and only one is even remotely serviceable at this time."

"I'd hardly call shit pants serviceable," commented a man from the green side of the table. The man was about Michael's age, and sported dark brown hair and dark tinted glasses. "On top of that," Michael continued, "we have a woman in custody that will cause too many questions if she just 'disappears.' Also, we can’t perform a mind wipe because if we get rid of the nights' events, she'll no longer be traumatized, and that may tip people off. The only good thing is that we were able to acquire the stolen package, which we will personally deliver to the respectful authorities in New Hong Kong, and received no casualties. I am declaring this mission a successful failure pending a possible future investigation. You are all dismissed." At this, the people around the table rose, grabbing their vests, headbands and masks from the back of their chairs.

"One more thing. Bruno?" He called to the man still resting motionlessly in his chair. The man opened one white eye to him, but otherwise did not move. "Whenever you decide to wake up, I want you to take a team of men down to the hanger and service Ramrod to find out what may be malfunctioning. And you'd better find something wrong or God help me, I will personally tear him apart and use his AI for target practice." Bruno merely grunted as he rose to his feet, joining the group of people leaving the room. Soon everyone had left, leaving only him and the man in green who had commented earlier.

"Yes Peter?" Michael asked when he realized the person was not going to leave without an audience. "Hey Mike. Sorry about that 'shit pants' thing. You know I was only joking right?" Michael chuckled softly at the apology. Out of everyone who worked under him, Peter Dorsey was one of the only people Michael considered a friend. With the exception of Cardinal and Teresa in the medical bay, but he suspected he held a kinship for them simply because of how often he frequented the medical bay himself. "Nothing serious. I was actually thinking the same thing when I made that comment. Though I think 'shit pants' might not be a suitable name for him in the future. Can you come up with anything?"

"How about Meadow muffin?" Peter asked not bothering to hide the grin creeping across his face. Michael rubbed the scar across his face. It started just above his left temple and snaked its way down to the right side of his chin. He then placed his hand gently on his stomach where a sword had pierced him a few hours ago, but felt only an itching sensation. The medics did an excellent job patching him up and now only a scar remained. Why then, did they seem so surprised to let me go? He wondered then brought his attention back to Peter. "Meadow muffin? Where the hell did you get that one? From those antique paper backs you’re always obsessing over?"

"They’re called ‘books’, and I got it from a thesaurus. Now don't you lecture me about collecting antiques. You almost got your head removed from your shoulders for a knife that's been bent out of shape. What were you thinking? And what was with all that junk you picked up anyways? You were the one who was anxious to get out of there in a hurry remember?"

Michael laughed at Peter's accusations. Then walked over to the black desk on the other side of the otherwise all white room. When he reached the desk, he pressed a small button beside the lamp and the wall lifted to reveal another room full of display cases holding various swords, knives and firearms. Peter recognized this as Michaels' personal antique collections. To date, he has been the only living person Michael has allowed to see this room. Several of the display cases were opened as Michael walked over to the weapons laid out in the open. Gently holding each one in admiration before placing them in the air-tight cases.

[center]**DISCLAIMER!!!!**

[b][/center]

As I know this is a relatively slow section ( promise that there won't be too many like this) because it'd made to outline several characters, I will add another post prior to next tuesday should a request be made.

Aside from letting me get through this slow section sooner, it will also help illustrate to me the general interest of the people reading this work.

_________________
You and you: Panic. Everyone else, Follow me.

"For your information, this is an ancient Tibetan ceremonial Kris dagger, believed to grant the owner good luck and fortune as long as he owns it. You can tell it's authentic because of the odd number of curves. Look. Not a spot of rust on it. This is a Japanese Samurai sword, though the name, date and origin elude me at this time. I'll have to research the emblem here at the bottom of the blade, near the hilt when I have a chance. This is a German Lugar, and an old Chinese military issued AK-47 assault rifle. Both in perfect working condition. . . Or at least I think they are." He then closed all the cases and walked to the center of the room, retrieving a portable table covered with green and white cloth.

"This, However, is yours." He exclaimed dramatically, removing the green cloth to reveal a vacuum-sealed case holding several tomes inside. "The entire Shakespeare collection in hard cover. Not written by him mind you, but the only complete edition remaining before data pads took over the literary world almost two hundred years ago." Michael nearly laughed at the look on Peters' face as he took in the sight before him, before removing the second tarp to reveal the same books, but severely beaten and worn from at least a century of abuse.

"I know you've only dreamed of touching these filthy things, and I can't personally understand why. These ones were not as lucky during the genetic war, and the protective cases they were in were damaged during Shockwave's assault on the Genetic armada over a hundred and fifty years ago. Marissa Votch liberated them from the General's quarters and kept them in a vault ever since. Since they were exposed and damaged, they didn't believe the tomes to have any significant value, but Marissa held the same obsession you had for these things and couldn't bear to throw them away."

Peter stared in awe at the unexpected gifts in front of him, before shaking is head clear and facing Michael. "You're shitting me. There's no way these belonged to the General of the Genetics Liberation Army." Instead of verbally replying, Michael removed one of the books on the table and opened the cover, displaying a faded green stamp with the picture of a fist holding two lightning bolts in a body of flame. Underneath were the letters GLA in the same green ink. Peter removed his glasses go better study the emblem. "It's all in her journals. She hand wrote those two. Yours, if you want them."

Again, Peter was forced to tear his eyes away so he could look at Michael. "Why?" Was all he could bring himself to say. Again Michael laughed. "For all your reading habits, you don't look too well at a calendar. Happy Birthday you dumb shit." He then walked over to grab his vest, mask and cloak before heading to the door. "I have to head back to base. We should be safe enough to leave my safe house without any real problems."