Patriot's Duty (AAT and El Jefe)

«08317, state your status.»

AAT-08317 opened his eyes, looking down to his helmet set as he noted the radio light flashed. He shifted in the armchair he sat in, his fingers forming around the helmet before he clicked on a button that ejected the radio piece from the helmet's right side. He lifted the unit to the side of his head, tapping it before the assassin spoke: «Status is Green. Waiting to receive orders.»

The radio crackled, before the voice spoke again: «Several assets have been seized in a local heist, millions in funding to particular interests. The State finds this unfortunate. The Administration has tasked you with the location, elimination and recapture of seized assets. Details are on standby. Confirm for report.»

«Confirm.» AAT-08317 replied, as he drummed his fingers along the armrest of his leather chair. His eyes turned out of the window of the flat he sat in, watching the rain weakly patter against the glass. His senses immediately turned  attention toward his laptop, spotting the device before the screen flashed and the speakers of the computer buzzed. Turning off his radio, the assassin rose to his feet as he slowly stepped forward to the computer that rested on the table.

Tapping his fingers along the keys of the keyboard, the laptop screen flashed with security footage of the five thieves. Their appearances, their alleged identities and their weapons. Images tracing them throughout the country, down to the point of where they were found... just an hour ago. Operating within his approximate location. AAT-08317 closed his laptop as he placed his radio unit back in his helmet, before he slowly pulled his VOYAKA-II fibre weave suit before placing his helmet over his head as well. Moving around the flat he rested in, his hands reached over a closed black case as he removed the shape of a sabre and knife before sliding them into their sheaths. His hands reached around the shape of his customised Cz-45 pistol, before he holstered it and strapped several magazines around his belt.

His eyes turned to the shape of his AN-107 specialised rifle, before he rested his hands around the weapon and he lifted it out of the case. Feeling the lightweight of the rifle, he slowly approached his sliding glass door that he had been watching only moments earlier. Tapping his IZYCHENIE computer, AAT-08317 opened the information the Administration sent him in regards to his targets before the assassin reached out to open the sliding glass door before he stepped out into the world.

Randal winced at the sunlight that filled the van and questions filled his head at a rapid pace. Where were they? How long had he been asleep for? What was next on his group's agenda? All these questions had answers he'd only get if he asked, so ask he did,"The hell are we now?"

"Finally up, huh? We're just making a little stop on the way home." A voice like gravel answered him. The voice belonged to the driver of the van, someone Randal knew only as Jay. Jay was a Bull of a man with the strength and temper to match. In the few months Randal had known him, he'd witnessed acts of violence he previously might never have even been able to imagine.

An exaggerated snort and giggle came from the passenger's seat next to Jay, it was his equally psychotic girlfriend Liz as she eagerly inhaled a crystalline white line off the surface of a CD copy of Judas Priest's "British Steel" through a dollar bill. Her attractive figure and personality contrasted almost brutally with a massive drug problem and the itchiest trigger finger he'd ever seen. "Good morning, Randy!" She said as she turned to face him, "Picked up some shit while you were sleeping. Buckle the fuck up and cut yourself some. You're gonna need it."

"I'm good. Thanks." Randal politely declined the CD case and small vial she attempted to pass to him. He was not, in fact, good. He did not, in fact, want to be there at all, but this job required sacrifices. "What the fuck is the plan here?"

"We're going to try out some of my toys at the bank here. There are few better selling points than national headlines." A third, and final voice spoke from the row of seats. It was Doctor Terrance Greene, a disgraced former weapons designer for several corporations and government agencies. He'd been so still and quiet most of the trip that Randal almost could've forgotten he was there despite the fact that Terry was the one who gathered them together in the first place. The man had a serious vendetta against his former employers and had been on a spree to take all of his prototypes and work back from them, no matter the cost. So far, it 'd been a resounding success.

"This wasn't part of the plan!" Randal protested. He startled himself with how quickly he spoke up. It wasn't like him to get shaken so easily, and even when he did, it was rare for him to raise his voice over anything. However, a test of Terry's weaponry wasn't just anything.

Excluding Terry, the rest of the van were almost as startled by his outburst as he was. The doctor's gaze remained blankly focused on him, "I've changed the plan." he spoke plainly, "I hope you're not objecting."

"No, Terry. Nothing like that. I was just hoping to be in Vegas for the drop off soon. You know those guys don't like to wait too long."

"Fuck 'em." Jay flawlessly articulated yet another one of his profound and deeply thought perspectives on the situation.



********************************************

The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and bees were buzzing, but they weren't buzzing as hard as El Jefe. Nobody was. El Jefe was better known as Jeffrey Gibbons, and known even more widely than that as Captain Freedom. He soared high above the city with his headphones blasting some Crue into his eardrums. He weaved lazily and effortlessly between the buildings and sky scrapers of downtown. It was something that became easier almost daily as he got used to lifting himself through the air with the telekinetic field granted to him by the alien being he now shared his body with. After his morning brewskis, this was his daily routine ever since donning the mantle of the world's premiere heroic contractor.  

"Jeffrey, pay attention, damn it!" C'Ree yelled telepathically into Jeff's mind, completely drowning out that badass riff in "Kickstart my Heart," "Jeff, we've established this. Turning up the volume doesn't prevent you from hearing me."
"Buzz off. I'm avoiding the buildings no problemo now." Jeff complained to the voice in his head, "What the hell else should I be paying attention to right now?"
"The streets, Jeff. I know you saw those men exiting that vehicle carrying very large guns outside that building."
"Second amendment, compadre. I don't know about your home planet, but last I checked being a patriot isn't a crime here."
"Through the magic of our symbiotic partnership, I also know that you know that building's a bank."
"So what? Buzzer aint buzzin means that bank isn't under contract with us means not our problem."

Jeffrey motioned to the wrist mounted communicator he wore at all times. It was connected to his van/starship, Sweet Connie II. Connie had an alarm system installed in her that would send a message to the communicator anytime it was alerted of a crime in progress involving any of the businesses or people Captain Freedom currently had contracts with. This marvel of modern technology was not alien like his star ship but instead had been developed by Jeff's cousin Junior who was pretty good with computers, and had been silent all day.

"Look, you promised to use these gifts I bring to the table to help people. It might be a shame if I decided to find a new host midflight because you're a deal breaker." C'ree scolded. As far as he knew he couldn't actually do that while his host was still alive, but he also knew El Jefe probably forgot that already.

"Well goddamn. If you're gonna be like that about it, I'll go whoop some bankrobber ass, but if we die I'm dragging yours to hell with me." Jeff finally caved, and launched himself downward toward the building.

AAT-08317's fingers curled around the screen of his IZYCHENIE computer, tapping it as the assassin carefully watched the projection of several linked cameras that had been carefully lain around the street. He had been waiting ahead of time for the crew of thieves to make their way down the street. A van, by all appearances was the mode of transportation. Four robbers: three men, and one woman. Kept angled at a junction in the street, the assassin was cloaked by a tarp that had been set along the alleyway to keep crates that belonged to the facility dry. From up above and to the side, AAT-08317 was nigh invisible. His nanite-weave body suit blended to the same shade of blue, making it even more difficult for him to be spotted.

Activity caught the assassin's eye, the vehicle was making its way down the street according to the cameras. AAT-08317 quickly read over its details and analysed the four who sat inside of it. They fit the description perfectly. His targets were slowly making their way to him. The assassin's finger curled around the trigger of his AN rifle as his thumb selected the semi-automatic mode of fire.

Taking aim with the weapon, AAT-08317 lowered it to the level he would suspect the wheels would be on. The van made its way down the street rather quickly, as the assassin carefully timed to when he would need to squeeze the trigger. 50 metres soon turned into 30, and then into 10.

Two seconds...

The assassin squeezed the trigger and the round went sailing out of the silenced rifle. It almost immediately struck the tire of the van, popping it as the front of the vehicle nearly lifted up mometarily. The vehicle swurve to one side, as AAT-08317 then angled his rifle toward the head of one of the suspects in the vehicle. Correcting his shot, the assassin then squeezed the trigger and expected a kill.