It is the gloved hand that strikes the hardest. This is what Marc Dollar learned early on in the initial stages of his corporate domination of reality. Sure, massive armies and gigantic starfleets were impressive and both had their time and place, but many times their use in situations would be just plain excessive. Many times, all that was needed as a quick and dirty assassination, a covert bombing of an important building, a misplaced file or an auspiciously planted computer virus. Sometimes all you needed to get the job done was a well placed act of sabatague or espionage. This was where the Dollarcorp Special Ops department came in. Formed early in the beginning of the corporate empire known as Dollarcorp, these men and women number in the thousands, trained in a secluded planet just within the borders of well guarded corporate space. Deployed to every trouble zone and hot spot both within and without Dollarcorp territory, the Special Ops team act as both the eyes of the company and its dagger arm. Only the best of the best of the best of the intelligence branch are awarded the status of being in the Special Ops and thus the company sees it fit that each one is equipped with sophisticated technology to aid in their missions. Whenever Dollarcorp needs a dirty deed done, the Special Ops department is called and a crack team usually consisting of three or four is assembled specifically tailored to the situation. They're not that big on flashy battle effects, and are ideally suited for entering undetected, getting the job done, and leaving without anyone knowing who was responsible. Brief fully before each mission, the team knows what must be done and does so with clockwork efficiency, working together like a well oiled machine. It's no surprise that many think of the Dollarcorp Special Ops team is a myth: the reason anyone will usually get to see a team up close is because they're about to be killed.
"Are you sure he'll come?" It was raining hard, dark clouds obscuring the full moon. "He'll come. The briefing said that he goes out of his way to save people. Like most heroes around here do, I guess." He whispered over the psi-link that let them communicate with each other without making a single noise. "Even if he does come, will we be able to take him?" The other did the mental equivilent of a scoff. "Of course. You've seen the tapes of this guy in action. He's impulsive. He charges head first into any situation. He doesn't care about danger. He's walking right into our trap. We know this guy. We know him better, I think, than he knows himself." The other was silent for a moment. "Let's hope so. If he doesn't, what will we do with the girl?" His partner released the safety lock on his assault rifle, in a silent answer.
Smoke Screen: Standard
The jungle was a humid, steamy deathtrap. It was this way, mostly because of the Growlex, the ancestral guardian of the forest that had developed a nasty habit of killing off Dollarcorp contractors trying to level the forest to put up new buildings. Its teeth were sharp and its claws were fast. It tore through the camp and singlehandedly massacred everyone there, slicing through even the dermal plating of the two guard cyborgs stationed there as if it were nothing. And now it waited. They would be back. It knew they would be back. Still, superhuman hearing does have its advantages and he'll know of their arrival. Most of these things that destroy the woods are noisy things. A bullet entered its skull. The last though that went through its mind was that it should have heard them. It was poked once to test to see if it was really dead. Then the Special Ops team deactivated the sound dampener vests that eliminated all sound waves within a three foot radius of the wearer. On a terrain like a jungle or even a city, the vests greatly aided in stealth.
The only hint of their presence was a slight ripple in the air, a small displacement that, if one were observant enough, could just barlely be noticed among the side of the building. There were many such ripples, an observent person might notice. At least twelve, all of them moving up the side of the building. The night watchman looked out the window and thought he saw something. Looking again, he dismissed it to too much imagination. Too bad for the guy at the top floor. The CEO of a subsidiary of Dollarcorp had made too much of a rattle with huminatarian initiatives that were bad for business. Firing him wouldn't be enough. His ideas could not be allowed to infect the common drones around him. At the top floor, his brain was cooked from the inside out, microwave radiation passing through the flimsy bulletproof glass. No one saw anything.
Weapons Creation: Supreme
- Ranged Attack Only
The agent double checked to make sure his Nanopack still functioned before going in for the kill. A thought wave crossed space and into the receiver and the black two foot rod turned into an assault rifle with uranium depleted slugs. Another thought crossed and it turned into a high powered pistol with dum-dum rounds. Another thought. A grenade launcher formed in his hands. The counter indicated that three grenades were already loaded and ready. He thought a moment. What weapon would be ideal for this sort of opponent? The gun changed shape into what looked like a squirt gun. Only the tank on the side indicated that it was loaded with liquid nitrogen.
The man obviously had never fired a gun before. He had let the recoil jolt his shoulder, which moved the bullet far off target to where it was ment to go, which was inside the Special Ops's chest. The team didn't even sigh as they answered his fire with three perfectly aimed bullets. One through both his eyes and one in the forehead.
Full Tactical Briefing
His breath was running out, the thought in his mind echoing like a mantra, "I will NOT die like this." He couldn't see them, he couldn't even hear them, but he most definately knew their presence. The bullet holes in his shoulder told him enough. They were everywhere. Blindly, he dashed through the city streets of Lowtown, randomly turning through this ally and that side street in the urban maze. It was only when he ran smack into a brick wall ahead of him that he realized that the whole time, he was being led, being herded like a dog herds a flock. He turned around, electricty coursing through his veins. He would fight. He would give them something to remember. He let loose a blast from his arms that could easily power a small city. In fact, it did. He realized with horror where they had led him. He saw the power generator nearby, siphoning off any nearby energy to supply the city with energy. He fell to his knees, defeated before he was even dead.
Thermal Vision: Standard
- Weakness: Power in Item - Hard to Lose
I can see his heart. It's beating ever so quickly. His temperature is rather high, though this can be expected of one who has spent the past forty minutes running from an enemy that no one can seem to see or hear right. I watch his heartbeat begin to slow down as he relaxes. He thinks I can't see him in the darkness. He thinks that he is well hidden in the shadows. I see his temperature drop as blood pours from the two bullets I put in his neck. I then walk away.
It's a crisp fall night, but somehow, someway, I don't care. I live for these nights. I walk across a mile of dry, dead leaves and no one notices. Not a single leaf crunches, not a sound is made. I am stealth. My love was murdered and I know that she was murdered to get to me. I was told where to find her body. I see it, hanging from a lamp post in the middle of a nearby complex. Two guards at the gate. Typical guard cyborgs. Deadly if they can detect you, with guns blazing and lasers screaming. Quite dead if they cannot. They do not. They die quickly, my blade slicing metal and flesh. My love, her body is dangling down from the post, her neck twisted. I will first bury her and then kill the ones who did this. Until I feel something around my own throat and realize that they must have heard me coming the entire time. Enhances hearing, perhaps? Such a thing is within the means of Dollarcorp. My last thought is of my love and a whisper of forgiveness.
- Weakness: Power in Item - Hard to Lose
I see you. Crouched in the corner. You think you are hidden, but you are not. You lie, poised with rifle in hand, waiting for the motercade. You will assassinate the CEO of the Crimson Enterprises. You don't seem to realize that this arms manufacture is a subsidiary of Dollarcorp and we had intercepted your plans months ago. Telepathic spy satellites, you know. Pity you have no mental shield. You and your cloaking belt. Both of you so arrogant. I can see where you are. I can hear you breath. I put three bullets into your chest. Not so arrogant now...