Post by Frank Castle on Dec 30, 2010 15:32:26 GMT -6
Frank sighed and took a look around as he exited the Battle Van. His hand moved up to smooth the hair on the back of his head and lingered there awhile as he took in the view. It felt like he had been driving for days on end. Maybe he had been. A lot of it was a blur. Regardless, as he took in the view of the city at night, he realized how long it had been since he had been in town. He finished scanning his initial surroundings and moved to the sliding door of the van.
It slid open a little rough and he reminded himself that once he got settled into the safehouse that he would need to oil the wheels and the track. Having armor in the door made it hell on the parts keeping it together. He stepped up into the back of the van and looked around for a moment. He was surrounded by all his personal favorite weapons and a few he had because sometimes they were the only things that did the job. All in all, he traveled pretty light in the van. Light for him anyway. About standard for a squad of infantrymen.
He pulled down the bed attached to the wall and sat down on the edge of it. He wasn’t sure why he had put a bed in. Not like he hardly ever slept in it. Most nights he pushed himself till the job for the night was done and then curled up in one of his many safehouses. It had served decently as an operating table a time or twenty though. He pulled his 1911 pistol out of its thigh holster and dropped the magazine. Still fully loaded with one in the pipe. He must be more tired than he thought because he hadn’t known that for sure. Now that he was sure his sidearm was fully loaded, time to unpack.
He began checking the weapons as he brought them down off the walls of the van. Making sure everything was set up just how he liked it and all of them were ready to go at a moment’s notice. After passing his inspection, he placed them in a duffle bag to move them inside. He had plenty of weapons stashed inside the safehouse and didn’t really need to move these inside. He smiled as he thought to himself though, “But these are my favorites. Closest things I have to family these days.”
He finished packing everything up and zipped the dufflebag closed. Moving it to his left hand so that he could still get to his sidearm on his right, he stepped out of the back of the van and into the night. His hand reached into his pocket and found the remote to the van. With the press of a button, the door slid shut behind him, locked, and the windows tinted themselves so dark there was no way to see inside. If you didn’t know any better, you would have just thought the van was a random soccer mom’s ride parked in the alley.
Frank stepped away with the van to his rear as he moved toward the dumpster that hid the safehouse door. He had moved the dumpster there himself and anyone halfway smart would have looked at it and figured out there was no way for a garbage truck to even fit into this alley to pick it up. Regardless though, he was sure someone had used it enough since the last time he had been here that he would have to empty it and clean it out later. A dirty job but a small price to pay for good urban camouflage.
A cold breeze made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Even through the thick leather duster, he felt the chill. And something else too. That feeling in his gut that told him he had a set of eyes on his back. He cursed himself for not scanning his surroundings when he had stepped back outside of the van. He had to hope that the eyes on his back were just that and not eyes looking at him through the scope of a rifle.
He knew better. Anyone could have found this place since last he had been here and had just been waiting for him. Obviously they hadn’t gone inside of the place or it would have been leveled. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t found the door. His ears perked up and he began to scan around him as he kept moving towards the door. He was out in the open halfway between the Battle Van and the safehouse. The very worst place to find himself. His hand crept towards his pistol as he took an inventory in his head of how many rounds he had for everything in the bag. As he quietly unsnapped the strap holding the pistol in place, he felt more than heard the air behind him split meaning someone had just hopped down behind him.
He drew his pistol as he spun, dropping the bag to the ground, and moving into a crouch to fire from. His pistol was already moving where the average person’s head would be and his finger was already squeezing the slack out of the trigger. As his eyes focused on his target and let the sights on the pistol go blurry, he noticed for the first time who it actually was. What he did not know however was whether or not this meeting was going to be a happy one or if later he would be cursing himself for not applying the slightest bit more pressure to the trigger that would have caused the pistol to do what it was made to do.
It slid open a little rough and he reminded himself that once he got settled into the safehouse that he would need to oil the wheels and the track. Having armor in the door made it hell on the parts keeping it together. He stepped up into the back of the van and looked around for a moment. He was surrounded by all his personal favorite weapons and a few he had because sometimes they were the only things that did the job. All in all, he traveled pretty light in the van. Light for him anyway. About standard for a squad of infantrymen.
He pulled down the bed attached to the wall and sat down on the edge of it. He wasn’t sure why he had put a bed in. Not like he hardly ever slept in it. Most nights he pushed himself till the job for the night was done and then curled up in one of his many safehouses. It had served decently as an operating table a time or twenty though. He pulled his 1911 pistol out of its thigh holster and dropped the magazine. Still fully loaded with one in the pipe. He must be more tired than he thought because he hadn’t known that for sure. Now that he was sure his sidearm was fully loaded, time to unpack.
He began checking the weapons as he brought them down off the walls of the van. Making sure everything was set up just how he liked it and all of them were ready to go at a moment’s notice. After passing his inspection, he placed them in a duffle bag to move them inside. He had plenty of weapons stashed inside the safehouse and didn’t really need to move these inside. He smiled as he thought to himself though, “But these are my favorites. Closest things I have to family these days.”
He finished packing everything up and zipped the dufflebag closed. Moving it to his left hand so that he could still get to his sidearm on his right, he stepped out of the back of the van and into the night. His hand reached into his pocket and found the remote to the van. With the press of a button, the door slid shut behind him, locked, and the windows tinted themselves so dark there was no way to see inside. If you didn’t know any better, you would have just thought the van was a random soccer mom’s ride parked in the alley.
Frank stepped away with the van to his rear as he moved toward the dumpster that hid the safehouse door. He had moved the dumpster there himself and anyone halfway smart would have looked at it and figured out there was no way for a garbage truck to even fit into this alley to pick it up. Regardless though, he was sure someone had used it enough since the last time he had been here that he would have to empty it and clean it out later. A dirty job but a small price to pay for good urban camouflage.
A cold breeze made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Even through the thick leather duster, he felt the chill. And something else too. That feeling in his gut that told him he had a set of eyes on his back. He cursed himself for not scanning his surroundings when he had stepped back outside of the van. He had to hope that the eyes on his back were just that and not eyes looking at him through the scope of a rifle.
He knew better. Anyone could have found this place since last he had been here and had just been waiting for him. Obviously they hadn’t gone inside of the place or it would have been leveled. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t found the door. His ears perked up and he began to scan around him as he kept moving towards the door. He was out in the open halfway between the Battle Van and the safehouse. The very worst place to find himself. His hand crept towards his pistol as he took an inventory in his head of how many rounds he had for everything in the bag. As he quietly unsnapped the strap holding the pistol in place, he felt more than heard the air behind him split meaning someone had just hopped down behind him.
He drew his pistol as he spun, dropping the bag to the ground, and moving into a crouch to fire from. His pistol was already moving where the average person’s head would be and his finger was already squeezing the slack out of the trigger. As his eyes focused on his target and let the sights on the pistol go blurry, he noticed for the first time who it actually was. What he did not know however was whether or not this meeting was going to be a happy one or if later he would be cursing himself for not applying the slightest bit more pressure to the trigger that would have caused the pistol to do what it was made to do.
