“Now, your central headquarters will be in Los Angeles, due to the fact that so many of our ‘fellow competition’ work there as well. You will be paid handsomely for your services, of course, but we do ask of you that you retain an 80-hour training week at all times. While there, we can furnish you with a little bit more than the basics… you’ll all be free to use Pentium 3’s, and each of them are geared with cable modems.”

“Yes, now I can finally join some comp stomps,” cried out Hawk, a member of the esteemed assembly present.

Some of the people looked back at the annoying 18 year old brat, but most we’re furiously concentrated on the man, and when he was going to come to the subject of the killing the infidels who believe in gaming but don’t believe in StarCraft.

“I hope you are aware of the reasons you were selected to fill out this most elite team. Many of you are not only excellent at our StarCraft game, but you are fiercely loyal to the community! That’s what we want! Fierce, blind devotion, so strong enough, that you’ll be willing to blow up competing business’ with no fear of arrest! Ha, I’m joking, of course. Yes, you were picked because we all liked how you do your hair.”

“Yeah, you all have to admit, I have the most bad-ass hair here,” leered Hawk, with a little stuck-up pride applied to his voice, taking hasty glances at the only female present.

More people stared back at him, and some started flicking him off.

“Ah, yes, well…” started the man in blue, “Mr. Davis here will talk to you about your training, and let me tell you it’s been a pleasure meeting with you all! I hope that our mutual goals will steam-leverage our benefits, which will enhance the playing of our favorite game, StarCraft! Go, StarCraft!”

As he passed through the doorway, he whispered under his breath to Davis, “Oh my God, these people are all on crack.”

Davis had a worried look on his face, but as he stared back at his confident new soldiers, he felt no fear. He only felt the looks of Hawk mentally undressing him. Turning away from Hawk, he spoke to the rest of the group and began his opening speech.

“We should all give a warm round of applause to Mr. Oliver, for giving us a hearty welcome and a brief overview of our operations here!”

Two people started clapping, the ever polite Nobody, an honorable officer among the people present, and Hawk, who started whistle calling at Oliver.

“Ah, can it, Davis. I want to go him. Finish the god damn thing,” shout out Oliver, while his mouth was full of half-eaten pizza from the back room.

“Yeah, me too. Ok, then. This is the overview. We train you to kill. We give you the resources. We provide the intelligence. We give you the equipment. All you need to do is get your hands dirty. We will in no way acknowledge either your existence or your actions. While you are getting paid to do this, this isn’t any normal job. You can’t use your names in the field. It might reveal your connection to us. Use your Battle.net User Name’s please. Remember, this is killing the enemies of StarCraft; the ones who actually think that there is a better RTS game than SC. It is your goal… no; it is your utmost priority to kill these fools. They are your enemies.”

“Finally, a man who makes sense!” shouted out Drefsab, a 30 year old male presiding at the front of the assembly, obviously the oldest looking one there. “Doesn’t he make sense, Nobody? Nobody?”

Nobody had his head slanted downwards and was looking through the gap in his legs at some animation drawings of some sort. His name called, twice, he quickly shut the book, looked up, and started nodding his head vigorously.

“Yes, I totally agree with you. Whatever you say is right. I’m 110% concurrent with you. I couldn’t agree more,” he started spamming off.

“Um, yeah, ok…” replied Drefsab, stealing glances at the cover of Nobody’s book.

“We train you for two weeks,” began Davis once again. “After that, we let you loose. We hear that ‘Command & Conquer Red: Alert 2’ is only about a season or two away from completion. We want to shut that down first. Is that understood?”

“Damn, that game has so much imbalance. Did you know you could load up a frickin transport with like four engineers and totally OWN a guy? That’s so gay,” cackled Hawk maniacally.

“Ha, look who’s talking about gay…” muttered SlingsNArrows, who was seated next to the infamous Hawk.

“What did you say about me, you idiotic Shakespeare rip-off!” screeched Hawk in that annoying voice you only get while hitting through puberty.

“Hey, want to say that again, asshole?” shot back ColonelCollsy, as she was sat on the other side of SlingsNArrows, softly massaging his… never mind.

A deadly silence hung in the air, as the two neighbors of Slings took turns staring each other down. Finally, racked in defeat, Hawk murmured, “Ah, go make me some pie, bitch.”

ColonelCollsy leaped out of her chair, lunging towards Hawk. She succeeded in grabbing Hawk by his armpit hair, and started tugging him out of his seat. The audience turned their heads around in disgust, but none of them made a move or even a sound of protest at the treatment Hawk was receiving.

Screaming and yelling, “Ow! My doctor said I shouldn’t shave under there for 3 weeks! You’re not helping,” Hawk was dragged off his chair and subjected to a serious smack-yo-ass-beat-down.

“I think I’m done here,” stated Davis, as ColonelCollsy started working on Hawk’s stomach, grinding her heels into ribcage. “You’re all dismissed.”

The others trudged out of the room and back into their busses, some looking back at the brawl, but Slings, waiting for ColonelCollsy to stop beating Hawk’s ass, politely waited for her to finish. He’s such a gentleman.

“You heard the man. Get up, bitch,” ordered ColonelCollsy, and Hawk eagerly complied. “Now that’s what you call sending someone to smack down hotel, dear,” cooed ColonelCollsy to Slings. Slings grinned, and the trio, hand, hand, and ear went out the door.

“Are they all gone?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s take a look at their folders.”

“That’s almost evil. I like it.”

“So do I.”

Profiles: Proceed with Caution

“Oh my God.”

“We’re dealing with some pretty screwed up people, here, huh?”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah, well. If they’re the ones who are going to keep StarCraft selling, I don’t care.”

“Oh my God.”

“Look, they aren’t that bad. None of them are insane, at least.”

“Oh my God.”

Advanced Training

Drefsab stared up at his squad. Made up of Fox, Nobody, and Hawk, he was proud that it was the best, and had the most skilled members than of the rest of them. Fox had learned to become an excellent reconnaissance tool, while Nobody had the sheer ingenuity and was always optimistic, striving to find the best possible solution to any problem. Hawk, using his incredible temper and fusing it with his ability of being a raging idiot, had a deadly aim. Drefsab himself had the brains to flank, blitz, and guard certain objectives of any training mission. He felt himself confident and likewise competent to go into any battle.

SlingsNArrows wasn’t so sure about his squad members. While ColonelCollsy made use of her excellent dexterity to be just as good as Fox on reconnaissance missions, the rest of his members weren’t skilled to an extent, and none was expert in one area. LimpBizkit murmured about the “good ol’ days” in Korea, and complained often that he couldn’t pick up any girls with the now old StarCraft pickup line, “Hi, I’m 1500+ on Ladder. Want to go out?”

His other squad member, GameOverZ, has revealed he had gayness that rivaled Hawk’s. He didn’t contribute anything, and Slings didn’t know him well enough to determine what his abilities were. However, Slings, not a man to live by low standards, pushed his squad to the furthest of their limited capabilities, and after that, pushed them more.

SlipKnot was in command of the other squad. His tactical men were Dialtone and SixtyWatz, and were rather useful for their insights, but his blitz man was DivvyO. He was a man who, while playing StarCraft like a drunkard, handled a weapon such that it seemed he was born with an assault rifle in his hands.

The three commanders led their squads out and practiced rifle ranges, mock blitz attacks on cardboard structures, and were well trained up to the point that they could hit a cow from five feet away. Some could even accomplish this feat at six feet. They elected Drefsab, however, to lead them, for he had the mind of a strategist. Nobody was a close tie-in, because everyone loved his animie chicks. Everyone, besides ColonelCollsy and Slings, that is. However, Slings also took a keen interest when ColonelCollsy wasn’t monitoring him.

The morning was a sweaty one, and after the training period, they began to hit the showers. A grueling training period of one-mile runs had tired all of the “soldiers” who were accustomed to sitting in reclining chairs while playing StarCraft all day long. Ah, no more. They were forced upon day after day of this treatment, and soon, they were becoming adroit to it.

When the soldiers returned to this mess hall for breakfast, they were surprised that a new soldier ate with them. He looked up, said a cherry, “Hi!” which was returned by nobody. No, not Nobody. Returned by nobody. As in non-existence. Jesus, as if it wasn’t hard enough to write, I have to deal with this…

Drefsab ignored him, and continued with his Fruity Loops™. They were all hungrily concentrated on their food that they didn’t notice Mr. Oliver enter the hall at that moment. Only a sudden clearing of his voice brought their heads up from their bowls and plates. Seeing that Mr. Oliver was about to speak, Hawk took out his pacifier and also looked up.

“Gentlemen, on behalf of Blizzard, we feel that you have trained more than necessary to go out and ‘represent’ us in the field. Your first mission will be scheduled for early tomorrow. As before mentioned, Command & Conquer Red Alert 2 will be your first hit. The game is being brought to Stage Beta as we speak. We can not allow this to happen.”

“How do you plan to stop them, Oliver?” questioned a rather annoyed Drefsab, milk forming a trail from his mouth to the bowl.

Mr. Oliver, staring away, answered, “We have to hit them where it hurts. You will all be sent to Irvine, which is also in California. There, offices of Westwood reside. These offices are deserted, because of the weekends that Westwood allows most employees to stay home. But no, lousy Blizzard forces us to stay here and work for a crummy salary while zooming towards our pension which we’ll never get to because they’ll all fire us or kill us before we do!”

The crowd assembled stared at the man for a few seconds, as he regained himself.

“Ha, I never said that! What a jester I am! Ha, laugh people laugh! It was a joke! I’m perfectly content with my job placement! No need to send death threats or fire me! Ha! Anyway, back to the subject! Performing this operation on a weekend allows the perfect opportunity to sneak in and ‘disable’ their files pertaining to their new release.”

“In addition, you are also instructed to… let me see here,” muttered Oliver as he read into his notebook he held in a jittery hand, “Ah yes, you have to blow up the building…” he quickly said.

“Blow up the building?!” screamed an enthusiastic Hawk. “Can I do that part?”

“Shut your mouth, Hawk. Everyone knows that squad leader gets to do the blowing up stuff,” shot Drefsab, icing Hawk in his optimistic foolish eagerness.

“Uh, yeah. I suggest you prepare your plans men. You move out tomorrow morning at s 0700 hours,” Oliver informed them.

“When’s that?” Dialtone asked.

Everyone resumed eating, and Dialtone shrugged his shoulders, accepting the ignorance of his question. He too attacked his Kellogg’s™ furiously once again.

Operation: Westwood: Command & Burn.

Westwood Studios rocked the industry, and has been one of Blizzard’s most annoying RTS rivals. Although, with their “game,” Command & Conquer: Tiberian Sun, many a fan were lost for them. However, Blizzard is still on the fritz, due to the fact that Westwood has been a worthy RTS producer over the years. Shutting down the game production would mean a record-breaking loss in profits, only to be rivaled in Eidios’ Daikatana.

Maybe, if the office had been located in a more public area, people would’ve noticed a dozen or so people in black uniforms sneaking across the front lawn. But, the ones who did pass by the commercial structure thought that Westwood’s employees were just once again player Team Fortress in real life. What losers.

“Shh, we have to be quiet from now on,” whispered Drefsab to his squad leaders.

Hawk over hearing the comment, decided to voice his own opinions about sneaking around an open lawn in front of a commercial zone in broad daylight.

“This is so fucking stupid. What the hell are we doing here anyway? And why can’t I blow up the damn building?” he squealed.

“Ha, so much cussing from such a small boy,” said SlingsNArrows, grinning foolishly willing trailing behind ColonelCollsy so he could get a good look of… never mind.

“What the hell did you say to me, you Crossbow Freak!” screamed aloud Hawk.

“I said shut the hell up!” screamed Drefsab, pulling out his handgun and shooting Hawk, directing the bullet toward his chest.

Hawk crumbled down to the floor, and groaned. All the members were skeptical of what Drefsab was doing, but he ignored them and angrily said to Hawk, “Listen, you stupid idiot. We could get shot in the head, where bullet-proof vests don’t protect us. Be quiet. That’s an order.”

Hawk regained his composure and the troops moved even more quietly through the lawn. They arrived at the back door and discussed their plans.

“Ok, Slings, you take your team down through the fire escape and move to Objective 1, shutting down the security cameras. After that, SlipKnot, you go through the front door and charge those computers. I will take my own team and go through this back door and set off the bombs near the Objective 3, the building’s structures. After I call Code Alpha, you have 1 minute to get your ass out of the building before the building falls on your ass.”

“Let’s kick some Anti-SC ass!” beamed ColonelCollsy.

“This is SlingsNArrows, proceeding to Objective 1. No anti’s in sight. Climbing up fire escape now. Over.”

“This is SlipKnot. We are hidden behind canopy and await clear orders now. Over.”

“This is Drefsab. Slings, take down those cameras, over.”

“Slings’ Team has reached security room. No guards are in sight. We are disabling security cameras now. Objective 1 has been met, I repeat, Objective 1 has been met.”

“Move in your squad, SlipKnot, it’s go time. Commencing my squad through back door. See you inside, over,” commanded Drefsab. “We’re going for the main.”

SlipKnot’s team rushed through the foliage and rushed towards the doorway. Upon reaching it, Dialtone took out his door breaching bomb, and attached it securely to the doorway.

“Wait, let me check something,” DivvyO said quietly. Holding up his hand, he closed it around the doorknob and turned it 90 degrees to the left and shoved it upon. The door opened, revealing a high-tech compound within.

“That’s something you don’t learn in training,” remarked DivvyO.

The team sped through the doorway, and was in a reception area. A secretary looked up from her computer monitor, with a dreary look on her face. As she saw her “visitors” she let out a scream and scrambled out of her chair and under her desk.

“Ignore her. Our main goal is within sight,” yelled SlipKnot.

They hurried over to a large room that contained a dozen or so cubicles armed with a computer each. In the center of the room lay a huge supercomputer that no doubt stored information on games and networked the computers.

As they ran towards the super computer, they heard bullet shots behind them. Turning around, they saw a man dressed in “rent-a-cop” uniform, scared but performing his job nonetheless. His small pellet of a bullet met its target, SlipKnot’s chest, but was reflected with his armor. SlipKnot, in turn, faced the man, raised his sub-machine gun, and shot three clear bullets into the man.

One went cleanly through his stomach, and he lurched forward and grabbed the wound. Another hit his ribcage immediately after and shattered it within, producing seconds of agonizing pain as his whole innards were blowing up. Screaming as he felt his body trigger a destructive force within, he began to stagger. Because of SlipKnot’s upward movement with his gun, the third bullet hit the heart, effectively putting the man out of suffering. He fell to the ground and started forming a puddle of blood.

SlipKnot, in shock of what he just did, stood there, looking as the man’s blood slowly dripped out of him. Startled by cries demanding of his attention, he ordered the bombs placed on the computer’s frame, and set the timer. They had three minutes to get out of the building.

“Objective 2 met, over,” whispered SlipKnot quietly over the system.

Meanwhile, Drefsab’s team made its way towards the cubicles on the first floor. Its inhabitants were mostly out, but the ones who remained were only gaping in surprise. A shot bullet echoed throughout the building, and the sound of a round went off in return.

“What the hell was that? Who shot?” screamed Drefsab.

“Wasn’t me,” Slings said.

“SlipKnot, anyone on your team? SlipKnot, are you there?”

Drefsab continued to walk towards the four large cylinders that supported the buildings, disturbed that one of his team leaders weren’t responding back to his questions. Now, people were beginning to rise out from their cubicles yelling at the soldiers.

“Hey, you guys aren’t allowed in here!”

“What the hell?”

“Oh my God, they have guns!”

“Call security!”

“Call 911!”

Drefsab picked up his gun and aimed it towards the ceiling. He let a round fly off, and all of the cubicle goers screamed and ducked under their tables. He stood up on a table and proceeded to talk.

“I don’t want to kill you all. No one will have time to call security, or the police. My recommendation to you is to exit this building as fast as possible. You all have precisely one minute to get out of this building alive.” Drefsab yelled. “Set the charges.”

Fox and Nobody took the charges and began to tie them around the supports. Hawk kept his vigil, making sure nobody was attempting a call to the local law enforcement agency. Rounding the end of the corner, a man leaped out at him, swinging his large arms to meet Hawk’s head.

“Ow, you son of a bitch!” screamed Hawk, as he turned around and met his attacker. Pulling up his gun, he screamed a death cry and pulled the trigger.

The first bullet went through the man’s leg and hit the floor. He fell to the ground, and was screaming in pain as the second bullet went through his testicles. Moaning and screaming, Hawk raised his gun further up and shot the man clearly through the head. At such a close range, the head exploded and turning the carpet into different shades of red.

Some of the weaker members of the employee force were crying and crying, hugging each other. The blood of the dead man reached a young lady’s shoes, and she screamed and backed away further. Hawk stared at his blood-soaked dark boots, and flexed it twice in the air, causing the blood to splatter on the young lady’s face.

Fox looked at the scene, then turned to Drefsab.

“It’s all set. All we have to do is press the timer,” Fox informed him.

“Alright, team, it’s go time, Go Code Alpha, I repeat, Go Code Alpha has been initiated,” Drefsab yelled.

Nobody punched in the detonation key number, and hurried towards the door with his companions.

“Objective 3 has been met. Mission accomplished! Proceed to extraction zone, all teams!” Drefsab excitedly exclaimed over the system. “Mission accomplished, men.”

That night, Blizzard held a celebration for their troops: a delicious seafood buffet. Over the news, reports of the “Westwood Massacre” were broad casted hourly. The soldiers were congratulating themselves on a job well done, and many a hooray was given to Drefsab, team commander.

The television switched back to an earlier recording. A news reporter stood in front of the collapsed building that once was a bustling office. She was talking rapidly and moving from interviewee to interviewee.

“Hi, I’m Michelle Gibson reporting outside of Westwood Studious office in Irvine California. Earlier this morning, neighboring offices reported armed gunmen in black uniforms storming the building. Minutes later, these armed gunmen fled the building and workers were seen exiting as well. Seconds after that, the building collapsed, making damage costs of a reported 4.6 million dollars.”

Her camera man swiveled and took a shot of the crumbling structure. Firemen were still racing about, and police were screaming at other media spokes people.

“As you can see, a massive search rescue through this debris is still being held, but rescue teams look pessimistic about any chance of survival. At the time, fourteen workers were in the building, and six are known to have survived. Recovered have been six bodies, one sustaining bullet wounds as well. Rescue teams are making no haste of finding the four unaccounted for bodies. Back to you, Bob.”

“In other news today, a teenage boy committed suicide by a self-inflicted gun wound in the head. Witnesses claim that the boy was screaming about his, ‘D Drive.’ Local police agencies have no clue as to the boy’s mental health as of yet…”

SlipKnot was the only one not partying. He sat there, looking at the news cast, a worried look glazed over his face. A man died because of him today. The thought was not comforting. He thought about retiring to sleep early tonight. He felt tired, worn out, no, what was that feeling he had? Oh yes, murderous. He felt murderous. He could still feel that impact of that bullet that hit him on his armor. It flung off, like a fly. And, like a fly, that man dropped to his death, killed. Picking up his drink, he stumbled off to the elevator to go up to his lodge.

“Hey, SlipKnot, where are you going? The party’s just starting!” yelled Hawk.

“I have no enthusiasm for celebrating the death of men,” quietly replied SlipKnot.

Everyone stopped their festive activities for a moment and looked at the tired SlipKnot. True, he had not said a word throughout the whole day since the operation, but they accounted that for being tired. They all were. But not tired enough to not celebrate their first victory.

“Listen,” spoke up Drefsab, “you’re apart of this team now. We are trained to kill, after all. We are paid to kill, ultimately. You did your job excellently today, SlipKnot. We appreciate that. StarCraft appreciates that. But just because of one kill, you don’t have to go over the edge. Plus, I heard he fired at you first. It was either you or him, buddy.”

“He didn’t come there to kill, Drefsab. It was just a job for him. We did. We came there to knock them off, like, like, oh I don’t know. It felt like... pubbie bashing. He was a poor fool that defended my skill, my training, my equipment with a losing army. He had no chance,” stated SlipKnot, a sober look on his face. “Good night, everyone. I hope you have the same dreams I do.”

“Can you believe this guy? Man, killing those snobs wasn’t that hard! You just aim, shoot, aim shoot…” began Hawk.

“If that’s all life means to you, Hawk, why live?” questioned SlipKnot.

“You’re drunk. You idiot, you’re drunk! Hey, where are you going, Slip! Jesus, way to poop a party, Slip!” screeched Hawk.

Drefsab and Slings looked at one another. Slings shrugged, and said, “Just give him some time, he’ll come around.”

Drefsab nodded his head, but inwardly, he felt responsible for SlipKnot. He was one of his best men. He couldn’t break the first day on action. What would that say as his own overall performance to train his troops? No, SlipKnot just a little disturbed, he thought. A bit troubled, maybe. It’s not a big thing at all.

Operation Overview

“Well, that was a great success, team. Westwood has announced that the company has decided to shut down temporarily as they readjust their prospects for the next year. You all know what that means; we hit those bastards hard,” Mr. Davis said, beaming proudly.

“Yeah, did you see how I nailed that asshole who tried to touch me? Damn, that guy went down faster than GoZ’s mom,” enthusiastically stated Hawk.

“Hey, why you don’t you shut your damn mouth, you hoe,” screamed back GoZ, who was busy flipping through Nobody’s collection of books.

“Now, now, boys. Let’s not be rowdy. You all did an excellent job. Our committee is deciding what its next hit will be, but for now, you should all enjoy yourselves. Take the pleasure that you earned this break. Oh, and by the way, I want 85 hours a week. Have a nice day everyone,” and with that, Davis left the assembly room.

Competition is a bitch.

“Who did it?”

“What do you mean who did it? It seemed like a terrorist attack, but they didn’t leave any demands or anything. How could we trace that?”

“Well, I’m sorry that I want to know who blew up my own god damn building. I didn’t know asking, ‘who blew up my building,’ was such a bad way to state it. What about, ‘who killed my entire weekend staff force in Irvine,’ or maybe, ‘who set back our game release date by five seasons.’”

“If you put it into that kind of light…”

“Just find out who bombed my damn building, OK?”

“We can already eliminate any terrorist groups. No message, no ransom, no call, no anything. It has to be industrial sabotage. Someone wants us shut down.”

“Who?”

“Well, the Tech Support and Customer Service already have a list of people that have been making death threats…”

“No, you idiot. Who has the resources, ingenuity, time, and … near perfect execution?”

“Well, that leaves two companies in our industry, I’m guessing. Id and Blizzard Entertainment.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. But, whose target market would suffer a bit if we released our games on time?”

“Blizzard?”

“Get on it, ASAP. I want to know the people involved in this, the place where the commands for this operation are coming from, what the operative’s use for deodorant. Everything, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and by the way, this coffee is weak as hell.”

“That’s a latte, sir.”

“Bah, somebody needs to shut down Star Bucks…”

StarCraft: The Military Life

“Hey, Fox, come over here,” shouted out Drefsab, staring deep into the computer monitor. The whites of his eyes reflected back the movements of fast scrolling text.

“What’s up? Huh, what,” Fox inquired, as he sat next to a chair, facing the monitor. Drefsab was currently in a 1v1 game on Lost Temple. The map selection surprised all.

Drefsab had a total of five expansions, and his opponent, a turtling terran, opted to stay in the game until the grim end. Frustrated, Drefsab flung horde after horde of units at him, dropping him with drones, flying in guardians with queen support, casting dark swarm off of defilers. It was of vain use, for the high ground on which this certain turtler rested on proved rather difficult to scale.

Forty minutes into the game, however, the accusations of the map hacking began. Drefsab was enraged that he would even be thought of map hacking, flamed the fool. This only wrought more and more insults, and the game was concentrated on the highly popular, “ChatCraft.”

Fox offered his opinions of, “Idiot” and such, but only when Nobody slid across the room and took a look at the situation did he conjure up the idea.

“Now, it’s simple. Blizzard equipped us with computers that are able to track other distant computers that it’s communicating with. It better helps regulating the hours its employees spend online and on the phone. All we have to do is search the call up database and search for the sucker’s IP address. From there, we have the power to locate his address, phone number, even his social security number.”

“Hook me up,” Drefsab excitedly commanded, and his troops worked in position to access the networking computer and locate the information.

Drefsab looked back to his computer. It wasn’t about the winning or losing now. The terran had no chance to knock off Drefsab’s superior numbers on the battlefield. It was about whom could smack each other down the most. This game, too, was growing tired, so Drefsab decided to spice it up a bit.

“I know where you live,” Drefsab typed in, his breath falling a bit short.

“I didn’t know you had an address hack too. Get a life,” was his response.

Drefsab swiveled his chair, and Nobody looked up.

“4400 Evergreen Terrace, Los Angeles, California,” read off Nobody, directly from the computer monitor.

Drefsab grinned broadly, and typed this bit of information in. Soon, the other correspondence typed in, “How’d you do that?”

“I told you that I knew where you lived. By the way, take a shower, boy. Your house is stinking up the neighborhood.”

Drefsab, feeling victorious, felt glorious as the message that his opponent had left the game reached him.

“Mission success, team. Good job!”

Operation Blue Bites

“Alright, men. We’ve decided that we’re going to hit the operation center of Blue Byte Software in Austin, Texas. Their release date of November 2000 for Settlers IV worries us a bit. It might detract from the Fall StarCraft Ladder Season, and we wouldn’t want that to happen. As long as StarCraft is the only game with the ability to be made and sold, we’ll still keep selling copies,” Mr. Oliver gruffly said. His eyes were bleary with sags circling them. The night last had been rough, arguing deep into the night with those corporate idiots in the higher offices on what the “priorities” were.

“Settlers IV? Isn’t that the game series where you have absolute no control over what your people do?” Hawk questioned.

“Bah, almost no control,” commented the well-known game guru GoZ. “The game plays like… Lemmings, just not as addictive.”

“Ah, yes, Lemmings… we might have to shut that down too in a future date,” Mr. Oliver thought aloud.

“More killing, then? More destroying, more bombs exploding, more bombs, more?” asked SlipKnot, quietly sitting down in his chair, his face titled downwards.

“Relax, Slip. It’s just like a nuke going off. Nuclear Launch Detected, eh?” Dialtone replied, trying in a vain attempt to calm SlipKnot. He never was the same, SlipKnot. His training scores were average, but no longer was he the trained soldier that once made him squad leader. Dialtone had taken over as the squad leader, and did a competent job at performing objectives.

“It’s not right, all I’m saying,” whispered SlipKnot in the softest voice. His hands trembled, and his eyes were on the verge of tears.

“Shut up, all of you. Let the man speak,” Drefsab’s voice echoed.

“Thank you, Dref. On to business. You will be aired over to Texas via private plane. From the airport, you will spend a night in Austin, reviewing plans and finalizing your objective courses. Once again, you will go back to the airport, and be taken in your squads via helicopter. Three choppers will land you all on the roof, and from there, you can proceed to knock out the computer networks on the 9th floor. We want to be as quiet as possible, because we don’t want the security force on the 2nd floor to be alerted,” Mr. Oliver finished.

“Sounds OK to me. Just give me the building layouts. I’ll figure out how to get into them,” Drefsab commented to Oliver.

“Oh, and I should warn you. Due to the ‘Westwood Massacre,’ security has grown a bit. You will face a bit of an obstacle this time, but nothing that can stop three prime groups of soldiers armed to the teeth,” Mr. Oliver ended, on his finishing note.

“Alright, men. Let’s get to work,” Drefsab commanded. His soldiers rose, and marched out of the room. Hawk eyed ColonelCollsy moving out, and Slings caught him.

“Hey, what the hell are you staring at, Pimple Face?” loudly demanded Slings.

“Nothing at all, Slings. You got quite a lady there. StarCraft, guns, StarCraft… guess she has it all, huh?” Hawk said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, just stay away from her. She might have to make a second reservation for a smack down hotel,” Slings threatened.

“I wouldn’t mind staying a night in a hotel with her,” Hawk obnoxiously voiced, his words full of teenage excitement.

“Careful about what you say, bastard. I’d hate for Drefsab to find that one of his squad members was ‘accidentally’ shot in the rifle ranges. Well, I wouldn’t hate that, but I’d deeply regret it,” Slings said, casting his eyes on Hawk.

“Yeah, all talk, no show. You haven’t killed a man, yet, Slings. That’s make me more of a man than you,” Hawk replied, his voice heightened to an annoying screech.

“Honey, come on, I want to start our aerobic exercises soon. I’ve just got to finish fifty lay ups tonight, and you said you would keep count!” ColonelCollsy hollered, sticking her head back into the door way.

“Coming,” Slings yelled back to ColonelCollsy. Facing Hawk, he warned, “Yeah, I’m not a man at all.”

Slings jogged his way to the doorway, and Hawk punched the back of a nearby chair in disgust, anger, and jealousy. He too walked out of the doorway, trailing the hand holding couple by a few yards. The night was getting dark. They would have to wake up early the next day. It was time to turn in for the night.

The main office of Blue Byte Software loomed high in the metropolitan Austin capital of Texas. Having survived eleven long business years, they had prospered into a company that posed serious competition for Blizzard’s RTS market. Thus, elimination was necessary. That was what those men in black were for. The engines of the choppers made almost no sound, and the three squads landed just as quietly on the roof. Once assembled, Drefsab gathered them and explained the plan once more.

“OK, Objective 1, Dialtone, you get to those networking computers. Blow them sky high. Slings, I want you to secure Objective 2, the service elevator that goes to the 9th floor. If anyone from security tries to respond from our activities, they probably will come through there. I will lead my team and set up charges wired throughout the 9th floor. If all goes well, we should have a ‘Blue Byte Massacre’ on the news tonight as well.”

“Another massacre. Ah, yes, another one is just what the public wants. The StarCraft community really wants to hear about other game companies being burned to the ground, being bombed, their employees being shot…” SlipKnot began, his eyes pale and wandering.

Drefsab pondered his statement. Strange, he though, no one from the board of directors or even sub directors have contacted me.

Growing anxious, but knowing that there was a job to be done, he decided to put a stop to the nonsense.

“That makes it final, SlipKnot. I didn’t want to do this, but this will be your final mission. Do you understand me?” Drefsab asked, his voice full of a deathly authority.

“I have already seen to it that this will be my final mission, commander,” was the only response SlipKnot offered.

“It’s go time, for the rest of you, then. Move it on the double, boys,” Drefsab commanded.

“This is Dialtone, we are approaching networking computers now. No contact as of yet. Office seems dark, almost deserted. No one is here at all, Drefsab.” Hesitation rose in his voice, and he continued. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. This isn’t right, no one’s here, over.”

“Shut your trap, Dialtone. It could just be some special holiday for them, you know. Company tradition. Proceed to Objective 1 and shut them down. Slings, how’s it going over there, over.”

“It’s pretty calm, actually. Nothing has happened as of yet. What about you, over.”

“We are setting up charges throughout the 9th floor now. We also have met no contact. This is kind of odd, over.”

“Dialtone, patching in. The computers are dysfunctional permanently with a press of a button, over.”

“Perfect. Get your ass out of there. We have charges all set up. All we need to do is synchronize charge detonations as we ride back home, over.”

“Hold on, Dref. Slings over here. We get an elevator opening up here. Should we apprehend, or get the hell out of here, over.”

“Let’s take a look at what poor soul wants to stay up here, shall we? Take them down, Slings, over.”

“Roger that. Doors are opening now, and…”

The silence of the 9th floor broke. Round and rounds of bullets echoed throughout the hallways, and yells occupied the floor. What once was a quiet operation turned to chaotic hell.

“Oh my God, Dref, it’s an ambush! Get the hell out of here! At least a full dozen guys are pouring out! We’re giving up ground and tailing back home!” “Meet up on the roof, ASAP! Dialtone, as soon as you’re out of range, detonate that bomb, understand? We have to complete the objectives, and Objective 1 is to destroy that network!”

“Understood, Dref!”

Dialtone moved quickly, and reached for the timer. SlipKnot grabbed his arm, and stared up at Dialtone’s face.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” he whispered into his leader’s confused, frantic look. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger. A clean round went through Dialtone’s neck, and he dropped to the floor.

DivvyO and SixtyWatz both let loose a round each upon SlipKnot’s body, and their leader hit the ground with a loud thud. SlipKnot and Dialtone’s blood circled together, and formed a puddle of the sickening draining life force.

“Man down, man down! We have Dialtone disabled, DivvyO is taking over command,” DivvyO screamed frantically over the system.

“Oh my God. That’s how they knew we were here, Dref! SlipKnot, he’s a backstabbing bastard! He just turned off ally and went kamikaze, Dref,” Slings shouted.

“God Dammit, to hell! Jesus Christ, get your team out of there! Just get the hell out of there. Mission abort, I repeat, mission abort!”

“Roger that, we are about to-”

Slings didn’t finish his sentence, as a man in black met him around the corner. Both drew their weapons, but the other man got off his round first. The bullet landed squarely in his chest, and this bullet went through the armor and drove into his stomach. Grunting, Slings fell to the floor.

“Oh my God! Slings is down! Oh my God!” ColonelCollsy screamed, and furiously pumped two full rounds into Slings’ assailant. He hit the floor, landing just about two yards away from his previous target. The rounds pierced him through the head, rounds that no man or woman could ever survive.

“I think he’s still alive. Carry him, GoZ. Get your ass in gear, and help, LimpBizkit! Oh my God, Slings, are you alright?”

Slings’ only answer was to gurgle a mouthful of blood. The blood trickled down to GoZ’s hand, and GoZ looked away at the disturbing sight, barreling down the hallway as fast as two guys carrying a shot man can.

“Slings is down? Oh shit, oh shit, oh fucking shit,” Drefsab yelled angrily. “My team is at extraction zone, we are activating charges, it’ll be the only way to escape without the enemy chasing our asses. Fox, trigger charges now.”

Fox, surprised, said to Drefsab, “The charges would detonate the whole floor, Dref. Slings’ team isn’t out yet.”

Drefsab stared coldly at Fox, and spoke with a deadly whisper.

“Are you disobeying my orders, Fox?”

“No, sir. Just stating facts. Detonating charges now.”

Fox hesitated as his finger loomed over the detonation button. Fleeting seconds of remorse passed through his body before he reached a conclusion. Firmly decided that his team commander knew what he was doing, he pressed down upon it.

The building below them shook, and screams rose from it. Drefsab turned away from the roof’s ground, and was surprised to face what was left of Slings’ and Dialtone’s squads. Dialtone was also out of the building, but looked past dead. The bullet wound tore past his neck, and his eyes were rolled all the way back into the sockets.

Slings was coughing up more and more blood. ColonelCollsy, ignoring her soldiers integrity and professionalism, cried above Slings’ wounded body, hugging him closely to her. Whimpering and moaning pity, her tears started to dilute Slings’ bloody forehead.

“Surprised to see us? Well, Fox never lets us down. Thanks for the hesitation,” SixtyWatz voiced.

“SlipKnot…?” began to ask Nobody.

“He’s down there with his friends, Nobody. Down there, in the same fate as his friends,” SixtyWatz answered.

DivvyO looked down on Dialtone, and whispered, “May he continue his burning in eternity.”

Drefsab closed his eyes. His throat hardened, and he couldn’t breath. Looking up at his team-mates, he radioed the chopper team. It was time to go back home. Mission aborted. Mission aborted.

Part 2 will come out later, when I feel I have the energy. Please excuse myself, for this type of fan fiction is actually very difficult. I hope you had, at the very least, a decent read.

From yours truly,
WarLeaderJustin