Mad World

Mad World

Gamemaster: FlakeandFins

No one was sure where it came from. The French blamed the Germans, the Germans blamed the Russians, the Russians blamed the Chinese and the Chinese blamed the Americans. It's a virus, they know that much. It reanimates the dead, they also know that much also.

But it isn't the freshly risen dead that tore the world apart. It was the living. Both infected and non. The infected became insane and cannibalistic. They were faster and stronger. The non-infected were feared and panicked. Millions lost their lives needlessly. No one is sure what the body count is anymore. Experts range close to a billion. Some say more, some say less.

But a cure has been discovered. Or so they say. Whispers of it being transported have spread across America. Its destination is unknown, but is widely believed to be Capitol City. And so the whispers went from hopeful to malicious. Transports starting coming in under the cover of darkness from all across the globe. "They can't have it to themselves," leaders say. "They must share." Terrorists and warlords as well. All working towards capitalizing financially in a world that is barely holding on.

How will it end? Will global order be restored? Or will greed dominate and sink the world. This Mad World.

Who You Are:

One thing that is for sure is that there will have to be some scientists and soldiers protecting them for sure. And I'm not talking about one or do. Pretty much be a soldier or a scientist.

But, if you get my permission, you also have the option of playing an operative from Russia, China or N. Korea. Or a terrorist from Germany, England or Iran. I'll only allow this if we have enough soldiers, scientists or both.

If you're a soldier or scientist, obviously the goal is to see the cure to Capitol City. If you're an operative, you're trying to obtain the cure for your country. If you're a terrorist, you're trying to obtain the cure for financial gain.

Who They Are:

To add to it, I'll be throwing other bad people from other countries at you. And on top of that: The Infected!

Slow movers: These are reanimated corpses. They are easy to pick off, but only if there's trauma to their nervous system. One on one, they are no problem. In groups, they become problematic.

Fast movers: These are living infected. You can shoot them anywhere, and they'll still die like normal. Except, depending on what stage they're in, they are much harder to kill. The infection has diminished their intelligence, but made them more agile, quicker and stronger. There's stages:

• Freshly infected: Someone who has just been bitten will feel changes between 20 minutes and 24 hours. Their metabolism increases, causing them to become hungry. Every action they do rips their muscles a bit, causing them to slowly bulk up unnaturally.

• Turning: People who are turning are in the later stages. They are more cut, but the signs of the infection are visible. They have less hair, their eyes are bigger and whiter, and their skin is more pale. Their nails are longer and sharper (the body's increased its levels of calcium, making the bone structure denser). They speak gibberish.

• Turned: Or Brutes. They are hulking and deathly fast. Their lips are thin and their teeth are always bared. They have no hair, and males are indistinguishable from females. The grunt, growl and bark. No one has ever killed a Brute without assistance from a weapon of some sort. And none have survived that engage them openly.

Where You Are:

The planet Earth! Except, none of the names are the same except the countries and continents. Roadways, town and city names are all clean slate. Everything else though (material goods, guns, cars) still go by their usual brand names and classifications.

All standard RP rules apply.

Character Template:

Name
Age
Height
Weight
Hometown
Description
Brief background
Weapons [One firearm, one sidearm, one melee]

Name: "Sue"

Sex: Male

Age: Unknown

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 190 lbs.

Hometown: Unknown

Description: The man simply called "Sue" has jet black hair that is slicked back. He wears black Wayfarers that he rarely takes off, and also wears a black suit, a loose fitting black tie (of course) and a white oxford with the top button undone.

Brief background: Not much is known about Sue. He's a Government operative sent in to oversee the operation and make sure the cure makes it to Capitol City at all costs.

Weapons: Scoped M4 (and a silencer), Beretta M9 (also with silencer) and a switchblade. All black (naturally).

Class: Government Operative

Name; Abel Grey

Age; 24

Height; 5’10

Weight; 176 pounds

Hometown; Madison, Wisconsin

Description; A good looking fellow, dark blonde hair that almost reaches his shoulders and bright blue eyes to go with them. Wears simple clothing; brown jacket, dark green shirt and trousers. Standard military issue boots.

Brief background; Abel is a charming fellow who comes from a religious family. Eventually, he became a military chaplain. Was asked to escort to escort the formula, not only to keep morale up but also because of his expertise with the hunting rifle.

Weapons; .700 Nitro Express Double Rifle with attached scope, Cold Python .357 Magnum revolver and a main-gauche

Classification; Soldier

Name- SSG Christian Emmerich
Age- 24
Height- 5'11
Weight- 190
Hometown- Varsity, Kansas (USA)
Description- Southern accent, good looking, dark brown eyes, dirty blonde hair, square jaw, thickly muscled from years of hauling his equipment around
Brief background- Big family, loving parents, good upbringing. Joined the army to make a difference, excelled at his job, soon joined the special forces as an engineer (demolition, bomb disposal, tech-head.)
Weapons- m4 (short barrel), m9, various demo equipment and electrical tools.

Name: Nikon "Chaos" Foma

Age: 22

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 140

Hometown: Kyov, Russa

Description: Chaos is very skinny mainly do to the fact that he tends to skip meals while studying something that he considers to be interesting. He has long hair that goes down to the middle of his back, and he quite proud (i.e. vain) about his hair, which he keeps dyed white. He has bright blue eyes which stands in stark contrast to his pale white skin. Wears a long black trenchcoat, a fish net glove. He has a feminine, delicate looking face and body. He is fluent in a several languages, but has a Russian accent.

Brief background: He grew up as Russian nobility and never had to work hard in his life. He went to Russia's top college, Moscow University, and graduated first in his class, withc a major in psychology and sociology. He is very interesting in studying the minds of the infected and of dead walkers. He was quickly rising in the ranks among Russian scientists and was doing a international reasarch assignment among some other European scientists, but some of the brutes that they were studying got lose and killed most of the people. Then the place was raided by American soldiers who captured the surviving scientists to force them to help American researchers in finding a cure, with the promise that they'd be released after finding it. Chaos didn't bother trying to escape since it gave him a continued chance to study the infected. Also he was given the nickname Chaos by his fellow scientists due to his lap space always being so disorganized.

Weapons: 9mm w/ a silencer

Name: Lonny Bennett
Age: 25
Height: 6'
Weight: 170
Hometown: Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
Description: hazel brown eyes always carry a distant gaze and bags underneath... close shaved head... working man's body has deceptive strength... scar on his right hand from a run-in with a gang a few years ago... tattoos all over his body
Brief background: poor guy from a poor family(mother and sister)... ex-streetfighter(think Kimbo) that was tired of living in NM, so he started saving all the money he could to get out... his sister became sick, so his money started going to her getting treatment...
Weapons: tbd...

Name: Trevor (Trev) Williams
Age: 26
Height: 6'1
Weight: 11 stone
Hometown: Yorkshire, UK
Description: Short black hair (no. 3 cut) brown eyes that look weary, normal build, used to be proud of his appearance but his since let himself go and often looks a mess, rarely ever clean shaven and often scruffy throwing on any combination of clothing.
Brief background: University Biology Professor. 3 months ago he recieved the news that an outbreak had seen his mum becoming infected, his father had shot her and then turned the weapon on himself unable to handle what he had had to do. Since then he went off the rails gave up teaching, started drinking and stayed in his house alone until he was contacted by the government and flown out to America with some claim that he was needed as part of a scientific team, reluctantly he accepted.
Weapons: His fathers revolver (has never fired the weapon and is actually scared of it)

Name: Sade Harris


Age 23


Height 5,6


Weight 58 kg’s


Hometown: Small town of Donnybrook Western Australia


Description: Long black hair, straight and traditionally gothic looking. She has green eyes and milky coloured skin. Tends to have dark rings under her eyes and is often bruised she is vegetarian making her prone to anaemia. http://raz1n.deviantart.com/art/Missy-Door-Latch-2-44482899
Brief background to be filled in at a later time

Weapons: main hand close quarter combat shotgun. Side arm, two toned silver on black Sigarms mosquito hand gun. Wing Chun butterfly knife.

Name: Vivienne Chaud.
Age: 26
Height: 5”7’
Weight: 58kg.
Hometown: Calais, France
Description: Pale with light blond (almost white) hair cut into a pixie crop. She has cynical blue eyes. Normal build. Clothing is usually loose fitting and plain. Speaks with a hint of a French accent.
Brief background: Is a research biologist. Moved to America a year previously.
Weapons: 9mm. Penknife.

Name: Garrett Reave
Age: 27
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 186 lb.
Hometown: Manchester, New Hampshire, (US of A!)
Description: Short really dark brown hair, hazlenut colored eyes, a scar on the upper right side of his face. Has a muscular build and is easy to converse with. Never has a problem unless people really get in his face.
Background: a master seargeant, sniper speacilist in the marines, now protects scientists researching the vaccine.
Weapon: Barrett M107 .50 caliber sniper rifle, personally designed Desert Eagle handgun, rambo knife.

General Romero watched the monitor before him. The soldiers had just been brought in and were unloading from their transports in the middle of his briefing. The four-person meeting was taking place in an observation room over a laboratory full of scientists celebrating and drinking champagne.

"Anyway," he said. "As I was saying, you three will lead ahead of the convoys. Each going a different direction, each arriving in a different city. You might think you're course goes a little out of the way, but that is simply for deceptive purposes."

He turned back to the monitor, no doubt the soldiers were being told at this point that they were brought in specifically because of their qualifications, and that this mission was highly classified and deathly urgent.

"You might be asking yourselves why we simply don't fly the serum to Capitol City," he turned back to the operatives he was addressing. "And I'll tell you it's because we're being extremely cautious of all the nutbags out their with their own means of flying, plus all the other nutbags with binoculars and RPGs. Driving is the safest means of transportation, and the BAE Caiman's are all perfectly safe. We've even fitted them with two MG-turrets, but hopefully those won't be needed."

The General looked back down at the celebrating scientists. Just then the door swung open, and Major Myers entered the room with two armed guards. The General watched as he pulled out his pistol took aim at one of the scientists, and shot him in the head. He immediately pressed the comm.

"Jesus Christ, Myers!"
"Sir," Myers came back. "During our search of the scientists' rooms, we uncovered hidden plans in Smith's. She apparently hijacked them at some point. We also found communicae she had with Black Tide. Apparently, she had a deal of some sort with them." The Major turned to his men, "Take her body and throw it to the bru-"

The General turned off the comm, and tuned back to operatives Shelley, Stephen and Sue. He knew that wasn't their real names, but he was fine with that.

"In your rooms you'll find two black cases," he told them. "One with your payment, the other to be loaded into your transport. It may or may not contain the serum. Good luck, agents. Dismissed."

The three simply nodded and left the room.

Objective One:
The team should be getting familiar with each other while they have some down time before moving out. Scientists might want to brush up on their aims at the shooting range.

Areas to visit:
Rec room
Gym
Firing Range
Weaponry Hub
Mess Hall
Your assigned rooms

Trev looked around the room of celebrating scientists as he necked back another glass of champagne refilled it and finished it once more at a similiar speed. He didn't even like champgne but he wasn't that bothered. He'd been drunk before they started celebrating, he was always drunk. He'd generated quite a tolerance to the drink since it had all happened. When he was drunk it numbed the pain, let him escapethe reality. He could work whilst drunk their results were testament to that.

Just then the door burst open, the facade of happiness he was putting on was shattered as gun fire cut over the cheers and congratulations. Blood sprayed up his white labcoat as Smith feel to the floor. He looked on horrified as the blood poured out of the wound out on the white floor, somehow the contrast just made the event all the more disturbing. The alcohol had messed with his rational thinking, he felt consumed with rage. He ran at Myers screaming, uncaring he had the gun, slammed into him and pushed him into the wall he wasn't an aggressive man, hell he thought he was pathetic but right now he didn't care.

"WHY DID YOU DO IT!" he was sobbing on the man's shoulder now as he hit him pathetically the man stood there unphased, uncaring. "Why do you have to take away everyone I care about." he stepped back now and leant over the womans body looking into her lifeless eyes. She'd been the only one in the team he'd felt any connection with, she understood what he'd gone through, looked past the drunken husk of a man he was and saw the man he had used to be. The proud biology lecturer before everything went wrong. They'd shared a few drunken kisses in their time working together but it hadn't amounted to much more.

Tears streamed down his face and fell off his cheeks on to her corpse as the other men went to grab her body. Feebely he grabbed their hands trying to stop them, they just snatched their hands away in disgust, looking at him with disdain like he wasn't a man because he was been affected by the death of a collegue. He rose up again towards Myers and grabbed his hand with the gun and pointed it towards his head.

"You wanna..." he stopped, unable to speak, his body quivering, wracked with emotion. "You wanna kill us, fine just **** do it. I don't care anymore, I haven't cared for the lastgod dam three months, put me out of my bloody misery." He locked eyes with Myers, his eyes almost pleading. The worrying thing was he knew this wasn't the alcohol, this was why he was always drunk. To keep this part of him suppressed.

"I'm not going to shoot you,"

Trev watched in disapointment as the man moved the gun away from his head. He'd thought the man was unhinged enough to do it, clearly he was wrong. He saw the hand swing towards him and didn't have time to react and draw his hands up to cover his face, he probably lacked the co ordination to do it anyway. A moment of pain before darkness took him, his body crumpled to the floor next to the corpse of his friend.

--------

He opened his eyes and scrunched his face up as he felt pain sear through his forehead, he made a move to touch it but realised his hands were cuffed behind him with him flat out on the bed. Some bloody way to repay them for creating a cure. God he hated American's thought they owned the world, could do what they liked. He was aware his head was bandaged and that he was sobering up much to his frustration. The pain was becoming more evident and he couldn't move to reach his hipflask to rectify that problem.

A lot of **** happened, nothing he expected to happen, but definately **** when he came in. One of the scientists was dead, as was proclaimed the person was a spy, the other was pistol whipped and brought into a cell. Garrett brought in his own supplies, rations, med kits, ammo, the works. His most prized possesion was his rifle.

Immediately after unpacking he brought out the case that held his M107 .50 calliber sniper. He smiled opening the case up and taking in the sight of the beautiful weapon. Its shine impecable, possibly too shiny for anything that should of been used, but the zombies were no problem for it. Only the humans were the ones to be worried about. He closed the case up heading towards the door into another room and began to put the weapon together.

“.., nothing but blue skies, from now on.”

The final few notes of the song, and Abel sighed. Sinatra always had that effect of him. Lovely music, just lovely. Smiling, he watched the small screen of his iPod, trying to decide what song to pick next. The recreation room was bustling with people, which made the silence even more deafening. There was something about to happen, something big, and people were scared.

Not Abel, though. Not Abel Grey. He let out a small gasp of joy as he found the next song, a true classic. He clicked the song and leant back, letting the music fill his mind. Whistling, soft humming. Lovely. And then there was the text, written by some brilliant soul, long gone.

“Here’s a little song I wrote, you may want to sing it, note for note, don’t worry, be happy.”

The smile spread and Abel started humming. Don’t worry, be happy. McFerrin had the idea. There was no use in worrying about tomorrow. Tomorrow, they would be travelling somewhere. God knew where. And he would guide them, and keep them save. Trust in the lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. Matthew 11:28.

A somewhat worried looking soldier sat down in front of him, and with only a pang of regret, Abel took out the earphones. “Yes, what can I do for you?” The man hesitated, then leant forward. “Father, I was wondering…” Abel cut him of. “Abel, please. I prefer Abel.”

The man hesitated again before speaking. “You are the chaplain right?” Abel gave him an encouraging nod. “I am.” The man seemed relieved, and it suddenly struck Abel how young the man looked. Couldn’t be much older then twenty. Poor sod, he should be chasing the girls, not fighting for his life. “Could you bless me. I have always been a good soul Father, obeyed the laws and all, was baptized, went to church on Sundays till the outbreak, I did.”

Abel smiled at the man, the leant in as well, holding the young man’s face with both his hands. “What is your name, my Son?” “Joshua, Father. Joshua Carter.” Abel gave the man a small smile. “Joshua, the leader of the Israelites after the death of Moses. ‘God is salvation.’ A good name is better than a precious ointment, or so the bible tells us.” Some of the unease disappeared from the man’s face, and Abel gave him another encouraging nod. “You will have to excuse the lack of holy water, but it is hard to come by,” Abel joked before letting go of the man’s face and instead putting a single hand on the man’s head.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores me soul. He guides me in paths of rightiousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me. Amen.”

He removed his hand from the man’s head and used it to push the man’s face upwards, looking into Joshua’s face, which was now wet with silent tears. “Thank you Father.” With that, the young man rose and walked of.

Abel let out a small sigh, not out of annoyance but regret. There was so little he could do, apart from giving comfort to those who asked for it. So many had forsaken the Lord. Not Abel, though. Not Abel Grey. “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” He smiled again as he picked up the earphones and pressed the play button again.

“Every life we have some trouble, when you worry you make it double, don’t worry, be happy, don’t worry be happy.”

Lonny was on a break outside, smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone.

"Ay, what up?... Yea... So you got that for me?..."

He took a drag and nodded his head to another of the privates. He was making friends okay, but his primary focus was money, and the young man was motivated. As he exhaled, he heard something he didn't want to hear.

"What?!... Never!... I'm basically the champ out here... Look man, I get off in about an hour, I'll fight him then... It's for two g's right?... You said two..."

Another drag of his Newport. To anyone passing him by, his rolling of the eyes might indicate he was unhappy with the phone call. Not really, it was just his side hustle. His family needs the money bad, and his father isn't around, so Lonny Bennett mans up like he should to get the money to help his sister.

"Well, gimme fifteen... Fifteen hundred, and I knock his ass out... FIFTEEN HUNDRED AND WHOOP HIS ASS!!!... Aiight... Aiight... Yea, you too... Late..."

He hung up the phone. His cigarette could now be enjoyed without interruption. He had just set up some poor guy to get his face beat in. He laughed inwardly before stomping his butt out and going inside the base.

Blood crept along the floor, inching towards the toe of Vivienne’s trainers. She stepped back, moving to stand with the nearest group of her startled colleagues.

The soldiers began to haul Smith’s body away. Trevor Williams staggered up to the Major, raving like the drunkard he had become. She winced slightly, placed her unfinished champagne glass on one of the tables and turned to leave the so-called celebrations.

Making small talk was more demanding than her work, and not anywhere near as satisfying. Having witnessed one of her colleague’s brains being splattered over the floor, Vivienne now felt that now was the time to leave. She walked away, keeping her head down and her hands deep in the pockets of her white lab coat. Occasionally she nodded in response to a farewell. They did not try to stop her.

Before she even reached the doorway, she withdrew a small packet of cigarettes from her pocket. A man was rushing in the opposite direction, probably having heard the gunshots. She stepped to the side of the corridor as he passed her. Flicking her lighter, she lit the end and stepped outside, inhaling deeply.

There was something else she had to do. Vivienne hurried across the yard, her coat flapping behind her. The cigarette was only half finished by the time she reached the shooting range. She stopped, took another drag and then crushed the butt under her shoe.

Inside, a few others were practicing their shooting. She walked past and took the space at the end.

The 9mm was new to her, but after a week of practice, it felt reasonably familiar in her hand. She put on the protective headgear, slid on the eye goggles which were even more familiar and started shooting.

Chaos stood, leaning against the wall and watching the others celebrate. His long silken white hair flowed down his back and shoulders. From behind a couple strainds his blue eyes shined brightly; going back and forth, scanning the behaivors of the others. Just as he began to sip from his glass of chapagne, the door burst open and in walked a major. Without a second thought, the man fired upon one of the scientists. Smith, I believe he name to be, thought Chaos as he watched with amusement.

Then the drunkard lashed forward at the major only to be pistol whipped. Using ever once of self-control Chaos held back a laugh. What fools we mortals are at times...

Christian, having arrived at the facility only an hour before, had already settled his things inside his "cozy" accomodations, patronized the cafeteria, and now found himself at the gun range, where he'd decided to kill time until the breifing. Satisfied that he was as good a shot as he'd ever be with his M4, he chose to get in some practice with his M9.

After signing in, Chris settled in the back of the stalls and watched the others shoot as he stripped his BDU top and began filling his own personal mags with the rounds the range provided.

At the final stall he noticed a woman in white lab coat, slim and only slightly shorter than himself, with light blonde, almost compltely white hair that she kept cut short. He didn't so much notice her as he did her awkward stance and firing technique. If there was one thing Christian knew it was guns, and if there was one thing he hated, it was sloppy technique. After a silent debate with himself, he walked over prepared to give some helpful advice, If anything, hopefully he could make a friend in an unfamiliar place, Chris knew he wouldn't be here long, god knows where his orders would take him, but it was surprising how often he'd run into a friendly face, people he'd met during his years of travelling. With any luck this woman could be such a person.

He holstered his m9 and mags and approached her when she'd finished emptying a clip. As he boldly slid one of her earmuffs up so she could hear him, she turned around with a start, pointing the emptied gun at him, scanning him suspiciously with her dark blue eyes. Apparently she didn't like to be touched my random strangers at a gun range.

"Sorry"...Chris scanned her hand for a wedding ring. "Miss..." He cleared his throat. "Sgt. Christian Emmerich, Special Forces. I thought i might be able to offer some advice that could help your shot group." he said, gesturing down the lane to her paper target. Most of her shots were in the black, a lot were in the center circle of the head, but she had her share of errant fliers.

Garrett after fixing up his weapon slung it over his shoulder and headed towards the firing range. Upon entering he saw some of the men shooting and one was helping a scientist learn how to shoot properly. He took the rifle, loaded it, and placed the butt onto his shoulder, still standing up, a difficult technique to master aiming whilst, but well worth it if learned how to do properly.

He knew his rifle would be loud enough to catch some stares, even under their earmuffs. He fired the first shot, a direct hit, the rifle automatically reloading he shot another round, that one was also a dammed good shot. He had to be at peak performance with his rifle, lest the zombies kill them up close and personal.

Uncomfortable that was the word for it. The facility much larger then any place she’d ever graced before. Sade had started to feel home sick the moment she left Australia, but this, this was something else.
She roamed the halls, shined her shot gun, taunted the staff, she was tingling with excitement.
The mess hall was less then enticing. She watched horrified as the staff slapped her meal together on a tray.

“Hey I think I just saw this move…” she said sarcastically.

“Won‘t be no seconds for wise guys,” the man behind the counter said.

“I‘d rather die then come back for seconds…” she snatched her tray from the man.
People came and went as she picked at the meal. She noticed that none of them dressed like her and wondered if they’d even hire her kind around here. Lots of suits and ties she noted.

Corinne focusd on maintaining the carefully neutral expression that had become her trademark recently. It was difficult, almost impossible when Myers abruptly and callously pulled his gun and shot one of her collegues. She stepped back as the blood pooled over the floor, wondering if it would be perceived as rude if she simply left. When Trevor Williams, blatantly drunk, started harassing Myers, Corinne decided she didn't care. Without a word she set her still-full champagne glass down, turned and strode from the room.

She didn't really think about where she was going, just headed towards the firing range. There were a few people there already, but she barely spared them a glance as she stepped into a free space.

With the familiarity and speed born of regular repetition Corinne slipped on the goggles and headgear, and readied her Jericho 941. Thanks to her father she had, during her adolescence, become familiar with various guns and rifles, and these last few weeks practicing had become a regular distraction. She was probably as good a shot as she would ever be by now, but it wasn't to improve that she kept coming to the firing range.

In her quarters or lab, alone, her thoughts constantly clamoured for attention, chasing each other round her mind. Over and over again she had gone through the best and worst scenarios for the future and every possible outcome in between. Even in her sleep images presented themselves to her, and night after night she woke up in a cold sweat, muscles locked rigid with fright.

The firing range was now the one place she felt she could take control of those fears. She could concentrate simply on hitting the target, her thoughts fading away to one simple focus. She put all her anger, hate, fear and sadness into each shot, and with each squeeze of the trigger she felt a little easier, until she no longer had to fight to keep her expression calm.

Vivienne had been startled at the interruption. Aiming the gun had been a reflex, and the stranger looked suitably cautious. But then, he had approached her – at a shooting range - without warning and invaded her personal space. She lifted her chin a little bit and stared into his eyes. The earmuff hung off her left ear. Vivienne reached up and removed the headgear, lowering her other hand holding the 9mm to her side.

"Sorry"...Chris scanned her hand for a wedding ring. "Miss..." He cleared his throat. "Sgt. Christian Emmerich, Special Forces. I thought I might be able to offer some advice that could help your shot group."

As he gestured at the target, she followed his look. Many of the shots had flown wide, evidence of a lack of precision and skill. Perhaps the sergeant could offer some advice. She was willing to listen to instruction - if the instructor knew what he was talking about. This man seemed to think so, and both his build and uniform suggested that he was indeed some sort of military. Her eyes flickered to the holstered gun. Vivienne looked back at him and took a small step back, even though she could easily meet his eye at the distance.

“Go ahead, Sergeant,” she said coolly, glancing at the target and then observing him with close interest. It crossed her mind that she had not introduced herself, but then again he had not asked, and it did not seem relevant.