alphateampilot

[alphateampilot]

[I am OUT of the situation.]

[I am never not in a fucking situation.]

[alphateampilot]

[I am never not in a fucking situation.]

[alphateampilot]

examine + the boss

It's funny how much the Grim Reaper was mythologized to the level of Herculean with impossible feats. It's a reputation that's hard-earned, a man that found his niche in the field of killing monsters and making the tools to kill monsters.

Still human, and bearing a heavily marred face and body as trophies of hard-earned survival. Hunk insisted the flesh cursive on his mug made him ugly.

Way better than being demonic, was always the retort. Hunk's one of the few he ever confided in about the distorted perceptions.

Hawk's stupidly fond of him, and truthfully had been ever since their mandatory quarantine and short-lived 'vacation', surviving the countless intrigues in Umbrella, and the business that started immediately after.

He's a good lifelong partner.

Right now, he's sitting at the desk, sorting through some kind of paperwork, Brick as an honorary lapwarmer.

"Hey, cangri, don't work too hard!"

[alphateampilot]

Examine + weapon of choice

The modifications on the sniper rifle are some of Hunk's best handiwork. The electric chamber delivering charged shots might have been overkill for most-

But a fact of the trade was that most of their quarry didn't go down in one hit with conventional ballistic rounds.

He could cover his team from the back line, and pick off smaller things. And for big guys? If he couldn't get them down in one, he could at least slow them down.

[alphateampilot]

examine: an old photo. Is it yours?

He really ought to get a better routine for hurricane season. Every year he struggles to make the room tidy for his mother- not that it was messy, just that he ended up using it for storage because he usually bunked with Hunk.

When did he get this back?

He picks up the photo off the dress stand. A much younger man in Class A's missing his long locs, posed next to his very first bird: The HH-60 Pave Hawk.

He'd always been running extractions in the worst possible conditions, hadn't he?

Ma must've left it here last time.

It can stay.

[alphateampilot]

Examine + Brick

There he is. Brick the Cat, the highest ranking Guild Member- and the only one who could consistently underperform his assigned post (mouser) and never get docked pay.

It's been a long running joke in the Guild that the chunky, round-faced, sandy orange cat was definitely part of Management.

He's asleep in the Boss's chair, curled up with hindlegs stretched up in a shrimp-like pose, little tufts of cushioning jut out from thread worn (and torn) patches of Brick's handywork on the thing.

He's horrible at pest control, but he's a good pet.

[alphateampilot]

Send “Examine!” and an item or person and I’ll write an RPG description of it/them.

For example, a stormtrooper mask: “A white mask with a black visor on the front. Putting it on, you realize that the visor isn’t even transparent. How are you expected to do anything competently like this?”

[alphateampilot]

"No problem," he waves his hand before sliding it back into his sweatpant pockets.

"Nothing's all roses. Sounds to me like you've got the wrong kind of shrinks lined up for what's going on upstairs. Oh well, one person to talk to is better than none."

And he leaves it at that. Hawk himself is used to being the one person everyone talks to. The one everyone confides in.

And he took that responsibility seriously, whether or not it was Vector, or Hunk, or anyone else in the team that famously didn't talk about any kind of personal issue.

"In any case... you should think about those lessons. We can be a little closer to the area and help raise those odds of survival. You should take advantage of our tools and equipment while you and the DSO's own Bad Luck Charm are up here."

“Talking your ear off, I guess.”

No one likes it when you trauma dump, she figures, even if the topic was brought up. It’s something she’s learned to repress, rather then talk about, just because it distressed people anytime she started to bring it up.

She follows his lead on one thing, tying her hair up into a shirt ponytail just to get it off her neck.

His analysis surprises her, though. A lot to say and no one to say it too… “Yeah, about sums it up. Bit of both, I guess. Growing up in the foster care system and basically raising my sister was rough, but I don’t want to be pitied. Thats all that seems to happen, the shrinks just throw me a pity party the whole time and don’t really offer solutions. I’ve got way bigger issues than the horrors I’ve seen in the field, they aren’t really equipped to handle that.”

Or at least the three she’s actually seen did, but she doesnt have a lot of time or patience to shop around.

“That or they wanna talk about anger management issues they think I have. Guess I keep breaking shit and they don’t like that.”

Its not because she’s angry that stuff keeps getting broken.

“Either way, I don’t see the point anymore. So I usually confide in Leon, since he gets it. You’re pretty easy to talk to, so it just kinda… slipped out. Appreciate it.”

[alphateampilot]

"DC, Atlanta, Boston-" he lists, "Holy trinity of places I don't ever want to drive or fly unless I really have to. At the very least there's decent trains there, I guess. Been a while since I've been on that side of the world."

Helena's a mountain goat girl through and through, he thinks. City life and politicking isn't really suited to her.

Hawk quietly gathers his locs in hand, and starts tying them back as Helena confides the events of the Cannibal Disease, T-virus, outbreak. Having to put down the infected, take her sister and run.

It was a hell of a lot for trained people to deal with. For a kid, it's unthinkable.

"... Huh? What are you apologizing for?" Hawk asks.

Hair tied back, he puts his hands in the pockets of the gray sweatpants.

"You know- you speak like someone with a lot to say, and not a whole lot of people to say it to. Combat shrinks not working out? Or afraid of saying something that may get you pulled out of the field?"

Hawk shrugs, "In any case, I'm not bothered."

"Guess you could say that... Consider myself more of a realist in that regard, honestly. Never quite fit in to any normal career path after Lanshiang." She shrugs, not sure how to really respond to that.

"Yeah, it's a drag during peacetime. Not that I'm wishing for bioterror attacks to happen, mind, but damn does it suck having a specialized skill set and not being able to use it... Yeah, the tax benefits are good and my housings all paid for, but DC ain't exactly a great place to live... Too many tourists and the traffics horrid."

She waves the thought off- It's not important right now.

"Yeah, born and raised... Yeah happened around then- September of 98, I was Nine, Deborah was four. My parents both succumbed to cannibal disease, nearly killed the two of us had I not been a cheeky little shit and knew where dad kept his guns."

Another shrug, and a deep, sad sigh.

"Shot them both dead, then packed up dads gun and everything we could carry and took off. Raccoon city was bombed a bit after that... I dunno why we ran, honestly, I just knew we couldn't stay there any longer. Cops picked us up on the outskirts..."

She pauses, waving her hand in a so-so manner before tossing her hand to the side, as if swatting the thought away. "Sorry."

[alphateampilot]

So, that was the feeling. The reason behind the tension and the uneasiness. Usually such things were eased over the course of time, even for new crews working together. Being optimistic and slightly annoying was a good tool for disarming others, but this flight had no such luck. He had noticed the looks too, from Chariot. He couldn’t see the other’s response, couldn't see the face, but he heard silence. Silence was always telling. Body language, too. And Hunk? Mr. Death had a reputation for surviving any impossible situation. If he was telling Nighthawk this, then that meant that he trusted him enough to want to survive- or at least needed a pilot to get the hell out of Loire after everything went down. It’d also be a good way for Umbrella to tie up loose ends. Hunk was the only known ground survivor for the Raccoon City incident. And Nighthawk deliberately disobeyed authority to perform extraction for Alpha and Delta- Delta. He folded his arms, “A citation is the least of my worries. It doesn’t mean much to me. Honestly?" He makes a gesture, “I’ve never been outdrawn. Never been surprised. By anything or anyone." He struts around the armory, trying to walk off a little itch in his legs from sitting too long, checking his gun for posterity. “Think this is about Delta? Wolfpack?" he asks, taking an extra clip just to be certain, and glancing over the other spots to see if anything was missing.

Nothing he could notice. He glances at Hunk, through the visor, “You said that they were alive. It's been two weeks and still no RTB, which means they're rogue. You saw exactly what went down, too. You and I are the last witnesses to Raccoon City the company hasn't written off payroll yet. Truthfully, I haven't been liking anything happening since Mr. Company Vice Prez came to see us in the hospital... and Epsilon takes orders from that branch."

Hunk motions him over and the noise that cuts the rest of the plane out is his glove over the box on Hawk’s back, flipping his line to the rest of them off.

It was private conversation disguised as a lecture. Once he didn’t hear Nighthawk’s rasping through the comms, he answered.

The armory’s quiet and soundproofed to the other room. He looks for something extra to help. There’s close quarters implements in an attache case- a heated knife. He straps it to himself.

“-Think the Epsilons are either compromised or have alternative motives. Might be flying to our deaths. Won’t kill us over the ocean, at least. Not with this cargo and no copilot.”

It’s the way Jack’s speaking and moving. He had his pistol near his hand the entire time for a quickdraw. And not at Mr. Death. Pagan drew longer looks than him. She noticed it too, but he couldn’t say a thing to her, or about it. 

Something’s wrong. His boots are too loud on the floor. His side’s hurting enough to favor weight on one foot. He checks his pistol a second time. Fifteen chances.

“I want to play this like we’ll be drawn on,” he says, checking for a piece on him.

Nighthawk’s not a mole. Or if he was, he was a simultaneously damn good one and stupid one, so be it. He already had a gun out.

“We’ll be cited for comms break– What kind of shot are you?”

It suddenly became very dangerous. The lenses reflect the acid orange of Hawk’s flight suit back at him. Bright, and eerie.

[alphateampilot]

🕯️for @medicinenotmanners

As far as morality goes, Bertha and he are on opposite ends of the spectrum. He didn't agree with the torture as a side gig, or as a practice, but she was tolerable as long as she did her job.

And she did.

It's not easy being a mercenary. You risked injury more than the usual soldier types because you were constantly out in the field. Mercenaries had more combat hours, and therefor, a shorter lifespan.

Bertha ran counter to that statistic. And begrudgingly, Hawk could give her credit for seeing them through their fifties and sixties.

But it was begrudging.

[alphateampilot]

I'm running a Resident Evil tabletop game where the players get to play as C-Virus monsters and get to storm into an infected area because they, themselves, cannot be infected. I had each person write a little biography of their character, and drew them all out before we begin playing.

Hope you like it, babes c:.

ebajalg: @alphateampilot yume: @so-long-goodnlght damascus: @static-limb erie: @stealthkills vortex: (myra) carla: myself

[alphateampilot]

"One hell of a chip on your shoulder," he says, walking over to the sink to wash his hands and splash water on his face, "Good at fighting, trying to find purpose after vengeance, seems your boss has a good set up for you."

"In all honesty, mercenary life isn't all glamor and glory either. It's about the same. Lots of people good at bloodsport or vehicles, not much prospects, and not suited for civilian life. The Guild being what it is, it's been good to have steady jobs and employment- it's not the same with other PMCs. A few startups that rely only on paramil don't last the dryspells of 'peacetime.' You know?"

"At least you get some kinda tax benefits and government healthcare, right? Now..." he tilts his head over his shoulder, "You're from Arklay?"

Stone Ville.

"You 'escaped' Stone Ville? Place was a quiet logging town before Cannibal Disease started to pop up in Arklay."

Hawk flicks the water off of his hands and tears off some paper towels to dry himself.

"Arklay was pretty quiet in general until ninety-seven," he says, "How old were you when all that went down?"

“Don’t fit me in the slightest. I’ve been running and fighting basically my entire life. Barely escaped Stone Ville by the skin of my teeth with my baby sister in tow, shit was all downhill from there.” She laughs a bit, used to her lot in life by now, but it definitely seeded a thrill seeking nature in her.

If she’s not fighting something, she doesn’t feel like shes living. She’s tried the settled life, and it left a stale taste in her mouth.

“Yeah, BSAA has a track record of that. Read about the whole thing that happened in Edonia, horrid idea sending rookies into that hell…”

Such a waste of life. Its ultimately what started her disillusionment, she thinks. Sure, DSO was great to her, but she was tired of being tied to the government.

She was tired of being shackled.

She pulls on her shirt collar a bit, rolling her head in a gentle stretch. It’s an interesting question- What DID she get out of it? Its ultimately a selfish want, but she can’t deny the allure of it. Is it what was best for her? Probably not, but this was the hand life had dealt her.

A royal flush of spades.

“Bit of everything there, I guess. I know I’m better than this, It’s what I’m best at… And who doesn’t love a little glory? Wouldn’t say its personal- least not anymore… Or it shouldn’t be.”

A pause, and she’s shocked she’s even going to voice this.

“The guy who took everything from me is already dead, and died brutally, but I still don’t feel like I got the vengeance I wanted. Feels hollow, and it sucks… So it just makes me angry for no reason.”

[alphateampilot]

Offers him cookies that either taste like apple pie or chicken gravy.

The pilot takes the cookies to try. The apple pie is pretty much a standard cookie to him- an appropriate fall flavor. Like a snicker doodle with apple chunks.

Hawk isn't expecting one to taste like chicken gravy, and spits out that one.

"Aya! The hell? Did someone mix up a dog biscuit into one of these or something?"

[alphateampilot]

[alphateampilot]

"What- don't like the cushy pencil-pushin' jobs?" he teases, "Some grunts spend their whole careers aiming to get paid to fuck off in the office all day."

She's not one of those types. Hawk didn't mind the menial tasks and review of mission data. There was always room for improvement, and he enjoyed his position as guardian angel for a pack of hounds from hell.

"Yeah. We're mercenaries, no beating 'round the bush on that one. Difference between us and BSAA is that we don't have the NATO funding, and we don't send greenhorns out for jobs."

People seemed to forget the BSAA started out as paramilitary mercs, too.

"And asking Ms. Wong to be straightforward is asking God to make it rain gold. Can't say for sure what her motives are for sending you here. She's not Guild. May as likely be trying to distract you while she does somehing else- or may be trying to suit you up for something only she is aware of."

He shrugs, "Happens. What I'm more interested in is- what do you get out of monster hunting? Everyone in this field is in it for glory, or it's personal. Or, the one thing they happen to be good at. So, whatsit for ya?"

"So, organized mercenaries, basically." She shrugs, finally wiping the last of the paint off her coat.

It did sound incredibly enticing. Sounded like stable work, sounded like ENGAGING work...

And oh, her heart was yearning for it, but she couldn't just leave Ingrid and Leon like that.

Her eyes scan the floor, deep in thought. Ingrid would send her off with a smile for sure, but she was too loyal to that woman to just abandon her like that. There had to be some way to get Ingrid out, too... Or get her into a position where she could be part of both without questions being asked.

Ingrid practically ran the DSO a and FOS by herself, she may as well own it.

"Yeah, Ada's a bit of an enigma, but she also doesn't just interface with any random people either. I met her one time in Tall Oaks and then chased her all over China... Or- I guess it wasn't really her, It was... I think she calls herself Ahab now? The twin that usually wears the blue dress."

She was debriefed on Carla and her whole situation- She thought she was dead. Last she heard the woman turned into a BOW and took out an entire aircraft carrier, but here she was in the lodge. So what was true?

Nothing made sense anymore.

"Regardless, she doesn't just suddenly start popping in to check on people unless it's for something she wants. I know that much about her, at least. I just wish she'd be fucking straight with her words for once." She sighs almost exasperatedly and shakes her head again, using the cleaning cloth to get some of the paint out of her hair now.

"Paperworks part of the job, sure, but that doesn't mean I gotta enjoy it."

That finally earns a small laugh from her.

[alphateampilot]

I'm just a weapon at the end of the day.

"You and me both, chica," he says, finally stepping out of his fatigues to wash, and freshening up with a little spray deodorant, "But I like this kind of life- and it looks like you do too."

"Nothing wrong with that," he states, folding up the gray fabric neatly out of habit, "At least, not by my reckoning. No matter where you are in the world, people with money and power have their soldiers."

Fact of life.

"Now, I'm glad to be here where, for the most part, we get discretion in what we fight, what jobs we take. And for the most part, we fight BOWs. The rest is NDA."

"Now, as far as Ada goes," he says, closing up his locker, "She's always done things that are either for her job, her personal safety, or because she wants to. I wouldn't read too much into it."

Hawk says it simply, and a little dismissively- but he knew to be careful when Ada and Ahab were concerned. Helena, green around the gills as she was, was still a government agent. Her immediate authority ended over a thousand and four hundred miles south, and began again three hundred miles northwest.

It didn't mean she couldn't report back with something to give cause for extradition.

"Your agency is built reactive by nature, not proactive. All that paperwork you do saves you some accountability. We do files and reports too. Just part of the job."

She pauses as he says that. What exactly did he know about those incidents? Then again, Vector mentioned they had tabs on her and Leon both in some fashion, so maybe she shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

She takes the card from him and pockets it, shaking her head once. “Sure, I’ll hand it over to Ingrid, she’s better with managing connections then I am.” She snorts, wiggling her hand in a ‘so-so’ motion. “I’m just a weapon at the end of the day.”

The question gives her pause, and she rests the coat and cleaning wipe in her lap as he asks it. Its a really poignant question, and she has to think on it for a bit.

“…Honestly I don’t know. Ada urged me to come out here, basically handed the address to me and told me to quit my job. Came out here to see what she was talking about, mainly, but I think I’m starting to see what she is. This place is absolutely more my speed then sitting around doing paperwork and waiting for BOW’s to appear.”