#m4a1s knight

[officialrailscales]

10.3” MK18 FSP

RSB/M | Terra Bronze

MonoLift Riser | Terra Bronze

CSMR Button | Terra Bronze | MilSpec Style

- RS

[goatsludge]

"Normal" people: "I spent $40 on multiple sets of LaRue IndexClips just to steal the ones with cable management because my weapon light cables need to be practically integrated with my handguard"

Me with a cheap-ass velcro cinch strap and a mini zip tie:

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Any girls of your choice having their S.o come back home and the first thing they say is "If I asked you to kill someone no questions asked could you do it?"

(Genshin Impact/GFL) Getting asked if they would kill someone for S/O

Genshin: Arlecchino, Jean, Chiori, Eula, Dehya, Lynette, Shenhe, Noelle, Rosaria, Xinyan, Girls Frontline: M4A1, M16A1, M4 SOPMOD II, HK416, AK-15, AN-94,

In the words of our glorious Steve Harvey: KILL!

Arlecchino is a little amused by S/O's question, but more curious than anything. Who could they possibly need her to kill?

And that was pretty bold of them to ask, considering who she is, and the fact she had not even been home for all of ten seconds.

Not that it exactly bothers her.

(Arlecchino) "An interesting propsal to walk in on. If I asked the same for you, S/O, would you?"

Jean felt the wind (HA) knocked out of her with that question.

After a long day of dealing with shenanigans at the Knights' Headquarters, this is what she gets?

Initial shock wearing off, she frowns at S/O, not thinking that this joke was funny.

(Jean) "No, I would not S/O. Who would even say yes to that question as soon as they came home?"

(Chiori) "Probably, if they were a particularly nasty customer."

Chiori answered as soon as she opened the door to her home and not even batting an eye.

There was many a day she would if it was legal.

But alas, throwing trash out her door and windows would have to suffice.

Eula raises an eyebrow at the question, closing the door behind her.

Honestly? She's a little offended at the question.

(Eula) "Do you take me for a barbarian? Absolutely not, I'm not like the rest of the Lawrence Clan!"

This is not what she wants to talk about before she even gets to sit down.

(Dehya) "Woah, someone got you super pissed off today?"

Dehya can't help but laugh and also think someone got her S/O in a bad mood.

Otherwise, why would you ever ask a merc if they would kill someone?

But if they were particularly nasty, she wouldn't even need payment to, but otherwise no.

Lynette rolls her eyes at the question.

(Lynette) "I can't magic someone away permanently, S/O."

That was a lie, she technically could, but that was reserved for orders from the House.

And anyone that tried to constantly interrupt her resting mode.

Shenhe doesn't flinch at the question, instead answering immediately.

(Shenhe) "Yes."

Pray that S/O doesn't ask that question when her ropes are off.

Because then they actually will get a body.

Noelle gasps audibly.

(Noelle) "What?! Of course not! I'm a maid, not an assassin!"

Noelle is absolutely flabbergasted that S/O would even ask a thing!

She proceeds to give them a lecture that violence is not the answer, regardless if it was a joke or not.

Rosaria first thinks in her mind:

Oh, now you tell me this after I come home from my work.

(Rosaria) "Hello to you too."

If S/O really did know what she did at night, then this was the strangest way to confront that.

Xinyan takes a second to process S/O's question as she moves her guitar before it bumps into the door.

...Say what?!

(Xinyan) "The heck are ya talking about, S/O!? And what makes ya think I would do that either?!"

Absolutely not! She's a musician, not a hitman!

M4A1 glares at S/O, not amused in the slightest.

(M4A1) "Last I recall, you're not my Commander, S/O."

After coming back to base, and given Griffin's status, the question isn't really that lighthearted to her.

Especially after an operation where she's constantly fighting to survive.

M16 chuckles, crossing her arms.

(M16A1) "We're T-Dolls, not drones. Buuuut, why do you need me to do it?"

She knows they're (hopefully) joking, and doubts its anyone at Griffin that she needs to knock the head off.

If it was Sangvis, then let her at 'em!

VIOLENCE

(M4 SOPMOD II) "Who needs killing?!"

SOPMOD is always happy to fight, and she just needs only the slightest reason to start blasting.

And it seemed S/O was giving her one!

HK416 scoffs at S/O.

What kind of question was that for someone who just came home?

(HK416) "You aren't the one paying me. So, no."

Unless her S/O became the client for 404's operations, then they could talk about proper killing.

15 sighs at their question, moving to put her equipment up.

(AK-15) "No."

She wasn't really in the mood to entertain these kinds of questions from S/O.

Besides, Angelia was the one who gave those kinds of orders anyway.

AN-94 shakes her head no.

(AN-94) "Only if Angelia or AK-12 gave the order, S/O."

She takes that as a genuine question, and gives S/O a genuine answer.

[identifying-guns-in-posts]

Submission from @onegami:

I don’t know if this is in your arsenal (*wink wonk*), but I would so appreciate if you could identify these little guys

These are a bit blurry (and obviously aren’t real guns) and many of them are in that Generic AR15 Category, so I can’t give definitive answers here, but I will try my best. It’s also hard to squeeze in factoids for ten weapons in one post, so I will probably be pretty brief.

Up top we have some form of DMR conversion kit for an AR15, not entirely sure which or what kind due to image quality and camera angle. Could be a LWRC REPR (chambered in 7.62x51mm NATO). Has a really wonky looking muzzle device at the end; size-wise it makes me think it’s a suppressor, but it has holes in it, so apparently it’s supposed to be an obscenely large muzzle break??

The proportions of the second one and the appearance of the magazine lead me to believe the second one is the Heckler & Koch HK53A3 (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), which is just a super-compact form factor version of the HK33, their MP5-esque assault rifle series.

Our third rifle looks to be the Enfield L85A1 (part of SA80 series, chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), except it’s bizarrely mirrored, with the covered cheek rest side facing the camera, when we should be seeing the ejection port and charging handle in the back. Still, it’s also mounted with a standard issue SUSAT scope.

The fourth is tricky, possibly unintentionally so. The boxy foregrip, wire stock, and barrel and gas tube positioning all seem to suggest it’s an IMI Galil ARM (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), however the receiver is very different, almost AR-15 like. On a hunch, I looked up Counter-Strike listings on IMFDB and I think I have an answer: the receiver might be leaning towards the IWI Galil ACE 22 (5.56x45mm) design, like in CS:GO. I’m still not entirely sure, though...

The fifth is, I think, an M4A1 Block II (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO) judging by the elongated foregrip with full rail systems on all four sides. It’s specifically fitted with an ACOG sight here. Could also be one of those Daniel Defense / Knight’s Armament clones but I’m not too sure and can’t be bothered to parse it down.

This next one, though, is a mystery. Like, the very first thing that totally screws with me is the bizarre thumbhole stock. It looks almost like an M16? Like, you can clearly recognize the carrying handle in there, but... I dunno. I’m passing on this one, it’s driving me insane.

Seventh is a very clear-cut Colt M1921A Thompson (part of the Thompson series, chambered in .45 ACP) with an extended box magazine. Good ol’ classic rattler.

I swear these guns are going to drive me insane. Eighth one immediately had the Benelli M4 Super 90 (part of the M series, chambered in 12-gauge) come to mind because of the pistol grip and stock construction, as well as the design clearly being that of a semi-auto shotgun, but the barrel being longer than the shell tube, and the foregrip seeming to recede into the receiver, are both tripping me up. And of course, yet again, we have no ejection port or charging handle on the right side where it should be...

Finally, we got two easy ones. Penultimate one is an AKM (Avtomat Kalashnikova series, 7.62x39mm) judging by the stock style and what I’m assuming is a stamped receiver... hard to tell given the lack of details and OH MY GODDESS THE RECEIVER IS MIRRORED AGAIN.

Last one is the FN SCAR-L (SCAR series, 5.56x45mm NATO), likely the CQB variant. Easy to tell from the distinctively shaped folding stock. The iron sights are folded down to make way for what appears to be a reflex sight and flip-down magnifier optic.

I’m not sure what the (*wink wonk*) is supposed to suggest. If you’re asking if I’d pick these keychains up... let me know if they do any actual sniper rifles or PDWs.

[nuttydreamernacho]

GLOCKS

Glocks available drop off Hot give away @glockmoon90 “Loadout”#colt #colt6920 #m81 #m81woodland #m81camo #camo #chestrig #shadowsystems #glock #surplus #militarysurplus #coldwar #gwot #eotech #eotech512 #vltor #coltm4 #m4carbine #m4a1 #kac #knights #knightsarmament

[identifying-guns-in-posts]

Mentioned by @camsquirrel

First image: Colt M4A1 (AR-15 pattern, M16 series, chambered in 5.56x45mm) with ACOG scope. Railed handguard but with no attachments, likely Knight's Armament RAS.

Second image, there's a revolver. Identifying it is difficult, however, due to the extremely poor image quality and accessories present on the gun. The hammer also seems to be absent, which is real sus. The best match I could give profile-wise is the Riva Esterina Black Widow (chambered in .22 LR).

The third image presents us with what is most likely two Izhmash Tiger rifles (civilian version of SVD Dragunov, chambered in 7.62x54mm Rimmed); the distinct thumbhole stock on the second rifle is the giveaway that they're Tigers. First one is using synthetic stock and foreend, and the second one has what seems to be a stock and foreend based on the wooden furniture Tiger, but I'm not entirely sure if that's wood at all. Call me crazy.

There's also a similarly decorated Makarov PM (chambered in 9x18mm Makarov) right underneath the "wood" furnitured rifle.

[jourquet]

find the word!

find the words from the list in your wips and post the paragraphs they belong to.

thank you for the tag @zeawesomebirdie. these are a mixture of original work (corpse consort), and fanfic (weaver, stay frosty, incarnation). some are finished works and others are wips.

1. Star

It all went to shit when the Helos got hit. The explosions grew louder and louder. Fire enveloped them in a blossom of miniature stars. Footsteps landed heavily on the dry surface. He found cover behind one of the walls, eyeing the opposing enemy on the other side. As Jason tactically gained ground, he checked his sides.  Bullets brushed past him, as caresses deadlier than sin. Orders moan of pain, and bristling of comments by other soldiers mingled. He sprung forth, aiming his modified M4A1 carbine at the━━Shepard. They turned, a flicker of fear in their bottomless brown eyes. The male rose from their spot with their hands raised, backtracking. 

2. Eye

"Numquam obliviscaris, commemores semper," a stranger replied. The rustle of what seemed like feathers shattered the silence. A glow of golden eyes locked into his. Like the hot coals burning in a fire, a strange yet familiar beauty. The witness as the holiness of the Gods now forgotten. Pale skin as from a corpse. Untouched. In solitude. "What?" Kaz said, squawking. He pointed an accusing finger at the foreigner. "Are you . . . One in the group? It's rude to spring out on people like this." A laugh erupted from the other. "I wouldn't be around such low-life, darling. Neither should you." Footsteps grew closer. The warmth of a hand gripping Kaz's clothes pulled closer. The breath of fires that burned out all spirits ghosted Kaz's face. "Did nobody tell you?" "Who are you?" Kaz barely managed to press out trembling brims. "I've waited for you," the man said. Fingers caressed Kaz's neck. "For over seven centuries." His rich hues shone into his own. The words carried heavy, like Atlas. Yet it was bittersweet with thorns. To poison anyone who got too close. Slowly and deadly. Still, Kaz couldn't resist. As if the man knew him more than he did. And Kaz could do nothing but surrender.

3. Call

Tears streamed down his cheeks. Dean sniffed. His nails dug into his skull. Dean tried to shut up the thoughts to no avail. The voices in his head grew into a crescendo. "Shut up," Dean begged quietly, his scalp pained him more. He took deep breaths, his heart raced in his ribs. The idea of not been able to save his brother, destroyed something inside him. His father had basically told him to take care of his little brother. He failed there as well. Dean sobbed into the silence. Cas attempted calling him again and Dean turned off the phone. His mind wandered to the memories before Sam died. Dean knew the clues yet he was a coward to not face them in time. He did not want to encounter more of it anymore. "Damn it," his fist hit the wheel, his teeth grit together when the burning pain reached him. A short distraction. He wiped the tears away. Nothing appealed to him anymore. Not the music that helped when nothing else did. Or Dean could buy whatever he wanted.

4. Dark

SHIVERS RAN DOWN KAZ'S SPINE AS THE MAN CARESSED HIM, as if he was already inside his veins. Burning. To drown in the stranger's gaze. Kaz felt himself transfixed. "You didn't answer my question," his gaze flickered, heart in his throat. At least hoping to get some response as to why he was treated this way. Disappointment gradually spread in the man's eyes. "I'm Lazzaro." The richness in his accent was clear. Outerwordly. Lazzaro released his grip, adjusting his dark cloak. "A Knight. Your savior." Fingers ghosted over a sword by his thigh. As if to confirm any suspicions Kaz might've. Like he is reading my thoughts . . . Kaz made a blank expression. Heart razed in his chest, begging for Isabella to come back from wherever she was. Such hope crashed a moment later. As nobody entered the door into the room. Instinct told him to grab for the gun he had used earlier━━ But Kaz was a crappy shot. "They corrupted your mind this lousily?" Lazzaro continued. "I shouldn't have expected anything else." That snapped Kaz out of his stupor. "What?!"

5. When

When he realized that his brother was really there, a relief so strong went through his body. The tension of an unsuccessful attempt of bringing his brother let his mouth bitter with guilt. "Starting on who gets you out from hell, right?" He lifted one eyebrow before he glanced around. A team held a sign that had Supernatural season 4 Episode 1: Lazarus Rising written on it in bold letters. He sighed. "I think I know where we are," he rubbed the back of his head. "What?" Dean asked surprised, he blinked a few times. "Oh, that," he lifted his finger in the air before he pointed at the sign Sam already had read. "I am...whoa, I don't get it, we are on a set?" Dean's voice heightened in volume for each word. "Not any set, Supernatural, to be precise," Sam nodded towards the working people. He did his best to hold the frustration out of his body language. "We need to get out of here." Dean gave him a glance in agreement. Soundlessly he turned to leave the building, somehow he found the way out. A few white trailers stood some meters away, pairs of impala's stood on the far end. The silence left him feeling exposed. Sam hurried over to the trailers before his big brother could see the impala's on the other side. He entered the trailer named J. Padalecki. It was like a small house in a car. His eyes landed on a sofa on the other end and he slumped down on it. Tiredness slipping into every bone of his body, he struggled to be awake. "I think a powerful demon brought me up from hell, it won't make any sense otherwise," Dean sat down beside him. He gave him a pointed look. Sam waited for Dean to complete his theory since he knew he had more on his chest. "I mean, getting out of hell isn't easy. It's made so nobody gets out, you know," Dean continued. "But what can it be? The people here are aware we are actors. Something we are not, we are hunters," Sam wondered. "And by their last names, I bet they aren't brothers like we are," he noticed a bang of hurt pass through Dean's green eyes. Dean opened and closed his mouth a few tries yet he answered later.

free for all! anyone can join.

your words are: liar, round, type, heartbreak, the

[taxstamp]

- source

[osiflandia]

M4A1 Block 2

[goatsludge]

Thomas Greer (aka 'Dalton Fury') seen on the right. He also has a Knight's Armament RIS Forend from Delta M4A1 packages installed on his rifle.

Also interesting to note the rifles both operators have in this photo aren't the usual Colt Model 723's Delta was known for using, but instead are Olympic Arms CAR-AR Rifles that have been retrofitted for simunitions use (as indicated by the clear magazines and blue components). Delta likely only procured these for training use and were never intended for combat.

Above: Olympic Arms CAR-AR. Note the Rapidex rear sight windage knob, shorter barrel, and XM177-style faux moderator consistent with the rifles in the photo.

The polymer XM177-style buttstocks could also on occasion be seen on some of Delta's early M4A1 rifles, though I'm not sure why operators would make the choice to swap them out as the Colt N1 Fiberlite stocks were much higher quality, and the CAR-AR stocks were also only sized for commercial buffer tubes, meaning they would fit sloppy on the buffer tubes of M4A1's.

Above: Members of C-Squadron and their early M4A1 Carbines with custom Armalite Fiberglass FF Tube Handguards, c.1996-1998. The operator at left has an Olympic Arms CAR-AR Stock on his rifle, as indicated by the lack of two 'ribs' along the body of the tube.

As a final note, it appears both men are wearing the AWS Protective Vest (aka 'Direct Action Trauma Body Armor'), which while around in the late 90's, Delta did not adopt until at least 2000.

Between 1996-1999 the unit would have been using the Point Blank PBPV and leftover supplies of T.G. Faust NATO SF Body Armor from the 1980's.

This detail dates the photo OP posted to at least the early 2000's and not the mid-90's.

Above: Point Blank PBPV (left) and AWS Protective Vest (right). Almost completely identical at first glance. Small changes in the construction of the cummerbunds and the edges of the vests denote the difference. Source: crapshoot_surplus (Instagram)

Delta Force, mid-90s

[officialrailscales]

MK18 for Terra Bronze Tuesday

RSB/M | Terra Bronze

CSMR Button | MilSpec Style | Terra Bronze

- RS

[goatsludge]

1998-ish Delta Force M4A1 Clone upper [WIP]

Something I've been cooking up alongside my 723 build and this one's more or less at the threshold of completion, just a few minor details to change out and getting the lower finished off.

Compared to the ref pic, it almost looks as if they ground down the rail overhang at one or both ends of the A.R.M.S. #5, but I'm not sure if I feel ready to do that just yet; I'd love to find more refs of these risers in use first. Might just wait for someone to make a replica KAC riser altogether instead.

Honestly though, the more important thing I should focus on for now is replacing the PAQ-4C with a PEQ-2.

Parts List:

Colt 'C AF' M4 Upper, all Colt parts

KAC Vero Beach RIS Forend

KAC Picatinny QD Sling Mount

Custom Gangster Grip (one of my replicas)

Surefire Laser Products 6P and F16 Tip-Off IR Filter

KAC 300m BUIS

A.R.M.S. #5 Multibase Riser Mount

Bushnell Holosight Model 400

KAC PAQ/PEQ Rail Mount (Modified G&P Replica, to be replaced)

AN/PAQ-4C Aiming Laser (To be replaced)

[castle-dominion]

I want an Esposito comparison? I'll give me esposito comparison.

Javier Esposito: glock 17, M4A1 rifle, Remington 870 shotgun, glock 19, uses Ike's Colt Government Model, MGC M16A1 Replica, handles beckett's shooter's Knight's Armament SR-25 (mk 11), Heckler & Koch USP Compact, Smith & Wesson Bodyguard 380, Blaser R93 (bolt action, but idk the model)

John Watson - bbc sherlock: sig sauer p226 L105A1

William Murdoch - murdoch mysteries: "Weaponized Capacitor" (not even a real gun)

Kevin Ryan - castle abc: glock 17

Carlton Lassiter - psych usa: colt 1911, glock 17, glock 19, Smith & Wesson Model 629, Colt Mustang, custom Colt Government

[csgocasesandcollections]

                                         M4A1-S | Knight

[affcgato-archived]

Brock Rumlow, weaponry.

The Glock 19 is the most standard SHIELD issued handgun, so it’s definitely one he’s most familiar with. not a favorite though. Handguns are nice, but he likes something with a little more of a punch to it. He carries a customized SIG-Sauer P226 Super Capacity Tacticalthat he’s always reluctant to part with. It’s more of a staple to him than the Glock. Still not a favorite though.

His favorite might be the Colt M4A1 Carbine with M68 Aimpoint reflex optic, Knight’s Armament RAS railed handguard and vertical forward grip - 5.56x45mm + fitted with a tactical flashlight and EOTech sight, but the Steyr AUG A3 + DI Optical DCL-110 sightprobably takes the cake in reality.

M4A1 -  fitted with a tactical flashlight and EOTech sight

[bashdupondmoretti]

Gameshow.

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑. 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐚, 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒔. La noche, las luces, el humo que surgía del piso y el constante griterío femenino. La droga pasando, los cuchicheos y el bailoteo que no paraba. La costumbre de aquellas descontroladas y fatídicas noches. Drogas, alcohol, fuego, vidrios rotos. Barcelona era la ciudad elegida para dar un nuevo golpe, uno que difícilmente olvidaría. La misión de esa noche sería fácil, sin embargo, el plan acabaría con un par de costillas rotas y un agónico recuerdo que hasta la actualidad recordaría con horror. Los irlandeses, jodidos irlandeses. (...) La música retumbaba en las paredes de aquella discoteca del distrito de San Martín, justo al frente de la playa del Bogatell. Ya a la medianoche se podía respirar aquella atmósfera que hacía una dilatada invitación al pecado, perdición, esa eterna noche española que ni con el amanecer se esfumaba. Ahí estaba el francés tras las bambalinas del escenario del club nocturno, ad portas de hacer un espectáculo de striptease. —No pienso hacer esto… Es ridículo. —protestó Sebs. Estaba acompañado de otros tres chicos. Todos estaban vestidos con pantalones negros y sin remera. Sus cuerpos estaban pintados con pintura fosforescente. La cara no se la cubrirían. De todas formas, ninguno de allí sobreviviría para testificar en contra de los casi treintañeros. —Ya estamos aquí, tío. Es esto o la muerte. —insistió Cameron y al igual que Sebs, también era uno de los secuaces Albert Knight, el asesino de los padres del francés. Cameron McGraw, además de pasar droga al igual que los otros, se dedicaba a bailar en locales nocturnos por toda España y Portugal. Era conocido por ello y era su fachada para pasar desapercibido como miembro activo de la mafia francesa. McGraw fue el encargado de meter al séquito de Albert Knight en esa fiesta. Además, era el mejor amigo de Sebástian. La fiesta era patrocinada por la mafia irlandesa instalada en Barcelona. En estas reuniones corría alcohol, sexo, drogas, sangre y cómo no, uno que otro cadáver que se interponía en los planes de los celtas. Si había algo que los caracterizaba era la violencia y no perdonar. Pero Knight sería la piedra en el zapato; como siempre. El plan era simple: proporcionar un baile de striptease para las irlandesas con el objetivo de despistar a los mafiosos, pero también sabía que era un suicidio exponerse frente a los irlandeses. Se sabía de esos rumores que indicaban que quien se metía con estos, no la contaba dos veces. Y por mucho que se opusiera, no tenía autoridad para echarse atrás. El plan de Antoine Colonna era adueñarse del territorio previamente arrebatado por los organizadores de la juerga. Lo lamentable es que para llevar a cabo lo requerido, correría sangre. Tanta que la errática imagen del hecho se quedaría grabada en la retina del moreno. Tras un par de minutos, uno de los irlandeses les hizo la seña de entrada. Las luces de la discoteca se apagaron y las féminas gritaron al unísono. Sebástian no pudo evitar sonreír, y es que, estar al otro lado de la moneda, no resultaba tan malo. Aparecieron, se instalaron en sus respectivos lugares y la luz se tornó tenue a la par que el humo emergió lentamente desde el suelo. Lean On de Major Lazer sonó, uno de los éxitos de aquel año. Al ritmo de la canción entregaron una coreografía que sacó más de algún grito de las asistentes. La música continuó con King de Years & Years, con la que, al acabar la melodía, al mismo tiempo se arrancaron el pantalón a lo Full Monty.Las irlandesas gritaban eufóricas, elevando sus copas y empuñando sus manos en signo de aprobación y es que las burbujas del vino espumante ya les había llegado a la cabeza. La ovación fue increíble. Los cuatro encargados de dar dicho espectáculo se alimentaban de ello. Disfrutaron de la ingenuidad del público asistente al show hasta que la segunda parte del plan debía echarse a correr. Los cuatro que estaban allí, no eran los únicos. De pronto irrumpieron al menos diez personas más disparando al aire, convirtiendo los gritos de exaltación en un miedo latente. Pronto los cadáveres de las féminas cayeron sobre sus puestos. Balas en la cabeza, en el pecho, acribilladas sin la posibilidad de escapar. Sin treguas, sin preámbulos. Era una matanza cruel, de aquellas que se ven en las películas americanas o en tiroteos de Estados Unidos. Era Europa, ¿qué tan diferente podían ser? Sebástian corrió tras bambalinas para al menos colocarse un pantalón: el show de verdad había comenzado. Su arma era una Glock calibre 40, y en su espalda llevaba colgada una carabina M4A1, la que prontamente usaría para arrasar con todo a su paso. No tendría piedad; no con los jodidos irlandeses. Disparó a quemarropa. No importaba si era hombre, mujer, anciano, lo que se cruzara en su camino, disparaba. Sintió un ligero alivio al no haber presencia de niños; eso sí que no se lo habría perdonado. Apuntaba al aire, donde viese alguna silueta aparecer por el rabillo del ojo. A todo lo que se moviera, lo atacaba y acababa con ello. Era mera sobrevivencia, y es que, gracias a ello, pudo salir ileso. Hasta el momento. Las gotas de sudor se deslizaban temerosas por su sien, recorriendo las venas dilatadas de su cuello. Sudaba frío, pero el cuerpo lo mantenía acalorado producto de la adrenalina. La sed de sangre era el principal huésped en su anatomía. El segundo era el impulso de matar, de tener esas vidas en sus manos, de jugar a ser la muerte en aquel tiroteo. Y aquello le sentaba bien. El mar humano de cadáveres cubriendo la pista de baile era casi un afrodisíaco para el francés. Pero aquello acabó en menos de lo que canta un gallo. El espectáculo que el moreno evidenciaba y que memorizaba en su cabeza, finalizó. El vestigio de las luces le alarmó de una silueta que se acercaba por la retaguardia. Sin embargo, no reaccionó oportunamente. Una mano se le alzó por el cuello para rodearlo y de esa manera empujarlo hacia lo oscuro. Los gruesos dedos se enroscaron en su garganta, impidiéndole respirar. La fuerza empleada no le dio tregua para responder, y es que además de tenerlo por el cuello, la boca de una pistola lo amenaz�� por debajo de las costillas. De jugar a ser la muerte, pasó a jugar con la muerte. Fue empujado hasta llegar a las bodegas de la discoteca, cubierta de cajas con botellas vacías y la reposición de las mismas. Había escombros, basura, utilerías por doquier y un leve hedor a humedad que le golpeó las fosas nasales. La habitación estaba iluminada por una sola ampolleta, advirtiendo de la soledad y lejanía de las demás habitaciones. Veía su sombra y la de su persecutor. ¿En ese momento? Se lo comía el miedo. Entraron y otro sujeto se acercó a él de manera vertiginosa. Ni siquiera se dio el tiempo de mirarle el rostro. Sus ojos se cerraron producto del terror: sabía lo que se venía. Fue maniatado de pies y manos y fue sentado en una silla en contra de su voluntad. Para impedir que hablara o gritara, envolvieron un pañuelo en el diámetro de su cara, metiendo un puñado del género en la boca. Mordía y en el intento de decir alguna cosa, gimoteaba. Pedía ayuda, pero nadie oía. ¿Qué había pasado afuera? ¿Había salido todo bien? ¿Los chicos…? Y un puñetazo le descalabró la mandíbula. —Who sent you here? Tell me. If you wanna live, you must talk. —habló en aquel característico acento inglés de Irlanda. Si no fuera por el dolor, estaría riendo. Le liberó la boca y Sebástian le escupió en la cara. —No voy hablar una mierda. —contestó tajante. —Puedes hacerme lo que quieras, pero no hablaré. Pero aquel desafío resultó peor. Un intenso y punzante dolor le asaltó por la espalda. Su piel quemaba y un desgarrador grito le despojó. Dolía. No aguantaba. Le hería la piel con un hierro caliente, marcándolo cuan ganado por la espalda. El dolor pasaría, pero las cicatrices quedarían. Gritaba. No obstante, Sebs se mantuvo firme. —Puedes matarme… —jadeó aquellas palabras y le miró con la cabeza algo ladeada. Aún podía sentir la carne arder. —Pero no hablaré. Un manotazo le llegó en la mejilla derecha. La rabia desatada en un golpe. —Prefiero morir aquí. —concluyó el francés, derrotado. Sus palabras fueron tomadas literalmente por los irlandeses. Un puñetazo volvió a sacudirle la cabeza. Uno tras otro. Los golpes iban y venían por la cara, su torso, las costillas y patadas en las canillas. Escupía la sangre que se le acumulaba en la boca, quedándose aquel característico sabor metálico en la lengua. Recibía y recibía. Y no habló. Más le temía al padrino de la Unione Corse que a los irlandeses torturadores. Por castigo de su silencio, lo golpearon y quemaron hasta que Sebástian perdió el conocimiento, hasta que no supo más de nada, hasta que la muerte le amenazó con su presencia. Y aunque pensó que era el final. No, no lo era. (...) El cuerpo le dolía, ardía. El más mínimo movimiento le hacía gemir de dolor. Estaba en otro lugar. ¿Dónde estaba? Pese a estar consciente, se sentía adormilado. Abría los ojos y los cerraba de inmediato. Los párpados le pesaban y tenía dificultad para mover los dedos. Sí, estaba sedado. Menuda conclusión. ¿O estaba soñando? ¿Había muerto? No, no podía ser. ¿Así se sentía morir? —Y yo que pensaba que no despertarías. —escuchó una voz ronca. La vista la tenía algo nublada y tardó en enfocar la mancha negra que veía sentada al lado de la camilla. Estaba en un hospital, conectado a un respirador y con mangueras conectadas en sus brazos. Sentía el cuerpo pesado. No quería estar ahí. —Eres más fuerte de lo que pensaba. —rió. No podía hablar, pero se unió esbozando una débil sonrisa. Sintió alivio. Allí la voz le contó que permaneció en coma cerca de una semana y aunque el pronóstico no era favorable, despertó. Quien estaba ahí acompañándolo era el mismo Knight. Entre él y Cameron se intercambiaban para cuidarlo por turnos desde su hospitalización tras la brutal golpiza. Aunque ver a Albert Knight siempre era un mar de rabia ahondando en su pecho, en ese momento, se permitió estar agradecido. —Gracias. —susurró Sebástian. Albert realizó una reverencia y asintió. —Es lo menos que puedo hacer. —¿Cómo lograron sacarme? —cuestionó el francés. El mayor suspiró de forma pesada. Vaciló y un resoplo accedió a contarle. —El olor a carne quemada. —torció el gesto. —Pero tranquilo, los irlandeses no volverán a joder. San Martín es nuestro.

Y así fue. Hasta un par de años venideros cuando los celtas reclamaran venganza.