Monica slipped back into formation with the other Rangers, as they rushed down the hall - pairs of men breaking off the form to clear rooms - the slam of doors often followed by the bark of ballistics. She didn't even wince. She was still trying to add things up in her head. What could the Chinese, under guise of Russians, want with an inventor? Provoke war? Maybe trick the high-heads at the U.S.? Or was it all just for money? It was an interesting puzzle to be certain.<br/><br/>She and Klissick stopped up ahead, the hallway they had been dashing down coming to a T-branch. He looked over his shoulder at her, before nodding, and pointing her down the right branch. She confirmed him with a nod of her own. She tapped on his shoulder, and he tapped her back, confirming they were both ready - before they jumped out to each side, marching down the halls with weapons raised. Monica kept eye on the end of the hall - this lane devoid of doors except one. She moved to the steel door, and looked it over. It'd be a little heavy to simply boot down. It looked exceptionally sturdy. Reinforced, even. This was a dead giveaway that someone wanted something to stay out.<br/><br/>Rangers weren't good at following rules to a tee.<br/><br/>Monica looked over the door once more, before letting go of her carbine. She'd unsling her other weapon,  the massive M107CQ was still a little bulky to move around in the tight hallways... but the weapon more than was worth it with the massive amount of firepower it packed.  Readying the compact rifle, Monica took a generous step back, before turning to face the door again, lifting the rifle and firing. The huge .50 BMG filled the establishment with a thunderous boom, shaking the walls around her. The force coming back at her was enough to create a wind. Needless to say, the first hinge from the door was gone.  She repeated the process, the rifle making quick work of the door.<br/><br/>As the air cleared, and the echoing died in the hall, the door slowly fell back, clattering to the ground with a deep thud. Monica's ears were still ringing, even though her ear protection. But she shook it off, moving into the room with the fluidity of water. She brought her rifle up, using the massive weapon to clear the room - it was yet another stairwell. Looking over her shoulder, Klissick was nowhere to be found. Just as she opened her mouth to call for him, she heard gunfire from downstairs. And it wasn't a Ranger's weapon.  Frowning, the Commando kept guard on the stairs, until the Sergeant Major joined with her.<br/><br/>They didn't even share words - instead, beginning to work in tandem. Monica took the lead, crouched low and moving at a 'roadie run', whilst Klissick remained standing, so he could fire over her. The stairs led them deeper into the compound, the florescent lighting flickering. They moved silently - or close to it as they moved down the hall cautiously, their weapons sweeping every feasible corner. But Monica raised her fist, dropping to a complete kneel. Klissick stopped behind her. She heard words - and not the voice of an ally.<br/><br/>Monica looked over her shoulder at the gruff Sergeant Major, whom raised an eyebrow in return. He pulled his ballistic glasses off, wiping sweat from his brow, before replacing them, and regrasping his carbine. He shook his head, leaning down to whisper in her ear.<span style="color: #008040">"I'll get the rest of Hellhound 2-1. Wait."</span>He urged, before moving quietly back down the hall. Monica kept her rifle trained on the doorway in front of her, ready to blow down the door with a blast from her mighty .50 caliber... Her eyes squinted, trigger finger twitching hard on that huge weapon....<br/><br/><span style="color: #0000FF">"Why, Little Blonde - I didn't think that I'd see you again for a very long time."</span>Said a smooth voice - too sickly sweet to be sincerely kind.<span style="color: #0000FF">"In fact, after our last encounter, I didn't even know that you moved on. I swore that you'd left. Yet here you are."</span><br/><br/>She felt cold chills run up her back, her face draining of blood. She slowly cocked her head back, her large, deep brown eyes setting upon the voice's source: A large, outstanding man, standing over her. Her eyes travelled up his dark dress-suit, until it met his cocky face. He seemed far too happy to see her. No noises were made. No more voices. It seemed the whole world ceased to move as she stared at him. And he stared back.<br/><br/>And more violently than a storm, the girl whirled herself about, planting her ass on the ground to do so. She didn't care! She jerked the rifle towards her target, and jerked the trigger, making the huge rifle shout death as loud as it could towards the man. She closed her eyes as the weapon's recoil hit her, making her skid backwards. She waited, quivering as she opened her eyes slowly, expecting to see the red smudge where he'd been standing...<br/><br/>Instead, she was greeted with the sight of his altered posture. He'd turned sideways, and the bullet raced right past him. Her eyes solidified, unable to believe it. His smirk didn't leave his face.<span style="color: #0000FF">"Sorry love. You're not twelve-hundred meters away this time."</span>He remarked.<br/><br/>Before she could rear up the second shot, his lone, right arm lurched out, and grabbed the barrel of the short rifle, and jerked it hard - simultaniously extending his right foot. He pulled her towards him, of course, not relinquishing her rifle... but rewarding her to a boot to the chest, and was forced to give it up. Curling his leg back, he shot it out again, sending Monica tumbling backwards. She yelped, skidding backwards. But she quickly regained her composure, looking at the man. He held her rifle by the barrel, with yet one arm. But he quickly whipped it around his shoulder, flinging the weapon away. He obviously had strength in his one arm.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0000FF">"Now that that's out of the way..."</span>He started, before starting his approach towards his downed prey. Monica quickly jumped to her feet, backing away, and reaching for her sidearm - that trusty .44 Magnum! But as quick as she could draw it, her foe had closed a distance of five meters, and was upon her like a hawk. It caught her wrist as she brought it up, keeping it pointed to the ground. She growled, struggling with him, before he jerked her hand skyward, now pointed at the lights above. The weapon fired, filling the air with a thud, and the dust of glass. The small area they occupied now darkened slightly.... And she could hear his faint chuckles.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0000FF">"An arm down, and you're still no match for me." <br/></span><br/><span style="color: #800080">"S-shut up."</span>She barked, trying to hit his face with a cross-punch. Their proximity was almost parallel; standing hip to hip with each other. And yet, he bobbed out of her way, still holding the weapon away from his body. He stepped in behind her, locking his leg behind her, and pushed her arm to the ground, forcing her to lean back, and in turn, trip over him. She hit the ground with a heavy thud, finding her revolver soon twisted from her hand... as she'd done to the foe earlier with a knife.<br/><br/>Panting, the girl curled her body, launching a kick at him from the upside down prone, forcing him to block the attack - her leg audibly hitting his arm with a meaty 'whomp'. He looked un-phased.  The momentum allowed her to roll about to the side, and resume a fighting stance. The man had by now opened the cylinder of her revolver, and the casing and live rounds alike trickled to the ground as he shook it.<span style="color: #0000FF">"Shame. I figured you'd gotten better."</span>He mocked.<br/><br/>Roaring, the woman charged the one-armed man with fervor in her voice. She began to throw blows left and right, each one skillfully blocked by her foe. Even the few kicks she threw; all intercepted by that one arm. But her momentum died down, and his began to pick up. They were exchanging blows -in speed unrivaled. But soon, he began to be on the losing side! Her foe was landing more and more blows- and she was growing increasingly tired, fighting in full-battle rattle, while her foe didn't seem to have anything on other than clothing. Her head jolted back as she caught a mean hook to the face, leaning back. The fellow followed up with an attempt at a sweep-kick. Recovering quickly, the Commando leapt up, over the kick, and had full intent to jump-stomp on his leg. But what she wasn't expecting was her rising foe to come up with full momentum with a massive uppercut. It was the deal breaker - as he caught her mid-air, and almost caused her to do a back-flip, landing a few feet from her foe. She hit the ground harder than she'd ever have... and she knew that her fight was on the losing side.<br/><br/>She pulled her head off the ground, craning her neck to look up at her foe, whom was shaking his hand briskly. "<span style="color: #0000FF">That one hurt. Not as much as it hurt you, I'm sure."</span>He taunted, dusting the blood off his knuckles. She wasn't sure if it was his, or hers... the way she was sweating, it certainly felt like blood was running down her face. She could barely lift herself off the ground with all of her armor on, struggling to get to her knees - chest rising up and down, heart racing. She looked down at the concrete. Sure enough, blood was dripping from her face, the crimson fluid muddied by her sweat. She didn't even know where it was coming from; mouth, nose, a gash.... she didn't care.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0000FF">"Giving in?"</span>He asked, sauntering over to her slowly.<br/><br/><span style="color: #800080">"Not on your life..."</span>She spat back, reaching to her back and drawing a tanto-blade, taking a defensive stance.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0000FF">"Lovely, you know exactly how THAT will go. I taught you to fight with your fists, and your knife. I think that you know you'll fall faster if you hand it off to me."</span><br/><br/>She growled under her breath, shaking her head.<span style="color: #800080">"S-shut up. SHUT UP!</span>" She said, whipping her hand back, and wheeling it forth, throwing the knife straight at her foe.<br/><br/>And her mouth went slack, standing in awe. He'd caught the weapon by the blade. Granted, blood gently dripped from his hand where he'd caught the edge - but he didn't seem to be pained by it.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0000FF">"What did I just say? Then again, you never were good at following orders.</span>" He scoffed, before dropping the knife at his feet.<br/><br/>Seeing she had no options left, but to fight a lost battle- she almost felt tears well up in her eyes. Everything she'd worked on. All her training... all her experience. All her years of service... reduced to nothing at a one-armed man's feet. But she let no tear show, only retaking her fighting stance for one last time.<br/><br/><span style="color: #008000">"I got you, Battle!"</span>Shouted a familiar voice.<br/><br/>Monica instantly perked up, especially as a hail of gunfire exploded from behind her foe, whom turned sharply. Bullets ricocheted all around the hall, as the man covered his head. As the gunfire died down, though, followed by the sound of a magazine hitting the ground, he reached to his side, dipping his hand into his trenchcoat, and pulling out a cylinder.<span style="color: #0000FF">"'Till we meet again, Princess."</span>His poisonous voice echoed, as his thumb flicked the pull-ring, and smoke exploded into the room. The thick plumes were choking, and blinding, making Monica cough and wheeze, weakly covering her mouth.<br/><br/>But as the smoke cleared, Malcoms was gone. And with her blocking one way, and her ally blocking the other.... She couldn't help but wonder... which way he went? She pushed the thought aside, as she skittered like a child on hands and knees to her rifle. She took it in hand, looking around, and seeing her Battle on the stairway, running down to check on her.<br/><br/>"<span style="color: #008000">Kelvert! Kelvert! Are you okay?"</span>He shouted. It was Klissick.<br/><br/><span style="color: #800080">"I-...I'm fine, Sergeant Major."</span>She stuttered, shaking her head.<br/><br/><span style="color: #008000">"Do you need MA?"</span>He asked, patting her down.<br/><br/><span style="color: #800080">"N-no, no gunshot wounds... j-just... I'm... okay."<br/></span><br/>"<span style="color: #008000">You don't look it - but I trust you."</span>He replied, offering her hand up. She took it wearily, pulling herself to a stand with his help.<span style="color: #008000">"We can't be bogged down. Let's Charlie Mike, find Malcoms, and find Andrews. Then we can get the hell out of here."</span><br/><br/>Monica nodded weakly, beginning to readjust her gear, before stumbling after the advancing Sergeant Major. He walked to the steel door that blocked their path before, looking at it. Whomever was behind it certainly knew that someone was there now. Between the .50 cal, and the .44 Mag, there had been enough commotion to wake the dead. But now, with Klissick at her back, she felt much better.<br/><br/>"<span style="color: #800080">Thanks, Battle." </span>She murmured.<br/><br/>He nodded, before placing a finger over his mouth. She took this time to check the condition of her weapon... before he nodded again.<br/>"<span style="color: #008000">Ready</span>?"<br/><br/>She nodded to him now.<br/><br/>And with that, he raised his foot in the air, and smashed down the steel door, which swung open wide. And like lightning, she hand Klissick were in the final room of the compound, guns raised and ready to rock.<br/><br/>Sure enough, there was the man in the pictures: Andrews... and another man. It didn't matter to her who he was, but she and her ally definitely had them at gunpoint - ready for their surrender... or a firefight to light the room.