DATA .02

The brightly-lit staging room was filled with the sounds of preparing operatives.  Justin, Hellcat and Travis sat in a horseshoe loading their matte-black finished Heckler & Koch MPK-2013s.  The Heckler & Koch MPK2013 was an updated version of the MPK-5SD, and was constructed with the same high quality silencer that helped make the Heckler & Koch line of silenced-submachine guns so popular with 20th century anti-terrorist organizations and covert operatives.
All three of them were wearing dark colored fatigues.  All wore black, side-buckling, mid-shin, storm trooper boots, which covered the bottom of their dark gray, light armored leggings.  The leggings had about the protection rating of 20th century class II or IIA body armor; what this means is that the leggings had the ability to stop most 9mm and 12 gauge buckshot rounds.  The difference between the leggings the operatives wore, and those of the twentieth century was that the modern leggings were twenty percent lighter than their ancestral counterparts.  Around Justin’s and Travis’ right thighs were their sidearm holsters, while Hellcat wore hers on the left.  An IMI .50 Desert Eagle occupied Justin’s holster.  Travis’ and Hellcat’s contained Mustang Arms Mk. III 11mm autopistols, using the standard thirteen round magazines compared to the extended twenty.
The leggings were held securely at the operatives’ waists by a wide, black, synthleather, tactical-utility belt.  Strapped to it was a pair of handgun magazine pouches.  All three comrades had them on the opposite side as their thigh-holsters.
Also on the belt was the transceiver unit for their wire-less mastoid communication system.  These systems were a vast improvement on the old United States commando wire-headsets.  With direct vibration against the mastoid bone, created by a mini-speaker placed just behind the ear, instead of an ear-bud being placed inside of the ear and thereby dampening external noise, the system gave better quality sound.  The traditional boom-microphone which sprouted from the ear-piece, was replaced by a strap-on receiver placed directly on the larynx.  This allowed for more subtle vocalizations, and with programmable keywords, you could make sure that you didn’t broadcast at an inopportune time.  Also, by making the system wireless, it removed the problem of having wires snag or impede movement.
The operatives wore thin, reinforced jackets, matching in color to the leggings that they all wore.  Similar to the leggings, the jackets were also around class II or IIA rated.  On top of this, they wore a black tactical vest, often referred to as a “tac-vest”.  This tac-vest had assorted pouches and loops.  The loops allowed for the hanging of assorted, pin-pull-activated grenades.  Three mini-grenades hung from each ring, going across the left breast towards the waist.  The pouches could contain just about anything that a person could need, be it a map and compass, personal data assistant, B & E kit, or C-6 (an upgraded version of classic C-4 plastic explosives).  Fully loaded sub-machine gun magazines occupied four of the vertical ouches near the bottom of the vest.  Two of them were loaded with standard 9mm slugs, while each of the others were loaded with armor-piercing and hollow point ammunition.  In addition to the storage space that this valuable item gave, it also provided additional protection to the trunk of the body.
Only Silver Ronin’s attire differed from the norm set by the other three.  He wore chromed boots that came up to his knees, and even had a metal kneepad.  The right boot was modified, and a large combat knife’s handle protruded proudly along Mark’s shin, and the butt barely passed his knee.  On second glance, it was more like a machete than a combat knife, but such a differentiation would likely depend on the size of the beholder, rather than his or her eye.
Tucked into these large boots were urban-camouflage-patterned pants.  They had large pockets in the thighs, and lacked the purposeful reinforcement that the other’s had; though this is not to say that it didn’t offer any protection.  The pants could easily stand up to .22 short and .25 bullets, though asking much more of them was foolish, and potentially deadly.  This was of little consequence though, considering that Silver Ronin’s complete visage was, for all intents and purposes bulletproof.  Only the most serious of rifle calibers, or specialty rounds, could scratch or penetrate his polished, chrome skin.
On his belt were four, shallower pouches.  Each contained a speed-loader with six, polished, .454 cased rounds hanging down.   These were reloads for the .454, electro-thermal, revolver strapped to his vest.  It was a Nova Arms “Arno”, apparently named after an extremely popular 20th century action star.
The “Arno”, part of Nova Arms’ Plasmatic series of revolvers, doesn’t use conventional firearm technology; namely that of primer and gunpowder.  Instead, the gun uses electricity and liquid working fluid.  In the case of Nova Arms’ “Arno”, methanol is used.  An electric battery, stored in the revolver’s handle (it drops out of the bottom for easy replacement) sends ten thousand amps to the cartridge and primes the methanol turning it into plasma.  The incredible velocities this creates breaks the conventional 6,500 feet per second limit.
The Silver Ronin was off in the other side of the room loading his customized compact rifle.  It was a bull-pup configuration, and most closely resembled an H&K G11 assault rifle.  The custom rifle was chambered for caseless 4.7mm rounds.  It had an under-barrel 25mm grenade launcher, laser sighting, collapsible stock, and smartgun linkage.
The grenade launcher was unique because of the shotgun-like pump action.  It was a tube-fed, an had a 3-round capacity (discounting the round that was stored in the chamber).  It carried a larger magazine than the 20th century, M203 Talon under-barrel 40mm grenade launchers, but each grenade was smaller than that of the Talon.  Though the range (approximately two hundred meters) was comparable, the exit velocity wasn’t.
The laser sighting was one of Starlight Technology’s best, a Mk III 2017 “Rangefinder” model.  It had a maximum range of approximately eight hundred meters, well beyond that of the rifle.
Justin looked up as he secured the shoulder sling to his submachine gun, and watched Mark cocking his machinery.  “So, THAT was your ‘subgun’?” he remarked with a smirk and a chuckle.
The Silver Ronin’s optics swiveled and focussed on Justin, and he made a soft, metallic growl.  “Yeah, ain’t it a beaut’?  I’m glad it’s finally ready.  I can’t wait to put down some bags of flesh and water with this!”  His metallic voice became a simulation of maniacal laughter.  “I had the tension on the bolt-spring increased to increase the rig’s rate of fire to somewhere in the vicinity of 2100 rounds per minute, plus with this thing’s eighty-five round magazine, I’ve got the ammunition to make maximum use of it.  Heck, I’ve even got an extra cooling shroud to keep the barrel heat under control, plus smartlinking with security code, to make sure no blood-monkeys can use it.”  This last remark was made with such a simulated tone, that if his mouth had been designed to smile, it probably would have had one of the most sadistic grins plastered on it.
Justin couldn’t help but let out a deep, hearty laugh, “Watch out, Militech might recruit you to start coming up with the specs for their new line of assault weapons.”
Mark returned it with a metallic laugh of his own, “At least it’d be a steady income, neh?”
The laughter ended, and then there was silence aloud, though inside each of their brains it was as noisy as a Chrome Maggots concert.  The quartet continued the well-rehearsed movements of preparing for their assignment.
“Think we’re really going to need all this firepower?” Hellcat piped up, breaking the silence.  Only Travis looked up, distracted from his cybernetics-diagnostic equipment.  The two locked eyes, Travis’ expression was one of disbelief.  “Right, stupid question,” she said, turning back to her work downloading all the major programs she’d need for this gig onto her custom cyberdeck.
“By the way, Mark-,” Travis began after a short silence.
“Silver Ronin!” Mark boomed.
“Whatever,” Travis replied with a shrug, “Anyway, Eliot said that he had a ripperdoc look you over while you were out.”
“You know I don’t like people fucking with me!” Mark’s large metal fist crashed down on the plastic table he was working at, causing it to break in two.  His entire collection of gun cleaning materials crashed to the floor.  He paused for a moment to look at the gun oil as it slowly leaked onto the floor.  “I can maintain myself,” he stated, mostly to himself.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“Is it safe?” a muffled, voice asked.
“Yeah, just one of your cheap tables collapsed,” Justin stated as he tapped the ash off the end of his cigar.
The heavy, pseudo-wood swing open on its slightly rusting hinges.  Eliot entered; still dressed in the shadowy guise he’d been wearing at the negotiations earlier, still the same cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  He briefly regarded the shattered remains of the table that lie next to Silver Ronin.  He made a small ‘hrmph’ sound then turned back to Justin.  “Do you think such attire is appropriate?  Your likely gonna cause more alarm than necessary.”
Justin gave a knowing grin around the cigar.  “Way ahead of you Eliot, as always.  We’re gonna cover ourselves up with some trenchcoats we received from some generous donors.”
“Anyone I need to worry about?” Eliot asked, he could feel his skin rise along with his anxiety.
“No,” Justin replied flatly.
“Anyway, here’s the deal: you are all going to go down to Carl’s Warehouse, by the harbor, building number 13-”
“Thirteen?  That’s unlucky, already I’m not liking this job,” Hellcat interjected snidely.
“Since when are you superstitious?” Travis asked.  Hellcat simply shot him a sideways glare.
“May I continue, if the children are done?” Eliot asked, every word punctuated by the cigarette smoke spilling out of his mouth.  “You are to go to the steel door facing the bay.  It’s an old door like those seen in a speak-easy-”
“A what?” Mark cut him off this time.
“A speak-easy…oh God, you don’t know what a speak-easy is?  All right, quick history lesson for those wire-heads a little less knowledgeable than the rest of us.  Back in the 1920’s, the United States was more unified; World War I had just finished and a new policy called ‘prohibition’ was put into place.  Prohibition made alcohol consumption illegal, and the mob began making a fortune running liquor back and forth around the country.  Underground bars were setup that offered alcohol and gambling.  Many of these doors had the characteristic of doors with sliding-plate peepholes.  That is the kind of door this warehouse has.  Now, knock on the door three times, and show them this,” Eliot pulled out a plastic forget-me-not.  “You’ll be let in, make contact with the client and the extractee, then put the target in the van I’m providing you with, and head to Newark.”
“What are we supposed to do in Newark?” Justin queried.
“Wait,” Eliot replied coldly.
“Wait?” Justin repeated with surprise.
“Yes, wait.  Depending on how it goes between now and then will determine our next course of action.  You guys can keep in touch with me via your cellular phones, but make sure your scramblers are active.  Last thing I need is whoever they’re running from coming down on me.” Eliot said.  He then pulled out a compact autopistol with a trigger and trigger guard designed to accompany two fingers.  “And this hold-out pistol isn’t gonna do squat for me if they’re wearing full Metal Gear.”
“When are we supposed to be there?” Travis asked, slapping the magazine into his sub-machinegun.
Eliot pulled back his sleeve and looked at his platinum, wind-up watch.  “You’d best leave now.”
The Silver Ronin picked up a large, olive-green, kevlar duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder.  The other three picked up their black, reinforced gym bags, and hung them off their shoulders.  After taking one last look around, they headed out the door.