Archive Mutants & Masterminds: Future Imperfect - Combat Readiness [Complete]

[Travis Kincaid]

December 11th, 2011

“You want to go play … paintball?”

“Yes. What’s the matter? You scared?”

Travis scowled, “No but …”

“Good. That’s settled then, see you tomorrow.” The line clicked dead leaving Travis to wonder why it was suddenly so important to Ronnie that they go play some juvenile wargame.

The next day …

Travis hefted the paintball gun, or as the man who was detailing the rules called it, a “marker”. He looked at Ronnie who settled the mask and goggles over her head that completed the ensemble of black army fatigues, black three-quarter gloves, and black combat boots. “You look like you are about to storm into some dictator’s mansion and blow his damned head off.” She smiled but Travis couldn’t see it through the mask. “You know this is dumb, these things wont even be able to hit me hard enough to burst open. It’ll be like I’m immune to bullets.”

She nodded, “I agree, it is a perfect tactical model for how you operate in combat.”

“Arrgh. This is retarded.” Travis gave her a goofy look and pulled his own mask on. Ronnie started to speak but Travis held up a hand to forestall her, “Fine. Fine. You want proof that my squash, while cooked and pureed into a smooth goo, still has enough tasty squishiness to make me a tactically competent partner right?”

“Travis Kindcaid, butternut squash. Yes, that sums it up.”

“Hmmph. Fine,” Travis shook his head as he picked up the spare container of paintballs, “but I still think you could have come up with something better. I mean honestly. It’s a damn Bar Mitzvah.” Travis swept a hand around indicating the large quantity of early teenage boys. Though there were some adults there were by far more children than anybody else.

[z-May Allman]

"It's not like I got to handpick our opponants, but valid point. Ok, then," Ronnie said, checking her weapon again. "Let's make it interesting. Anyone who looks like he can't drive is considered a non-combatant until he takes a shot at you. That makes the adults the terrorists in this exercise and the kids their brainwashed captives. You only kill the captives that are a danger to you." She smirked at him, which he couldn't see, but the challenge was clear in her voice. "Think you can handle that, butternut?"

"I can handle that, Grimmace," Travis said, his voice clearly accepting the challenge. "Lead on."

They entered the play area with the rest of their group, where they recieved a short lecture on safety and rules - all standard for a paintball setup. Then they were given five minutes to get setup before the all-clear was given.

Ronnie's eyes sparkled as she took off at a ground-eating trot, deeper into the compound. "Sing out if you see a good spot," she told Travis.

[Travis Kincaid]

Travis shook his head as he went looking for a spot to take cover behind. He could have stood buck naked in the open and they still wouldn't be able to mark him. Just go with the flow. "They'll probably try to flank around and capture our flag where the defense is weakest," he noted to Ronnie across the few yards of open terrain between their plywood bunkers. He was about to comment further when the air horn blew signally the game's start.

Much to their surprise instead of a quiet start there was a roar of teenage voices and an entire Bar Mitzvah's worth of young Jewish boys came charging over the no-man's land directly for their base. Behind them the adult's kept low and used their height to shoot safely over the kid's heads while screening themselves from return fire. Wow, ok, did not see that coming. The pop, pop, pop, of one paintgun quickly grew into an cacophony of noise as the younger members of Travis's team lept forward from their own cover, guns blazing, and charged forward as well.

[z-May Allman]

Ronnie started laughing. This was in no way going to test their combat readiness, not that she'd expected it to do so. The "combat readiness" was a red herring, an excuse to drag Travis outside into the muddy, dirty outdoors and have some fun. It was something to do besides hang out and talk about how different he was now while drinking, smoking and watching tramps. It wouldn't do to ask him that, though.

So when their young team members took off running, Ronnie roared, "Die, motherfuckers!" Several impressionable pre-teens repeated her war-cry, as the trouble-making purple-head collapsed with laughter. "Let's - oh god, in the face plate, good shot! Let's let the rabble clear themselves out, shall we?"

[Travis Kincaid]

Despite the whole mess being perhaps the poorest analog of actual combat he could think of outside of a board game Travis fell quickly into old habits. Guided by instinct and muscle memory he fell back rather than press forward. Travis didn't bother to use cover as he slowly covered the ground back to their "base" which was a rickety plywood shack that had their flag posted outside it.

Once he found a vantage point with lines of sight over the forward half of the battle he called to Ronnie. "Sector one-eight-zero, code purple!" He didn't realize that he was pulling old chatter from behind the firewall in his mind. It wouldn't be until after when Ronnie pointed it out that he gave it a second thought.

Travis settled in and now that his position was set he did the one thing that every soldier did when they could. He cheated. Paintballs emerged from his marker at a sedate two hundred and seventy feet per second. They quickly doubled their velocity and attained a positive spin that allowed them to fly truer and straighter than what should have been possible. Blue splotches began to eliminate enemy combatants as Travis offered supporting fire to augment the press of his own troops.

[z-May Allman]

"Affrimative," Ronnie said, her humor gone in a flash as she realized he was getting into it - and more importantly that he was remembering things from before his anemsia. She'd see if he could remember when the chatter came back to him. And she got her opportunity quickly.

A small form darted between the trees, fast enough to only be a blur. It was very cautious, zipping to a tree and stopping to assess before continueing on. Mutant. Fuck. I hate speedsters. They're always cocky fucks.

"Trav. Hot target, two o'clock. Flash." Hot target meant mutant. Two o'clock was its rough direction. Flash was short for a speedster. The way you handled a speedster was to let it close a bit, then spray the area it dashed through. Sometimes, you got it. Sometimes, you didn't. But this fuck was a threat to their flag, and Ronnie was going to hose it.

[Travis Kincaid]

"Bugger." At least now I don't have to feel bad about cheating. "Ronnie, sixty-nine, on my go!" Travis immediately spun and trusted that Ronnie would understand the order to reorient so that they would have switched flanks. In the back of his mind he hoped that the speedster would be pinned down long enough for them to complete the maneuver while waiting for a count and "go" that would never come. Never announce when you are doing something, even from a playbook that only you know.

Click to reveal.. (Flashback)

Five years earlier ...

The man zipped around in the jungle like a sugar high ferret. He's stop only long enough to allow the bullets from his gun to clear the barrel before zipping on to some other vantage point. Ronnie looked at Travis, "We're pretty fucked aren't we?"

Travis nodded for a moment. A sly smile crept over his face and he pulled out his spare clips of ammo. "Need yours too." She looked at him like he was nuts as he popped the bullets OUT of the clips. "Trust me." She shook her head but complied as more shots embedded themselves into the downed trees and dirt that hid them.

Travis smiled as the fifty odd rounds suddenly floated up into the air. "You want to hunt a bird, you use birdshot."

Ronnie sprinted past him and slid into the bunker he had just vacated as Travis likewise slid into an empty chunk of cover behind the base shack. He immediately grabbed his spare container and poured out half the paintballs. They rose into the air at his bidding and formed up into a neat cube. He watched and waited, biding his time until he could locate the speedster. A quick thermal scan was all that he needed.

"Go, NOWnownow!" The speedster, tricked into thinking that they were now moving darted out for the flag. He was fast and if they hadn't known he was there and been prepared he might have made it in and possibly out without drawing a single quality shot. Instead Travis lobbed a volley of one hundred paintballs at him. The cube spread out as it traveled and by the time the young boy turned bright blue it was covering an area sixteen yards square. "Got him! How's the front end holding?"

[z-May Allman]

"Five by five!" Ronnie shouted, knowing that he hated that phrase. Her gun pumped out a few more rounds, coating enthuastic kids in paint. They groaned and broke off their fight, slinking away to let those in the game remain in play.

A momentary lull descended, and Ronnie tossed a quick glance back to Travis. "We've still got it," she laughed, then snapped her head around to peg some lanky kid in the faceplate as he attempted to sneak to a new tree.

[Travis Kincaid]

The speedster started to get up and shot an angry look at Travis. "Don't even think it kid, we both know what we did, best not to escalate this further. We'd all like to avoid summer camp, if you catch me." The kid scowled but also nodded and walked off the field.

He pelted a fat kid with an expensive looking tricked out marker and another two of the Bar Mitzvah gang. "Ronnie, I'd say we should try for their flag but I think the 'we' portion of that is a bad idea, looks like its just you and me protecting our own asset. I got things covered back here, why don't you see if you can pull an extraction."

[z-May Allman]

"You got it, baby," she grinned, wagging her eyebrows at him through her faceplate. Creeping to the edge of the bunker, she crouched, then dashed for cover. Travis could almost see her beaming grin as she glanced back one more time, then faded into the bushes.

Ronnie had an upper hand here, and now she wasn't afraid to use it. Subtly, she relenquished control -

Lena licked her lips behind the faceplate. Tightening the belt Ronnie had provided for this exact reason, she peered out, and then began a painstaking crawl through the bushes and cover. It took longer than it would have for Ronnie, but Lena got her right to the back of the bunker. There you go, Big Purple, Lena said as she faded into the background.

Ronnie bit back a curse as the belt almost cut her in half. She managed to loosen it, but only after probably crushing her spleen and liver. Scowling, she peered into the bunker, then sank back down, picturing how she'd take down the three men crouched inside. She'd have to be fast. Piece of cake...

She lined up next to the door and fell sideways. They all moved at her motion, but their shots were high as she meticulously fired a paint ball into each.

Travis was getting surrounded. Several kids were getting ready to overrun him, and he was wondering if Ronnie had been taken. Suddenly, she was back at his side, holding a flag. "See - good as my word," she smirked.

[Travis Kincaid]

As the air horn sounded the end of the game Travis stood and pushed his mask up to rest on top of his head. Scoffing he replied, "Only 'cause I held down the fort." She punched him in the arm but even despite her best effort it was barely more than a tap by the time her first met his bicep. "Didn't hurt," he said and stuck his tongue out, "Neener neener."

Together they walked off the field. Neither had been hit all game, though technically Travis had been "hit" multiples times but because they hadn't broken he had not been called out. The field manager gave a five minute break until the next game to allow people to refill on air or paint or clean the waxy paint off their masks or clothing. The cycle repeated roughly twice an hour until lunch. By that time Travis was getting bored, the lack of an equal value on their opposing team meant somewhat limited challenge. "You wanna grab a drink or something? I think I'm ready to call it quits for the day." Some of the younger players on his team heard him as he asked Ronnie and groaned while kids on the other team broke into an impromptu cheer.

[z-May Allman]

"You and your booze," Ronnie chuckled. She brushed a bit of dirt off her face, and only succeeded in smearing it more. "Oh, why the fuck not? We have something to celebrate anyway."

"We do... baby?" he asked slyly.

"Hey, you're only my baby when you're killing things." Her smile faded a bit. "You don't remember that joke do you?"

"Am-nes-ia," he over-pronounced as they walked toward his car. "I don't think that it means what you think it means."

Ronnie waved that away. "Anyway, I'll tell you the joke again, and I'll let you know what I saw today." She smiled at him. "You may not remember your tactical talk, but you still know it. And that's awesome! You were such a pain in the ass to train right once."

"When you're as big as me," Travis started, only to be drowned out by Ronnie's shouts of "TMI!" Still bantering, the two friends got into his car and went for beer.