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HITMAN: Tommi Cartwright (pt 2)

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1 HITMAN: Tommi Cartwright (pt 2) on Mon Feb 01, 2016 11:23 am

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Operation RedEye  
After a sudden abduction by the CIA, taking him to an undisclosed location where he was briefed on Operation RedEye, the mission that would serve as Cartwrights' Red trail where he'd be asked to kill a human person for the first time in his life. The primairy objective of Operation RedEye was to eliminate a Guerrilla leader in Central Africa named Silvio Mamadou, who with the assistance of mercenaries was planning to stage a Coup d'État against his government. Since the country was blessed with the unofficial support of the United States, Tommi Cartwright was tasked with eliminating this threat to prove his potential to the agency who were already prepping a plane to drop him behind the enemy lines...  

As the tension in the cargo plane build up to the climax when the backdoors opened up the siren casting its omnious scream through the interior under the deep red shade of the signal light, Tommi strapped himself into the standard issue parachute walking over to the daunting abbys where ferocious gusts raged by his ears. The high altitude with the low oxigen concentration had its effects as the colour disappeared out of his cheeks when he gazed towards the ground below, where he'd be landing, isolated of possible reinforcements in case anything would go wrong. The Ghost status meant that once he took the dive towards the earth, he'd officially stop existing in the official records, his identity erased out of the archives, making his country able to deny any ties to the agent, enabling them to operate beyond their juristiction, breaking international laws and human rights with no potential repurcusions. When the OK sign was given by the deckhand, Cartwright sprinted towards opened bay doors, diving towards his potential oblivion with his head first, while the burdening weight of the .338 caliber rifle shifted side to side on his back 'cause of the running motion. As the safety of solid steel disappeared underneath his feet, his body only experiencing the relentless attraction of gravity that dragged his downward in an accelerating speed, blowing off his favourite baseball cap as he spiraled towards the surface.His sight blurred behind the darkened shades by the acceleration, he stared down making a mental picture of the landscape as the savannah came closer with every second till the gloved left hand of the soldier slipped into the pulling cord tugging it briefly for the backpack to explode into large canvas screen that undercutted his speed in an instance, jerking him upward once more. His body suspended in the sky with only the synthetical fibre straps around his chest and shoulders, he descended slowly downward, keeping a close eye on everything happening below, which in this case were just a pack of gazelles scattering in all direction as the whistling sound of the chute slicing through the air approached rapidly in their direction. Just a couple of feet below the wildlife wasteland, Tommi pulled loose the latches keeping him in the harness, dropping on the floor as the parachute was carried away by a strong african breeze till it eventuall landed in the thin tree top of a lonely desert pine. As his feet settled in the soft sand, in a swift pace Cartwright did a brief material check, verifying the condition of his resources, the scarce food rations, the limited ammunition and the clearity of the scoop through which he investigated the surroundings looking for enemy activity in his proximity, ending up with only a dozens of animal species attracted by the new prescense on their territory. Ignoring to bother to pick up the dropped canvas safety screen, he ran towards the coordinates he'd been given during the briefing in search of his mark who'd enjoyed the comforting knowledge of being guarded twenty-four seven by a small army of mercenaries who shared not only his financial motivation but the ideals of an anarchistic reign over the country. Navigating his way through the Savannah with little option of remain hidden in the rare shubbery and treelines, he marched onward to his destination, heading straight for point Charlie where he'd await the arrival of his target who'd be passing through this region in the next two week as his convoy was traveling to their hideout near the border...  

Without much resistance Tommi Cartwright had moved through the African wilderness, dodging mobile partols in order to remain undetected for as long as possible to ensure the mark doesn't get alerted of his prescense. Taking up his position on a rocky mountain ridge that overlooked the curving road between the capital city and the outer border of the nation that the target will be moving along, Tommi remained in hiding in the dense grass patch carefully blending into his surroundings as he'd covered himself underneath a sandy screen of tarp, where with needle and thread plucks of savannah grass were sown on, while small pebbles and sand were glued to the surface, making for a primitive ghillie suit that caused helicopter partols to fly over without noticing the sniper in hiding. With only the flash suppressor coming out of the concealment, while the glass window of the scope was fixed within a small gap, Cartwright waited completly motionless, his eye staring out of the monoculair, making subtle corrections depending on the wind speed and weather conditions by clicking the stabilizing bipod legs up and down for maximum accuracy. For a total of six days with no sleep nor sunshine beside of the occasional flare of light piercing through the tarp, he awaited the convoy in the sickening scent of his own urine that had been absorbed in the soil underneath his crotch area with his mouth dried up and his stomache growling under the notion of being completely empty with little reserves left to keep his body in motion. As a cloud of dust rose into the sky beyond the horizon, the moment of truth had arrived as teh crosshair of the magnifying scope started to search for the familiar face he'd memorised from the moment before take-off a week ago, scanning the interior of each SUV and armored trucks from the safe distance of two miles. With the vehicles moving closer and the window of opportunity shrinking with each second that went by as the new Ghost screened for that one face through the majority of black soldiers equiped with poorly maintained russian black market rifles such as the AK 47 and K6-92's submachine guns that would potentially jam in the first pull on the trigger till he eventually recognised the sharp contours of Silvio Mamadou's face with the typical low chin and drouly eyes. The mark was sitting relaxed in the backseat of the armored humvee somewhere near the end of the escorting convoy, reading through what Tommi guessed was his next propaganda speech that he'd be presenting to the naive and impoverished people of the courty in an attempt to gain their support in the guerrilla struggle against the current government. The odd shape of the rebel leader's chest suggested the usage of a military grade bulletproof jacket in a pettifull attempt to stay out alive during enemy fire, yet clearly not intending to have drawn out the attention of a Ghost marksman that waited for the mark to roll across the 2000 yards line he'd set out with stuffed bird in a tree. Slowly he started to add some pressure to the trigger hearing the internal mechanism strain under the build up force of the .338 slug waiting anxiously in the barrel for the hammer to strike the tail. One Hundred yards and closing Tommi whispered to himself as another helicopter partol flew across of his motionless hidden body in the search for possible ambushes, while he pressed the top of his cheekbone gently against the soft cushion on the scope lens watching Silvio's harsh face glide towards the center of the cross. When the browline was centered along the red dot of the scope Tommi let out a deep sigh, followed by his signature smirk as with a massive force the bullet exploded from the steel barrel, piercing through the reinforced glass and hitting the mark straight in the center of his face, that exploded like a melon under an anvil before the raging sound of the shot even arrived at the first car of the patrol. Without even bothering to await the chaotic response of the rebels squirming around in total panic 'cause of the sniper that just took out their precious leader from an unknown location, Tommi jumped from underneath the tarp, his muscles stiff from the lack of movement and slided down the ridge away from the road, placing the rifle into the holster on his back. In the hurry to avoid the helicopter from turning back under the Mayday call the youngest Ghost agent ever to have passed his red test headed for the tree line from which he'd start his journey towards the border where the rendez-vous point with his government would be established the very instance the news of the guerrilla leader's death would be spread across television sets around the world, since these things never stayed unannounced for much longer than a day...  

Operation Hercules Rising  
After his succes in Africa where with a smooth extraction he was lifted out of the country by helicopter under the alibi of being a diplomatic representative there for a tactical consultatance with the crisis going on with the refugees of the neighboring nation after the rebel leader was taken out by an unidentified assassin. Without any questions asked Cartwright was picked up from the country next door recieving a medal of honor for the services he'd offered to his government though none would ever know of this tribute to his heroism since beside of the witnesses in the basement and himself only a dozen of codenamed officials were present for the ceremony. However brief the moment of glory was, it had recharged the young soldier beyond the comprehension of most as he was summoned for another mission by a man who over the radio was only refered to as Uncle Sam (considering the lack of imagination the agency they'd gone with the first patriotic name that came to mind in codenaming this high ranked officer with general status in charge of the entire Ghost Project). The operation he was assigned with, concerned the existence of a certain Amado Carrillo Fuentes, a mexican druglord who was responsible for the majority of cocaine getting trafficed back and forth across the US border. Since the Narcotics Brigade and the DEA had failed to find any trace of evidence to link Amado to the intercepted drug shipments, most drastic matters were demanded in order to stop the poisoning of the nation by their southern neighbors. The execution mission he was offered consisted of primairy objective being the termination of the drug lords life on one side and a secondairy priority of destroying the majority of his followers in the process should the opportunity reveal itself...  

Unlike Operation RedEye, the new assignment which would be buried in the classified files under the name Hercules Rising, Tommi was given an old pick-up truck, matching attire and a hunting license for Mexico which he took across the border to Mexico City where based upon current intel his target would be undergoing plastic reconstructive surgery in some shanty hospital in teh attempt to dodge facial recognition by the authorities. With the melodic tunes of country music echoing through the rusted cabin of the truck, Cartwright impersonated one of the millions of tourists looking to have some fun in the land of the free, as a luggage suitcase was placed in the back holding clothing, shorts and some hard liquor to numb the throbbing pain his fake migrains burdened him with, since the geeks in the lab had given him this flawed identity to pass through border control. As he rolled up to the toll booth guarded US military, he handed the frauded paperwork through the opened side window, waiting anxiously for the computer to verify the authenticity, he whistled the melody of the radio in shards of smoke coming from the cigarette pressed between his lips. Most assassins, especially snipers relied on some sort of addiction to calm down the nerves, smoking being Tommi's only vice as the ashes had started pile up on the floor , the cigarette buts lingering on the seat, burning tiny holes in the sued interior. Minutes ticked by on the clock as the officer in the booth's fingers danced along the yellowed keys of the computer board, causing screens to pop up on the display showing all sorts of information they'd found on Tommi Cartwright's new identity, medical records going back 20 years with official signatures and names, car license and insurance papers all in his name for a small rental home, the pick-up truck and a small fishing business where he'd officially worked right after he'd joined the Ghost project. Everything had checked out as the officer came walking out from his booth, returning his paperwork to Tommi who looked over the edge of his sunglasses, smirking satisfied in the agents' direction, placing the documents in the glove compartiment, before riding across the juristictional line underneath the security beam that was lifted as the police officer kindly lifted his cap in a saluting motion as the back of the old car disappeared behind the horizon. With the dingy sound of the engine roaring and the rhythm of an accoustic guitar he headed towards his destination, being the lovely never sleeping city of Mexico City, where drugs, women and sickening beastiality shows entertained the drunken crowds of college students spending their annual spring break partying and copulating...  

Upon his arrival in the big crowded city, Tommi headed for the low budget motel room the CIA had rented for him where in the dusty chamber with shaggy carpet, stained matrass and a tv set that works on quarters a small steel casing was tucked under the bed that the Ghost had been dreaming off since the moment he'd left the undisclosed briefing location at the start of Hercules Rising. Dropping his luggage in the corner of the room without bothering to unpack, he reached under the bed, pulling out the steel case that with a metalic screech popped open as the two latch locks slided open under the turning motion of the key he'd been carrying around his neck. In the foam isolated interior of the box, the segments of his beloved rifle were placed in their designated slots, their steel finish shined brightly by the light bouncing off through the shutter windows. Starting to assemble the gun together piece by piece with highest care he mentally prepared himself for the mission to come, leafing through the case file to remind him of the specifications of the operation eventhough he knew that paperwork cover to cover in every detail. After the gun was mounted, oiled and polished, he headed for the shower, stripping himself of those ridiculous white-washed jeans and  woodcheckered shirt, washing away the foul odour that had seeped into his pores after the long drive. Under the cold water running down along his skin, he cleansed off the fake tan the lab techs had sprayed on to give him a more Californial look, watching the orange shade disappear into the drain, before reaching for the black towel he'd brought along himself. As motel toiletries were always of dubious nature, he wouldn't leave the protection of the base without his own towel, making him at the same time avoid leaving behind DNA evidence, while the bleech would to the rest. Pouring down the blue chemical as he carefully cleaned out the tube, Tommi got dressed in the brown cargo pants, pulling a standard black Tshirt across his bare chest and strapping his side arm, a standarised USP tactical with silencer tightly against his lower left leg. The routined procedure of getting dressed, trimming his hair with a knife razing across his scalp only took four minutes, before the short man walked back into the room, placing the rifle in a fishing rod bag that he'd lifted out of his suitcase before walking out of the room, leaving everything else behind for the cleaning lady to fence off to the local pawn shop, making tracing back the items an impossible job should this be done in a United States City, but here in Mexico there was not a chance in a lifetime someone would ever be able to track those abandoned items back to him or the Ghost project...  

Tommi wandered through the city, crossing paths purposely with surveillance camera's to give him an alibi, since the two last ones were already tampered with by a corrupt agent on the agency's payroll. As he apparently drifted through the town without any purpose he was actually heading for the construction site where a large crane would offer him a clear view of the hospital where the charming mexican prick selling poor quality narcotics to whomever's interested in buying. When he arrived at the metal fence meant to keep trespassers from drifting into the hazardous construction site, where falling bricks can easely cave in a skull with the proper headgear on or wet concrete might become a fluid trap from which there's no escape, Tommi pulled out a set of plier, cutting over the steel wires of the fence, making a small gap large enough to push his small figure through without cutting open his skin or cloths on the sharp edges. Sneaking his way through the concrete pillars and squirming construction workers who tend to ignore his presence as he walked around as if he belonged there, since he'd memorised the entire layout of the place before arriving. As he walked along the pinewood pallets that protected the marble floors from getting damaged by the clumsy accidents that occured on the site with high frequency, Tommi found his way to the elevator linked to the main crane. Pressing the upward arrow, the ascend rose to the top of the crane where with some forged paperwork he'd convinced the operator Cartwright was his replacement for the week, offering the man a week of paid vacation. Setting up the crows' nest in the control room on top of the crane, Tommi started to put everything in order, cutting out a small circle shape out of the glass window, just the right size to push the barrel of the rifle through, resting the stock of the gun on the seat for added stability. Slamming the feed back, sliding the .338 round in the oiled up shaft with the etched name of Amado Carrillo Fuentes in the lead round, he let himself slide into the comfortable seat with the control levers, peaking from a distance into the lens that was focuses on the barred window of room 108 of the clinic, where in the warm silken covers the bandaged face of Amado was sleeping off the bothering effects of the painkillers. Tommi had the perfect shot, the crosshair pointed centered on his wrapped up face, making it impossible for him to miss from the short distance of 1500 yards between his place on the crane and the very bed his mark was lying in, but since none of the druglords' goons was present he held his finger off the trigger. For two entire days in the noise of construction Tommi had remained in his very position staring through the magnifying scope till the moment of truth arrived through the wooden door a mile away in the form of six latino gentlemen entering their boss's recovery room for the grand revealing of the new face of the cocaine trade. As Amado had some strange personal issue with nurses according to his personal file, Cartwright had guessed one of his second in commands would be given the pleasure of revealing the cosmetic alterations on his superior, allowing him to kill 7 flies with a single blow. With the large blue Helium bottle to fill the Get Better and Good Recovery balloons his boys had brought allong, Tommi saw the opportunity, shifting the crosshairs from his targets face towards the explosive gas container in the room, jerking the metal trigger back. With a single round crushing into the helium bottle, resulting in a massive fireball that blew the windows out of their frames and its heat radiating to his own position, Cartwright had succesfully killed all the cartel heads in one shot, which sound was muffled in the vibrating nuissance of powerdrills and sledgehammers below...  

Operation Snapshot Emperius  
After the Mexican operation ending in a blast that left the local authorities clueless to its cause, suggesting it might have been just a poorly maintained gasleak that was exposed to a heatsource, Tommi drove across the border as if nothing out of the ordinairy had happened to meet with his superiors for the debriefing at the first gas station on US territory. Entering the roadside restaurant with his shades covering his brown eyes and a cigarette balanced in the gap between his teet, the Ghost dropped down on the bar stool ordering a cup of coffee black and a side of french toast and scrambled eggs, which was the code phrase for his contact who'd sat in the corner of the dinner reading yesterdays paper with the gas explosion of a Mexico City hospital on the front page. A waitress dressed in a pink and white uniform brough over his requested order on a plastic tray with a napkin underneath that didn't match the logo's of the dinner as some writing making no sense what so ever to outsiders was printed on the paper fabric in a peculiar blue ink. Reading the odd phrase stating Wallnuts gr0w on Apric0rn Three's, Tommi smiled as internally he was overjoyed at the hidden content of the message, taking in account the spelling errors and number usage that contained an incrypted code that only Ghost agents were told off. Finishing the second grade meal for which he paid with a fifthy dollar bill, leaving the change as the tip for the services of the middle aged waitress, he stood up from his seat heading for the direction of gaspump 33, filling two jerry cans with ten liters of leadfree gasoline, just like the message had told him to. During the wait for the tanks to fill a drunken homeless man bumped into him, feeling a sudden weight fall into his pocket as the man stumbled away in his drunken balade that the concrete floor eventually won with the man tripping on lingering metal can near the public restrooms. Stepping into his pick-up truck, Tommi pulled out the brown enveloppe that had been placed in his pocket, taking the documents out that included a pasport of Serbian nationality, a private jet plane ticket and single prom picture of a charming boy with faux-hawk haircut standing next to a petite blond girl with a deep cleavage dress. Turning the photograph around stood a handwritten set of names of Emily and Julian Warszawski, siblings who weren't only involved in a disgusting incestual relationship but in the illegal sale of nuclear warfare products such as uranium and plutonium which they sold to terrorists and anarchists across the planet...  

After a long flight in the jet that took him to a private airstrip, Tommi Cartwright stepped out on the tarmac, dressed in a tailored suit with silver cufflinks, the collar pulled up to the top of his neck as the chilled breeze of the Balkan Mountains raged over the airfield. Walking towards the town car parked near the entrance his metal gun case in his left hand, a leather business style briefcase in the other, Tommi made himself comfortable in the leather backseat of the car as his newest identity included him pretending to be a wealthy real estate agent interested in purchasing the Lanchester Towers that were currently owned by the wicked Polish duo he was tasked to kill. The luxury and big spender lifestyle were all paid for by the government in advance, as a sign of thanks for the good job he'd already done for his country while at the same time creating a credible pseudonym to his identity. As classical composures played over the speakers in the back and the friendly suggestions about the local history made by his chauffeur, the agent was dropped off at the five star hotel where a refined penthouse would become his residency for the next seven weeks as he'd attempt to gain the trust of the Warszawski siblings to allow him getting close enough to kill them from up close, intercepting their last business deal with some Middle Eastern Extremists and returning the nuclear warheads to his own government for research. Walking into the reception Emily Warszawski welcomed him with two unexpected kisses on each cheek, followed by a warm hug before even sharing single word with one another, he was caught off guard by the Easter European hospitality of the sensual flirtatious lady in a tight blue cocktail dress that drew attention to her long elegant legs. Falling for her flair and charm instantly he was about to make one of the biggest mistakes in the business which was getting involved personally with a mark as Tommi's male urges got the upper hand on his conscious. Going in on her request to go to dinner together, Tommi found himself lost in her web of lies and the delicate curves of her body as the night ended with dessert in his penthouse. Weeks went by, missing several secret meetings with his superiors, which made the idea off him going rogue strenghten every day he failed to recover communications with the Ghost Project as most of the days he failed to even leave the bedroom which he'd come to share with the erotically gifted Emily, comprising his judgement concerning the operation that delayed the execution of the Warszawski siblings almost to the poin that he'd fail to intercept the last business transaction with the Muslin extremist terrorists...  

As the day of the apocalyps approached around the corner as agent Cartwright failed to focus his attention on anything except of Emily's promiscuous body that was wrapped around his for the majority of the time, except of the occasional shower that even was shared between the two of them. Having been too distracted on the mission, failing to meet up with Julian for the business proposal set up for the execution, Tommi was only reminded of his task when he opened the corridor cabinet to pick up some towels, finding the steel locker of his rifle with the picture pasted on the casing of the siblings' prom photo, seeing the handsome adolescent physique of his latest sexual conquest and her charming brother who smiled almost mockingly towards the naked agent holding the towel under his arm. The memory reminder had awoken the killer inside of him once more, yet the emotions he faced towards his bedpartner clouded his judgement, making him second guess the decision on terminating the two targets, yet his mind had told him to review the case from a rational spectre. Walking back towards the bedroom where the nude curves of the girl welcomed him from underneath the silken covers, her leg tempting him to get back to the game they'd been playing as her foot danced in circles in his direction. Crawling on the bed from the back-end hanging over her fragil petite body, kissing the line between her full breasts towards her belly button, he stared at her with puppy eyes for the first time in 6 weeks deciding to start a conversation as he was meant to have done since his arrival in Serbia. As he lowered himself on her waist he whispered a question gently in her ear that caused the woman to break into tears, sobbing her story about her brother molesting and threatning her with death as she failed to comply to his every need and desire, explaining all the malevolent crimes she'd commited to satisfy her sibling in a shower of tears as she'd started to cling onto his shoulder crying her heart out as she shared her tormented story with the man bound to kill her. However something shifted in his head, making sympathy towards his lover get the best out of his judgement as he made up his mind on only assassinating Julian and hiding Elimy from his superiors for her protection. Recieving the residency key of the  Warszawski's heirloom mansion, Tommi had placed Emily on a cab that would take her to the airport, having bought a plane ticket to Paris where she'd have to hide out in a hotel room just beyond the suburbs, before summoning his own to take him to the house. As the yellow cab pulled up in front of the maingate, placing a bullet between the chauffeur's eyes, Tommi's rage had gotten the upper hand of him. Shooting the two security guards standing along the sides of the gate with his sidearm, the Ghost had decided to make this matter personal, finding the foul scumbag Julian unworthy of a .338 bullet of his beloved rifle. With only seven 17 round clips available and no notable close combat training, Tommi relied solely on his quick reflexes and accurate aim as he barged in the mansion killing the personal guards with a each single round through the head, kicking in door after door till he'd eventually walked into the bedroom of the dreaded Julian Warszawski, who was hiding in the far corner soaking wet as foamy puddles of water from the bathroom to his position suggested he'd been taking a bath upon the assassins' arrival. Tommi walked over to the squirming man with a steady step, kicking chairs to the floor in splintering force and throwing the fragil art pieces in a million fragments with each step. Never before had the small killer appeared as threatning as he was right now, noticing a vain throbbing on his forehead in his blind anger. With him coming terrifyingly close to his future victim, the man in the corner soiled himself as the clear puddle of water underneath his curled up body turned a smelly yellow shade that contrasted with the white marble floors. The signature smirk rolled up the corner of his mouth as he pulled the man from the ground by his hair with a strength he'd normally did not posses yet the adrinaline surging through his body gave him increased power; the man struggling in the vicious grip of his assaillant. With a metalic screeching sound Cartwright unscrewed the silencer that had been mounted on the USP handgun after he'd knocked the man against the wall, allowing him to once more slide down to the floor in his own filth. Pressing the gun against the man mouth, forcing the carbon frame in the throat so deep that vomitting tendencies started to occur in the victim, Tommi chuckled as with a deep voice he whispered in the man's ear I'm gonna enjoy painting the wall with your brains, you sick freak before the echoing explosing of the gun ripped apart Julian's skull, killing the man instantly. Tommi turned away of the motionless corpse surprised by the guard that had walked in the room, shooting the assassin in the stomache, but not without first falling to the floor himself as in the agony of the gunwound burning in his abdomen had started off a spasm, causing him to fire the last bullet out of the clip into the guards chest. Cartwright crushed against the wall, the pain growing stronger as his body's energy drained out of the wound till he'd eventually passed out due to blood loss, only to be saved by the medics who'd been called by a concerned neighhbor who'd heard the gunshots next door. Though recieving medical treatment the local authorities had taken him into custody on the suspicion of murder...  

Operation Gulag Mercy  
After the arrestation of Tommi Cartwright by the Serbian government only three weeks went by before the CIA had filled in the necessary paperwork to order his release from incarceration and demand the case to be closed on the account of diplomatic arrangements between the two countries. Since an exception was made on his behalf, the Ghost Program had been compromised, causing the politicians in charge of the project to have their doubts on the efficiancy of agent SINISTER as that was the operational codename Cartwright worked under. General Campbell, the man in charge of the active Ghost agents had taken matters in his own hands, starting investigation on the reason for the insubordination of his finest unit, yet finding no understandable evidence to explain the sudden lack of discretion. The existence of Emily Warszawski was unconfirmed since after Cartwright suicidal entree in the Serbian mansion the parcel bomb in his hotelroom had gone off, destroying the penthouse completely including the cleaning lady that was doing her job, yet was mistakenly identified for Emily after DNA evidence had given no results, yet simularities in size and weight had caused confusion to rise with the amateuristic researchers of the local authorities. When Tommi was patched up from his injuries, imprisoned shortly in Serbia, yet released in the custody of the US, General Campbell had been taking out his frustations on the young assassin by sending him to so-called suicide missions across the globe attempting to either break him down into submission or get him killed without having to make his own hands dirty. However the knowledge of his beloved Emily being alive and well in a french hotel waiting for him, kept him alive during the two missions that were not meant for him to survive. After returning from an Arctic operation to terminate the people in charge of an illegal weapon factory on the southern ice-caps, Tommi was simply picked up by a stealth plane, taking him to the next location, being the wastelands of frozen Russia with his next objective being the stealth kills of 7 former KGB operatives, now working as freelance assassins allegedly alligned with a new organisation only refered to as the EAO, yet this was never to be proven...  

Being dropped in the relentless Ural Moutains with only the remaining ammo in his pack and the few ratio's he'd preserved from his last mission, Cartwright was left to fend for his own during the harsh winters of the former Sovjet Union, in pursuit of the KGB operatives who were traveling back and forth between several dozens of possible hiding places that were scattered throughout the mountain ridges. Drifting without any intelligence or resources available through the wilderness, hoping to cross paths with someone beside of the occasional sheep farmer that lead his herd to the next meadow that could tell him anything usefull about his enemies. With the weeks of solitude passing by, collecting food from all possible sources such as hunting for rabbits and gathering natural berries, growing on the thorned bushes he managed to stay alive, hiding his person in a ghillie suit made out of natural resources including twigs, branches and millions of drieds leaves that were woven upon his combat jacket. The scent of his own blood dried up on his cloths, mud with what he'd suspected consisted for the major part out of faeces had started to attract flies as the once handsome looking gentleman had started to become one with nature, turning into caveman with a high performance long ranged rifle strapped to his back, but the tiny sparkle of hope that came with Emily's memory kept him going, pushing further and further into the empty mountains of the Ural chasing down officers who'd he started to believe were no longer in these regions, just another way of the general punishing him for his lack of discretion in Serbia. Left to die, cut off all forms of communication Cartwright kept on walking till he eventually found tracks of a SUV, recognizing the model based on the tire marks as a German Mercedes G55 AMG, which wasn't the typical vehicle to drive through the deserted Ural Mountains, taking in consideration the high poverty ratio in these regions. Following the sharktooth shaped tracks for days he eventually found some form of civilisation as a small settlement of military barracks popped out of the rocky cliffs in the bend of a canyon, though the icons painted on the steel walls surprised him even more as the US flag truimphed in the red, white and blue all along the walls. As the sight of his own governments' colours some rotary wheels inside his head started to spin back and forth through his mind, creating one conspiracy theory after the other in his head all in climbing potenty. As he watched through his lens setting up a map of the surrounds he spotted one of the faces out of the files he'd been given during the flight, though his name escaped his memory. As killing him would be easely achieved from his current position this would render his search for the other one's mute and timewasting, demanding the Ghost to move into the settlement, infiltrating the baracks where he earsdropped on certain conversations picking up some rather disturbing facts...  

Stalking the target through the assassins base like a phantom drifting through the corridors, a lethal shadow lingering behind each corner and turn that followed the man's every move without even getting noticed by all that pass him by for as long as they believe he belonged in this environment. Slow but steady Tommi Cartwright made his way down the halls and tunnels that were burrowed deep underneath the primitive settlement, passing by large communistic crests from the olden days, yet one more peculiar symbol had caught his attention. A large silver shield with oranje fill, black stripe crossing through the shield and two small triangular shapes in each half facing eachoter; somewhere before he'd passed by this odd pattern on the wall, though his recollection was limited to just the shape and colour of the crest hanging above the conference table that stood centered in a large oval room. Going deeper into the earth, making the heavy long ranged rifle more of a burden than an efficiant gun, Tommi held the weapon straight as a razor in front of him, his eye fixed on the scope and his shoulder rested against the stock for a stable pose. Moving through the constantly narrowing hallways like a trained SWAT officer that was doing his reconnaiscance of the seiged building, Tommi had left the mysterious symbol behind and continued to follow his targets steps that took him to a new depth, being a cave system with a large underground chamber where all the remaining marks were seated in a lounge area under the same cresant drinking beers and playing some cards like they hadn't the slightest worry in the world that even included the prescence of a Ghost agent now looking down on them from the top of the staircase in the shadow, the bolt of the rifle unlatched and ready for immediate use. Patiently he observed the remarkable behaviour of these KGB veterans that according the limited intel he'd been offered in advance of the mission that had already claimed a year of his precious time and half of his body weight, were trained mercenaries for hire, responsible of the death of a dozen CIA agents and other undercover law enforcers, one of which he spotted laid on the floor near the opposite wall motionless and clearly already in decomposition determined on the nauscious blue shade of his skin and the inflattuated look of the body. Suddenly a blue emergency light flared up in the agonizing siren scream, alerting the 6 marks and nearly half a dozen of soldiers in uniform, making them direct their attention towards a white painted section of the wall where a projection beam sended a broadcasted image upon the improvised screen. A familiar face turned up on the screen, being General Campbell who directed his speech to the men below talking about the great revolution that would show the corrupted nations what happens when greed and desire will be their downfall. As the same propagandic preach Tommi had attended in countries at war, where rebel leaders and dictators came to an end, suddenly a bright white spotlight was casted upon his position, leaving him out in the open, his finger tightning its grip on the trigger, knowing he'd only have one shot before having to swift to the his sidearm, as reloading the .338 would take too much time in an actual gunfight. The voice he used to obey blindly now spoke to him with a short conversation that made all the pieces of the puzzle fall into their respective place. Congratulations agent SINISTER, how honoured are we to be in the prescence of my finest recruit. Will you please lower that rifle or I might be forced to lay a hand on this enchanting lady of yours On the screen Tommi witnessed the girl that kept him alive simply by her memory, getting dragged out into the room from which the video conference took place, the general placing a .38 single action arms pistol against her temple while tears rolled along the porcelain cheeks of the girl who screamed in terror as the blindfold prevented her of seeing the circumstances. Remorsefull, yet bound by the emotional value Emily had taken in his life, he lowered the lenghtened barrel of the rifle, removing his hand from the trigger handle, while pulling out his sidearm with two fingers from the holster to his leg. Dropping each over the rusted rail of the staircase, Tommi had surrended to the wishes of his old general, giving in to the demands as he walked down the steps holding both hands in the air, yet his smirk still had not faded from his face...  

As the man who'd he remembered being named Nikolas Kondrashev walked over him, punching him viciously into the stomache before frisking him for any concealed weapons, though finding none. Pushing him towards the group with a cowardous blow in the kidneys, Cartwright was forced to his knees, his head bowed down as he awaited the bullet to plow its way through the back of his skull as this used to be the signature KGB assassination trick, mainly practiced during the Cold War era to terminate american spies that had infiltrated their ranks. With a deep sigh, giving up on life with this final breath, he started to silently count, yet loud enough for it to be heard as a soft whisper slipping through the tight gap between his lips. One of the uniformed soldiers noticed this aspiration, walking over to hear the final three numbers in a nearly mute breath, Three... Two... One...BOOoom. As the last word hit the man like a mental blow below the belt, a powerfull explosion blew the soldiers and KGB operatives to the floor, making Tommi roll across the floor, picking up the assault rifle one of the men had dropped of the floor due the blast, firing rapid bursts to the stunned soldiers, killing each upon contact, before they'd even recovered from the surprise shockwave the unidentified bomb had sended through the cave. All of this occured in just a couple of seconds, based solely on the blitzkrieg tactics Cartwright had been studying back at the academy in the book on World War II, witness by Campbell who watched everything happen before his eyes from his remote location, his face having lit up like a stop light. Rising to his feet as the last KGB soldier and operative had crashed to the rugged floor like a bag of floor, puddles of blood starting to well around the bodies, Tommi glanced over to the point of blast origin, seeing the fragments of the PGM .338 Hecate II, before redirecting himself to the projected image of the general pointing the gun in that direction as a threat, holding little actual danger for the man on the recieving end, yet the gesture alone would send a wave of terror through a man's body if they knew Tommi's determined personality, being like a bloodhound that caught the scent of his target, not letting go of this till either he or the target is killed. The General looked petrified at the image of his recruit having just taken out his finest troops with a sole sudden attack of which the cause still had escaped his knowledge, though he still held one card in his hand that was yet to be played.Let go of the girl and this is where it all ends. Just some bodies in a former Soviet base, while you can follow through on the corrupt activities you've made me part off without my knowledge. Enough blood has been shed in the past years, but I promise you sincerely Campbell. If you even touch Emily inappropriately I'll come down on you like the hammer of God, not stopping, never sleeping and most of all never giving up on ending the pathetic excuse of what you call a life. You understand that, right? I'll come after you and you'll be dead before you even know I was there... Tommi's voice was empowered with sheer emotions all dominated by rage, anger and genuine hatred nobody had even seen in him as he'd started his rampage. The general however responded in the worst way he could have, pulling the trigger that lunged a bullet in the girl head; the general simply making a challenging gesture with a deep cruel smile on his wrinckled face, starting off a lethal game between the pupil and its teacher...  

Going Rogue  
Broken emotionally by the cowardious murder on Emily Warszawski, the girl for which he'd sacrificed everything, not only his carrier at the CIA, his reputation as a trained military sniper but everything he'd done prior to his work for the Ghost program, everything had been corrupted by the callous betrayal of General Campbell, the proprietor of a small organisation of governmental assassins who killed for entertainment and financial gain, not the noble patriotic motivations Tommi was lead to believe he was serving. Everything he'd once believed in had gotten tainted by the foul desease which was the Ghost project, feeling used and manipulated, but most of all enfuriated by the only loved one being thorn away from him, the one sparkle of hope and the humanity that come with her memory suddenly been blown away like a flock of snow for the early spring sun. The only reason he was still alive, beside of the phosporous bomb he'd placed into the stock of his PGM .338 before each mission, that had caused the stunning explosion to offer him cette brief window of opportunity to counter even in surrender back in Russia, was his desire for vengeance, becoming the fiend the general had always intended him to become. One by one, Cartwright revisited his hit locations, interviewing the people about the incidents that had occured, finding out all of the marks he believed to have killed for the government, turned out to be enemies of an underground crime syndicate, devoted in hiring out assassins for extermination missions, known as the Pegasus Equilibrium, marked by the shielded crescent with orange fill, black parallel line and triangles added in each half. Ever piece of evidence he collected on their existence didn't offer any answers, just more question marks on the current situation, figuring finding the General who'd gone in hiding would be nearly impossible to find without some insider help. With this pattern of thoughts Cartwright devoted himself to becoming a renowed marksman for hire, gaining a reputation in the underworld for his impecable accuracy, promised discretion and most of all the ability to kill from a long distance leaving no traces behind for forensics to trace back to the people who ordered the hit. It took him 21 jobs and 3 close calls with the authorities for Campbell's mercenary organisation as a retarded kid one day came knocking on his motel room door, presenting him with an adress to a local bar to meet with the recruiting officer. Knowing Campbell as an arrogant self-righteous prick, he figured the man would be stupid enough in wanting to meet the fresh meat in his agency personally, taking pleasure in their anxious and nervous tendencies in his prescense. Cartwright slipped the handicapped kid a twenty, before taking a cab to the location on the scrap of paper which was nearly a week in advance. Circling around the block, disguised in a long blue trench coat and a rough beard that made him irrecognisable to even his own mother, let alone some propostrous rookie burdened with the boring task of surveillance on the perimeter, which he wouldn't even come near. Tommi stepped out of the car almost 6 blocks away from its original destination, as his vengeance would be one to remember in the books, making a clear example out of Campbell of what happens to people that cross swords with him. Finding a four story building still two miles away from the meeting point, Cartwright approached the landlord of the compound, pretending to be interested in the room for rent on the top floor to the easter corner facing the dinner where he'd supposed to meet up with the Pegasus Equilibrium people in charge. The trajectory from the apartment to the dinner window was obstructed by a construction crane and offering only a miniscule fire window with two industrial complexes narrowing his window, causing impredictable changes in the air pattern due to wind friction and turbulence, making this shot according to his peer  snipers impossible to hit. In the newly let room Tommi started his preparations, placing advanced telescopes and wind measuring tools near the window that he'd covered off with a black plastic foil only tiny cuts large enough for the scopes and lenses to get a clear sight of the objective. Switching between costumes from tv repair men to mail distributer, Cartwright visited the buildings that stood on either side of his line of fire, making additional measurements for the simulation to run all the possibilities through the computer till he'd eventually recieved a printed paper with the specification and modifications necessary to make the shot count. The entire set-up of this masterpiece of marksmanship took 6 entire days of hard labor and calculations, where sleep remained completely abscent as every free moment the former Ghost had, was spend on the maintance of his new PGM .338, submodel Ultimo Ratio, which was slightly different to his original Hecate II submodel considering the added weight and extended flash suppressor. Everything was perfectly planned out to the last detail, except for one minor final touch Cartwright had in store for the killer of his beloved Emily, who's picture stood on next to the rifle mount.  

Upon the day of recogning Tommi placed the cushioned stock against his shoulder, pressing his eye socket into the monocular with innovated digital zoom as the red dot closed in on the dinner window, making the subtle adjustments required for an accurate shot as a silver BMW with tinted windows rolled onto the parking lot, followed by two blue sedans, each transporting three guards with concealed handguns underneath the tailored vests. One of the bodyguards held open the BMW's passenger door, letting out a short man with thining hair and double chin. The marine blue suit with delicate silver chalk line first appeared in the oculair sight, followed by a golden pin placed on his necktie that Cartwright recognized immediatly as Campbells' favourite accessoire, letting the barrel of the gun get aimed in his direction from which point the red dot would be permanently focused on the general's chest. Pressing a small green button on the device attached to the sturdy gun with electric tape, Tommi's available trigger hand drifted to the cellphone, speed dialing the general's old number, waiting for him to pick up. As the former CIA officer walked into the dinner, taking a seat in the corner booth with his escort of possible ex-military guards following closely, Tommi watched the chubby man reach into the jacket pocket, pulling out his cellphone with a smooth motion, answering the call of the unknown number. Good Evening, Campbell! Didn't I make a promise to you back in Russia? I'm a man of my word unlike others, sir, so when I tell someone they're about to die, I will make my prediction become a reality.Cartwright hung up on the conversation giving the man not the option to reply as the assassin threw the bluetooth earpiece through the window, watching the powerfull general shift in his booth when an entire squadron of police cars and media vans arrived at the dinner, surround the place instantly after an anonymous number had called in a hostage case going on in the dinner. At the sight of the press aiming their camera's to General Campbells' location, figuring the large soldier type of guards surrounding the man would be the desperate criminals holding up the place, Tommi felt a sudden flood of happiness course through his body. Police snipers started to set up their positions around the small food establisment spending no attention to his general direction, simply 'cause no marksman had ever attempted such a long distance shot. As the media circus and the curious spectators had started to come in, cellphone getting aimed in the air, hoping to see someone get killed in their need for sensationalism, from behind his scope he pressed number two on the cellphone, 'causing the vehicles in which the general and his men arrive to be flung into the air as the claymores buried in the parking lot sand were detonated. Two blazing clouds of fire and smoke rose into the air, descending back downward onto the viewing crowd and law enforcers taking cover behind the police cars and SWAT vans, as with his trigger finger he flicked on the red diode on the device attached to the rifle. A telephone line was established between himself and the police, Cartwright calling for the person in charge with an urgent matter. As a rusty voice of the middle aged officers, leaning against the doorframe of his car replied on the other end, Cartwright gave the instructions an average hostage taker would demand, being transportation and money as the trick behind this assassination was letting them believe Campbell was keeping the people hostage, which was more than credible since his brief call to the general had caused the man to hide underneath his table, pulling out the same gun that had claimed Emily's life. From this angle a sniper with advanced zooming systems was able to keep ever movement in the place under close observation, while the thermic image allowed Cartwright to follow the ex-CIA agents every move. With SWAT teams moving towards the exits, taking their position for a possible invasion burst and negotiators climbing onto their vehicles screaming calming phrases from the book to the occupants of the dinner, Tommi had grown tired of the little game he'd started, making the slow progress in the distance feel like a waste of time and effort, shading the true beauty of his act of vengeance. Sliding a single round in the slot of gun, slamming the slug into the barrel, mental preparations were taken as Cartwright pulled the cable of the cellphone loose, allowing the cops to trace the call's origin as he placed his finger on the trigger, silently saluting the picture of Emily before with a strong short jerk made the mechanism internally click followed by the gruelling noise of the bullet leaving the barrel at five times the speed of sound. The shock from the recoil pushed his shoulder out of his socket, his right eardrum popping under the pressure were two prices he'd taken in account for this satisfaction as 3011 yards away the dinning table splintered under the tremendous force of the impact, not simply killing Campbell, but desintegrating the man's skull to a mere pulp splattered through the entire booth, tainting the tailored suits of the guards that stood next to him when the .338 lead projectile crushed every grey matter brain cell in their bosses head. For the first time in his carrier, Cartwright had kept his eye focused through the monocular only to watch the man he was admired, fell to the floor, his head shredded into a thousand bloody fragments. The bitter sensation of succes had to wait for a while as by now the police officers had already directed their attention to his direction, yet to late as beside of the expensive measuring equipment and the evidence he wanted them to find was all they found in the room while Tommi observed the invasion on his previous location from the opposite side of the street...  

Joining EAO  
After the media broadcasted the video of General Campbell's assassinations over and over again, sometimes in slowmotions, other times from a different angle, Tommi watching them every time the opportunity presented itself, Cartwright had unofficially broken a world record of farest accurate kill shot after the police found his calling card near the window from which the shot was taken. Being without purpose or employer the former Ghost thought of retiring from the business, getting a regular job back in his home state and living a secluded life in a cabin in the woods, talking to a dog and drinking beers for the majority of the time, had started to go through his mind. However faith had different things in store as someone had different intentions for his talent as several men in masks dragged him out of his home in the middle of the night, sedating him before throwing the drugged paralysed body in the back of a van, driving him to an undisclosed location. From the moment he woke up in some strange waiting room in a guarded headquarter, meeting with a Shiloh character, the current leader of the EAO, Tommi had been in training to become an EAO assassin...  

Steal This and Die!



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