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Most users ever online was 29 on October 1st 2013, 12:09 am


    Regaining the Rock

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    zman007playr
    ONI Operative

    Posts : 137
    Join date : 2013-01-17
    Age : 22
    Location : Blacksburg, Virginia

    Regaining the Rock

    Post  zman007playr on July 26th 2013, 10:57 pm

    Alright, here it is guys this is our mission to Regain the Rock.

    As of right now, prison riots on The Rock have escalated out of control.  Some of the most dangerous criminals and mob leaders are now riding the boats that brought them to Alcatraz back to the mainland.  

    As officers of the SFPD and of the Federal penitentiary of Alcatraz, we must quell this riot and see to it that all fugitives are brought back with minimal casualties.

    But before we can tackle the mainland we must secure the rock.  Our objectives are as follows:

    1) Initiate lock-down procedures, secure high priority inmates first.
    2) Locate the warden
    3b) If warden is dead, initiate procedure to liquidate the high security prisoners
    3) Secure the docks and prevent any further transfer of prisoners.
    4) Assess damage to foth Alcatraz and mainland, and assist the SFPD with the round up of all escapees.

    We have out orders gentlemen, lets get this done, and done right!
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    Shad0wChas3r
    Database Director

    Posts : 1172
    Join date : 2013-01-16
    Age : 22

    Re: Regaining the Rock

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on July 30th 2013, 5:13 pm

    Gunfire riddled the air, a certain stiffness in the atmosphere. A lone figure found himself trapped beneath a pile of rubble. His vision was blurry, and the debris that pinned him to the ground was wedged directly on his bad leg. Wincing with pain, a familiar face charged over to him, firing his M14 marksman rifle at their enemy.

    "GET THE HELL UP PVT. WILCOX, I DIDN'T GIVE YOU THE ORDER TO TAKE A DIRT NAP!" Sergeant Mason grabbed him by the collar. "We'll get you out of there!"

    Standing up to assess Wilcox's condition, a stray bullet struck the side of Mason's skull, blasting his brains out of the right side of his face.

    "Well looka here boys, another Pig gone to slaughter!" With that, Wilcox's vision returned.

    He wasn't in the 'Great War', like his hallucination had led him to believe. He was on Alcatraz island, and it was all coming back to him, suddenly, like getting struck by a sack of bricks.

    The convict that had killed his fellow Guard snickered, as one of his compatriots approached Wilcox, aiming his Colt down at the older man.

    "Nah man, leave him." The leader grinned. "We gotta boat to catch, and this one's as good as dead anyways."

    To Wilcox, the convict's face imprinted on his mind. He would remember this one, and if he ever got out of this alive, he was going to show them why his nickname was Papa Bear. Of course, the shock of having an entire wall collapsing on him finally kicked in, and he blacked out.

    --------------------------------------

    Some time later

    Frank groaned himself awake, as he looked around at his surroundings. Dead bodies, both Guard and Inmate alike littered the floor. The visceral visage brought him back to a darker time, a time he had wanted to forget, a time that had made him rigged, untrusting, and cruel to those that went against him.

    Glancing down, his situation wasn't nearly as bad as he had previously thought before. It was only his foot that was caught beneath the rubble, granted it was the one he had been treated for shrapnel, but he would survive.

    Grunting, he heaved the debris off of his foot and stood, uneasily. Glancing down at his side, he shook his head. The Guard that had tried to save him earlier lay there, in a pool of his own blood. Lowering his head, Frank knew that protocol had to be followed, and the Rock needed to be secured. His hunt for the one responsible for this Guard's death would be post-poned.

    Kneeling down, Frank gently closed the man's eyes. He was only twenty, probably just barely out of the Academy. Frank was no different, he had joined Alcatraz five years before, and was greener than grass. His only experience was that in the World War, or fighting crime as a SFPD cop on the streets.

    "Only the good die young." Frank growled, clenching his fist.

    Searching over his deceased co-workers corpse, he found a spare police baton, another pair of cuffs,  and a ring of keys.

    Standing from the corpse, Frank nodded, jogging through the mess hall and into the prisoner's quarters. A pair of inmates scrounged the area for weapons to use. It was apparent to Frank that these two meant to grab weapons and make the break for it themselves.

    Approaching them with his baton at the ready, Frank slammed his baton down on the larger of the two's melon with his beastly strength. Falling to the earth, the massive man shook off the damage, grunting as he tackled Frank to the ground. Smashing a massive fist into Frank's right cheek, the Guard returned the favor with the baton, busting the inmate's nose. The smaller of the two raised his pistol unsteadily. It was obvious to Frank that the man had never used a firearm before.

    Pushing the bigger man off, Frank swung at the smaller man, smashing him on the hands with it, causing the frailer man to spin, his weapon discharged, and the wall shattered slightly. The bigger man approached, shorter than Frank by an inch, easily. Thrusting his fist underneath Frank's chin, the bigger man grinned cockily as Frank stumbled backwards, his arms in the air. Slamming his left fist and his baton down, Frank heard a vertebrae in the in-mate's spine shatter from the blow, and the man found himself sprawled on the floor.

    Relinquishing the weapon from the smaller man, Frank kicked him away, aiming the Colt at both of them.

    "Freeze." Frank growled. "I'm not afraid to put your asses six feet under."

    Knowing his defeat, the smaller man laid down, his hands behind his back. Pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt, Frank placed his knee on the middle of the big inmate's back, cuffing the big inmate's hands together.

    Moving his attention to the smaller inmate, Frank apprehended him with the second pair of cuffs.

    "Stand. Now." Frank spoke, his pistol at the ready.

    Tilting his head to the left, the in-mates muttered to themselves as they headed towards the nearest cells possible. Opening the doors, Frank pushed the smaller one in. Patting down the bigger one down, he made sure the inmate didn't have a ring of keys to escape. Pushing him inside of his own cell, Frank locked the door, and entered the smaller one's cell.

    Slipping out of his cuffs, the smaller one swung a shiv that he had scavenged, as Frank aimed his pistol at the man's face. Determined to kill the guard, the smaller, agile man charged forward, Frank fired without blinking.

    Clutching his throat, the inmate gasped for air as blood poured out of his mouth, and out of the new hole in his neck. No matter how much he tried to breath, he could feel it rushing out of the hole in the back of his neck. In other words, his lungs weren't getting the proper oxygen necessary, and he was going to die of asphyxiation.

    Staring at the guard with a shocked expression, he wheezed for air, pleading Frank for mercy. Sighing, Frank lifted the pistol higher, this time he hit the in-mate square in the forehead, ending his misery.

    Frank had to be more careful next time. Heading back out into Cell Block A, he had to find any surviving Guards, and help them regain the Rock.


    _________________


    \\'Boyo\\'

    Thanks for Reading!


    zman007playr
    ONI Operative

    Posts : 137
    Join date : 2013-01-17
    Age : 22
    Location : Blacksburg, Virginia

    Re: Regaining the Rock

    Post  zman007playr on July 30th 2013, 8:17 pm

    "What the hell?" Blackwell thought to himself as he walked to the far edge of the tower. He had gotten the fortunate pick of tower watch that day, one of the easiest watches of the whole damn island. No prisoners, no threats, no worries, just the way he wanted it.

    But he noticed something amiss from the far side of the complex. Smoke began to rise from cell block A, and it appeared to be coming from C/D Street as as well. He pulled the binoculars to his face to get a closer view. It was smoke, thick, black smoke. "Hey Mack, take a look at this." He motioned the second guard in the tower to come closer and look at the smoke filled cell block. As Mack drew closer, faint sounds of gunfire began to become audible.

    "Holy shit!" Mack said as he looked at the carnage. "Looks like something in the electrical, this damn rock is gunna burn down before anything can happen." He pulled the binoculars away from his face. "Don't worry about it John, probably nothing." Walking back to the other side, Mack began to survey the docks. The sound of a diesel engine firing up caught his attention. "Hey John, we got any uh, any boats scheduled to go shore side?"

    "No." John said, still peering though the binoculars at the smoking complex. "Wait, SHIT! MACK, GET DOWN NOW!" John shouted these words just as several bullets impacted the wooden framework of the guard tower. Splinters of wood fell on the two as the lay on the floor waiting. 'MACK! We got us a jailbreak, use the phone! Get the warden on the line, tell him to initiate WOAHHHHH!"

    A resounding crash echoed across the dock area at the tower came falling down with the two men inside. A couple of satisfied looking inmates stood by admiring their handy work, one holding a couple of scavenged hand grenades. From the back of the pack one of them spoke. "Okay boys nicely done. Marco check the tower, see if the stiffs are still alive. Joe, get that boat, we got a date with with the land."

    The two men he addressed sounded off in unison "Yes Boss." The one known as Marco picked through the rubble with a scavenged police baton. Poking and prodding, his baton soon came into contact with something...fleshy. Pulling the rubble from the pile he found the body of Mack. A large splinter of wood through his head. "This one ain't going to bother us boss." He said.

    Meanwhile John lay underneath a pile of rubble close to where mack lay. He had managed to pull his service pistol before the tower collapsed. His hands gripped the weapon as he listened to the prisoners talk about his fellow guard. He tensed up as footsteps drew closer to his position. Holding his pistol tight, he waited for the opportune moment to strike.

    "Hey boss, i think we got a-" CRACK! Just as Marco was about the reveal John, he pulled the trigger on his sidearm, sending a .38 caliber bullet through the mobster's forehead. He dropped to the ground with the would spewing blood, the "boss stood motionless as John rose from the rubble.

    "Put those goddamned hands where i can see em!" He shouted, pulling the pistol on the boss. "And tell your boy back there to stand down or I'll put a bullet through your fucking face." Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he looked down the barrel at the the smiling mobster.

    "Kid, what do you think your doing huh? There's only one of you and two of us! You really think that-" CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

    Shots rang from the docks, and John stood in the midst of it all. Infront and behind him, the two escaped inmates lay dead. With no further threats, he went over to Mack. Kneeling down beside him, he shut the man's eyes. "They'll pay for this" he said. "They're going to fucking pay!" And with that, ran off into the direction of the service tunnels to gain access to the main facility
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    Bad John
    Freelancer Operative

    Posts : 1205
    Join date : 2013-01-17
    Location : A box in the United States.

    Re: Regaining the Rock

    Post  Bad John on July 31st 2013, 7:21 pm

    Mickey looked outside of his cell. He could hear blows landing. He could smell blood and gunpowder. There were intermittent gunshots, and sirens blazed.

    He was perfectly aware his cell was technically "open." With a TINY bit of effort, he could just shove it aside and run out there.

    Except for one thing: That would be retarded. Mickey was perfectly happy to WAIT OUT his sentence, and if he went out, he could be shot and killed by the guards, or worse, ganged up on by fellow inmates.

    Mickey had few friends on the inside. He had been in fights, and won most, and he would be proud to say that he hadn't been raped, stabbed, or shot with any bullet, rubber or otherwise.

    Leaving his cell now might change all that.

    Therefore, it'd be retarded.

    Until he heard footsteps.

    Several men. White skinned, some with tattoos. They tromped by his cell, as he read his magazine. One stopped.

    "HEY, guys. Look what we have here. It's MICKEY!"

    Mickey rolled his eyes. Ahhhhh shit. These fuckin' guys.

    The four other gentlemen came to look at him. "The nigger in it's natural habitat. A CAGE. Just add a tire swing and some bananas. Maybe a bottle of hennesy!"

    "You're in jail too, dipship." Mickey shot back.

    He sized them up. One on one, he could take any of them, one on one. Most of them had flab where Mickey had muscle. Most of them had WEAK priors, like domestic violence or shoplifting. Mickey was no repeat offender, but his charges made him a big fish. Most people left him alone until now.

    He decided to bluff anyway. Five on one was bad odds. He'd seen a lot of strong men get killed trying to take on too many weaker dudes.

    "Cage is locked, boys. Fuck off somewhere else." Mickey smiled to himself, muttering under his breath, "Ya little dicked crackers."

    "Who you calling BOY, boy?" One of the men took umbridge with the comment, and drew a baton. A POLICE baton.

    Shit. It's THAT bad out there?

    Another man had a keyring.

    Oh fuck. Mickey watched as the man reached for Mickey's cell lock. I better do some shit NOW.

    Mickey darted towards the gate, and as the man slid it open, Mickey slammed it shut on his arm. Mickey opened the door again, throwing a fast, painful jab into the man's nose. He had a choke point, and was defending it well, but the four others pushed on the door, forcing it open.

    "FUCK YOU FUCK OFFA ME!" Mickey thrashed through them. One of the hostile men grabbed hold of his arm, but Mickey thrust his elbow into the bastard's cheek. It was a good hit. He felt the man's tooth break. The others fell away from him as he ran.

    "Motherfuckers STOLE my CELL." Mickey looked around the cellblock. It was BAD. People were laying on the ground, not MOVING. People were crawling through pools of blood.

    Then he saw something that he'd never forget, no matter how hard he tried to rinse it out of his mind.

    A man crawled towards him, clutching a wound Mickey couldn't see. He was ghostly pale. He reached out to Mickey for help, but it was too late. An instant later, he died on the floor, his face still twisted in confusion, pain, and fear.

    Mickey's eye twitched.

    "THERE HE IS?!" The five men behind him moved out of Mickey's cell.

    Mickey sprinted away. He slipped on blood, but quickly recovered his balance, sprinting through the concrete corridor. Nothing but death and fighting, but he blocked it all out, continuing his deft run.

    Soon, he had left his attackers behind, but the heat of his panic remained. Gotta find a spot to ride this shit out. I am NOT dyin' in here. Not like that fuckin' guy. NO WAY NO HOW.

    Mickey leaped into a broom closet, and slammed the door. There, he waited.
    avatar
    Manny
    Freelancer Operative

    Posts : 1348
    Join date : 2013-01-17
    Age : 22
    Location : The Great White North (Canada)

    Re: Regaining the Rock

    Post  Manny on August 1st 2013, 12:39 pm

    "VAMOS CHICOS!" Shouted Carlos Ramirez, firing his Tommy gun. He hid behind a crate to reload, watching his fellow Mexican gang members return fire on the Italian mobsters they were attacking.

    The 38th street gang had come a long way to Los Angeles to expand. Various criminals were being locked up, leaving behind a power void that the Mexican-American gang seeked to exploit.

    To get started, they needed some booze to sell. The problem was, things were a lot more secure than they thought. Despite many key members being rounded up by the police, the gangs here were holding their own alright.

    So the 38th street gang would have to take some territory by force. They had chosen this specific location because it was large warehouse of booze by the docks and was rarely guarded. Then, the day they decided to move in, activity is at an all time high.

    Carlos finished reloading and got back up, shooting one of those damn Italians in the face. The nicely dressed mobster fell down and was quickly finished off by another burst from Carlos' Tommy gun.

    The Italians were retreating and victory was almost theirs when a bullet whizzed by Carlos' head. He turned around to find the source of the gunfire and saw a strange sight.

    Men on boats were firing at them, dressed in some sort of gang uniform he assumed. Then he noticed the scenery behind them, the famous inescapable Alcatraz prison... With smoke billowing out of it. As the uniformed men got closer, Carlos got a better look at them.

    That's when it hit him. Those uniforms weren't a gang outfit, they were prisoner attire. The inescapable Alcatraz had been broken out of, and every mobster in there was no doubt coming back to the mainland, trying to reclaim what they had left behind.

    The mobsters were free from Alcatraz and were no doubt coming here to rendezvous with mobsters on the mainland.

    Shit!

    "The boats! LOS BARCOS!" Carlos shouted, turning around and firing, his back against the crate. His bullets caught a few of the escaped prisoners but not all. At this rate they would board and the 38th street gang woe be fighting on two fronts, not a good idea.

    That's when Pablo Manrique noticed the situation. He was the man in charge of the expeditionary force, known as the "commandante" to most. He looked African American to most, but he was actually Hispanic. He used to infiltrate black gangs for the 38th street but eventually winded up being too well known to do so anymore.

    The huge, bulky man hefted his cut down BAR and opened fire. The hail of bullets began tearing through the prisoners and their boats, causing many of them to turn away. The few that remained were quite prepared, throwing scavenged frag grenades onto the docks.

    "HOLY SHIT!" Shouted one of the Mexicans, before being shot in the back by the Italians.

    "Return fire! Finish up front, I'll handle the boats!" Pablo shouted, opening fire once again with his BAR. The boats begin to to turn away, lacking the firepower to compete with a BAR.

    Carlos turned back, seeing the Italians retreat in the face of the Mexicans' renewed concentrated firepower. The gang member began to cheer as the celebrated their victory.

    It was short lived however. They could hear the sounds of police sirens wailing, signalling it was time to leave. Carlos heard groans all around.

    "What, do you want to get to caught?!" Pablo said, motioning for them to leave. They quickly gathered themselves and fled, not wanting to draw anymore attention to their very new presence in Los Angeles.

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    Re: Regaining the Rock

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      Current date/time is July 23rd 2017, 6:50 am