Sniper Mask And Kuon Novels & Stories

"When I found out that my body isn't broken as it seemed to be." Keron's eyes were still glued at the video game. He made a fist with his right hand and pumped it in front of his face. The gesture was recognized by his Battle Gear's sensors, prompting it to detract his headgear and release his head. Cool air from the room's air conditioner embraced his bare face. His features were typically islandic Tritonite--dark tan, glowing light blue eyes, tribal tattoos and a shaven head. The insignia of their tribe was imprinted on his left cheek: a snake encircling his left eye like a cane.

They also had matte black circular ear protections and a type of high tech visor on the ears and eyes respectively. The sole survivor was falling back, drawing his silenced pistol while trying to put some distance between us and find Miyako at the same time. Dummy, tomahawks are designed for throwing. A bit of Amazons indignation was behind that toss. His visor was cut in two as my anger drove the blade 6 cm/2+ inches into his skull.

"That is a model used for extreme long-distance shooting. For my money, the best in the world. The longest-ever verified successful sniping was carried out in Afghanistan by a solider using that weapon. That was at over two miles. If anything suspicious moves down there, I have the range." James speaks slowly. "Klempner, if we're vulnerable here..." Then his gaze sharpens. "You've been standing out here for hours at a time over the last few days. I thought you just wanted some privacy. Have you been trying to draw Baxter's fire?" I tap my chest, tugging down the neckline of the Christmas sweater to display what's underneath... not that I'd be heartbroken if Baxter shot that fucking penguin..

Everyone on her squad wore a slightly different style for their specialty. For Aeon, as a Jack, her outfit consisted of her tank top, combat style pants that stretched easily, and her combat boots. Star, the fast moving sniper and information holder, she wore a tank top and pants as well, but used steel toed sneakers for their better mobility. She also had an unusual dark brown side pouch she used that was not part of standard ware. Chriso, the heavy hitter and muscle, wears a form fitting t-shirt, pants, and combat boots. J7, the scout and tracker, needs shorts for his running, a tank top, and steel toed sneakers.

It was carbon fiber, and the tip was glowing a sickly purple. "Wolfsbane," Nash hissed through clenched teeth. "Pure concentrate." I looked toward the trees where the arrow had come from. Stepping out from the shadows of the tree line was a figure dressed in black tactical gear. A mask covered their face, but the emblem on their shoulder was unmistakable—a silver scorpion inside a circle. Mercenaries. "You missed," Nash snarled, straightening up despite the wound. He pulled the arrow shaft, snapping it off to leave the head embedded, stopping the poison from spreading deeper, but the damage was done. Purple veins were already spiderwebbing out from the wound.

When they saw her leave with the duke the previous night, as subtle as the two tried to be, many wondered if the duke would be so kind as to extend his stay to keep their chief - whom they feared but respected more than Valor himself - remained as she was now - less daunting. When she sat long enough with the paperwork, her chair scraped and she made her way to the test lab, checking on the progress of the bulletproof bodysuits they were improving, along with laser blades, safety goggles and masks that every hunter would eventually be mandated to carry with them. The blades, goggles and masks were a new plan, implemented after the western massacre. The idea was for hunters to shield their se

Their utility belts, laden with pouches and holsters, hold an array of weapons and tools that make me gulp. The Hunters' hands are encased in sleek, black gloves with reinforced knuckles, as if they're expecting a fistfight with a brick wall. Their faces are partially hidden by dark green domino masks that stretch horizontally across their eyes, leaving their chiseled jaws exposed. It's a look that screams, "I'm a professional badass, and I know it." "Young lady," One of them rumbles, "get away from him. He's a vampire, and a killer at that."

I purred, my voice laced in sarcasm as I pouted my lips. “Aww... Poor, lonely Enzo.” He scowled, his deep voice cutting through the air. “Wear your damn mask.” I rolled my eyes and held my mask. It had a peacock design, with feathers affixed to the sides. Golden detailing lined the edges, giving it a delicate yet exotic look. I put it on, and it shielded my features, except for my eyes and lips. I turned to look at him. His mask was the design of a wolf, its expression a scowl just like the one he carried permanently on his face. The only covered parts of his face were his forehead and eyelids. His eyes, nose, and mouth were exposed.

Hidden beneath spare weapons and medical supplies lay a dark cloak and mask that would transform me into someone else entirely—someone who could fight openly against the Rogue forces without compromising my cover. The mask bore no identifying marks, just smooth black material. The cloak was equally nondescript, dark fabric that would blend with shadows while concealing my body shape and movements. The dark fabric settled over my shoulders like a second skin. The mask fit perfectly, reducing my vision to narrow slits but hiding every recognizable feature. Above me, the battle raged. Penelope led the main assault from the western ridge, her red hair bright against the sky. Dominic commanded th

But over Kiera’s shoulder, down the shadowed hall she’d entered, masks winked alive like cold moons. Hunters. Three, then five, then a half dozen—helmets, rifles, tactical lights. Dr. Hale wasn’t there, but his orders were; they coalesced in the precise way the men moved, in the angle of barrels, in the way the vanguard raised a device instead of a gun. Ronan’s choices narrowed to a wire.