//------------------------------// // The Chips are Down // Story: Project: PARADIGM // by CluelessDetective //------------------------------// “Please, have a seat, We have much to discuss.” Both James Bond and Sam Fisher agreed, taking a seat on one of many plush seats that were laid out in the casino manager’s office. It took them a few hours to find the Sweet Sixteen Casino, as it was one of the last places on their list in the vast Entertainment District of Canterlot. They showed Gale, the manager, their slip of paper that the Director gave them, holding things only the man they were looking for knew. It just so happened that this was the griffon they were looking for. Through the nauseating smell of strong smoke intertwined with stiff alcohol and cheap perfume, they followed his bodyguards into his office. The griffon, with his black and white feather combination, and his serene emerald green eyes, seemed nice enough. Hopefully he’d last longer than most informants Bond has dealt with in the past. Gale sat in his own soft chair, placing his talons on the desk, asking, “What do you guys need to know?” Bond crossed his legs, brought his hands together and questioned, “What do you know of the assassination attempt?” Gale uncorked his whiskey bottle and poured himself a glass. He offered a drink to both of the secret agents, but they declined. Sam doesn't drink on the job and Bond already had his vodka martini. Unlike most other times, James didn’t think he needed the booze. Gale nursed the drink as he spoke, “I do know the assailant isn’t just some anarchist. These humans are professionals.” Sam raised an eyebrow at this statement, “Humans? I thought we were the only ones.” Gale waved a talon at the ex-NSA agent, “No, there might be few of you here, but you guys do have your own country, remember?” Sam and Bond looked at each other and shook their heads. Gale pauses for a brief moment before continuing with, “Anyway, they came in a night or two ago. It’s difficult to remember when you’re living the good life.” “Are they working for any organization?” The manager shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine, though they all came out of the same car and had the exact same clothes. When they got out, they were unloading parts of something and bringing it into the Canterlot sewer system.” “So what we know is true,” Sam muttered under his breath. He shook his head and asked, “One more thing before we leave. Do you know when the assassination attempt will happen?” Again, Gale shrugged, “Sorry friends, that I do not know. Though if they do it, it will probably happen when the contestants arrive for that Culinary Competition happening today.” Before the two agents could even say thank you, two gunshots echoed around the room, and Gale slumped over in his chair, breathless. The two bodyguards held Beretta 92’s in talon, setting their sight on the two guests. Sam and James got out from their seats and dove behind Gale’s desk before a flurry of bullets impacted it. When they could pull out weapons of their own, the bodyguards had already left the office and began to make their way out of the casino. Bond and Sam vaulted the desk and began to sprint. These two must be working with the people responsible for the assassination attempt happening today. With any luck, they could catch and interrogate them. When they left the casino, the street branched out to them, and saw the two assailants split ways, melding into the seeminglessly ocean of ponies. They looked at each other and silently nodded. Bond would go left, and Sam would go right. James Bond was wondering how he could even find this griffon. After all, there was nothing noteworthy about him, he seemed like a perfectly normal gun toting lion eagle hybrid. He would have to look very closely in the- A sound of thunder echoed across the filled streets of Canterlot, now becoming more and more sparse. James sighed to himself. Or I can just go over there. His jog broke into a sprint as he hurried to where the weapon roared to life at and pulled out his P99. The street was vacant, save for Bond on one side and the griffon assailant, dark smoke streaming off his pistol like a river and any civilians on both sides of the street. Luckily, nobody seemed hurt. The avian’s wings, stretched and grew and began to flap, kicking up dirt and took to the sky. 007 saw the monstrous bird take to the sky and pulled out something. A package of dental floss. Without any thought he chucked it at the griffon and it landed neatly on the bird’s back. Q Branch had once told him how they work on practical gadgets now, though someone forgot to give the memo to the guy who made his weaponry for his outing in South America. Back at London, there’s bound to be someone laughing his ass off knowing he gave him the most insane gadgets, one of them being a package of floss that worked as a mini time bomb and when it detonated it roped up the target in floss. Luckily for Bond, he had it on him and was able to throw it quite well. Take that old age! Within a few seconds, the package detonated and the griffon sailed to the ground covered in mint-green floss, hitting the road and dropping his Beretta, the weapon skitting towards the secret agent. Bond pocketed his P99 and casually walked over to the griffon and yanked him towards him, “I’m going to ask you one question,” Bond said, his voice icy. “When is the assassination happening?” The griffon laughed madly, “Even if I did, you’ll be too late. In one hour the Canterlot railroad will explode, taking the contestants, and the Elements of Harmony, with it. And when that happens, your precious leader will take a bullet to the head! In fact, our sniper is getting into position as we speak.” Before James could question the assailant any further, he passed out, probably due to the impact of him hitting the street. He pulled out his phone and scrambled to call Snake, seeing how his mission was going. Hopefully he was almost done. A gravelly voice came to life with a hint of urgency, “Hello?” “Snake, this is Bond. How are you with the bomb?” “I found it. It’s right under the railroad. Problem is I ran into some trouble and it’s going to take a while for me to take out these goons.” “Well, hurry up. It’s set to go off in a short time. We found our informant and now we need to take out the assassin and maybe learn who’s responsible. Bond out.” James began to fiddle with his phone, and when he found Sam’s number, he dialed it, “Sam, this is Bond, have taken care of your assailant?” “Yeah,” Came the rather baritone voice on the receiver. “Knocked him out and stuffed him in a dumpster. Told me when the bomb is going off and when the assassination was going to happen. You?” “Took care of mine too. I need you to leave him there. I’ll take these two griffons and take them to HQ for interrogations. You are going to have to take out the assassin considering how close you are to the castle.” “Will do. Sam out.” Jerome Martinez placed his Yalguzag sniper rifle on the concrete floor of one of the many roofs of Canterlot with an almost childlike grin. He’d been on assassination missions before sure, but not when his target was a leader of a nation. To say he felt honored wouldn’t be doing him justice. He peered through his scope, his sadistic grin still present. This leader may be a pony, but that didn’t mean he could take her lightly. He lost a lot of gigs judging a book by their cover. Even still, she’s probably on high alert and with all the guards concentrated on her he didn’t want to take the shot. Not yet anyway. The bomb below the train station was scheduled to blow in two minutes when the contestants arrived, causing everybody to look at the wreckage and carnage of the explosion, not their leader getting a 7.62mm round through her head. He began to calculate the shot. For him, the winds seemed tame and he wouldn't have to deal with any glare due to this roof being canopied. When he was satisfied with how it looked, he place the crosshair right below the leader’s head and awaited the explosion. Except that it never came. Martinez frowned. The boss must’ve hired some incompetent goons to set up the explosives. He glossed his gloved finger over the trigger. He never stopped when his hand was ready to fire when his fingers were barking for blood. Except right now when he heard someone’s, something’s, footsteps behind him. It didn’t take long for Sam to find the roof with the terrorist’s assassin there. After all, knowing a thing or two about snipers helped him know about the best vantage points for setting up and he knew he must be blocking out the harsh midday sun. He checked a few canopied roofs, and only one had a sharpshooter laying on it, sniper in hand, looking at his prey. Quickly he dropped down to the roof and began to creep up on the man. However, he must’ve heard his footsteps as the assassin stood up and wiped his sniper to him and fired. Luckily Sam was able to dodge the bullet and run towards the killer. The assassin must’ve forgotten his sniper was bolt action as when he tried to fire, no bullets came out. This gave Sam the chance to hit him in the side and send him crashing to the ground. Huffing, the killer pulled out his sidearm, a suppressed .45, and fired, the bullets quickly coughing out of the instrument of death. Sam pulled out his Five-seven and concentrated fire on the man’s hand. When a bullet finally connected, he dropped his .45 in pain and held his hand, trying to control the blood flow. This gave the former Third-Echelon member enought time to punch the assassin in the face and send him reeling once again to the ground. Holstering his weapon, he picked up the man and said menacingly, “Who are you working for?” “Go to hell.” The killer spit into Sam’s face, which prompted him to punch him again. “Who are you working for?” Sam’s rather calm voice was rising. “I’m not telling.” “Tell me, and I’ll let you go.” “Forget it. I won’t tell you anything.” The terrorist turned his head away from Sam. “Are you crazy?” Sam asked. “We’re on the fourth floor.” The assassin gulped. “What do you mean?” “You know it’s not true, that you go unconscious before you hit the ground. You see it comin’ the whole way.” Sam began to drag the man until they got on the edge of the roof. He hovered the body over it. “You wouldn’t!” The assassin screamed at the agent. Sam smirked. “You wanna convince me not to?” “Fine, fine I’ll tell! Just don’t kill me,” the assassin took a deep breath, “The man’s name is Venestaz. Carlos Venestaz. South American. Does that answer your question?” Sam smiled. “Almost,” He grabbed the assassin’s head and hit the right pressure point to incapacitate him and placed his unconscious body on the floor of the roof.. He’d have to bring him in to HQ for questioning like the griffons. But right now he could rest a little easy knowing they’re first mission was complete, but he knew it wasn’t over. It can never be this simple.