((OOC: Continuation of our application post. A WORK IN PROGRESS. Comments and constructive criticism welcome! 
))
Aside from the resulting news coverage of the incident, the information presented here is unknown to all but Lupus, Redd, and select members of the Irish Republican Army.
“Well… I tink it’s ready.”
“You tink it’s ready, or it ”sure-as-fuk” IS ready?”
The thin, wiry, man looked over his shoulder in annoyance before shining the flashlight over the entire rig of explosives in a mock inspection.
“Der, looks pretty fukin’ good ta me.”
His partner’s eyebrow rose as he crossed his muscle-covered arms over his chest. “Ya really should check da whole damn ting again.”
“Jaysus, would ya lay of me fukin case?! If I say ‘I tink da whole ting is ready’, den I mean ‘da whole damn ting is READY’.”
“Take it easy, Redd...” The large man growled in low tone that said ‘take it easy or I’ll make you take it easy’. “I jus’ tink dat wit a big job like dis one, we should make damn well sure da whole fukin ting is gonna explode when it’s s’possed ta explode!”
“An’ it’s gonna explode, ya piece o’ shite. Now let’s get outta dis damn hole so I can watch ma handiwork.”
With a simple grunt of annoyance, Lupus carefully turned his large form around (which was a difficult feat in the old sewer pipe) and began crawling back towards the exit. With one last look at the large masses of C4 lining the ceiling, Redd flipped off his flashlight and followed his cousin with a devilish smirk still on his lips.
The air was cold, though Ireland’s summer was fast approaching, and Lupus’s breath created tiny puffs of steam as he stepped squinting into the sunlight. The clear blue sky and warm rays of sun were a testament to the beautiful day gracing Dublin’s streets. It was as if Mother Earth herself saw fit to bless the day that England’s Prime Minister would visit Ireland’s fair shores, and the people of the city could feel it. They massed the streets in order to find a good spot to view the parade and traffic had all but halted in preparation. Some people came to see the politician with hopeful expectations of reformation; others came with bitter curses.
The ones who sent the Blarney Brothers came to see the fireworks.
“Be Jaysus…” Redd muttered as he was forced to shield his eyes from the light. Lupus couldn’t help but smirk; his cousin always had something ‘colorful’ to say. Though different in most respects, when the two stood beside each other it was possible to see the similarities. First, the two had the same angled nose; it was genetic, they were told, and everyone in the family had it. Second, they were both covered head to toe in colorful tattoos of shamrocks, horseshoes, and other symbols of luck and heritage. They were Irish and they were proud of it.
That was, by all accounts, where the similarities ended.
Redd was thin, pale-skinned, but somewhat athletically built. The way he wore his shortsleeved button-down shirts, open and shirtless underneath to show his military dog-tags, showed that he probably thought more of his body than he should have. With a shaved head and sharp weasel-like features, a long jagged scar stretching from the left corner of his mouth to his earlobe permanently forced his face into some form of wicked grin that promised nothing but trouble. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black unless carefully inspected, and they seemed to block out anyone trying to look within; like they were filled with a deep void that no one would ever be able to cross. It didn’t often matter much, seeing as they were often hidden behind steel blastwork goggles.
Lupus, on the other hand, seemed to be nothing more than height and muscle. His frame easily dwarfed most others, including Redd, and his bright Irish-green Mohawk almost seemed to be a beacon above a crowd. His thick, knotted body was covered in battle scars, some old and some new, that stood out among the various tattoo designs. Most often his chest was covered in a thick bulletproof jacket, his legs in worn combats, and his feet in wrinkled boots. Just like the dog tags glittering on his chest, they were only remnants of a previous military life. The rest of Lupus’s stone-like facial features were accented by his bright golden eyes, which were a side-effect of several experimental steroids. They were the eyes of a wolf, cold and calculating.
“Best get to it, den…” Redd signaled to Lupus who pulled the large duffel bag out from behind the sewer drain and began unpacking its contents. The loud clicks of the Armalite assault rifles being loaded became drowned out by the cheering from the streets as the Prime Minister’s car approached the explosive-rigged bridge. “Dem IRA boys ain’t one’s ta wait around.”
The streets around the bridge were an absolute wall of people that two tattooed psychopaths with machine guns would have no chance of getting through without causing a large scale panic. That’s why it was a good thing the Blarney Brothers had planned ahead. Sprinting down the long metal catwalk that stretched beneath the bridge, the two reached a rusted steel ladder that brought them up into the back alley of a small apartment complex. With the activity in the streets, the whole alley was completely abandoned and thanks to the IRA the apartment buildings back door was unlocked. A set of stairs later, the two were inside a sparsely furnished one-room flat with a perfect view of the O’Connell Street Bridge. They left the lights off and the shades closed.
There was an encrypted, high frequency, walkie-talkie on the windowsill.
Carefully opening a corner of the shades and making sure to keep his barrel inside the room, Lupus posted his scoped Armalite with the skill of veteran sniper. Snatching the walkie-talkie, Redd moved to a second window.
“Oy! We’re in position an’ waitin’, Murphy.”
There was a long moment of silence before a low, professional, Irish voice chirped over the radio. “Are the explosives in place?”
“O’ ‘course da explosives are in place, ya thunderin’ fuk!” Redd nearly shouted back, drawing a n agitated ‘Shut it!’ from Lupus. Growling in annoyance, he smashed the transmitter as his voice dropped to a loud whisper. “Da explosives are ready, ya rat bastard, now how much longer till we blow dis fuker ta kingdom come?”
The voice chirped again without a hint of emotion. “Reports say da Prime Minister’s car will be at the bridge in 5 minutes. Wait fer further orders an’ don’t do nuthin’ without my say so.”
“I’ll give ya ‘say so’ ya thunferin’ fuk…” Redd grumbled, finger wisely off the transmitter. “Well I guess we’s waitin’ den.”
The minutes felt like an eternity as the two sat in silence, scopes still on the rigged bridge and the swarming masses of people. British ‘Black and Tans’ patrolled the street with loaded L85A2’s in hand to keep everything under control, but the atmosphere was electric as the politician’s convoy approached. Pretty soon a long chain of police cars and army jeeps came into view at the heart of which were three large black SUV’s.
Redd cursed aloud as he grabbed the walkie-talkie. “Murphy, ya shite, there’s t’ree SUV’s! Which one’s blowin’ up!?”
Static echoed from the other end of the radio as the convoy approached. “God damnit, Murphy, which car is da target?!” Still, there was no reply as the SUV’s closed in. “MURPHY?!”
With another loud curse, Redd threw the radio aside and grabbed his rifle. Lupus never looked up from his scope. “Well… what da fuk are we gonna do?”
Redd bit his lip in nervous agitation and pulled out the detonator; it was one of the few times in his life he was left speechless. The first SUV had reached the bridge. “Redd, we need a fukin’ plan NOW. Which car do we takin’?!”
The third SUV rolled onto the bridge and Redd turned the arming key.
“REDD!? WHICH CAR DO WE TAKE?!”
With grinding teeth, Redd yelled in fury as he slammed the detonation switch. “TAKE ALL DA THUNDERIN’ FUKERS!”
The entire apartment building shook from the roar as the bridge erupted in flame, consuming the third SUV in a white-hot explosion. Lupus fell back at the surprise detonation but was back at his rifle in an instant. Machine gun fire rained down on the convoy from every building in the area as IRA soldiers flooded the windows and rooftops. The air was filled with gunfire and screams as the crowd went into a full and complete panic; trampling civilian and soldier alike.
Lupus fired at the SUV’s with reckless abandon, unloading clip after clip, but the bulletproof plating was holding out. An RPG screamed down from a rooftop and missed one of the cars by mere feet, instead turning a hummer into a small fireball. With screeching tires, the two SUV’s pushed through the wreckage and began barreling down the street.
Lupus cursed aloud as he moved to another window and let off a few rounds but it was too late, the targets were gone. “Dem fukers are getting’ away!” He shouted over the symphony of screams, gunfire, and explosions but Redd wasn’t paying attention as his eyes were locked on the road on the other side of the twisted remains of the bridge.
“Lupus… is dat… is dat what I tink it is?”
Running to the window, the large Irishman followed the direction of Redd’s pointing. Through the fire and smoke, he could barely make out a large metal object rolling slowly towards them. Stopping at the edge of the wrecked bridge, it’s cannon pointed directly at their building. “Yup… I was right, dey got a fukin’ tank.”
Grabbing his cousin, Lupus dove away from the window as the shell hit the wall with an ear-deafening explosion.
))Aside from the resulting news coverage of the incident, the information presented here is unknown to all but Lupus, Redd, and select members of the Irish Republican Army.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...
~Irish Funeral Prayer
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...
~Irish Funeral Prayer
“Well… I tink it’s ready.”
“You tink it’s ready, or it ”sure-as-fuk” IS ready?”
The thin, wiry, man looked over his shoulder in annoyance before shining the flashlight over the entire rig of explosives in a mock inspection.
“Der, looks pretty fukin’ good ta me.”
His partner’s eyebrow rose as he crossed his muscle-covered arms over his chest. “Ya really should check da whole damn ting again.”
“Jaysus, would ya lay of me fukin case?! If I say ‘I tink da whole ting is ready’, den I mean ‘da whole damn ting is READY’.”
“Take it easy, Redd...” The large man growled in low tone that said ‘take it easy or I’ll make you take it easy’. “I jus’ tink dat wit a big job like dis one, we should make damn well sure da whole fukin ting is gonna explode when it’s s’possed ta explode!”
“An’ it’s gonna explode, ya piece o’ shite. Now let’s get outta dis damn hole so I can watch ma handiwork.”
With a simple grunt of annoyance, Lupus carefully turned his large form around (which was a difficult feat in the old sewer pipe) and began crawling back towards the exit. With one last look at the large masses of C4 lining the ceiling, Redd flipped off his flashlight and followed his cousin with a devilish smirk still on his lips.
The air was cold, though Ireland’s summer was fast approaching, and Lupus’s breath created tiny puffs of steam as he stepped squinting into the sunlight. The clear blue sky and warm rays of sun were a testament to the beautiful day gracing Dublin’s streets. It was as if Mother Earth herself saw fit to bless the day that England’s Prime Minister would visit Ireland’s fair shores, and the people of the city could feel it. They massed the streets in order to find a good spot to view the parade and traffic had all but halted in preparation. Some people came to see the politician with hopeful expectations of reformation; others came with bitter curses.
The ones who sent the Blarney Brothers came to see the fireworks.
“Be Jaysus…” Redd muttered as he was forced to shield his eyes from the light. Lupus couldn’t help but smirk; his cousin always had something ‘colorful’ to say. Though different in most respects, when the two stood beside each other it was possible to see the similarities. First, the two had the same angled nose; it was genetic, they were told, and everyone in the family had it. Second, they were both covered head to toe in colorful tattoos of shamrocks, horseshoes, and other symbols of luck and heritage. They were Irish and they were proud of it.
That was, by all accounts, where the similarities ended.
Redd was thin, pale-skinned, but somewhat athletically built. The way he wore his shortsleeved button-down shirts, open and shirtless underneath to show his military dog-tags, showed that he probably thought more of his body than he should have. With a shaved head and sharp weasel-like features, a long jagged scar stretching from the left corner of his mouth to his earlobe permanently forced his face into some form of wicked grin that promised nothing but trouble. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black unless carefully inspected, and they seemed to block out anyone trying to look within; like they were filled with a deep void that no one would ever be able to cross. It didn’t often matter much, seeing as they were often hidden behind steel blastwork goggles.
Lupus, on the other hand, seemed to be nothing more than height and muscle. His frame easily dwarfed most others, including Redd, and his bright Irish-green Mohawk almost seemed to be a beacon above a crowd. His thick, knotted body was covered in battle scars, some old and some new, that stood out among the various tattoo designs. Most often his chest was covered in a thick bulletproof jacket, his legs in worn combats, and his feet in wrinkled boots. Just like the dog tags glittering on his chest, they were only remnants of a previous military life. The rest of Lupus’s stone-like facial features were accented by his bright golden eyes, which were a side-effect of several experimental steroids. They were the eyes of a wolf, cold and calculating.
“Best get to it, den…” Redd signaled to Lupus who pulled the large duffel bag out from behind the sewer drain and began unpacking its contents. The loud clicks of the Armalite assault rifles being loaded became drowned out by the cheering from the streets as the Prime Minister’s car approached the explosive-rigged bridge. “Dem IRA boys ain’t one’s ta wait around.”
The streets around the bridge were an absolute wall of people that two tattooed psychopaths with machine guns would have no chance of getting through without causing a large scale panic. That’s why it was a good thing the Blarney Brothers had planned ahead. Sprinting down the long metal catwalk that stretched beneath the bridge, the two reached a rusted steel ladder that brought them up into the back alley of a small apartment complex. With the activity in the streets, the whole alley was completely abandoned and thanks to the IRA the apartment buildings back door was unlocked. A set of stairs later, the two were inside a sparsely furnished one-room flat with a perfect view of the O’Connell Street Bridge. They left the lights off and the shades closed.
There was an encrypted, high frequency, walkie-talkie on the windowsill.
Carefully opening a corner of the shades and making sure to keep his barrel inside the room, Lupus posted his scoped Armalite with the skill of veteran sniper. Snatching the walkie-talkie, Redd moved to a second window.
“Oy! We’re in position an’ waitin’, Murphy.”
There was a long moment of silence before a low, professional, Irish voice chirped over the radio. “Are the explosives in place?”
“O’ ‘course da explosives are in place, ya thunderin’ fuk!” Redd nearly shouted back, drawing a n agitated ‘Shut it!’ from Lupus. Growling in annoyance, he smashed the transmitter as his voice dropped to a loud whisper. “Da explosives are ready, ya rat bastard, now how much longer till we blow dis fuker ta kingdom come?”
The voice chirped again without a hint of emotion. “Reports say da Prime Minister’s car will be at the bridge in 5 minutes. Wait fer further orders an’ don’t do nuthin’ without my say so.”
“I’ll give ya ‘say so’ ya thunferin’ fuk…” Redd grumbled, finger wisely off the transmitter. “Well I guess we’s waitin’ den.”
The minutes felt like an eternity as the two sat in silence, scopes still on the rigged bridge and the swarming masses of people. British ‘Black and Tans’ patrolled the street with loaded L85A2’s in hand to keep everything under control, but the atmosphere was electric as the politician’s convoy approached. Pretty soon a long chain of police cars and army jeeps came into view at the heart of which were three large black SUV’s.
Redd cursed aloud as he grabbed the walkie-talkie. “Murphy, ya shite, there’s t’ree SUV’s! Which one’s blowin’ up!?”
Static echoed from the other end of the radio as the convoy approached. “God damnit, Murphy, which car is da target?!” Still, there was no reply as the SUV’s closed in. “MURPHY?!”
With another loud curse, Redd threw the radio aside and grabbed his rifle. Lupus never looked up from his scope. “Well… what da fuk are we gonna do?”
Redd bit his lip in nervous agitation and pulled out the detonator; it was one of the few times in his life he was left speechless. The first SUV had reached the bridge. “Redd, we need a fukin’ plan NOW. Which car do we takin’?!”
The third SUV rolled onto the bridge and Redd turned the arming key.
“REDD!? WHICH CAR DO WE TAKE?!”
With grinding teeth, Redd yelled in fury as he slammed the detonation switch. “TAKE ALL DA THUNDERIN’ FUKERS!”
The entire apartment building shook from the roar as the bridge erupted in flame, consuming the third SUV in a white-hot explosion. Lupus fell back at the surprise detonation but was back at his rifle in an instant. Machine gun fire rained down on the convoy from every building in the area as IRA soldiers flooded the windows and rooftops. The air was filled with gunfire and screams as the crowd went into a full and complete panic; trampling civilian and soldier alike.
Lupus fired at the SUV’s with reckless abandon, unloading clip after clip, but the bulletproof plating was holding out. An RPG screamed down from a rooftop and missed one of the cars by mere feet, instead turning a hummer into a small fireball. With screeching tires, the two SUV’s pushed through the wreckage and began barreling down the street.
Lupus cursed aloud as he moved to another window and let off a few rounds but it was too late, the targets were gone. “Dem fukers are getting’ away!” He shouted over the symphony of screams, gunfire, and explosions but Redd wasn’t paying attention as his eyes were locked on the road on the other side of the twisted remains of the bridge.
“Lupus… is dat… is dat what I tink it is?”
Running to the window, the large Irishman followed the direction of Redd’s pointing. Through the fire and smoke, he could barely make out a large metal object rolling slowly towards them. Stopping at the edge of the wrecked bridge, it’s cannon pointed directly at their building. “Yup… I was right, dey got a fukin’ tank.”
Grabbing his cousin, Lupus dove away from the window as the shell hit the wall with an ear-deafening explosion.
