World Cup 71 - RP Thread

[Felix]

Star Wars - John Williams

May the fourth be with you.

FINALS - FINAL CUTOFF

[Osarius]

((OOC: This took a lot longer to write up than intended. I've been caught up playing this MMORPG called "Outside". Ha.))

"...dark times in the south of Osarius." The news anchor finished. Noah Drake clicked the television off. News outlets across Osarius were reporting that the Free Nation of Cobrio had apparently completely assimilated the former Ohafia unit stationed near Inzon. This safe house in Kronkow was one of several that he knew Jermain Marko had access to, and -- if he had interpreted the message correctly -- this was where he was supposed to meet the former Kryosi intelligence agent.

It occurred to Noah that he was perhaps placing too much faith in a man who was formerly employed to actively work against the best interests of Osarius. 'Should he not be working with Cobrio, then?' He mused. He didn't get much further into his thoughts before he heard a clunk from the back room.

Snatching up the nearest weapon -- an imported pistol, Kryosi, of course -- and aiming it at the darkened doorway with trembling hands, Noah braced himself. He dared not breathe, holding the air in his lungs for what felt like an age. The burning was becoming too much to handle, his eyes watering, blurring his already questionable vision, when he heard a familiar voice. "Put it down, kid." A hooded figure entered the room. "You don't even know how to use it anyway."

Noah's hands trembled and he blinked the water out of his eyes. "Code word." He demanded.

"Christ, Noah." Came the exasperated reply. "We didn't agree on a code word, but I'll humour you. Wizard?" Noah's arms were already descending by the time Jermain finished, and ripped off his hood. "I see you've made yourself comfortable." Jermain gestured to the half-empty packet of crackers, and near-empty mug on the table.

"Y-Yeah. So... What now?" Noah stammered.

"Now, we wait."

"For...what?"

"Backup." Jermain flung down a heavy bag with a clang. "We're going to infiltrate th-"

"W-What?" Noah interrupted.

"Infiltrate the Cobrio outpost in Inzon, and destroy the data they stole."

"How do you..?" Noah trailed off.

"For a smart guy, you're pretty dumb sometimes, kid. As soon as I got the alert, I started recon. The Free Nation of Cobrio stole the data you got from Oracle. You did the hard part for them, see. Your security measures are a lot less difficult to crack than Oracle's, but I suppose you don't really worry too much about being hacked, do you?" Jermain chuckled. "Anyway, once I knew what we were up against, I called in a couple of favours. Looks like I might be saving this country. Again."

Noah scrunched his face in confusion at that last part. 'Saving the country? Again? What the hell?' He wondered.

"Oh right, I didn't tell you that. Well, you remember that incident where nobody aged for a few years? It was the work of a guy I used to know..."

* * * * *

Roque Acosta adjusted the armband on his left bicep with a snap. "Alright lads. You know what we're here for." The team huddled up, around twenty-five yards from goal.

"A-hem!" Ruby Fletcher cleared her throat loudly.

"Naff off Rubes." Roque laughed. "You know what I mean. Now this is what we worked for. We know what these lot are about, we know what we're up against. We've been here before, though. We can handle this."

"Tough to give a team talk after the gaffer, eh, Rock?" Rodriguez said. The whole squad laughed.

"Too f'n right, mate. But I'll tell you what... Doesn't stop me trying, does it?"

"Nothing stops you trying anything, mate. It's why we love ya, ya lump!"

"Yeah, we'll follow you anywhere, skip."

"Then let's go get our trophy. They're only borrowing it for display tonight, right?!"

"Too fuckin' right, mate!"

* * * * *

The Wanderers were tough to play against, Roque remembered from last time. He glanced up at the clock; seventy-nine minutes gone. 'They have the momentum, too...' He thought.

The Pasargan equaliser was certainly well-deserved, and had come after a sublime passing move that effectively took Roque out of the equation completely -- not something he was accustomed to experiencing. And it had been a thoroughly entertaining game, six goals so far. 'Neutrals must be loving this...'

Roque received a short lateral from Fabio Mancini -- that kid ran on some serious batteries; did he ever really tire? -- and started forward. In the face of pressure, he touched the ball off to his right, Gabrielle Harrison was advancing. "Gabs, look for Darell!" Roque shouted before peeling his run to the left, pulling a man with him. Her pass was excellent, right down the line into space for Marshall to sprint onto.

Time slowed.

Roque surveyed the pitch quickly, noting that Wesley Kane had started angling his run toward the back post, and Ezio Grassi was advancing into the right channel, splitting the defenders. 'Where the hell is Tobes?'

He spotted him, labouring forward. He'd reach the edge of the box, but probably wouldn't be a viable pass option. 'Shit.' He knew the attack was going to break down... and it did. Jukic effectively tracked Ezio, and blocked the pass, clearing immediately.

Roque snapped into focus, sharply. His hesitation had kept him in position to break up the counter-attack that was surely about to start. And he did.

Time froze this time.

Ezio was tightly marked by Jukic, Kane was offside, and Marshall was tracking the Pasargan left. Drummond had ghosted into space between the lines -- such as they were at this point -- and Roque saw the opening. 'I can end it.'

Without hesitation he drove a pass toward Toby, and launched into a sprint. 'Please work...'

Toby saw the return. As Roque ghosted past Mor, the gap began to close, but the ball was rolling straight into his path. 'Just hit it, Roque, just hit it.'

...and he did.

* * * * *

"...scorer for Osarius, number eight, Roque Acostaaaaa!" Roque could barely make out the stadium announcer over the roar of the crowd as he ran, on legs as heavy as lead pipes, toward the bench.

The remainder of the match was a blur of desperate tackles and interceptions, of straining to keep focused while under pressure. The Wanderers threw everything at them, and Roque was acutely aware that a single slip could cost the game 'We can't do this for another thirty...' He told himself. He'd dropped into a defensive role, leaving the running to Fabio Mancini and Gavin Mitchell -- who had come on as a substitute just after his goal, replacing a clearly tired Toby -- barking orders to the wingers to drop back.

When the final whistle came, Roque dropped to his knees. And wept.

Jermain Lewis had run onto the pitch, and was embracing him now. "You did it, son. You did it."

"Gaffer... I'm done." Roque sobbed.

"I know. You've done enough. More than enough." Lewis practically crushed him before ruffling his hair and nudging him away, toward his team. "Just one thing left to do, Rock. Go get your trophy back."