#olympic weightlifter

[mudwerks]

Canadian weightlifter Maude Charron drinking Canadian Maple Syrup before winning silver

[merge-conflict]

wip wednesday

Chuck tossed her cigarette into a nearby puddle and checked in with the rest of the group. It was another muggy night, in a string of muggy nights, and her undershirt was sticking to her like a second skin, sealed in tight by her armored vest. All she could think about was going home and slipping into a nice, chilly, ice bath– maybe falling asleep on the couch while Namita went on her weekly raid. The perfect Wednesday night.

“Pacer–“ Raina said, in warning tone. “You ready? Or not?”

“Incoming…three, two, and… done.”

A video feed flickered into Chuck’s vision– Pacer insisted on cutting together his overviews with an extra bit of style– transitions and breakouts, everything labeled legibly and tagged in her interface. Plenty of mercs liked to complain about him, but she liked it. Hadn’t been quite so long ago she’d been working with runners who barely spoke, never mind briefed and updated the team in real-time.

The job was a simple flashbang: get into some dim, smoke-filled basement, rile up the occupants, smash up the place, and flush all the targets smart enough to run straight into a net. Chuck was point on the shock squad, with Javi and Lena working crowd control in her wake. Raina had Nikita with her, leading the huscle stationed around the building’s chokepoints. Twenty minutes, tops, from first hit until delta. Forty minutes home to shower and slip into a bath. She flexed her claws, considering. Maybe another thirty to pick up something to eat and a couple of beers. It had been raining all day.

All the side doors to the basement had been jammed twenty minutes ago, so when Chuck tossed the bouncer straight through the front door, she blocked the only exit available to the two dozen or so card players gawping up at her. She stepped in and tossed the door ahead of her, watching two men in suits scramble frantically out of the way. Someone fired a gun and there was a familiar ping! as the bullet glanced off one of her gleaming brass arms– the best set of implants the Animals had ever taken as payment, and which she’d earned in a battle royale. With a bit of effort she could shoulder her way through a car. Small caliber was just that: small.

[chuckg2]

Dani Speegle