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The Original Three Stooges

VenomHound-KAG

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Spor and I were begining to wonder if the man known only to us as Sylum would actually show that Saturday morning in the Houma Books-A-Million. We were walking up and down the isle of military books, talking rather inconspicuously about what books to read to perfect the impression we wanted for our team: the deadly, legendary, and other worldly Navy SEALs.

The Knights Airsoft Group is unlike most teams in Louisiana, Hell, maybe even the whole United States. Most of the members, fluctuating between ten to twenty on a given day, have not met one another. Or, if they have, it was only once. Aeros, the mighty half Korean CO of the team, was, and still is, one of the moderately active members. He had offered Spor and I the chance to join after the collapse of the cluster cuss that was the Louisiana Aces. I had been active in the Louisiana airsoft scene since the summer before my senior year, 2008. I had hosted two small games before with a semi-descent turn our averaging twelve people. After attending an open game hosted by Black Company, Louisiana's premiere team, I began to focus on getting gear, mostly a half-assed 'Nam kit. My trusty CM031, which can outrange most ICS or G&G guns to this day, helped me to dust a few foes here and there. In May '10, the Aces officially split; after a fight that I shall not replay or relate to, the players began to go our separate ways, and I and Spor joined KAG. By the time I was in KAG, I had been in twenty or so games, had a feeling that MILSIM was more my style, and was ready to take the ol' high cap and shove it to another new player. Aeros gave us permission to do our own little thing in the south, as most of the team was located north of Alexandria. Spor and I decided to go the route of the elite Navy SEALs, requiring coyote brown gear, woodland and DCU camo (soon to be AOR1 and 2), and knowlege of what the SEALs were and how they operated.

We had recruited a new player to join our ranks, codenamed Sylum. A former paintballer and current wizzard with ballisong twirling, he stood at roughly six foot ungodly, towering over me and alittle bit higher than Spor (I am the runt of the group, I should add). Short curley hair, a dark complexion that really hid his Ginger blood, and not an ounce of fat on him, I was immediately impressed. His skills in paintball, as I would learn a few weeks later at the Second Sunday Shootout (a monthly event held by Noober or the South Louisiana Marauders), were greatly useful in his functions as a rifleman. I would capture on film on that same day, a headshot he pulled off at about 30 yards with an L96 using the "snap shot" technique our more arcade-like cousins use in their speedball games.

Us three sat at a table, drinking energy drinks and coffee, talking about who we were. After around thirty minutes of bullshitting, we went to our respective vehicles, and began the twenty minute journey to a place Spor had dubbed "Hangar 18". It was an old sugar mill, long since torn down, with a large corrugated warehouse full of a product that had gone bankrupt years ago; we thought they looked like Sham-Wows. Perhaps, in the future, we could turn this into a CQB site, where 300 or lower FPS guns could go semi-auto at each other, a first for the state. It was big enough, thats for sure.

After looking around, we set up a few targets and began to do drills. These focused on driving the weapon from target to target, changing position, and doing the same. To engage three targets with two rounds each, run ten feet, and do it again, it took us an average of eight and a half to nine seconds; not bad for a few guys who had no real training if I do say so myself. All in all, I knew that we had a new team mate in this Houma native.

A trip to the local McClogyourarteries gave us a chance to talk shop more, but, we instead focused on music and personal lives. Sylum and I really connected in our love for Sonata Arctica and Opeth, while the group as a whole agreed that Pantera was brought from Vallhalla itself to please us. After two refilled Cokes, I decided to have myself a little Raoul Duke moment, and slipped off my uncomfy-assed work boots, and entered the childrens play area. Like a vet from back in The *suitcase* I crawled thru the assending and narrowing tubes, focusing on one thing only: looking as crazy as I could. As I slid down the slide screaming "Remember the Alamo!", I quickly got out before either the cops were called, or the guys in white suits with those nasty *albatross* chill pills.

All in all, upon the dispersal of our party, Spor and I agreed; we had ourselves a new member, and he would prove his worth in the future....



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