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Pilgrim's Reach
- Thread starter Asmodeus
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J
Jumi
Guest
[bg=#417C64][Dash=#87fdce]
[size=+1]Gregor[/size]
The recon jeeps rolled over the caked, and dusty ground with a series of rhythmic bumps, and groans as the large hard tires either bounced off of the rocks, or crushed through them. Alpha's jeep was driven by Sandy, and Bravo's by Faerich. Gregor himself rode on the passenger seat with the window down, and his face exposed to the Waste's air. He'd warned them of the fumes that still rose from the ground, and how it would make them either lightheaded, or nauseous. It had been why they were issued envirosuits, and why he hadn't. Gabriel had complained about the smell, and how it made him want to tag the walls of the Ezekiel with puke... which had only gotten the old soldier to grin. For as long as he could remember, the smell had never bothered him.
Grabbing the radio, Gregor clicked on the transmitter "Bravo squad, we've just cleared the open, and now we're moving towards the climb. Moro, did anyone do anything silly like, take their helmet off, and start puking?" Gregor would bring them outside again later without the suits in order to get them used to the feel of the sun, and the smell on the wind, but for now. They had to see it before they could feel it. Turning to look over his shoulder "Gabriel take a stand topside, and see if you notice any hostiles." he ordered, knowing that Gabriel had been itching to get his hands around the ridiculously large sniper rifle that was mounted to the top of that particular jeep.
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[/bg]The recon jeeps rolled over the caked, and dusty ground with a series of rhythmic bumps, and groans as the large hard tires either bounced off of the rocks, or crushed through them. Alpha's jeep was driven by Sandy, and Bravo's by Faerich. Gregor himself rode on the passenger seat with the window down, and his face exposed to the Waste's air. He'd warned them of the fumes that still rose from the ground, and how it would make them either lightheaded, or nauseous. It had been why they were issued envirosuits, and why he hadn't. Gabriel had complained about the smell, and how it made him want to tag the walls of the Ezekiel with puke... which had only gotten the old soldier to grin. For as long as he could remember, the smell had never bothered him.
Grabbing the radio, Gregor clicked on the transmitter "Bravo squad, we've just cleared the open, and now we're moving towards the climb. Moro, did anyone do anything silly like, take their helmet off, and start puking?" Gregor would bring them outside again later without the suits in order to get them used to the feel of the sun, and the smell on the wind, but for now. They had to see it before they could feel it. Turning to look over his shoulder "Gabriel take a stand topside, and see if you notice any hostiles." he ordered, knowing that Gabriel had been itching to get his hands around the ridiculously large sniper rifle that was mounted to the top of that particular jeep.
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"Roger that, Chief." Gabriel stowed his rifle and pulled himself up, kneeing Draughlaw in the side of the head. Then a bump sent him sprawling onto Nick's lap.
"How's my temperature?"
Nick pushed him away and Gabriel kneed Draughlaw in the other side of the head. "Shit, got some hostiles already, Chief."
Finally he got the right handhold and pulled himself up into the gunner's seat, swinging his legs in and kicking Sandy in the back of the head. "Sorry, sorry. Eyes on the road, sport."
Bringing up the sniper scope, the turret whirred as Gabriel swung it left and right. "Let's see now..."
"...we have desert..." He swung left. "...more desert, and..." He swung right. "...hey shit, guys! There's some desert over here!"
He pushed the scope away. "Must be what it's like driving through Sandy's subconscious."
He caught Gregor's one-eyed glare and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the shadow of the Ezekiel. "My offical report, Sir, is that anything with a brain bigger than its asshole probably got scared away by the mother-fucker class tank that just rolled into town."
"How's my temperature?"
Nick pushed him away and Gabriel kneed Draughlaw in the other side of the head. "Shit, got some hostiles already, Chief."
Finally he got the right handhold and pulled himself up into the gunner's seat, swinging his legs in and kicking Sandy in the back of the head. "Sorry, sorry. Eyes on the road, sport."
Bringing up the sniper scope, the turret whirred as Gabriel swung it left and right. "Let's see now..."
"...we have desert..." He swung left. "...more desert, and..." He swung right. "...hey shit, guys! There's some desert over here!"
He pushed the scope away. "Must be what it's like driving through Sandy's subconscious."
He caught Gregor's one-eyed glare and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the shadow of the Ezekiel. "My offical report, Sir, is that anything with a brain bigger than its asshole probably got scared away by the mother-fucker class tank that just rolled into town."
O
Okami_Jigoku
Guest
Draug didn't like this at all, especially when gabriel kneed him and sandy in the head. "Hey! Person whose brain is smaller than their asshole! Stop complaining, and hitting me and sandy!" Draug yelled at him so he could here. Draug caught Gregor looking at him. (Wow always looking at us with disaproval... I guess I shouldn't complain, but Gabriel is gratting on everyone. His security blanket is really rubbing everyone the wrong way.) Draug then looked out the window and looked up. "Hey Gabriel look up at 10 o'clock. Something is flying up there. Just wanna make sure it's not a Gargoyal or anything." Draug said as he noticed something flying parralel to them.
K
Kairoga
Guest
(Jesus christ!) Faerich thought, (it sure as hell aint as good as my tank which would just crush these dam rocks!)
Faerich's vehicle was starting to lag considerably behind Gregor's as they started their ascent, then again that was probably a good thing to, Alpha would be the first to hit something, giving bravo time to react, unless of course it was a giant swarm of god knows what.... In which case if alpha was unable to be helped Faerich would have to hightail it out of there before anyone was compromised.
Faerich's vehicle was starting to lag considerably behind Gregor's as they started their ascent, then again that was probably a good thing to, Alpha would be the first to hit something, giving bravo time to react, unless of course it was a giant swarm of god knows what.... In which case if alpha was unable to be helped Faerich would have to hightail it out of there before anyone was compromised.
W
Woodrat
Guest
"Oh fuck off; at least we're not driving through the wide expanse that is your mouth" Sandor muttered. Noting an aged boulder poking out from under the sand he subtly aimed the jeep toward it as they approached. He slightly adjusted his aim as they got close and jerked the steering wheel to the right as the left front tire struck, jostling Gabriel around in the turret mount. Sandor steadied the vehicle again, knowing that Gregor was more apt to be glaring at him now.
Ignoring the string of words echoing from above, Sandor continued as if nothing had occurred. His eyes locked onto the terrain ahead of them. "Sorry sir," Sandor said without looking at Gregor "didn't see that rock there."
Draughlaw said something to Gregor, however Sandor was distracted. Glancing into the side mirror he noticed the rear vehicle was falling behind.
"Uh, someone might want to get on the radio and tell Corporal Faerich to pick up the pace. Otherwise he'll lose us."
Ignoring the string of words echoing from above, Sandor continued as if nothing had occurred. His eyes locked onto the terrain ahead of them. "Sorry sir," Sandor said without looking at Gregor "didn't see that rock there."
Draughlaw said something to Gregor, however Sandor was distracted. Glancing into the side mirror he noticed the rear vehicle was falling behind.
"Uh, someone might want to get on the radio and tell Corporal Faerich to pick up the pace. Otherwise he'll lose us."
T
Tegan
Guest
She ate all the food they had given her, except the bread and the fruit concentrate. She saved these by tying them in a section of her enormous robe. She would likely need them later. Always save what ever food you can. Metris sipped from her second juicebox, basking in the sugary glow from within. Mostly sucrose, useful in case she needed a burst of energy. Always got to count those calories. Make sure you're getting energy.
Nurse Mendoza had been kind enough to supply her with an extra juicebox, along a stick of smooth charcoal.
Metris perched on the edge of her bed in a simian display of intense concentration- toes and fingers grasping the metal rail, with one hand free to hold her drink. Her eyes roved over the bedsheet she had spread on the floor, and the chaotic array of charcoal lines dashed across it.
Papi had always said 'if you're bored, baby girl, you're borin'.'
So Metris amused herself by making a map from memory.
Mapping the Ezekiel was a cinch compared to mapping the Surface-she could afford to make certain assumptions, since there's only so far you can go when walls are involved. And the Surface changed on a daily basis.
But, then again, so did the Ezekiel's outer hull. She had read about that fact in The Surace and You issued to everyone in the crew.
Metris congratulated herself for being so astute. It would not look like a map to anyone else. It was still in the early stages, where many of the connecting details still remained only in her mind. It was a raw work, still untranslated, but it was enough to solidify a general idea of possible escape routes.
In the process of making her map, Metris managed to coat the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet in black. Her body was a patchwork of smudges. The plexiglass room was peppered with the charcoal hand and footprints, except for a small area near the door. Metris left a metal chair, sitting haphazardly within the clean space.
Nurse Mendoza had been kind enough to supply her with an extra juicebox, along a stick of smooth charcoal.
Metris perched on the edge of her bed in a simian display of intense concentration- toes and fingers grasping the metal rail, with one hand free to hold her drink. Her eyes roved over the bedsheet she had spread on the floor, and the chaotic array of charcoal lines dashed across it.
Papi had always said 'if you're bored, baby girl, you're borin'.'
So Metris amused herself by making a map from memory.
Mapping the Ezekiel was a cinch compared to mapping the Surface-she could afford to make certain assumptions, since there's only so far you can go when walls are involved. And the Surface changed on a daily basis.
But, then again, so did the Ezekiel's outer hull. She had read about that fact in The Surace and You issued to everyone in the crew.
Metris congratulated herself for being so astute. It would not look like a map to anyone else. It was still in the early stages, where many of the connecting details still remained only in her mind. It was a raw work, still untranslated, but it was enough to solidify a general idea of possible escape routes.
In the process of making her map, Metris managed to coat the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet in black. Her body was a patchwork of smudges. The plexiglass room was peppered with the charcoal hand and footprints, except for a small area near the door. Metris left a metal chair, sitting haphazardly within the clean space.
J
Jumi
Guest
[bg=#417C64][Dash=#87fdce]
[size=+1]Gregor[/size]
Clamping a cigarette in between his lips, Gregor sparked it with a match, and tossed it out the window, with his arm hanging out of it like some luxury trip. Grunting slightly in response to Gabriel's report, he clicked the radio on again, "Moro, respond. You're starting to trail farther behind. Do you need us to reduce our advance?" His thumb lifted with a hiss coming from the radio afterwords.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a sparking glow from behind the ridge of the canyon. "Thunder Whales..." Gregor murmured softly as from above the cliffs, a large pod the sparking creatures soared overhead, and past them on their migratory journey. The immense size of them would have rivaled even the Blue Whale, and the thunder bolts the seemed to arc off of their bodies seemed dwarfed, though Gregor knew that one strike from them was about as bad as grabbing the Eziekel's batteries with wet hands.
"Gonna be a good day, it is." He said aloud to the group, as the pod called out into the desert with their songs. "... Gabriel if you even think about taking a shot, I'm going to lock you in your quarters for a marathon counseling session with Wakefield." He called over his shoulder in the assumption the soldier was considering what would be the chances of downing one of the creatures.
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[/bg]Clamping a cigarette in between his lips, Gregor sparked it with a match, and tossed it out the window, with his arm hanging out of it like some luxury trip. Grunting slightly in response to Gabriel's report, he clicked the radio on again, "Moro, respond. You're starting to trail farther behind. Do you need us to reduce our advance?" His thumb lifted with a hiss coming from the radio afterwords.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a sparking glow from behind the ridge of the canyon. "Thunder Whales..." Gregor murmured softly as from above the cliffs, a large pod the sparking creatures soared overhead, and past them on their migratory journey. The immense size of them would have rivaled even the Blue Whale, and the thunder bolts the seemed to arc off of their bodies seemed dwarfed, though Gregor knew that one strike from them was about as bad as grabbing the Eziekel's batteries with wet hands.
"Gonna be a good day, it is." He said aloud to the group, as the pod called out into the desert with their songs. "... Gabriel if you even think about taking a shot, I'm going to lock you in your quarters for a marathon counseling session with Wakefield." He called over his shoulder in the assumption the soldier was considering what would be the chances of downing one of the creatures.
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"I wonder what they taste like," Gabriel muttered as he tracked the course of the sandwhales through his scope. Like passing clouds they speckled the desert with patches of black as they blocked out the sun.
In the desert there were some plants and insects, he had read, which built a survival routine around the passing of the whales. They waited for the creatures to move overhead and then came to the surface while the shadow was over them in order to collect food or migrate. The Church used such phenomena as anecdotal evidence of the survival spirit - of the miraculous propensity of life to overcome tragedy.
A crock of shit, Gabriel thought. It was a good thing his father had been such a goddam hero, because there was no way Gabriel would have gotten on this mission given his hatred for religion.
His legs were braced against the sides of the turret now, in case Sandor decided to pull any more wheelies. Returning his scope to the forward position, Gabriel focussed the lens over the next rise.
"Okay, we have our shiney. Looks to be about a mile of rocky terrain before we reach the plateau. Shit, Chief, we should'a used the Zeke to pound the ground a little - level some shit out. Got more bumps here than my grandma's ass."
"Readings are good, Sir," reported Helmsman Denby as his cranial uplink recorded the readings relayed from the jeeps. "Axle corrosion is up 5 on the second vehicle, but it should make the trip.""Alright," answered Wakefield, happy that the expedition was well underway without incident. The sand whales were a good sign. Their polarization and air-disturbance tended to keep most other predators out of the area, for reasons known only to the biologists back at Vladimir. Content that things were running smoothly, he rose from his command chair and buttoned his officer's jacket. "Keep me informed of any developments, Mr Denby. I'll be in Interview Room 6."
"Aye sir."
Twenty minutes later, a freshly scrubbed and showered Metris sat in the sterile, metal walled interview room just down the hallway from the medical bay. She had her juice box and had been given standard issue overalls from the maintenance stores - a pale blue number that was neither flattering nor repulsive. She had to wonder if Wakefield had designed them, such was the air of ambivalence that pervaded the clothes.
The door opened and two guards stood aside to admit the Counsellor. He was holding some of the maps that Metris had drawn, his gloved hand gripping the paper by the edge as he surveyed the artwork. He placed the maps in front of her then produced his handkerchief, wiping the seat slowly and methodically, letting the silence hold between them. Then gradually he sat, adjusting his uniform to the correct position, crease and alignment as he... for want of a better word... relaxed.
"In the early days," his soft voice began, "There were many who couldn't handle being confined in the bunker. Claustrophobic hysteria. They tried to get out, even though the surface radiation would've kill them instantly. Whole families had to be confined, and there were breaches in the upper levels due to escape attempts. I remember the jokes among the security guards - the parallels drawn to zombies, rushing towards open space without a thought for their own safety. But of course, this was a hunger of a different kind. Some people just aren't psychologically designed to be kept underground, no matter the horrors that await above."
He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and laced his gloved fingers together, resting them on his lap with his shoulders back. The body language was calculated, as was his neutral expression and the dulcet modulation of his tone.
"Falkonism was developed in part to train this hysteria out of the population - to glorify the benefits of the enclosed individual. The picture of a single man trapped in the dark was no longer something to be associated with nightmare, but rather an ideal of strength. After all, most of the religions that combined to form the core belief had previously taught that the underground, or underworld, was a place in which heroes are tested and honed for the trials ahead. By the efforts of thousands of clerics, academics and politicians, we achieved the metamorphosis of terror into sanctity. And as a counsellor, I see this as testament to the psycho-social benefits of religion."
The lights flickered slightly, the power system receiving interference from the passing of the sand whales. The light shifted around Wakefiled's pale blue and unblinking eyes.
"The word Falkonism is derived from Falkon - the name of the dragon in the Book of Revelations. According to one Judaic legend the dragon would be slain by a great hero and then the survivors of the Rapture would feast upon its flesh and gain immortality."
He sat forward slightly, adjusting the maps so they aligned with the table edge. "But you are not a guest at this feast, are you, Miss LaCroix? In fact, were I to be pushed for comparison, I would say you are more like those old zombies from the early days, screaming to be let out into the open, where only death and exile wait."
He sat back, looking at her with neither accusation nor affection. "Procedure dictates that we should turn the tank around and deliver you home immediately. So tell me, please, why your desire to escape Vladimir is so great that you have chosen to put the entire Pilgrim's Reach mission in jeapordy?"
T
Tegan
Guest
"The Vladimir is not my home." Metris spoke each word slowly, willing him to understand. She watched as the counsellor's straight posture, his immaculate clothes, his preference (or was it a need?) for symmetry.
"Since we're being honest about our feelings, Mr. Wakefield, I'll tell you what I think you are." Metris mused as she fidgeted with her juice box.
"My Papi was an avid collector of relics before the Rain. Besides the maps, his most favorite relics were taxidermied creatures. I used to spend hours looking through his collection; but one thing always fascinated me." Metris clutched the juice box in both hands and slouched back into her chair, bringing her knees to her chest.
"It was like a tiny, smooth fish, all white and yellow, with glassy eyes and a gaping mouth full of little teeth. (If I ever took it out of the jar, I knew it would fit in the palm of my hand.) But Papi said it was a Nurse Shark, Ginglymostoma cirratum, it lived in the sea and only hunted at night."
"You're like that shark, perfectly suspended in your formaldehyde world. All clean and neat and unchanging. You're like the dead, Mr. Wakefield, and you want to be."
Another long pause between them, this time from her, as she willed her flaring temper to subside. She would need to keep her temper. "Let me join the mission."
"I can be useful." She jammed her finger through paper top of the juice box, popping a hole through. She took a quick sip of the orange drink and continued. "I know the Surface better than most of your men, except for Mr. Gregor, and he worked for my Papi a few times, he can vouch for some of my experience." That was a reach, but she was in a reaching situation.
"I also survived just fine on this vessel for over week before anyone suspected me," she added with a grin. She let that little jab sink in for a moment, before her young face became solemn. Her dark eyes locked with Wakefield's and held them.
"And I can make maps. I can make maps better than any cartographer you have on your crew, because my Papi was Herbert LaCroix and he taught me everything he knew."
"Since we're being honest about our feelings, Mr. Wakefield, I'll tell you what I think you are." Metris mused as she fidgeted with her juice box.
"My Papi was an avid collector of relics before the Rain. Besides the maps, his most favorite relics were taxidermied creatures. I used to spend hours looking through his collection; but one thing always fascinated me." Metris clutched the juice box in both hands and slouched back into her chair, bringing her knees to her chest.
"It was like a tiny, smooth fish, all white and yellow, with glassy eyes and a gaping mouth full of little teeth. (If I ever took it out of the jar, I knew it would fit in the palm of my hand.) But Papi said it was a Nurse Shark, Ginglymostoma cirratum, it lived in the sea and only hunted at night."
"You're like that shark, perfectly suspended in your formaldehyde world. All clean and neat and unchanging. You're like the dead, Mr. Wakefield, and you want to be."
Another long pause between them, this time from her, as she willed her flaring temper to subside. She would need to keep her temper. "Let me join the mission."
"I can be useful." She jammed her finger through paper top of the juice box, popping a hole through. She took a quick sip of the orange drink and continued. "I know the Surface better than most of your men, except for Mr. Gregor, and he worked for my Papi a few times, he can vouch for some of my experience." That was a reach, but she was in a reaching situation.
"I also survived just fine on this vessel for over week before anyone suspected me," she added with a grin. She let that little jab sink in for a moment, before her young face became solemn. Her dark eyes locked with Wakefield's and held them.
"And I can make maps. I can make maps better than any cartographer you have on your crew, because my Papi was Herbert LaCroix and he taught me everything he knew."
D
DoomOtter
Guest
The Radio in Moro's jeep crackled and the faint sound of a voice came through. "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed as he struck the radio. They should have tested the damn thing before heading out. "Hey Faerich speed it up, I don't want to be too far behind if something happens." The radio crackled to life again. "respond...... behind.........us.......advance?" Moro decided to try and respond, maybe it was just having a problem receiving. " This is moro, our radio is fucked up, we're not receiving anything. We're going to try an catch up." Come on faerich let's see what this ground hugger will do."
K
Kairoga
Guest
"I'll show you a ground hugger..." Faerich muttered under his breath, he pressed on the gas bringing the vehicle up closer behind the lead, when the lead recon jeep suddenly swerved out to the left to avoid a rather large rock on the ground. Cursing himself for his luck, Faerich swerved his jeep to the right on sheer instinct, causing everyone in his to bounce around a bit. Faerich then immediately swerved his vehicle to the left again, to not only avoid yet another large rock but to get behind the other recon jeep again. (This vehicle was a bit harder to drive than his precious tank.) Faerich thought absently to himself, not even bothering or knowing about the thunder whales looming above their jeep.
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[DASH="blue"]
"Hey, watch it!" yelled Sabrina, swatting Faerich on the back of the head. "I'm trying to get some landscape shots!"
She pointed the camera at the back of his head, making frantic adjustments for the vibrations. "And so, Faerich and Moro lead the fearsome expedition of the second jeep! Already lagging behind, will they be picked off by the circling predators that await, or will it be them who witness the horror that befalls their comrades up ahead? Already the acids are eating at the axles of the jeep. And what's that - the radio is broken? Jammed, perhaps, by an unknown assailant? Or sabotaged from within by a double agent!"
She swung the camera suddenly towards Alaster, zooming in on the side of his face. "Mr Westerlin has been quiet... too quiet.. and is that sweat on his brow? Perhaps he has already sold us out and is waiting for his desert comrades to strike! Will he get away with his dastardly plan?"
She sat back again, "In other news..." She turned the camera towards Sergeant D'Andrea, who was sitting up in the turret and manning the scope. "Something for all the ladies back home..." The picture zoomed in on his arse.[/dash]
"Hey, watch it!" yelled Sabrina, swatting Faerich on the back of the head. "I'm trying to get some landscape shots!"She pointed the camera at the back of his head, making frantic adjustments for the vibrations. "And so, Faerich and Moro lead the fearsome expedition of the second jeep! Already lagging behind, will they be picked off by the circling predators that await, or will it be them who witness the horror that befalls their comrades up ahead? Already the acids are eating at the axles of the jeep. And what's that - the radio is broken? Jammed, perhaps, by an unknown assailant? Or sabotaged from within by a double agent!"
She swung the camera suddenly towards Alaster, zooming in on the side of his face. "Mr Westerlin has been quiet... too quiet.. and is that sweat on his brow? Perhaps he has already sold us out and is waiting for his desert comrades to strike! Will he get away with his dastardly plan?"
She sat back again, "In other news..." She turned the camera towards Sergeant D'Andrea, who was sitting up in the turret and manning the scope. "Something for all the ladies back home..." The picture zoomed in on his arse.[/dash]
M
MeaZ
Guest
Nick sat double checking his equipment bag, the last few days had been hectic and exhausting so packing his gear the night before the operation was unwise and kept playing on his mind. He had that gut-wrenching feeling that he'd forgotten something. He began to think back, trying to remember everything he'd packed and everything he'd decided wasn't important or necessary to bring. This was the third time since they'd left. His trail of thought was broken when he looked up to see Gabriel planted firmly on his lap. The doctor frowned, transfroming from the middle-aged man he was to a grumpy old grandfather with a nuisance of a grandchild.
"How's my temperature?"
Nick quickly pushed the younger man away with a grunt. This on top of his tiredness and usual lack of interest in mischief had landed the good doctor in a sour mood. Nick listened to the radio chatter. Only their first mission and equipment was malfunctioning.
"How's my temperature?"
Nick quickly pushed the younger man away with a grunt. This on top of his tiredness and usual lack of interest in mischief had landed the good doctor in a sour mood. Nick listened to the radio chatter. Only their first mission and equipment was malfunctioning.
J
Jumi
Guest
[bg=#417C64][Dash=#87fdce]
[size=+1]Gregor[/size]
Sticking his head out the window, Gregor looked ahead to where Gabriel had mentioned. Soon they'd be at the weather station, and then they could begin the maintenance, and retrieval of it's logs.
"Okay, we have our shiney. Looks to be about a mile of rocky terrain before we reach the plateau. Shit, Chief, we should'a used the Zeke to pound the ground a little - level some shit out. Got more bumps here than my grandma's ass."
"That's what suspensions are for. Take it up with the vehicle crew when we get back, Gabriel. It's amazing the axles haven't corroded completely off the body of the jeep yet. Guess they still make them like they used to." Gregor answered, and clicked the radio once more. "Moro, I repeat, should our advance slow?" A dead hiss answered back. "Fuckin' radio's toast already... piece of shit." He said lightly kicking the radio squarely on it's Sonysoft logo.
Flicking his cigarette out the window, Gregor then reached up to his ear, and pressed a button opening a com link to Moro's ear piece. "Moro, what's going on? You're trailing."
They were nearing the edge of their ascent. In moments they'd be in site of the weather station, and the flat open expanse to it.
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[/bg]Sticking his head out the window, Gregor looked ahead to where Gabriel had mentioned. Soon they'd be at the weather station, and then they could begin the maintenance, and retrieval of it's logs.
"Okay, we have our shiney. Looks to be about a mile of rocky terrain before we reach the plateau. Shit, Chief, we should'a used the Zeke to pound the ground a little - level some shit out. Got more bumps here than my grandma's ass."
"That's what suspensions are for. Take it up with the vehicle crew when we get back, Gabriel. It's amazing the axles haven't corroded completely off the body of the jeep yet. Guess they still make them like they used to." Gregor answered, and clicked the radio once more. "Moro, I repeat, should our advance slow?" A dead hiss answered back. "Fuckin' radio's toast already... piece of shit." He said lightly kicking the radio squarely on it's Sonysoft logo.
Flicking his cigarette out the window, Gregor then reached up to his ear, and pressed a button opening a com link to Moro's ear piece. "Moro, what's going on? You're trailing."
They were nearing the edge of their ascent. In moments they'd be in site of the weather station, and the flat open expanse to it.
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The outside wasn't much different from the inside of the tank in some respects. Cold, unfeeling, the general idea that something awful had happened long ago. It was not a strange sight for West. On numerous excursions to the surface he had watched the world continue to crumble. By all respects, the earth should naturally heal itself from all but the most destructive attack. The Rain, unlike any other before it, had crippled the world...mortally wounded her skin and poisoned her blood. Nothing got better, only worst. The bunkers were necessity, no one could live on the surface without going mad or simply dying. Human ingenuity, Human creativity, Human sentience had not devised a way to expand their influence yet. Perhaps it was as it should be, a damnation on the species that did what not creature born of earth should...destroyed the world.
Now in the back of a vehicle pulsing toward the Station, West tried to focus his inner chakras, his energy, preparing himself for what he assumed he would find. Death and horror. The Surface was now a poor parody of a horror novel, everything evolving to strike fear into each other. Survival was pointless, creatures did not so much survive as outlive each other in a new global competition of who would rot last. Sabrina pushed the camera toward his face, her insipid voice cutting into his concentration like gargoyle talons. He cast an irritated glare at her, noting she had already turned her attention elsewhere. Without a doubt, her existence proved the most useless of the volunteers. Documenting what was likely a foray into a cavernous tomb was hardly his idea of inspiring. If they returned to Vladamir, would her words herald hope of everyone's survival? Or horror and the affirmation the earth was finished holding humanity as its sovereign race?
Likely the latter. The loss of contact may have been normal had the uplink been restored. As each day passed, however, hope for Estragon grew more ludicrous to hold. This was not a rescue mission, even Wake could not hope to sell the people on that illusion, this was a salvage operation into the vaults of dead and murdered.
The question was not 'if' any longer, only 'how'.
Although he questioned the sky with his eyes, nervous about the possible thread of gargoyle attacks, he found himself more oft than not scanning the rocks and spine-like ridges for hints of canine figures. He was sweating, already nervous to be in their territory. Still, there was no use in worrying and clouding his mind with paranoia would dull his performance.
Draug was a part of this mission, a boy last Westerlin saw him and with his natural dexterity and wit, had risen away form the ranks. He should have really checked the personal before coming on the mission. Of any aboard, Draug would know what he was capable of. Or perhaps he remembered Westerlin as a skilled commander. Either way, if issues arose, he would have to take action.
Closing his eyes, he pictured nothing...inky blackness and silence. Meditation came to him and he calmed his soul, he would need his reflexes for later...when they inevitably found danger.
Now in the back of a vehicle pulsing toward the Station, West tried to focus his inner chakras, his energy, preparing himself for what he assumed he would find. Death and horror. The Surface was now a poor parody of a horror novel, everything evolving to strike fear into each other. Survival was pointless, creatures did not so much survive as outlive each other in a new global competition of who would rot last. Sabrina pushed the camera toward his face, her insipid voice cutting into his concentration like gargoyle talons. He cast an irritated glare at her, noting she had already turned her attention elsewhere. Without a doubt, her existence proved the most useless of the volunteers. Documenting what was likely a foray into a cavernous tomb was hardly his idea of inspiring. If they returned to Vladamir, would her words herald hope of everyone's survival? Or horror and the affirmation the earth was finished holding humanity as its sovereign race?
Likely the latter. The loss of contact may have been normal had the uplink been restored. As each day passed, however, hope for Estragon grew more ludicrous to hold. This was not a rescue mission, even Wake could not hope to sell the people on that illusion, this was a salvage operation into the vaults of dead and murdered.
The question was not 'if' any longer, only 'how'.
Although he questioned the sky with his eyes, nervous about the possible thread of gargoyle attacks, he found himself more oft than not scanning the rocks and spine-like ridges for hints of canine figures. He was sweating, already nervous to be in their territory. Still, there was no use in worrying and clouding his mind with paranoia would dull his performance.
Draug was a part of this mission, a boy last Westerlin saw him and with his natural dexterity and wit, had risen away form the ranks. He should have really checked the personal before coming on the mission. Of any aboard, Draug would know what he was capable of. Or perhaps he remembered Westerlin as a skilled commander. Either way, if issues arose, he would have to take action.
Closing his eyes, he pictured nothing...inky blackness and silence. Meditation came to him and he calmed his soul, he would need his reflexes for later...when they inevitably found danger.
T
Torsty
Guest
As Moro continued communication with the other jeep D'andrea was contemplating wether he should keep the helmet on. For all it was worth, Lucas was doing everything he could to keep his body in motion with subtle movements. He had done his normal stretching in the morning, but would by any means prevent himself from getting uncomfortable.
D'andrea felt secluded from the group in his position mounting the turret. While he could hear some of what Sabrina was saying, he had no idea what she was doing.
All he longed for now was for them to get to the weather station. On different occasions he'd passed by it, but he had never been on the inside of the building. Watching it from afar was a welcome sight for the experienced waste-wanderer. Good to be back on the surface, now if they could get there and he could find the right time and place to do his second prayer of the day.
Nothing peculiar to note about their surroundings, but Lucas sheltered away his thoughts and turned his focus back on his task, keeping a close watch for whatever may come.
D
DoomOtter
Guest
Moro was beginning to become anxious, they couldn't be far from their destination, that meant walking out into that hellhole again. he had prayed that he would never have to walk out in the open again. The memories of the last time flooded his mind, his hand almost instinctively reached for the scar on his shoulder.
Gregor's voice startled him. " Sorry, our radio is dead, and it seems one of our axels is starting to degrade more rapid than it should. we'll try and keep up." Moro looked out into the wasteland "we're trailing again, try and keep a steady pace."
Gregor's voice startled him. " Sorry, our radio is dead, and it seems one of our axels is starting to degrade more rapid than it should. we'll try and keep up." Moro looked out into the wasteland "we're trailing again, try and keep a steady pace."
W
Woodrat
Guest
The jeep noticeably slowed as it reached the last part of the ascent; the ground was comprised mostly of windblown sand that allowed the tires to sink into the hillside. Sandor had the nose of the jeep aimed fora point between two rocky spires, the jeep grinding up the hillside in low gear. Glancing into the rear view mirror once again he saw the second jeep lagging behind again, Sandor shook his head, muttering to himself about the competence of tankers. If Faerich hadn't shifted down he'd bog down on the hill stranding the second jeep. Sandor thenlooked ahead as with a strained effort the jeep finally crested the ridge and onto hard rock, revealing the weather station.
Sandor ignored the sassy comment that almost immediately came out of Gabriel's mouth at the sight of the station. He slowed the jeep down, not wishing to stop and make themselves a target but not wanting to leave the second jeep behind if it ran into trouble as well.
"So, sir. . . do we wait for the second jeep to get up here or continue onwards?" Sandor asked Gregor.
Sandor ignored the sassy comment that almost immediately came out of Gabriel's mouth at the sight of the station. He slowed the jeep down, not wishing to stop and make themselves a target but not wanting to leave the second jeep behind if it ran into trouble as well.
"So, sir. . . do we wait for the second jeep to get up here or continue onwards?" Sandor asked Gregor.
K
Kairoga
Guest
"Shit shit shit" muttered Faerich as the first jeep crested the hill, Faerich decided to gun it, the sand had been slowing down the second jeep quite noticeably, however as soon as Faerich pressed his foot almost all the way down on the gas, the jeep hit a shallow stretch of sand with solid rock beneath it. Not expecting this at all, the jeep threw everyone back into their seats as it managed to crest the hill; Swearing noticeably now for his luck Faerich immediately slammed on the brakes as the jeep hit more sand and started sliding. When the jeep finally stopped and the dust cleared, Faerich saw the tower, and that the lead jeep was still thankfully in front of them instead of behind.
Not wanting to be seen as incompetent Faerich slowly pressed on the gas and caught up to the lead jeep.
Not wanting to be seen as incompetent Faerich slowly pressed on the gas and caught up to the lead jeep.