IC- Chapter Three: Lone Wanderers

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OOC- My little contribution to the days lessons....

ICC-

Rogue sighed contently to her self as she looked over the team of scraggy looking fighters stood before her.

They were a sorry looking group consisting of 7 men, most of which looked as though they'd spent a few too many years behind a desk crawling through books, 3 women who looked odly out of place and 1 child who looked barely old enough too hold a rifle never mind fire one.

Despite these miner set backs, Rogue was immensely confident in hersefl that she could train this small rag tag bunch of people into trained killers, no matter what anyone said.

Anyway, they didn't all look that bad. Some of the men from the caravan at least composed them selves as though they new what too do, especially the more experienced and seasoned members of the group.

Rogue squinted around the camp, nearly everyone was doing something. There were people training in explosives, others in weapons.
Rogue spotted Gabriel flipping a man over and then describing something to the rest of his trainees. He seemed to be enjoying him self immensely.

Talon had organised the caravan in a rotating system. This allowed for different groups to be training on different subjects at different times. For instance, whilst one group was tangling with Gabriel another group were learning to scout with Grim and McReady.

Smiling, Rogue introduced herself too, what she liked to consider ass her pupils.

"Hello, I’m Rogue and im gonna be teaching you how to fire with a ranged weapon." she said smiling widly.

For some reason, teaching made her happy and teaching people how too use a rifle made her even happier.
Maybe it had something too do with her upbringing. The fact that her most valued lesson her father had taught her as a child was how too use and hunt with a rifle, made it one off her most cherished traits, one which she was finding she loved too teach.

Rogue held up a rifle for all too see. The rifle which she presented was her own M25. "Now this rifle is your average M25 sniper with a 20 round detachable magazine of 7.62 caliber rounds with about 900 meters of maximum range on it." commented Rogue, "But I wouldn't expect many, if any of you too hit something that far out."

"It's additionaly equiped with 10x tactical sights for increased efficiency." she added.

"This gonna be the rifle with which your going to practice." exclaimed Rogue.

Over the next 10 minutes, Rogue proceded to show them how to hold the rifle as she had been taught, what positions were best depending on how people felt comfortable and most of all how to fire the rifle effectively.

By the time she had finished, Rogue had a pretty good idea on who had good potential and who couldn't fire a ranged weapon for no love nor money.

But it wasn't the experienced and seasoned caravan guards that had caught her attention; it was the young kid who barely looked 15.
Sure, the more experinced people knew what they were doing and how to do it well. That was clearly visible from the way they acted but there was somthing special about this young, innocent looking child.

Rogue continued to set the marksmen up into groups of four due to the lack of ranged weapons available. Whilst some were firing, the others were being showed how to take a rifle to part from a caravan guard that had soon been adopted as Rogue's helper from his knowledge of the M25 and its inner working parts.

The first up to fire was a middle aged woman, two caravaners and an oldish fellow from the university.

Rogue watched as they each fired off 5 rounds whilst Rogue moved along giving them tips as they went.
They weren't bad shots, infact Rogue was casually impressed with the way they were managing and was confident thatwith a little practise, from an acceptable range they would be pretty damn lethal.

It wasn't till the young boy's turn came that Rogue was truly impressed.

The shabbish lookingkid had taken the rifle as though he had held one since he first saw light.

Rogue watched as he slowly closed one eye, fixing his sights on the target with determination yet utterly relaxed. Then slowly with out pressure he squeezed the trigger scoring a near perfect shot. He continued to repeat, each shot as precise as the previous.

"Who taught you too fire like that?" Asked Rogue in amazement as the boy stood up and made safe.

"Nobody taught me ma'am, I aint ever fired a weapon before this day." the boy replied quietly.

Rogue studied the slimly built boy. He had wild, untamed light hair with ice blue eyes. He wasn't much taller than Rogue and looked half starved.
He was clad in tattered jeans, wearing an old grayish T-shirt with a brown jacket. He wore black boots which looked ridiculously too big for him and a leather necklace around his neck with a small statue loosely hanging from the end.

"What’s your name?" Rogue asked grinning.

"Luciel, Luciel Hannan." The boy replied.

"Well Luciel, you sure do know how to manage a rifle."

The young boy smiled, reddening in the face. He seemed embarrassed by the compliments.

"Looks like you've been the best shot so far." Rogue said," You better go and watch old Eddie there clean that M25 whilst the others finish up their rounds." With that, Luciel made his way over to where the old man entertained a small crowed as he cleaned the weapon.

Rogue smiled again to herself before turning her attention back to the others still fireing on the make shift range.
 
OCC- Ok screw this. I am impatient. I am fixing this Psycho sniper's story now. I am also going to cut and past the posts above to the OCC so we all know what's what. Psycho, changing your story a bit, but not dramatically.

ICC-

The man came forward, awkwardly, out of the darkness and towards the fire light. Talon watched him causally, knowing well enough that he was covered by the other guards.

The man's moves were halting, mechanical, and soon it became apparent why.

Power Armor. Talon was familiar with it. Last time he had seen it was on the the El in Tabis, and then it had been used by the Heavy Armor Infantry of the Tabis Police. As a slaver he had seen it before, and knew how dangerous it could be.

But what ever it had once been, it didn't seem to be working now.

Something was sputtering, and sparking behind the man, and he was leaving a trail of battery acid in his wake.

"Get get.... this fucking..... Piece of Shit." grumbled the man.

"He moves for his weapons, drop him quick." Said Talon, lowly, to those nearby.

In the distance, Gruug and his mutants had caught a glimpse of the armored man, and this triggered bad memories. There was only one thing to do.

The man began banging at his leg, then an arm, and then a chest cavity. There was a loud hiss and the pieces of the armor came off, one piece at a time.

Like a overcrown deathclaw that had been locked in an egg too long, when the armor cracked open, the man came spilling out, dazed, confused, and wet.

The man fell to the floor. "Jeezus fucking christ that damn thing was a fucking oven." He muttered.

"Do we kill him now or later?" asked one of the guards near Talon.

"Wait a minute."

Behind him, the armor closed in around itself. The man crawled closer to the fire light.

"What are you doing here?"

The man turned on his back, breathing in deeply the cool night air. He spoke quickly trying to catch his breath.

"I was back at the University when it came undone. Wandered in a few weeks back, looking for food. I remembered taking a course back in the day. Well, things have changed. Then the freaking thing came down on me like a ton of bricks. The armor took the damage. But now its all fucked up. Lost my gauss, lost my rifle. Shit. Now all I got is this P90."

"So you followed us?" Asked Talon.

"Yes, seemed that would be the best thing to do. Saw the tracks and followed."

"You're looking for a job?" Asked Gabriel, who had come in.

"Or a ride." Said the man.

"Can you fight." Asked another of the guards.

"Always have." Said the man, smiling.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the night air, the relief of not being in the armor anymore. "But I can fight better if you folks can help me fix this here armor....."

But it was too late.

Gruug and his mutant colleagues had seen the armor from a distance, and thus had thought they were about to be attacked by their historic enemy.

With only their steal pipes as weapons they had figured it best to rush and kill the armored figure and take advantage of the suprise.

But they had not seen the man leave the armor or crawl away.

They didn't know that the armor was an empty shell.

It didn't matter to them in the end.

The man opened his eyes when he heard Gruug's war cry. He had barely enough time to scamper away as Gruug and his colleagues began to pummel the armored suit past any repair.

For 20 minutes the mutants pummeled the armor with their melee weapons. The hammered and whacked it with all their terrible strength. Their war rage reaching a feverish pitch the others had not seen before. They smashed at it, until the armor looked like nothing more than a crushed soda can. They screamed their defiance and their victory. The tore its parts away, and even then did not realize that the armor was emptyl. Only when the armor had been complete destroyed, when the parts were strewn about the camp in a million mangled parts, only when the mutants were too exhausted to continue, did they stop.

By now the man had scampered away to be nearer to Talon.

"Meet Gruug and his friends. Apparently they didn't like what you were wearing."

The mutants were poking at the armor debris with their metal rods, expecting it to somehow be alive, still uncertain.

"Apparently not." said the man.

"Gruug, are you quite done now?" Asked Talon.

Gruug, lifting up an empty piece of armor, looked inside. Then he picked up the helmet and found it empty. He seemed disappointed.

"Thought that seemed a bit too easy." Sighed Gruug. Then looking at the others, he shrugged. "Sorry, old habits are hard to break."

Then he and his colleagues walked back out to continue their guard duty.

OCC- Ok, now that's fixed. Does everyone feel better?
 
Syphon had enough strenghth to get up, holding his shoulder violently. Coughing, and with his right arm practically shaking wildly, Syphon stood almost angrily.

"Good thing that piece-of-shit is dead!" Syphon yelled, as he spit on the dead raider's body.

"Somebody take the body out and bury it...In the meantime, somebody else help me out, dude!" Syphon said loudly. Gruug nodded, as he let Syphon lean on him as the two walked away and into a wagon.

The group continued to whisper and talk, moments later they all could hear Syphon yell from pain, as Gruug poured alcohol on the open wound. The group quieted as they heard the moans and yells.
 
OOC- When all things stump you, fall back on Stephen King! Thanks, Steve; you’re my hero and namesake!

IC-

Cibola. The stone city filled with gold and silver. The land of promises and the desire of Spanish conquistadors.

The former ex-slaver Jeeva dragged his heels across the brittle sand of the desert. He had acquired a sort of lurching gait. His feet, not lifting off the ground, merely plowed through the sand in the same manner a skier might move. As his legs lurched, his limp arms swung from one side to the other. Walking in the dark of night, anyone would have mistaken him for a ghoul.

The ex-slaver had changed much since the time he had left Caleb. He had outrageously long black hair, a far cry away from the shaved heads of most slavers. The slaver death’s head tattoo on the inside of his palm had been burned and scraped away, puckered scar tissue in its place. He was dressed in rags, the biting dust whirlwinds tearing apart his clothes. His coat had been cannibalized into strips, wrapped around his face and arms. And the oddest thing yet: he walked unarmed. At the start, he had only a few rounds left in the hunting rifle and two handguns he had acquired from the corpse of two slavers. But he had stripped off his weapons on the first day of wandering, realizing that they made an unnecessary added weight. Jeeva dropped them onto the ground with confidence because he knew that Caleb, dying and weak, would still find enough strength to kill whoever stood in Jeeva’s path.

There was no description for the bleak deserts. Before the Great Chasm, there was only flat hardpan. As the Blade and ex-slaver had proceeded from Tabis, the land shifted into unstable dunes of sand. And as they reached the Great Chasm, they found distorted clay monuments and corroded rocks.

The deserts Jeeva walked through now must have been the same deserts the Israelites had believed devils had dwelled in. The sand was thick, bogging down his footsteps. The air was harsh and hot, absorbing the moisture out of his body. There was no cover to hide behind, no shade at all, unless you counted the thin shadows cast by cactus. And everything was bleak; just deserts everywhere. This was not a land favored by God, obviously.

While wandering the deserts, surviving only on cactus water and the sparse tubers and game he could find, Jeeva had plenty of time to think. The irony of helplessly doing the bidding of another man was not lost on the ex-slaver. But this was his sabbatical of repentance. He did not genuinely regret being a slaver; it was a way of living after all, no less noble then others. But he regretted the result of slaver, which may seem obtuse but true to Jeeva. He wasn’t necessarily a man of honor but he would honor his life debt to Caleb Rutgers. Perhaps it was the many years of being so idle, inertly doing the same thing over and over again. Or perhaps he no longer wished to live; following a rough-and-tumble Blade to the ends of the world would surely fulfill his suicidal needs.

He walked. He no longer remembered for how long. He knew that it was somewhere between days and eons. It was all rather subjective; a few hours could drive some people insane while others were made of higher grade mettle. All Jeeva knew was that he would manage.

With each footstep, the dubious circumstances of his journey became less insane. He was heading North where he would find, according to Caleb, the ankh of life that would save the Blade’s life. Only, the ankh wasn’t an ankh, it was a pill. Charon told him so. Yep, Charon.

It didn’t matter to him either way because Caleb stood a good chance of giving up the ghost. Jeeva was realistic. But he wasn’t planning on deserting the Blade. He was resolved to actually find this damn pill and bring it back to him if it actually existed. A life debt was a life debt, after all.

Now, he walked in the moon light, a crescent nail hanging in the sky. He walked easily for a man malnourished and thirsty. He was unencumbered, only the clothes on his back. The only thing of importance on his person was a water canteen and one of Caleb’s revolvers.

The sand had shifted upwards somehow, accumulating its bulk into a steep hill. As Jeeva walked, he knew he was nearing Cibola. The moon was throwing its silvery beams on him, the sign of Cibola. Something at the bottom of the hill he was climbing sparkled magnificently. He did not know how long he traveled, only that it had been a while and that it was well worth it. He had gone looking for the ankh of life and had found the city of riches.

Eagerly, mustering the limited strength he had left, Jeeva sprinted up the hill. Twice, he fell, slipping a bit down. But he quickly gained momentum and charged up the hill. Sand toppled loosely down the slope but he had no care. Jeeva had found Cibola.

The ex-slaver trudged triumphantly to the pointed crest of the hill, literally leaping the last few steps. His lungs ached for air but he did not stop to breath. Jeeva peered down at the sparkling light below him, eyes wide expectantly. And what he saw made his heart drop.

He stared down at a small, ramshackle building. It was made of wood planks, looking like an old bait and tackle shop. Cracked tar and broken asphalt, evidence of streets, lingered around its foundation but it was the only building left. A porch extended all around the building with two little and lonely chairs propped next to the door. A massive, neon sign perched on top of the sunken roof proclaimed the solitary dwelling as a “PHARMACY”.

Jeeva’s heart sunk at the ugly dwelling before him. Dashed hopes were like jagged shards of glass digging into his soles. It was foolish to be so expectant when the only indication of significance was an overly bright crescent moon and a neon sign. The ex-slaver didn’t have the heart to laugh at himself. However, he was willing to chalk up his mistake as a fluke.

The slaver skidded down the hill and started for the building. If it wasn’t already sacked, Jeeva might find a little bit of food. Granted, any sealed and packaged food found in such an ancient dwelling would be rotted by now. But the aspect of food was alluring.

The slaver walked up to the front porch of the building, actually placing a foot before the doorway before he stopped. He realized that something was very wrong. The hair on the nape of his neck tingled, as if an electric current passed through him. It was the feeling of premonition, upcoming doom.

Jeeva backed up slowly. There was something fey that he could not point out. He backed out of the porch and stopped. The neon sign above him buzzed angrily. He looked up and then realized it.

The sign was five by ten foot and had scrunched up silver letters “PHARMACY”. The neon gas fluctuated near the edges of the letters were cracks and breaks appeared. But that wasn’t the strange thing. The very odd thing was that the sign was still working. Compared to the rest of the building, the neon sign looked so out of place.

Jeeva did not see a windmill. Nor did he see any manual pump that some fools used to generate electricity. The ex-slaver backed away from the sign, shuddering. Something was definitely wrong. He hefted Caleb’s gun out of his waistband and the heavy weight comforted him.

The ex-slaver scanned the pharmacy, his senses now on fire. Ignoring his beating heart, he heard the chugging noise of machinery off to the side of the building. Jeeva clicked back the hammer of Caleb’s massive revolver, the action feeling strangely familiar and right. The fully loaded gun lead the way and Jeeva’s attached hand and body followed.

He moved cautiously to the right of the building. Jeeva scanned the area with the gun, a pent up finger resting heavily on the trigger. All he saw was a shed. He lowered the revolver, pointing it down but still keeping his finger on the trigger. The grinding noise was emanating from the shed.

Prudence wasn’t one of Jeeva’s strong points. Curiosity, however, had always been Jeeva’s folly. The slaver, wrapping one hand around the gun and the other around the doorknob, flung the door open and braced himself for whatever infernal machination awaited inside.

An electricity generator waited for him inside, chugging infernally along. Jeeva had seen its kind before. It was used in many town halls, powered by a slug of uranium. Generally, if it was isolated from water, these generators were of no harm. But this generator wasn’t of the harmless variant. Jeeva saw a massive crack, spawning into many more miniature cracks, along the case of the chugging piston. Sleek grey liquid, a byproduct of unclean uranium, amassed into a puddle at its base. A slug of uranium wasn’t enough to cause immediate radiation poisoning but Jeeva did not want to take the chance. He slammed the door shut.

The area may already be prevalent with radioactive fallout. The crack looked pretty old and the pool of radioactive waste was sizeable. Jeeva looked at the roof and didn’t spot any nests. Nor did he see any cacti or even thistles growing out of the ground. The ex-slaver shuddered in revulsion, wishing to get away from this grave as quick as possible.

The ex-slaver was about to leave when the ajar door of the pharmacy caught his eye. The plank door beckoned to him, revealing the sinister glow of fluorescent lights inside. Despite himself, Jeeva walked into the doomed dwelling.

Two things simultaneously caught his eyes. First, he saw fully stocked rows of bottles and cartones, prewar medicine that any medic or junkie would kill for. Somehow, the unopened seals of bottles and unbroken filament wrappings of pill cartones scared the ex-slaver beyond any measure. He wondered why looters had overlooked this treasure trove.

Then he looked over to the corpse sprawled onto the counter and new the reason why. Jeeva stepped back in shock, knocking over a neatly stack of capsules. His heart thundered and a giddy bout of laughter surged up his throat. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if he died of a heart attack amidst these beneficial medicines?

Jeeva calmed himself, forcing himself to look away at the corpse. After a few moments, when he had girded his raising gorge, he stared intently at the dead man. Dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt, the former cashier looked like some ancient relic of the past. His skin was badly burned, a sign of someone in the late stages of radiation poisoning. His face was sunken in with the skin wrapped tautly over cheekbones, making it seem like he was screaming silently. Jeeva cringed in disgust to see that corpse’s hair and fingernails were still growing long after it was dead. He edged closer to the counter and saw the corpse’s legs bent at irregular angles. Jagged, broken off bone peaked through flesh. Jeeva realized in horror that the man had probably been still alive while the radiation slowly melted off his skin.

He could not take it anymore. Even slavers, the scum of the earth, had their thresholds. Jeeva wanted more than anything to get out. Not to merely walk out and close the door politely behind him but to charge out, gibbering like a mad man. But once again, curiosity stopped his course.

The corpse was clutching something in his hand. Like the omen of the neon sign, it also glowed like silver.

Oh God, thought Jeeva. His morbid curiosity was beckoning him closer. After a second of indecision, with his feet rooted adamantly to the floor boards, Jeeva finally allowed himself to walk right up the counter. He took a whiff of the rotting flesh in front of him and almost gagged.

With just a few inches of space between him and the corpse slumped over the counter, Jeeva bent closer to silver object in the corpse’s hand. The ex-slaver saw that it was a carton, a completely commonplace carton amidst the other cartones in the pharmacy filled with pills. He bit his tongue as he leaned in closer. There, slightly obscured by the thumb of the corpse, Jeeva could see that there was a foil seal imprinted on the carton.

It was the shape of an Egyptian ankh.

Jeeva’s breath caught in his throat. Was Caleb spouting destiny amidst his mutterings? The ankh of life that was in actuality a pill? The ex-slaver was this far, he might as well go on. He drew Caleb’s gun, using the long barrel to push off the corpse’s hand. He didn’t think that could bring himself to touch it.

With the corpse’s hand out of the way, Jeeva picked up the carton for a closer examination away from it’s previous owner. The words on the carton was faded but he could make out the words: “-xocel Antibiotics. For Treatment of Infections. Five Day Course.” Could the ankh of life be merely an antibiotic? The slaver shrugged, placing the carton of pills safely in his pocket.

Underneath the carton of antibiotics were two other cartones. One was filled with iodine pills. The other carton was filled with painkillers. Jeeva realized what the poor bloke had been trying to do. The corpse, when it had still been alive, had tried to ingest the iodine pills to combat the radiation to his thyroid. The painkillers would allow him to drag himself out of the pharmacy and the antibiotics would have prevented infection when he amputated his legs. But radiation had seeped into him before he could make good on his desperate plan.

Jeeva shivered, feeling genuine sorrow for the damned corpse before him. He walked over to the doorway, paused inside its frame, and whispered, “Vaya con dios.”

He would have walked out then, ready to bolt and get the hell away from the grave, when the corpse raised its head and grinned at him. Jeeva froze, stricken with shock, as the corpse tried to speak. He could see its jaw line pop out, dislocated, and a stump of tongue trying to force words. “Garooooo…” it sighed meaninglessly.

Then it fell of the counter, landing in an ugly pile of flesh and bone. Jeeva heard bones crack audibly at the corpse’s fall. He watched as the corpse grinned at him once more. Then it started clawing its way towards the ex-slaver.

Jeeva shrieked with horror. The door had shut close on itself, blown back by the wind. He ran his back against the door, trying to break it down. It did not occur to him that he should twist the doorknob.

It should have occurred to Jeeva that the corpse’s flesh should have rotted away long ago, replaced by a skeleton. The ex-slaver must have overlooked the rise and fall of the corpse’s sunken chest. And he surely must have not seen the corpse grin evilly at him when he first approached it.

The corpse was a ghoul. How a ghoul came to be, no one seemed to know. Radiation seemed to be a factor. But nuclear fallout should normally kill under any normal circumstances. It was theorized that a man made virus floating along the fallout was mutating the corpses of the fallen. At rapid states of degeneration, when the brain had completely died, a corpse could come back as mindless zombie, empowered by simple synapses from its rudimentary brain to move the rest of its body. This particular corpse had long been dead before perversion had raised it from the grave.

The ghoul dragged itself across the floor, closing off the distance between it and the ex-slaver. Its teeth clacked loudly and Jeeva heard it salivating. It was only when the ghoul wrapped its hand around his boot did Jeeva do something.

It was perfectly reflexive. He had seen the movement done so many times by another. It was embedded deep into his mind.

He reached towards his side and drew the revolver.

The heavy gun raised slowly, aligning itself with the ghoul’s grinning face. Jeeva watched as the gun moved on its own accord. He looked on in wonderment as his finger pulled on the already cocked gun. The gun jerked back in Jeeva’s hand as it unloaded its powerful round.

The bullet bored into the ghoul’s skull, causing his head to reel up and fall onto its back. The ghoul sprawled limply onto the ground, releasing a pitiful, “Eeeeeehh…” It thrashed onto the ground, trying to flip itself onto its arms like a tortoise. Jeeva watched as the gun forced his thumb to click back its hammer and then made him fire again. This time, the bullet caught the ghoul in the chest, causing it to collapse into itself completely.

It took four more shots to give the ghoul its final rest.

Jeeva, panting with Caleb’s smoking revolver in hand, regarded the mutilated body of the ghoul before him. His wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve, nodding slowly. Yes, he thought to himself, this is right.

He thoughtlessly returned the revolver to his side holster and walked out the door. Then he continued the long journey back.

OOC- The scene of Trashcan Man journeying to Las Vegas in "The Stand" and the way station of "The Gunslinger" is highly evident in this.
 
Earlier that day Jim volunteered to show the newcomers how to take apart their weapons and how to keep them clean.

"It's very important to clean your weapons regulary, here in the waste."

"If you don't, they'll be prone to miss-fire, and that can get you killed out here." Jim explained.

After that Jim showed various ways of cleaning the weapons and ways of checking their functionality without wasting ammo.
 
OCC- ok, time for a bit of violence. There is a fight coming and this should set it up. Syphon, since you got yourself shot, I am offering you a change to your character here.

Also Pyschosniper's armor is gone. But we will be confronting folks with power armor pretty soon. Maybe sooner than chapter 4.

ICC-

During the day Gabriel had been showing the new comers hand to hand techniques, and was surprised to find Grim interested in a couple of lessons.

After the training, Grim had stayed on "How about a bit of one-on-one."

Gabriel had smiled. "Wouldn't want to hurt you."

"You mean You might try."

"Alright old man."

SO they had spared off. Gabriel had waited for the first attack, and when it came it was fast, faster than he had expected. An assortment of low to high kicks, snaps and roundhouses, mixed with a flurry of punches. Gabriel had fainted back, and then again, and finally had done a flying back kick to push Grim back.

"Not bad." Said Gabriel. "Now try this."

His turn to attack. Quick and low and then up inside. He had delivered a quick barrage of punches to Grim's mid section. They were strong punches but it was like punching steal. Grim hand given him a hard push, knocking Gabriel away.

Then Grim had offered Gabriel a hand up. "You been working out." Said Gabriel, surprised.

"Changed my diet?"

Gabriel and then attacked again, this time a 360 roundhouse to the head. It was fast, one of his fastest.

But the kick only found air.

ANd then Gabriel found that he wasn't standing.

Grim had landed a sweeping kick to the legs, sweeping Gabriel's legs out from under him. It was a quick reflex action to turn and roll, and Gabriel was up in a squat. The teacher now lost as the warrior took over.

But Grim just laughed. "You might not be able to teach an old dog new tricks, but don't discount the tricks the old dog knows."

Gabriel smiled, his friend suddenly familiar again. "I didn't know you knew much hand-to-hand."

"Just something I picked up recently."

_____________


Syphon spent the better part of the night in drug induced slumber as Ibis and Nat worked on the shoulder. Maybe they could save it. They were assisted by another fellow, a new comer, named Orville, who knew something about medicine.

When they took a break, Nat asked, "That's some damage. Do you think we can save it?"

"Not sure yet. Depends if we can resconstruct the bone and muscle tissue." Said Ibis.

Orville nodded but then offered a suggestion. "I reckon if he loses the shoulder there are prostetic arms a couple miles down the road to Grey Cliffs. It's be mechanical but it would be stronger. Just got to stay away from him when a lightning storm comes."

Outside the camp, McReady was sleeping peacefully without a fire when he was awoken by Thing One.

McReady was up with a start. "What the?? WHat the hell?"

"Tracks." Said Thing One.

"What kind of tracks?" Asked McReady.

"I show."

Thing one went down to where the armored man had come to camp that night. Then he led McReady down the trail from whcih the man had come until he could identify a clear track of a power armor boot.

THing Two was there, examining the track under torch light.

McReady looked at the track. "Yeah, so. The armor's all smashed to hell and back now."

Thing Two shook his head. "There are four more pairs of these tracks, over there. about two miles." He said, pointing to the West.

McReady thought about that. "Better tell Talon and Grim."
___________

Talon had been taking advantage of Nat's absence to go through the Grey Cliff inventory and it was interesting.

Weapons, good weapons. From what little he knew, someone had paid hansomely for a cargo of weapons to move to Grey Cliffs for the Blades. But from the look of the stock, it was as if the Blades were expecting a hell of a fight.

Talon heard a knock on the cart outside. "Yeah?"

"Can I enter?" It was Grim.

Grim brought with him the box and the main component of the RPG. "I figured you might want to consider this."

"Looks like a rocket launcher." Said Talon.

"That it is. Picked it up from those desperados that were torturing the darkman out in the desert."

"So they were packing heavy."

"Real heavy. More, I seen this last down South in old Hispaniole. Maybe we got company coming up from the South."

"ANd there were those others?" Said Talon, thinking about the men who had been watching them from a distance.

"Yep."

There was another knock on the cart. "McReady here."

"Come on in" Said Talon.

"Looks like we got more of them armored types out there."
_______________

About two miles away.

"When do you think we should hit them." Said Second.

"We go about two hours before dawn. They should be asleep." Said First, who led.

"Piece of cake." Said Third. Third had always been a cocky one. But he was right. A caravan against four Slayers in power armor would not be much of a challenge.

Fourth was monitoring the radio and tracking gear. "Well it's still there."

The mission was simple. Retreave the technology lost in the drone. Technology of their new allies, the League. Technology that soon the Slayers would acquire and with which their security was assured.

First watched the camp through his binoculars. Nothing unusual. Good.

Then he turned back to his squad. "Remember, our mission is only the technology. We retreave the tracker and what ever technology we can, and then exit. If they get in the way, we destroy. Otherwise, we get what we want and leave."

Second nodded.

Third only laughed. "They aren't going to just give it to us because of our good looks. I saw we torch the whole damn train. Men, women and children."

First nodded. "If it comes to that."

OCC- Ok, the Slayers are here for the technology in Sander's possession (but the rest of us don't know that). They will go after that technology as their first mission. THis should be a quick strike on the part of the Slayers, but they are in power armor, meaning that most of our weapons will have little or no effect.

Remember in fallout2 when your character in power armor and great weapons gets into a fight with a band of maurauders or highway men, and how easy it is for you to wipe them out. Well this time you are the highway man.
 
His armour was destroyed, and then the super mutated humans had made sure of it. After talking a little with Talon, and simply enjoying the cool night air, he went back to his armour and started scavenging his gear. His P-90 was intact, as was his pack. His helmet was intact, as he had flung it off to talk to the Talon. The systems in his helmet, such at night vision, were solar powerd so he might still be able to use them. Gonna be damn heavy without my armour though, he mused.

After careful inspection he found that the systems had been too badly damaged to be used.

Quietly, He rejoined the group and laidback on the sand. And enjoying the cool night air he slept.
 
ICC-

“Fuck!” cursed Talon loudly.”

“Where?” he asked sharply.

“About two miles out.” Replied McReady, “Thing One and Thing Two picked up the tracks coming in from the same direction as the other guy who we picked up earlier.” He added.

“How many?” Asked Grim.

“We can clearly make out four separate tracks to the ones our stranger left.” Replied McReady, "Whether there are more, we can't tell."

Talon muttered some foul words under his breath.
Pausing for a second he paced quickly over to the cart door and summoned the night’s sentry who was posted not too far away.

“I want you to find me that power armoured guy who came in earlier this evening and drag his ass here. Make it fast.” Commanded Talon harshly.

“Yes sir.” Blurted the young guard. He jumped forward with a kick in his step and sprinted off to find the stranger.

“You think he has something to do with this?” McReady asked.

“I don’t know, but it ain't every night that some guy wearing armour like that just casually wanders in from the wastes.” he replied coldly.

“Don’t you find it the least bit suspicious that the same night this guy strolls in, we track another four armoured tanks close to the camp?” Muttered Talon, adding; “and following the same direction this stranger came from as well.”

“I don’t think I need to remind you of what four people wearing power armour could do to us if they are hostile.” Talon exclaimed peering around the room at the rest of the men there.

The others didn’t say anything but they knew very well what would happen if they were to come under attack from people that well equipped. The caravan had neither the armour nor the weaponry to deal with such a force.

Talon was a rational man but he had always learnt not to ignore his gut instinct and his gut instinct told him that something wasn’t right with this whole thing.

Especially only a day after the university had been taken out. Who ever hit that place had hit it hard. They certainly had some heavy fire power and knew how to use it!
Not to mention a level of tech people had never even heard of and they sure as hell weren’t the friendly type of folks.

He sat, drumming his fingers along the arm of his chair. As if mulling over what to do.

"You think this guy gonna tell us anything?" McReady asked.

"If he knows anything, we'll get it out of him." Grim replied with a smirk who knew some old ways o get un-cooperative people to talk.

There came a sharp knock on the wood out side.

“Come.” Talon instructed.

The door swung open revealing the young guard holding the stranger who looked dazed and confused.

“Sit.” Commanded Talon harshly as he pointed towards a chair in the corner.

The stranger stared around the room. He may not have been in the caravan long but he'd been present long enough to know some of the leadership casts that ran this little operation and most of them were present in the room.

Slowly, he made his way over to the chair and took a seat. The eyes in the room followed his every move without a whisper.

The stranger sat nervously staring around the room taking attention to the people staring back. He was tired and cold not to mention confused about why he was here.

“So what the hell is this about?” He asked sharply.

Talon made his way over to where the stranger was sat. Interrogation was not something unknown to slavers. They often employed interrogation methods to find out the locations of villages and tribes from people they picked up in the wastes.

“Now then.” He said smiling, “Me and you, were gonna have our selves a nice little chat.” Grinned Talon.
 
OCC

ok, I'll do the first part of my interrogation to set my characther.

ICC

"......Gona have a nice little chat" Grinned Talon
The stranger was non-plused
"bout what ?"
Talon stared at him, almost wanting to break out some of the more "uncouth" methods he had learned as a slaver
"Who the fuck are you, and why the hell do we find a man in powerd armour, then MORE power armour tracks that seemed to have been following you"?
Confusion seeped into the strangers face
"No clue, other than some mentions of some brotherhood I Havent seen any T-51's other than my own in over a century "
Talon didnt belive a word of it
"Bullshit, you aint no mutie, so you cant be that old"
the stranger laughed hystericly, and kept laughing for several moments. Talon wanted to brain him, but the stranger seemed to be trying to actualy say something.
"Sorry ...hehehe.. I just get that so much that I sorta ...hehehe.. cant help but find it funny. My name is Gunnery Sgergent Niles Ferrier, United States Marine Corps. "
 
ICC-

The man kept spilling out his story, some crazy idea of an organization called the Marines. But it didn't make sense, and as Grim could hear it, was a waste of time.

Grim had listed to the stranger Ferrier's long winded story with little faith in the man. But more, he was worried about the four others out there. Perhaps it was better to go out and find them before they came in and tore the place to hell.

Grim leaned into Talon so that only Talon could hear him. "This is bullshit. If you want me to waste him, let me know."

Talon nodded and whispered back. "Yeah, but don't sweat it, I know a couple of tricks to get the truth out of him."

"Fine, but I think we need to plan a surprise of our own. One thing, we need to find out what they want and why they're trying to fuck with us."

Talon nodded and said. "Do it."

Grim got up and went out of the tent, motioning for a few of the others to follow him. Back at the tent where he met Talon he undid the box of shells and the RPG.

Rogue, Gabriel and Gruug had followed him out.

"Alright, we got guys in power armor out there, and its a fair bet they are going to come in and when they do it will be loud and nasty. So I say we meet them out there, and hit them first. We can use the darkness to our advantage and maybe disrupt their plan."

Rogue looked at the weapon."We're going to need more of those if we want to make a dent in them. What do you have in mind."

"First we make us a quick inventory. The plan is simple. Knock 'em on their ass and let Gruug and company go medieval on 'em."

Gruug smiled. "Nothing better than taking apart power armor."

______

OCC- ok a couple of things. Gunslinger I need to have some idea what kind of inventory the Blades would have asked for from Tabis.

The interrogation of Ferrier needs to continue, but I will let anyone carry that one off. Sander, can you do a tough ex-slaver who is not past a bit of torture?
 
OCC

Ok, Talon dont take my guy at face value, yet, but let him point out weak spots.


ICC

Ferrier turned to the man holding a gun on him
"Listen, Talon, if y'all REALLY are about to go head to head with guys in poiwer armour, let me help you." at the look grim gave him, he backed down "or at least let me tell you the weak points of a
T-51 BDU, assuming tese boys dont have APA or APA2's" at the look of confusion he added "Regular power armour is model T-51b powerd armour. APA is advanced power armour. The spec ops units mainly got those. APA2's is advanced power armour mark 2. Listen, I'm not lying, I'm not crazy, and with my experince I might just be able to get us out of here alive."

Talon was doubtful, but decided to let the stranger tell what he claimed to know

'hell' talon thought 'if he lies, we can waste him'

Talon looked pack at the stranger who had pulled a bottle of booze out of his pack. Deciding that while drunk the man might have a loser toungem Talon didnt interfere. The stranger proceded to down shot after shot, until the bottle was half gone then he started singing. His voice was hideous, but the drinking songs were new, and uite good. As he got to the end of the bottle he poured the final shot then started a new song.

"From the Halls of Montezuma
To the Shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
of United States Marine.

Our flag's unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in ev'ry clime and place
Where we could take a gun;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes;
You will find us always on the job--
The United States Marines.

Here's health to you and to our Corps
Which we are proud to serve
In many a strife we've fought for life
And never lost our nerve;
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines."

The stranger downed the last shot, then laid down on the floor of the tent and slept.


'Damn' Talon thought 'this guy is either a complete nutjob, or telling some truth' Talon grunted to himself 'or a spy, oh well, time will tell'




OCC

[edited for a screw up and I added the drunk thing 2 make him START to get accepted, or at least not totaly disbelived.]
 
Time will tell indeed. Bloody dumbass crazy guy. Thinking he's the bloody saviour of the world or something. Bah, he must be hallucinating from the sun, or maybe drugs, or radiation. Whatever it was, it got him pretty fucked up.

And drunk as well, he hadn't noticed the stench of booze before, and he always wondered how those fucks in power armor could eat and drink. Well, always, he hadn't seen power armor that much(or at all, actually), but he had heard stories about the things. Giving a man godly strength, and protection as well. They seemed uncomfortable though. Very uncomfortable. Bah, he'd have to get back to the singing excuse for a man, he was sure he had to know something. Something, this was too much of a coincidence. One guy just happens to be in the university(Why hadn't they heard about this? A man in Power Armor should've been noticeable. Maybe he was kept a secret by those university leaders. Those ghouls, who were know somewhere else. Another thing for concern.), one guy in powered armor at that, and then they encounter another bunch of human tanks.

But now this guy was out of his armor. Now he was a simple thing, simple to crack. The world must make little sense to him, even if he's telling the truth, and if not, then he's mad.

So Talon decided to start, he wouldn't hold back. Fucking great, he needed the info before they were going to get hit by those freaking beasts.
So he drew a knife, a simple one, but beauty isn't necessary when it comes to torture. He held the knife right in front of the drunken man.
"Tell me, "marine"," said Talon, with some obvious scepticism and disgust in his voice, "why are you here?"
Talon's voice was more of a command than a question, but when the man's answer came, Talon wasn't satisfied. He wouldn't be satisfied with a "I....I told you!", especially not with a guy who was in Power Armor, and killed a bunch of slavers right after he supposedly woke up from a century-long stasis. Whatever, that story wasn't even half-believable.

So Talon had to go further than just threats with this man, he'd have to go brutal. He started by slowly lowering the knife until it was at the bound man's arm's height. And while it lingered there, the man started sweating visibly. He didn't like the possible things that could happen.
And he didn't like the knives slicing gently into his flesh either, nor did he like the pattern it wove across his left arm. He didn't like the curved lines, causing bleeding across his weakened arms, noone would've done this to him before....before whatever happened to this world. COnvention of Geneva, and things like that. This-this shouldn't happen.

And then the man screamed.

OOC: Right, how's that?
 
OCC- Lovely Sander. psycho- clean up your post will ya. Spelling and other typos abound. Try to keep it clean.

ICC-

The others heard the singing and shook their heads. Terrible.

Then they heard the scream from Talon's tent.

The comrades looked at each other, then shrugged. Desperate times required desperate measures, and what was one more stranger? Guilty or innocent, it didn't matter.

Grim looked up into the night. Judging from where the moon was and the change in temperature, it was still a few hours shy of dawn. They would attack before first light when the caravan would be at its most vulnerable.

They went back into the tent and began to go through looking for weapons as they discussed the plan.

McReady came in. "We followed the tracks. We figure they circled around and are coming after us from the South east, but they followed us from the West, from the University."

"Maybe using the sun to their advantage." Said Grim

Gabriel spoke. "They're probably Slayers. Who else has power armor?"

Rogue watched him carefully. "Yeah could be. Could they be after you?"

"Maybe, if they think I went rogue. And if so they might be using my pipboy to track." Said Gabriel, tapping the device strapped to his wrist.

"Then destroy it." Said Gruug.

"Or take it out to them. If they go after you, then we know that's the objective. If they keep coming in, then it's something else." Said Grim.

"There's an old ruined town over there. We might be able to use it for ambush." Said McReady.

Gruug nodded. "It would be better. Muties might be able to bash apart a suit of power armor, but all we got is melee weapons. If they got heavy weapons, they will cut us apart."

"SO we will have to try to divide them or distract them."

"Look at this?" Said Rogue. In her arms was a single barrelled grenade launcher and a bandoleer of 40 mm grenades. The barrel opened up like a double barrelled shotgun, and she slipped in a shell.

"That should make a big enough bang."

Gruug had opened up another box revealing large disk shaped objects which he didn't recognize. He was about to toss it away when Gabriel said "Wait! Those are antitank mines. the weight of a man might not set them off, but a figure in heavy armor might."

Gruug nodded. "We can plant these along the possible ways in."

Grim agreed. "Plus we got those M-60 mounts."

Together they continued to examine the boxes.
________

Pipboy had heard the singing and had come in to watch.

Inside he could see the knife raised above the drunk stranger.

Then the disk he had taken from the fallen air machine began to beep.

________________

On a ridge nearby the four Slayers watched and waited preparing their weapons.

Their mission orders had been explicit. Although they were not expected to engage and destroy, they were required to bring back the item at all costs.

Two looked at the sensor. "Looks like prize is still in the camp. About a mile to the Northwest. That would put it in one of the tents."

One nodded. "Alright. We will be able to use the short ranges when we get within 600 yards."

THe others were quiet as One watched the camp site and then examined the path in. They would come in from the Southeast, using the hillside as shadow if necessary. Using an old ruined village as cover, they would move quick.

His Watts rifle was a selective weapon. Good for sniping but precision targeting was not necessary. He was in charge, he would make the grab. Three, with his Flambe, would go after the prize with him. The flamer was a short range weapon, but terrifying. THey would make maximum use of the psychological effect. Two with his rocket launcher would create as much mayhem as possible. Four with his mini-gun to provide cover for the retreat.

Grab the prize and move to the exit point. A course had been carefully mapped out that would lead them to their extract. By tomorrow evening they would be enjoying the comforts of the pleasure girls of Big Easy, their pockets full of new credits.

One turned back to his squad. It should be an easy op. Use surprise to their advantage, quickly in and out. Still, there were always uncertainties.

"Keep it clean and don't get carried away. We will stick together up until about 300 yards, then take positions. Wait for the signal I give before unleashing the rocket launcher. Four, you hold off on the mini until we are out. Don't want you hitting one of us. Three, only flame what you have to. Don't hit the target. Keep radios off within camp range until I break silence. Watch your ass. We got the armor and the weapons, but there are a hell of a lot of them and we ain't exactly invulnerable. Got it."

The others nodded. Even Three who had stopped picking at his armor with his ripper.

"Remember none of us comes home without the item. Victory or Death."

OCC- Ok Gunslinger, this weapons are really meant for Grey Cliffs, so I would like to hear about what you think the caravan should be carrying.
 
Syphon awoke during the night, maybe 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning, to find himself alone in a tent. He was laying on a quilt, probobly hand-made, and drenched in sweat. He was only wearing his boxers, and the rest of his clothes were folded neatly and laid next to him.

For that moment, still abit foggy on the situation, he had forgotten about his shoulder and the large missing chunk of it. But as he began to gather and organize this thoughts, he turned to his bandaged shoulder. The bandage itself was also drenched in blood. His sight was still burry, from the drugs, and he could barely hear the faded and distorted sounds in the night. He could hear voices and conversations in the distance. Syphon thought nothing of this.

Syphon grunted as he tried to lift himself up, but failed and fell back into laying position. He was still weak.

"Fuck!!" Syphon mumbled as he gave up on trying to move and decided to get some shut-eye. He drifted back into unconsicousness, and back into dream land.
 
ooc: So this is where I come back. Just before a massive gunfight. Given the general trend of violence in my past contributions, it seems fitting don't you think.

It is half three in the morning here and I have a lecture at ten so I can't jump in now but I will try to post tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it.

It's good to be back guys.
 
Pipboy wandered into the tent to see what was going on there. He'd heard the incredibly false singing first, and then the screams. It seemed that whoever was in there was in a lot of pain.
And when Pip wallked in, he saw why. With blood flowing down his naked left arm, the man was screaming with pain. He obviously couldn't take the slaver's knives digging into his flesh, and Pip was sickened by the sight of the slaver torturing the man.

But there was no time to ponder the acts committed by the slaver, as the device he had been carrying around suddenly started bleeping much louder. And since Pipboy didn't know the cause of the bleeping, he wanted to open the thing up to see what was causing it.

And since the slaver had just turned around after having heard the bleeping, Pip told him to hold the thing, so he could try to open it. He still had his ripper, which would be of little other use, since he barely had the strength to keep it under control after activating it.
But the slaver was busy, and didn't have the time to tend to little men's wishes. So he was about to continue with his work.

"No, help! Hold, open!" said Pipboy, trying to convince the slaver to hold the bloody device.

"What? I have no time!" responded the slaver to the pitiful being in front of him.

"Important! Please, not long!"

"Ah bloody hell, okay." said the slaver, realising that the little man wouldn't go away before he could do what he came here for. So he accepted the device, and held it in his hands.

"Okay. Hold steady. I break open." said Pip as he took his ripper out.
The slaver began to be a bit scared, that weapon was strong, and he wouldn't want it holding his hands. But he'd just have to trust in the little man's ability to wield the thing.
And as the dazed, bleeding and bound man looked on, Pipboy activated the weapon, and the force of the weapon almost threw Pipboy on the floor, but he was just able to hold onto the weapon.

As Pipboy brought the weapon down, Talon averted his face--he wouldn't want to be hurt by the weapon, and it's force was formidable. When the weapon finally hit shiny disc, Pipboy was thrust backward by the shock of the weapon, which was thrown out of his hands and landed just a few inches besides his face, still spinning from having been activatd before, but not being activated anymore. The same happened with the slaver, he was thrust backwards, letting go of the disc, and throwing the dazed torture-victim on the floor. And the disc cracked openimmediately, falling to the floor, and revealing the bare electronics in there...
 
OCC

as I said, I deleted my previous post.
anyway, I'll tell Pip what it is he just broke

ICC

Despite his wounds, he was able to think, after all he was a Marine and had been trained for tourtre. A small scrawny fella came in holding a ripper and getting the slavers attention. He wanted the slaver to hold some beeping object so he could hack it open. That piqued his interest for two reasons. First, he hoped that the slaver got to lose a few fingers. Second, he knew what the object was. As they both fell down he spoke "You were lucky to open that. That is a homing beacon, it activated when aircraft crash. I dont know were the hell you found it, but if you truly are being followed by people in power armour, this would allow them to do it. The fact that it's getting louder means that someone with a directional finder is getting closer, much closer."
 
OCC- Can my character fall in love with an NPC?

Meanwhile, Syphon reawoke again during the night. Except this time, he found a nurse in his tent. She was changing his cloths and cleaning them. She was a young, tall women about in her early 20's, maybe late teen's. Syphon liked her very much from the get-go. He was finally able to push himself up, and get a good look at her. Staying silent, she finally realized he was awake. She looked quickly, and smiled back.

OCC-Its ok...right?
 
OCC
NO!!!!!!!!!!
Even I realize that thats a bad idea.

screw a female NPC allready there.

EDIT: Gunslinger here. Do not (I repeat, DO FUCKING NOT) post Out Of Character (OOC) posts in the In Character (IC) topic. I'll leave this here as a warning, please adhere to the rules.
 
Maverick said:
OOC: Yeah, I know I'm not even in the RPG yet, but I'd like to point out that a love-interest is a good way to add another dimension to a character, as long as you don't take it too far.
Click to expand...

OCC- Maverick, deleted that. Sorry but once a rule is up, so it is. If you break the rule, you lose the post. Got to draw the line somewhere.

This will concern some of the other issues that are coming up. Syphon this concerns your arm and we have pm'd. I leave you with the choice.

Ok, as for the target- Gabriel is not the target. It is either Pipboy's tech or PS's changed character.
______________

ICC- Nat heard the screaming from the tent and looked in that direction. Like the others she had seen the man come in, but the screaming and sent a chill down her back.

Nearby Ibis was talking to Reggie, a ghoul who had come in with the University refugees. Reggie and Ibis had been discussing Syphon's wound.

"Damn big chunk he lost out of that arm." Said Ibis.

"Worse, it will probably get infected if we don't do something." Said Reggie. Ibis had worked with ghouls before, and his memories of Wally's medical skills led him to trust in Reggie's judgment.

"We can provide antibotics." Said Ibis.

"Won't matter. Infection is already down in his arm probably, and the nature of the wound, with all that blood lost.... Shit, that boys weaker than freshly hatched deathclaw without a leg."

"It will take a long time to heal?"

"Maybe forever. Maybe not at all." Said the ghoul, with a tired sigh. "However, back at the University I did my work in engineering and medicine. We could save us the man if we take some quick action. But it will probably mean he lose the arm. Instead, we can rig him a mechanical one."

"Can you manage it here?" Asked Ibis.

"Fuck no, don't got the parts. We'll have to go back to the hospital and dig up the parts. Still, moving alone, and if we're quick, we can get back to the caravan in a few days."

"We should talk to Syphon first." Said Ibis.

Reggie looked into the tent, where his nurse was leaning over Syphon. "Well looks like the boys up already."

___________

Out in the field, Gruug was busy laying mines with the other mutants.

They had done their best to figure out the avenues of approach. Probably down an avenue. Across it they placed the M-60s in covered positions. Grim had found a good spot for his RPG.

They had uncovered another box of mines, this time anti-personnel, along with more ammunition, automatic rifles and submachine guns, grenades. Grim had hoped to uncover a .50 cal, but there had been no luck. It had been a find to discover another rocket launcher, which Gruug had taken to care for.

It wasn't much. But if they could surprise their enemy, they might allow the mutants to close in, and if so, the mutants might have the advantage.

If the attack got through, they would tear the hell out of the campsite.

The defenders operated quietly as possible. Trying not to alert the attackers of their plans.

______________

Above and away, the Slayers gathered at the assembly point. One looked at his watch. It was nearly time.

Two was observing the monitor. "Something is wrong."

One looked at him. "What?"

"The signal.... it died."

Three shook his head. "Fuck. I knew this mission was nuts."

"Shut up." One said, rebuking him. "What do you think is going on."

"Well the part was obviously damaged before. It might have died out from a power leak."

"So lets scrap the op and diddy out." Said Four.

"That's not the op." Said Two. "Our orders are to reclaim the tech, eliminate the rogue slayer, and then return."

_________________

Further away, McReady motioned to his tribals. They had come around the position of the power armored figured, and were observing, trying to get a description of the weapons.

McReady, motioned for one of them to return. Thing One, his feet a whisper on the soil, used the shadow to best advantage to get back to McReady while Thing Two continued to observe.

"What do you got?" WHispered McReady.

"Four tin cans. Very big." said Thing One "Heavy suits for sure. Weapons, one has something that looks like a rifle, another has a rocket launcher. A third had a flamer and the last has another gun, haven't seen before. It looks like a group of barrels connected around a trigger."

"Alright, get back to the others and tell them what's coming down."
_____________

Talon had no more patience with the man. Using one hand he spread the strangers hand out on the floor and gripped his knife with the second.

"Who are they and what do they want?" He asked.

"I don't know."

Talon took off the first finger.

The man screamed.

"Tell me, who are they and what do they want?"

"I swear to fucking crooked christ I don't fucking know."

Off came the second finger.

THe man screamed again.

One of the guard whispered. "He'll lose consciousness this way."

But they had not seen Nat come into the tent."Talon, what the hell are you doing?" She said, her voice full of outrage.
_____________
 
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