[Desolation] Chapter 2: Hard-held

Two M67 fragmentation grenades. Huh.


The thing that started worrying me was the fact that these were on the outside of the box. It was a clear and obvious threat if you got underneath and found them Maybe they were meant as a particularly flashy suicide, pull the cord and send the whole truck sky high. Maybe whatever was in the box was worth ensuring it was destroyed.


Maybe it was just a hidden "Go Fuck Yourself" present. You make it look like it's worth something and then some fucktwit who manages to gets in just finds some primed semtex that goes off in their face. It takes a lot of prep work but fucking shit are the looks on their faces when the explosive goes off worth the wait.


I roll out from under the truck, I could snip the wire and it should remove the tension on the grenades and defuse the trap. Should. Being well aware Graves would not appreciate some explosions in his front yard as well as the related loss in personnel and property, I'm gonna take my time.


First hopefully Theo went and got the survivor. If it came down to it I'd go down their myself and drag the bitch out here to make her tell me what's where. At least then if something goes wrong she'd get it just as bad. Other than that...there is something.


Stepping away I settle down on a makeshift bench nearby, a number of chairs and metal sheets held together. Producing a torn and beaten notepad and a snub of what was a pencil I start jotting down my thoughts on the situation. What I know I'm dealing with, possibilities and other situations that parallel this. It's something of, uh, meditative technique I think Red called it. I'm not a fan of it but sometimes Opening My Brain while doing this pays off big. Sometimes.


Dice Roll edit: Screw you roller >_> Total: 5
 
A library.


I know I've mentioned the power of reading, but to actually see a library. To see such a collection of books is always breathtaking. The modest amount I grew up with is nothing compared to this. Shelves as far as the eye can see, ambient amber light from an unknown source gives the whole place a dusky appearance. It's quiet, but not the tranquility of peace but the absolute silence of a tomb or a battlefield. Here and there the ruin rears up in the form of shattered shelves and burnt books, some racks are holding crumbling tomes covered in mold. It's a pity to see so much knowledge and power destroyed or decaying, but it's exciting to see so much more out there.


I wander about, mostly alone. Here and there I catch a fleeting snatch of a shade. More or less humanoid, I've never confronted or caught one. I can only assume they're other patrons of this library. There are...other things, but I stick to bothering books more or less. I know how to handle my light machinegun, not wrestle with whatever the fuck is in this storm. Otherwise I wander around until an instinct directs me to a specific book. The book usually has what I'm looking for in it, sometimes it's incomprehensible. Like one book called Moby Dick. It's about some big animal called a whale. What the fuck is that kind of a title for a book about a whale and some crazy man?


Whatever. Fucking psychic storm.
 
Koch


Sweet. The books are answers to your questions or have info for you?


And what are you trying to find in the maelstrom?
 
A little of column A a little of column B. Sometimes I open it up and it's blank save for one sentence in the whole thing, sometimes the sentence is repeated thousands of times. Other times there are passages related to what I'm trying to find out or wondering about. The second way is a bit more irritating but comprehensive.


But uh, at the moment I'm hoping to find a diary or biography of the little fucker that worked on this truck, specifically the one that put that rig underneath. Seems like a firsthand account would be better than whatever Lips could tell me. Be ironic if it was her thought.
 
Koch


Funny you should mention her.


You move through the library.


It extends in front and behind you ad infinitum.


It's quiet.


There's no one else here.


And then, Lips appears.


She's standing among the stacks, reading some kind of notes.


You can't make them out, but they have drawings in them.


As you approach closer, the library fades to a warehouse.


Candle light flickers among termite eaten crates and rusted sheet metal walls.


You can hear the patter of rain on the tin roof.


Lighting flashes through the cracks in the boarded over windows chased closely by thunder.


In the center of the warehouse, the truck you were just inspecting is parked.


Lips still stands there, studying the notes.


Somehow, you know she's alone here.


She puts the notes down and grabs a small box.


Inside are two grenades, a punch tool (usually used to put holes in wood), and some metal cable.


She lays under the truck and scoots into position.


With a pop, she puts two holes on either side of the box welded under the bed of the truck.


She secures the grenades to either side, ties the cable to one grenade pin, threads it through the bed, then ties it to the second pin.


Testing how taught the cable is, she nods to herself.


Suddenly, the door to the warehouse opens and someone steps out to of the rain.


Before you can get a look at him, you snap back to reality.


It's bright out, or close to it seeing as the air always has a sickly tinge to it.


Theo stands in front of you.


Next to him, a heavy woman stands in her white apron stained with blood.


A contrast to her chocolate skin.


Theo narrows his eyes.


"I brought Saw Bones, 'K'".
 
Hooper


I'm going to break his arms, take each major bone and snap them. I want him to feel the tips of his broken arms rubbing against themselves. After that, I want to drop him off the roof. Only a one story leg shattering drop.
 
Blinking several times I arrest the urge to rub my eyes with my hand. I learned that lesson a long time ago when I accidentally gave myself a black eye from the metal gauntlet. I glance down at the paper, mostly what I wrote was gibberish that turned into a rough sketch. Nearly incomprehensible, but I seen it myself. I know what it is.


As my eyes, and brain for that matter, come more into focus on this reality I don't flinch away from him. Spooky kid.


"Thanks Theo." I turn to take in Saw Bones. "How is our newest visitor doing? Is she conscious at all?"
 
Hooper


That sounds tasty.


It also sounds like you're seizing by force. Roll+hard.


Koch


Forgot to ask my question. Here it is: For what does your character crave forgiveness, and of whom?


Saw Bones rubs the blood off her hands with her apron.


”Mmmm. Well, honey, I’ll tell you this. Had to take that skinny bitch’s leg. She didn’t like it though. Uh-uh. Not one bit. Had to give her something to put her out and do my work. She’s down for now. Why, honey? You need somethin’?”
 
After home kind of fell to pieces, well, life on the outside was a whole lot uglier and harder on your own. I'm not proud of some of the shit I did out there, but it kept me alive. I'm not sorry about what I had to do or felt I had to do, I am sorry that I started enjoying it. It was a heady feeling pitting yourself against the world, I ain't never felt higher than when someone set out to break you winds up broken. But I've seen what happens when someone goes too far that way, when the shit they start doing makes them look more fucked up than the world we're in. Hooper, for example.


From who though? Anyone worth asking for it from is already long since past being able to give it out on account of a fatal overdose of lead. Maybe if Ryoma isn't full of crap I might get another chance to talk to them, try to make amends. I put as much stock into that happening as I do that I'll get to retire somewhere nice like in old photos. Other than those who can't forgive anymore, I guess...myself? By way of dedicating my time and efforts to helping out the people I live with that it'll do that sort of balancing ac- Fucking Ryoma. Been listening too much of her karma crap.


"That's a shame." Truth be told I did feel a bit bad for her, being crippled is something I am personally terrified of. To be dependent on someone else? To be unable to, literally, stand on your own? Fuck that. Fuck being beholden to a crutch or a wheelchair or having one arm.


"I was hoping to question her a bit, but otherwise...I might need you on hand. Aside from you I need one other volunteer to help me out with this thing."


I start looking for someone, preferably someone who can see straight and isn't an idiot. Preferably a volunteer. I'd feel bad if they get taken out and I forced them into it. Plus Graves would likely tan my hide for getting someone killed pointlessly.
 
Koch


Makes sense. Tell me how you're looking. What do you say?


Hooper


Nice. I assume you're seizing him by force or is it something else? Choose 3:

  • you take definite hold of it
  • you suffer little harm
  • you inflict terrible harm
  • you impress, dismay or frighten your enemy
 
Raising my voice for one, hurts to do it so I try not often.


"I need someone to keep an eye on the grenades under the truck while I cut the wire. If those things hit the ground without the pins still inside, fucking beeline to cover. You got about five seconds before they go off. Whoever helps me I'll make it worth their while."


While doing so I'm trying to look people in the face, see if they meet my gaze. If someone flinches away they obviously aren't interested.
 
Fauci, hurriedly approaches Graves, ignoring Ryoma.


"Graves, Balls is back in camp. Or was. I'm not sure anymore. He's got a gun, put it to my head that fucker did. He stole my van and disappeared after that. I think Hooper is out to get the loser."


It's not that he thought Balls didn't have whatever Hooper was going to dish out, or that Graves had a right to interfere. Only that Graves had a right to know what is going on in his base.


"Just thought you should know. I'm heading out with Bean, no idea what just went down. Not good, not good..." he mumnles, following the men out the door.
 
Graves


Graves sits for a moment, staring out across the dunes.


"Balls is back. Balls' woman is back. And now a stolen van..."


He rubs his eyes.


"I just wanted my goddamn breakfast. And I'm going to have it. And then I'm going to do some interrogation." He growls.
 
Bugger! This site didn't tell me had more posts!


Red Bean opens her eyes, careful not to rub the blood welling in her tear ducts. This always happens when you don't take that moment of quiet first. She should know better than to jump into the maelstrom without checking to quiet her soul first.


Time to read the sitch (sharp+1). Where am I, who is carrying me, and which world am I in. One fear is that she will one day open so much that she ends up in the maelstrom, and gets spit out into another world. Heck, stranger things have happened.


"Wh... what happened?" My head feels like a water balloon, probably all the blood running out my ears. Its like having a bright red head cold.
 
Not like the chunks that were once Balls will be going anywhere quickly... unless the crows get to him, but Hooper is an implacable force. "Are all your breakfasts this exciting, sir?"
 
Koch


At the word "grenades" the crowd gathered around the truck seems to gasp and murmur.


They back up, giving you and your truck a wide berth.


A tall guy makes his way through the press.


He's skin and bones and would be a powerful guy if he had more to eat.


"Name's Skags. Can I help?"


Hooper


Balls nervously fires off two shots before you're on to him.


BLAM! BLAM!


One shot flies wild.


The other pegs your body armor.


But you're a bigger fucker than he is and you don't even notice.


You let him know how big a fucker you are.


Like an angel of death, you stalk right up to him.


He wets himself, drops his gun, and kneels down, weeping.


You grab his arm.


It's nothing but a toothpick in your grip and you hear it snap.


He screams.


He's completely at your mercy.


What do you do?


Read Bean


You feel yourself being carried outside.


The sunlight almost hurts your eyes.


You mumble, asking what's going on.


Off in the distance, you hear to gunshots.


Then, you're in a shelter of some kind.


Is this Saw Bones' place?


You know it by it's smell.


You feel yourself laid on a metal table.


To your right, a young woman lays on a similar rusted metal table.


One of her legs ends at the knee in a bloody dirty bandage.


The side of her face has been bandaged.


She's sleeping.


One of the gang members leaves.


The other gives you a sinister smile.


"Bones'll be here soon. Sit tight darlin'. She'll get you fixed up real good."


He leaves too.


You look around.


The room is setup as a dirty infirmary.


Old blood stains, old bandages, bloody tools hanging on the wall.


What do you do?


Nice roll. You get to ask 3:

  • where’s my best escape route / way in / way past?
  • which enemy is most vulnerable to me?
  • which enemy is the biggest threat?
  • what should I be on the lookout for?
  • what’s my enemy’s true position?
  • who’s in control here?



Graves, Ryoma


The bar begins to settle back down after all the commotion.


Then, you both her two gunshots from the roof.


What do you do?
 
What is it about the snapping of bones that hurts the most? All the soft flesh protected by skin that gets prodded and shredded by the edges of the break? Or is it the knowledge that your limb is essentially useless and without a doctor, it won't ever heal.


Balls was not going to get a doctor.


Hooper lets him weep at her knees for a moment, rather bored. Watching the way he cradled his arm... she'd seen the before. Curious and for the first time displaying an emotion, She grabs pushes his face to the gravel of the roof. Knee right on the weakest point of the spine, Balls knows that a sudden movement will earn him a lifetime of being paralyzed and the odds of the nerves dying were slim.


Hooper doesn't want to risk a run away though. In rapid succession, she snaps the ankles and the legs, one compounding as balls screams across the prison yard. The white bone just doesn't break the skin, protruding just enough to raise the skin.


Now she can investigate closer. Her face was letting her know that something important involved this man.


As she investigates each inch of flesh, she snaps something. That way she won't forget any spot.


When she reaches the hands, she freezes. The nails are cut the same way as the ones that cut her old face. The palms just soft enough to make her stomach lurch. The biggest one though...bite marks in the thumb. She had enough courage once to bite the hand that fed her.


Balls can swear that though the pain of having each limb and bone in his torso broken, that silver face was smiling. A warping of the metal as it contorted into a grin.


Hooper stands up and pockets the gun. Letting him tremble, she throws him over her shoulder and for once, makes sure her cargo wasn't injured by transport.


Letting the door swing open, Hooper carries the shivering heap into the bar. She lays him down, a mound of flesh, piss and blood, on Graves table.


"It's balls. I want this."
 
Two shots, in the distance. That is the sound of poetry. It doesn't rhyme all that well, but some poetry doesn't have to rhyme to convey its meaning.


Saw Bones looks like she i well known for her name, and cutting off the parts of people that are hurt. Right now, its my head that hurts, and I am not about to have that sawn off. I don't think I will feel much better afterwards.It will be really nice when Buzz gets back - if he gets back.


So, first things first - How do I get out of this place, what's my best route?


Next - What are the things I should be on the lookout for?


Last - Maybe not enemy, but what is my biggest threat to keep me in here?


Its time to go. Twelve hours of horizontal can go a long way to clearing my head. I would just prefer to do it in my own place... cell... home.
 
"You rightly can Skags." I direct him both with my hand and my measured steps to the side closest to the booby trap, leaning down I point out the device to him.


"Now you see the pins in those things? I need you to cut the wire up top, my job is to make sure the damn pins don't get yanked out when they fall. If you hear me swear, get the fuck away from the truck as fast as you can. Got it?"


To try and cut off possible objects I produce a set of heavy duty wire cutters and hand them towards him. Not that he should be bitching, if they go off he's at least got a truck bed to shield him.
 
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