Multiple Settings Road to Safina: a Post-Apocalyptic road trip through North America.

[EdwardDewey98]

​

 

[EdwardDewey98]

​

It was plastered all over the screens, with news outlets speaking upon the one shared fear of mankind that had been now realized: Armageddon. The folly of men has turned on itself and was now on its way to bring the end. A lone scientist stared at the reels in horror, her mouth slightly agape in shock at what she was witnessing unfold before her in real time. Her mind raced for answers, or perhaps for some form of comfort, but a voice pierced the silence of her quarters through the speakers: “Things are getting hectic here.” Said a soothing voice, laced with an Arabic accent. “Nobody knows what’s going on… but this place will be targeted.”

His dark eyes betrayed the years of stress and sleeplessness that had taken its toll, looking about with a retired melancholy upon the commotion around him. But there too lay a resignation towards his fate. A fate that the woman shook her head against. “Then what are you doing Ahmed!? Please evacuate! Get out of there!” she yelled in desperation, her Somali accent pleading with the man she loved. “T-There’s still a chance! I’m trying to get in contact with the rest of the project, you need to get out of there, maybe the gener-!” she muttered before being interrupted by the man raising his hand to his screen.

“No, Fatimah… you know he will not move a finger to save a grunt like me.” He said with a soft smile, “I need you to know that I genuinely love you will all of my heart.” His voice quivered at the end, betraying his emotions through his attempt at stoicism.

“Ahmed, please this i-“ she muttered before being interrupted once more.

Ahmed then spoke, wiping a tear from his eye as he regained his composure. “But I know that I will rest peacefully, knowing your memory and legacy will live on.”

“Ahmed, please, don’t do this to me! Don’t give up! Y-you can try t-“ she tried to argue, to convince him to listen, but right then a soldier near Ahmed shouted in panic. “SHIT! SYSTEMS DETECTED A MISSILE!” the man yelled, another moving to try to calm the personnel in the area there but failed as a panic broke out amongst the troops as some tried to leave. Ahmed remained seated however, his gaze fixed upon his screen as he looked at Fatimah in ignorance to the commotion unfolding.

“I cannot outrun this, my love. It’s simply not possible. The end you predicted is here, and people like me will not escape it.” Ahmed said as he straightened himself and took a deep breath. His attempt at a reassuring smile failed as his eyes watered again. “But you can… you will find a way my love. Please, never forget me.” He said before breaking and burying his face into his hands. “You are an angel, Fatimah. Guide them to heaven, keep the memory of me near your h-“

CONNECTION LOST​

Silence. Fatimah could only stare in muted horror on her screen, her gaze reflected as tears streamed down her face. She hoped for but a brief moment that Ahmed would appear again, that everything was fine, but the realization dawned upon her just as quickly. She began to sob uncontrollably as she rested her head on the keyboard In front of her. The soft thud of metallic footsteps approached from behind and rested a cold hand onto her shoulder gently to try to attempt some modicum of comfort to its master. Once an industrial bot outfitted to service, the automaton attempted to console her through its programmed routines but Fatimah recoiled as she jolted up from her seat and practically slapped its hand away.

“Leave me alone… KAZ… leave me… fuck! Lock the doors. I don’t want anyone in here.” She barked through her grief with the harshness of a rock, but the automaton did as ordered as it turned about and left her alone in the world to stand guard outside.

As the door closed with a hiss, leaving her automaton outside on guard, the scientist found herself alone to stare blankly into the screen in front of her. The thought of Ahmed cut deeply into her mind, causing her to nearly break out in tears again. What was she supposed to now that the man she loved was gone? Without him, everything seemed almost pointless as she rested back into her seat to continue watching the blank monitor. However, her attention snapped back to reality as she received a communique from official channels – from Dr. Harris, as she called most of the science team into a group call. As many had joined already, Fatimah did so as well as she clicked to enter.

Desperate and tired faces from around the world greeted her, the chaos of their areas heard as background noise through their cameras. However, it was easily ignored by everyone in the call as The Project was above everything else in this moment. “Dr. Al-Lajmi, we don’t have much time.” Dr. Harris then spoke with a slight German accent.

“Hold on… where is Dr. Skeen? Dr. Mancinelli? …General Odon?” Fatimah asked, her eyes darting as if trying to search for them. Some of her colleagues demeanors drooped and soured upon these mentions. “We have no idea where Skeen or Mancinelli are, but… I’m afraid General Odon is no longer with us. He was with the President’s entourage in Los Angeles.” Harris spoke grimly.

There was no need for elaboration in that moment, as Fatimah knew fully well what that meant for Los Angeles, the President, and the General. “God… now he’ll never see it.” Fatimah said with additional sorrow as she slumped back in her seat. Everything was falling apart by the seams it seemed.

“None of us will.” Dr. Fort spoke up, who was pouring himself a drink in resignation. “I had hoped I’d pour this out for when we finished the Project but now… to hell with it.” He then muttered as he allowed the aged whisky to fill his crystal glass. But as he finished, Dr. Arbuzek’s webcam went white all of a sudden, his connection being severed. “Today was the maintenance procedure, the only people at the Project right now are overworked natives who, undoubtedly, will leave the complex and look for their families.” Fort continued before downing his entire glass and pouring more.

“Wait, nobody is there?” Fatimah asked, which was then met with Harris shaking her head. “No, not even Chief Engineer Cobalt. He is… was vacationing in Rome.” She added, before noticing that another camera went blank: this time with Steve, a research assistant. She sighed before returning her attention to Fatimah. “I was hoping you’d be near the base, Fatimah. But It’s clear that you are in Fort Santego. Without any capable staff to take our calls back at the project, we have no way to start it.” Said the German scientist, before a new face entered the call.

Dr. Skeen, caked in debris, looked on with bloodshot eyes as he fumbled to get a gasmask on properly with trembling hands. “There’s bloody bioweapons! They’ve used bioweapons!” he shouted before turning his camera to face towards a dead, half-mutated creature of unknown origin. “London’s gone, but they keep bombing us… nukes or bloody bioweapons… damn it all, I’m going to die here-“

CONNECTION LOST​

A moment of silence passed as the researchers looked at their screens in shock, unable to find the words for what had just happened. But this was broke as Dr. Maddoch let loose his anger as he slammed a fist on his desk. “…BASTARDS! DAMN BASTARDS! London… gone, just like that!” He was almost in disbelief, considering the amount of defenses that such weapons had to have bypassed to have struck successfully.

“Thousands of years of evolution down the drain…” Fort then spoke, downing his third glass of whisky. “I’ll see you all in purgatory.” He added, planning on leaving before Dr. Harris spoke up in anger. “Don’t you dare to leave Ryan, we have to launch the project! We cannot let our lives go to waste!” she shouted, angered at her co-workers resignation towards the situation.

“How can we even launch it? None of us are there, nor do we have the clearance to launch it remotely. General Odon’s authorization would be the only way and he’s gone.” Fort replied, before his eyes widened in realization. “Unless… hold on, let me see if the archives are still accessible.” He said, putting his glass aside as he worked on his computer. “Fuck me, I can’t even access my account. The entire grid is falling apart, we don’t have much time until we are all cut off.”

“What are you looking for Dr. Fort?” asked Maddoch as he lit up a cigarette.

“Remember Protocol Moses?”

A few of the researchers stirred as they looked at their own files out of curiosity. “We discarded that protocol, Fort. It was a security risk. We couldn’t allow researchers from non-member states know of the project.” Harris responded. A man approached her from behind in an American uniform, her husband, as he put on a gas mask and offered her one while Fort spoke up again.

“Yeah, but not before we actually implemented some of it. The computers still have access to it, we just need someone to head to the facility and activate it… but fuck! I don’t have access to the archives!” Fort cursed, digging his fingers into his scalp in frustration.

“…I printed everything.” Fatimah commented as her gaze trailed away from her screen.

“Printed? Fatimah, what are you talking about? We’re not allowed to take material from the project.” Harris spoke as she held the mask to her face.

“I know, but… I didn’t trust the government to not shut this whole thing off. You heard the committee hearings last year, right? They wanted to reduce funding if they couldn’t shutter us. I would not allow my life’s work to be scrapped because some bureaucrat assholes wanted to-”

“This is a serious violation of the law, Fatimah. Union Article 83 dictates I should kick you from the proj-“ Harris began to say before Fatimah cut her off.

“Everything is falling apart! Look around! And we’re not even part of the Union! You’re German. I’m Somali. Maddoch is fucking Welsh!” Fatimah shouted, “The Union is dead now, we have to launch the project no matter what!"

“…I’m Canadian, subject to Union Law… but hey, to hell with it.” Fort spoke up with a stupid grin as he poured yet another glass of whisky. “If you have Protocol Moses, you know what to do sister. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear the air sirens. I have a mushroom cloud to watch… it was a pleasure to work with you all.” Fort said before disconnecting from the call. This left Rebecca, Maddoch, Fatimah and the absent Dr. Tanaka, who had left his desk a while ago.

“Even if you have everything, you’re on the East Coast. There’s no way you’d be able to travel to the site, it’s impossible. Even with a military escort you’d have to deal with the radiation and worse…” Harris said, having finished putting on her mask. “There’s a Pink Miasma outside… probably a bioweapon. I had hoped we’d find a solution, but that’s no longer the case… take c-“

CONNECTION LOST​

This only left Fatimah and Maddoch in the call, both looking at each other in grim silence. Each wondered whether or not they would be the next to die at a moment’s notice. “She’s right, the radiation the States will face will be catastrophic. There’s no way to travel safely, even with protection.” Maddoch spoke up as he lit up another cigarette, drafting through the nicotine as fast as he could as some form of comfort. “Though… perhaps it’s not flesh we need.”

Fatimah looked with confusion for a moment before realizing what he meat. “You mean… KAZ?”

Maddoch nodded as he took another draft and puffed out a large plume of smoke from his mouth and nostrils. Fatimah nodded quickly as she turned about: “KAZ!” she shouted, calling for the automaton to return inside. It had remained motionless outside her quarters, having observed soldiers running past him in a flurry without taking notice of it in the moment. But as soon as it heard it’s owner’s voice, the automaton quickly re-entered the room with the door hissing behind it to close. Within, Fatimah was quickly looking through a folder and scrambling to make sure all documents that were needed were inside.

"KAZ, inside this folder there's instructions and a very important code to launch protocol Moses." said the doctor as she showed the folder to her automaton. "It is crucial that you head to the location of the Project, you still have it in memory, right my friend?" She asked, knowing well that the machine knew exactly where her work place was, but before KAZ could answer, the scientist could hear the bases' air raid sirens going off, tears started to fall down her face as she realized what was going to happen to her soon.

​

"Please... tell me you do, KAZ..."

"I have it, Doctor." the automaton replied as it quickly scanned through its subroutines to make sure. It looked down at Fatimah as she began to cry again, which had the unit kneel down to her to be more comforting rather than imposing due to its material height. Unit protocols dictated that it try to comfort her as best as it could, despite the ongoing situation.

"I'm so sorry for being so rude to you as of late, KAZ." She said as the machine gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "We were so close to finish this, and they... those evil men do this...
I've been so stressed lately, I shouldn't have snapped at you like I did." She said, her tired eyes looking up at her robotic companion, she knew that the machine had no feelings, yet having lived with him for nearly a decade had made her attached to KAZ, so much so she never thought of replacing him with a household synth, to her, the industrial KAZ was just perfect.

The automaton's optical array shifted slightly in and out of focus, similar to how a human's pupils dilated and shrunk when trying to get the best visual quality. It felt no emotion, and so it could not process the apology as a human could. It could translate it as one of remorse, but could not understand the feeling. Still, its routines led it forward as it spoke again: "You should seek the minimum safe distance or shelter." the bot then said in some attempt to usher its master to safety as Fatimah started to cry, her sobs were almost muted by the sound of the sirens outside.

"Wait... wait..." she said before rushing to her wardrobe, from it she pulled what appeared to be a red burqa, the one gifted by her mother during their masters wedding. "Here... please wrap this on top of you, the fallout will be dangerous to your systems, the less dust it falls on you directly, the better." She said, as she attempted to wrap the cloth around the machine, but as she did so, she started to sob again, resting her face against her automatons.

"I'm scared, KAZ."

KAZ processed the words spoken, remaining still as Fatimah wrapped her burqa around it. "Concepts of an afterlife exist throughout human history." it then spoke, trying to provide some comfort by drawing on database knowledge of religions. "The soul travels to what is believed to be a better place." Then, almost imperceptibly, something shifted for but a moment in the automaton's colored optics. As if eyes were opening for the first time through just the smallest of cracks, it slowly raised its metallic digits to Fatimah's hand and rested on them gently against her skin.

"...does this unit have a soul?"

Fatimah was at a loss of words for a moment, despite her position as a scientist, she was still a religious woman, the skeptical scientist inside of her wanted to say that KAZ was a robot and it was impossible for it to have or even understand the concept of a soul, even the religious part inside her mind said that a creation of man like KAZ was unable to have one, but the other part of her, the spiritual one, believed it had.

​

"I want to believe that you do... KAZ..." she answered with a smile, tears still running down her face. "...before you go... take this..." she said before offering KAZ what appeared to be a photograph - it was a picture of the doctor and her husband during their wedding in Mogadishu, but the picture also had KAZ behind them, always loyal to the woman that repaired it when broken, that always ensured it was in optimal condition... the closest thing this unit had to family.

"Go, KAZ... please... get to the Safina... take care, my friend."

The automaton took the photo and observed it for a moment before gently folding it and squeezing it for safekeeping in between one of the gaps of its hydraulics. The sirens continued to blare in warning of imminent danger as KAZ stood up. "You should seek minimum safe distance or shelter." the bot repeated again, trying in futility to beckon Fatimah to safety once more. Fatimah simply nodded in response, a sad smile spreading on her face as she watched her automaton, her closest friend, walk away from her, one last time. She looked back at the screen to see Maddoch and his child, still connected, but the room they were in filling with the pink miasma that had been visible through Harris’ camera view when she was connected.

“It will be done.” Fatimah said as she sat down in front of her desk, gently caressing her wedding band. Both the Welsh doctor and his child were wearing gasmasks now, but Fatimah could see him nod through the degrading quality of his connection. “We’ll stay with you, you deserve some company.” Said Maddoch, his voice beginning to crackle, but Fatimah shook her head. “I’m at peace, Maddoch… go get your boy somewhere safe.”

“…Pob lwc, ffrind.” Maddoch managed to get out with hesitation, before moving a hand to shut off his connection entirely.

Now truly alone, Fatimah looked down at her wedding band as she went to lie down on her bed before pressing it on her chest. “…Ashhadu anna la ila ill Allah, ashhadu anna Muhammada rasul Allah, hayya alal fallah… Allahu akbar, la ilah ill Allah…” she whispered to herself, reaffirming her faith as the end came ever closer.

Outside, the base was falling apart as all manner of order turned towards the coming sight of the weapons barreling towards their way. KAZ ran through the halls of the base, its footsteps thudding harshly against the floor as it passed by people either locking themselves into their rooms for futile protection, praying as they watched from the windows of the base, or took their own lives. It ignored them all as it followed its directive. It had to get to the Safi-

​

"Remind me, why are we here again?" asked a young woman in her twenties, flashlight in hand, illuminating the dark corridors ahead of her and her group. "This place was, without a shadow of a doubt, ransacked when it was in its prime." she said as her light illuminated the skeletal remains of a man with a uniform. "There's always something scavengers, both from the past and present, that they leave behind, unaware of what it's really worth." said an older gentleman, the woman illuminated him as he kneeled next to the corpse. "I hope you are resting in peace, soldier." He said before pulling the skeletons boots.

"Don't tell me we came here for boots." said the young woman in disbelief as she illuminated the older gentlemans face. "Of course not, but... these are steel toe boots!" He said, showing the military grade boot to the woman. "Well, gotta admit... that's one sturdy ass boot, but they are not my size." she said before taking the boot, measuring it with her shoes.

"HEY! PRIEST MAN!" shouted another woman at the end of the corridor, making both the older man and the younger woman run towards her. "What's wrong sister?" He asked calmly upon seeing her emerge from the canteen. "You won't fucking believe it... A CAN OF HOT DOGS!" She said before shaking a can of 200 years old hot dogs, her face shining brightly like a child's. "FUCK, I want to open this bad bitch and eat 'em all!" said the woman as she kept shaking the bottle. "Oh, it sounds so slimy, I bet they taste GOOD."

The younger woman cringed as the other kept shaking the can of hot dogs. "Priest, promise me we won't eat more 200 year old food for a while." She said with a pleading look in her face. "Sorry sister, the preservers on those cans they added before the war ensures whatever is canned will last a very long time, as long as it's edible, we gonna eat it." responded the "priest" before walking into the canteen, followed by his two followers.

"I know it's edible but that shit tastes like ass." said the young black woman as she illuminated the canteen, it was full of corpses of soldiers holding cups. "Yanaye, how do ya' know what ass tastes like, hmm?" asked the other woman with a toothy grin on her face. "Fuck you Jenn, I bet you actually eat ass." responded Yanaye as she neared a dead soldier that appeared to have a pistol on his holster. "Guilty as charged, sister!" responded Jenn as she kept shaking the can of hot dogs. "You are disgusting." said Yan as she stored the old dusty pistol on her backpack.

"Sisters, treat others the way you want to be treated." He said as he picked up another can of food from the ground. "...and also, loud talk often attracts the attention of robots, mutants and bandits, lets not forget we had to fight some Freaks on the way here." Yanaye nodded while Jenn simply ignored Priest as she kept playing around with the can of hotdogs, annoyed by this, Yanaye approached Priest and pulled his sleeve. "Why do we have to put up with her?" she asked as the preacher placed the canned tuna into his satchel.

"Hm? Who?"

"Come on man, Jenn! She's rude, crude and nasty as hell." She says while looking at Jenn over her shoulder. "I know you let her tag along because she's trying to redeem herself, but she still acts like a raider, I don't see her improving at all." Priest simply chuckled in response before walking away, offended, Yanaye followed after him. "Hey! Don't ignore me Priest, I'm serious!"

"I cannot take you seriously at this time, sister, because what you just said is silly." He said as he kept walking to the exit of the canteen. "She is changing, opening herself to us, you just don't appreciate how different she is." He said, still walking ahead of her. "When she first appeared in front of us, she tried to kill us for scraps, when I convinced her to solve things peacefully and come with us, she remained quiet for weeks, always looking over her shoulder, fearing what she must have thought was inevitable betrayal... now she talks, she jokes around, she is indeed crass and lacks any people skills, but is changing."

Priest looked at Yan over his shoulder, giving her a smile. "She will improve, sister, you just need to be patient with her... walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love." Yanaye sighed, looking away for a moment as she kept following priest, but then, she bumped into priest, who had suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong?" She asked, before illuminating what Priest was looking at. "Holy shit..." she said as she looked at the automaton of archaic design, sitting on a pile of rubble, dim moonlight casted down on the machine from a hole on the ceiling, a small puddle of contaminated water had formed beneath the broken machine, giving life to many plants that had grown around and on top of the automaton.

"My god! It's an industrial model!" shrieked Yanaye as she pulled some gadgets from her backpack. "Holy shit holy SHIT!" She said as she kneeled next to the machine, not caring for the radiated water beneath her. "You should put your Geiger counter on it before touching it, sister." said Priest as he neared the machine as well. "All this life, surrounding a machine..." he muttered as he poked a radiated flower with his sword. "Hmm... acceptable levels of radiation, nothing medicine won't heal later!" Yanaye responded as she connected some cables to the automatons systems.

"What are you trying to do, sister?"

"Well, first of all check if it is functional, if yes! I am repairing it and selling him in the Union market, if it's not functioning, then I'll scrap it and sell the parts... both ways lead to a small fortune! Industrial models are very rare and VERY valuable." She then looked down at her notepad, it's green light brightening her face as she looked at the automatons state. "Oh, but this is such a find, I almost feel bad for only thinking of the mon- OH!" She squealed, a big smile plastered on her face. "It's functional!"

As Yanaye tried to boot up the machine, Priest checked the cloth cape it was wearing, that's when he noticed that beneath the cape there were a two items. A piece of paper and a water damaged document folder of some kind. He pulled both items the machines hydraulics and studied them closely, first looking at the paper, which turned out to be a photograph depicting a young black muslim woman and a tanned bearded man, behind them was the automaton. "Hmm... how did it go... baraka Allahu fik, God bless you, brother and sister." He gently whispered before putting the photograph on the machines lap.

As Yanaye was finishing up the booting sequence, Priest opened the document folder, at first he expected to read pre-war texts that were of little importance to him and his group, but as he read down the document, his interest grew. "Yanaye, this document is incredibly important... but it's damaged, do you th-" he managed to let out before the machine started to move.

"Fuck yeah, I'm the Techie Goddess!" She shouted before standing away from the awakening machine.

SOFTWARE INITIALIZING
VISR INITIALIZING
SYSTEM POWERUP ENGAGED


00001 Booting up...
00002 Exiting Survival Mode ::: : <> [Power Restored] <>
00003 Initializing Operation Systems ::: : <> [Initialized] [0.2s] <>

+----------------------------------------------------------------------+

00000 Chassis BIOS // PTSYS // VER_22.3.5 // ID_0
CREATED BY Van Loom Ind.
LAST MODIFIED BY F. Al-Lajmi. 04.23.2057

00004 ORION Powered Unit Chassis System // GENERATION IV
00005 LOAD/> VISR.HUD.PASSIVE.BIOS.BETA
00006 ADJUSTING IPD...

:: : :::: :::: :::: :: ::: ::::: ::::
| : AUTH-KEY //> GK2RE.IO2.RRVGW.28OPO |
:: : :::: :::: :::: :: ::: : :: :::: :: :

+----------------------------------------------------------------------+

00007 PROGRAM-ID. VISR.
00008 ****************************************************************
00009 * MODULE NAME = VISR *
00010 * DESCRIPTIVE NAME = VISUAL INTELLIGENCE SYSTEM, RECON *
00011 * NEXTGENPRGRM *
00012 * UN. RSRCH. DVSN. *
00013 * *
00014 ****************************************************************

+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
+-----------------PREPARING FULL SYSTEM INITIALIZATION-----------------+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------+

00015 LOAD/> SYSTEM.POWERUP.DISTRIBUTED.REFLEX ... /
00016 LOADING...........................

-- ---- --
[] SPDR_00 | 04 | 08 | aa | 1d | 6c | 64 | 76 | 2a | 6f | 11 | 65 |
[] SPDR_01 | 6b | 18 | 32 | 14 | 2f | 1d | 31 | 04 | 4e | 05 | 07 |
[] SPDR_02 | 3d | 08 | c5 | 12 | 6c | 64 | cc | 2a | 6f | 34 | 91 |
[] SPDR_03 | 09 | d1 | 4a | 65 | 65 | 73 | 72 | 2b | cc | 13 | 62 |
[] SPDR_04 | a2 | 03 | bb | 11 | 83 | 4e | 76 | 7f | ee | 27 | e6 |
[] SPDR_05 | aa | f2 | a9 | d1 | 6c | 64 | aa | 9c | 6f | ff | c9 |

+----------------------------------------------------------------------+

00017 \>DIAGNOSTICS ENGAGED
00018 \>SYSTEM SCAN INITIATED...

|------------------------------------------------------------------------|
+----------------------PRIMARY SUPPORT SYSTEM CHECK----------------------+
|------------------------------------------------------------------------|

-- ------- --------- ------- --- ------
01 SYS_CHK SYS-ID-3C MOD-021 [+] [PASS]
02 PWR_CHK SYS-ID-MC MOD-331 [+] [PASS]
03 VSR_CHK SYS-ID-DS MOD-071 [+] [PASS]
04 VHF_CHK SYS-ID-JS MOD-105 [+] [PASS]
05 CHS_CHK SYS-ID-OC MOD-019 [-] [FAIL]
06 HRD_CHK SYS-ID-OH MOD-002 [+] [PASS]
07 SFT_CHK SYS-ID-OS MOD-001 [-] [FAIL]
-- ------- --------- ------- --- ------
08 WPN_CHK SUB-ID-0W SUB-778 [+] [PASS]
09 CBL_CHK SUB-ID-WU SUB-094 [+] [PASS]
10 SND_CHK SUB-ID-SD SUB-040 [+] [PASS]
11 AUD_CHK SUB-ID-SA SUB-041 [+] [PASS]


visr_sys.modules.common.systems................................[2 FAILED]
visr_sys.modules.common.subsystems.............................[0 FAILED]

\> GENERATING ERROR REPORT...

00019 WARNING: Chassis damage detected.
00020 WARNING: Unit software changes detected.
00021 Preparing software reset...
00022 OVERRIDE INITIATED. Reset disengaged.

+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
\> GENERATING SYSTEM REPORT...

[visr_sys] Time Elapsed...................................... 0.22 sec(s)
[visr_sys] Total Systems..................................... 043
[visr_sec] Modules FAILED.................................... 002
[visr_sec] Modules PASSED.................................... 041

\> END STARTUP

+----------------------------------------------------------------------+

\> DAMAGE REPORT

00023 Calculating...
00024 Damage Report completed.
00025 Visualizing...
... (19 lines left)


Priest and Yanaye stood in silence as the automaton looked at its surrounding, its optics feeding data and information, before looking down at its lap. A small photograph sat gently on its lap with a face it recognized but could not piece together. Through its metallic digits it picked it up and observed it carefully, trying to discern meaning from it before it forced itself up. Metal creaked and hydraulics hissed quietly as it stationed itself steadily, despite failures on some systems and damage to its chassis.

“Holy shit, it’s a tall boy! Unit, can you hear me?” asked Yanaye, her face glowing with excitement.

KAZ was quiet for a moment before tilting its head. “…Who are you?” it asked, “Where am I?”

"...What am I?"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

“Can you believe this shit?” Corporal Cook said aloud with anger, his voice and steps echoing through the dimly lit halls of the New Southport correctional Facility. His disdain for what he was assigned to do was visibly plastered across his face, though it went unregistered to the Sergeant that walked alongside him. A massive Goliath, dressed in military fatigues, grunted at first before speaking: “Orders are orders, Corporal. And this ain’t coming from the brass either; we’re talking ‘bout the spooks here.” The Sergeant spoke, following Cook as they walked past a guarded security checkpoint and saluting the stationed soldiers as he squeezed through the gates.

“But have you read some of the names? Callum Crane is a fucking child killer, and that mutated fuck, the one with the mask, he tri-“

“I know who these fucks are, Corporal, I’ve read the reports.” The Sergeant interrupted with annoyance as they passed through another checkpoint. “I don’t really care about whatever the fuck they’re planning to do with these grubs. Hell, if they die, the better it is for us. Saves us the bullets for an execution.”

A third and final checkpoint greeted the duo, but something was different here. The Goliath Sergeant looked in confusion at first as he saw only five guards posted, rather than the standard eight. He glared into their eyes, his intimidating height and frame making them squeal as to the location of their comrades without him uttering a single word. They would not want to be in the way of his disciplinary wrath. “T-the cleaning supply room, sir.” One private muttered as he pointed towards an unassuming wooden door nearby.

The Sarge didn’t need more prompting as he marched over, with Cook in tow, and kicked the door open violently which sent the frame and a few splinters flying towards the other end of the room. Inside, a game of poker between the three missing checkpoint guards and one corporal had been interrupted as they all jumped to their feet with a mixture of fear and concern as they realized the jig was up; they were about to receive a chewing out. They moved to quickly salute, only for the Sarge to shout.

“DAMN BOY, I THOUGHT I WALKED INTO THE LOUNGE FOR A MINUTE. SMELLS LIKE A PRE-WAR COLLEGE DORM IN HERE, ISN’T THAT RIGHT CORPORAL COOK?” the Sarge shouted angrily as he took a foot and crushed the makeshift poker table under his boot with a heavy thud.

“Yes sir it does.”

“CORPORAL SANCHEZ, WHY DO I SMELL WEED AND TOBACCO INSTEAD OF CLEANING CHEMICALS LIKE A GODDAMN SUPPLY CLOSET SHOULD?”

The corporal who had just moments ago been shooting the shit and winning bets now gulped nervously as he tried to maintain eye contact with the impromptu drill instructor. “W-we were smoking pot, sir.”

“NO SHIT, BUT WHY WERE YOU DOING IT WHEN YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE AT YOUR POST CORPORAL?”

The Corporal opened his mouth and tried to speak but no words came out except for a few incoherent stammers as he tried to find an excuse. This prompted the Sarge to deliver a slap to the back of his head. Despite his best attempts to be delicate, such a slap was definitely more powerful than a regular human one which sent the Corporal staggering for a bit. “DO I NEED TO REMIND YOU WHO IS KEPT IN SECTOR 8, CORPORAL? WE HAVE P.O.W.s, RAIDER SCUM, THIEVING BANDITS, GOD-DAMN FREAK WARLORDS. AND NOW, ITS HOME TO A RELIGIOUS FANATIC AND A GASSED-UP MISTY EYED TERRORIST. WHAT HAPPENS IF THEY BREAK OUT, CORPORAL?”

The Corporal again attempted to find the words, but failed; which brought another slap to the back of his head promptly by the Sarge. “THEY WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR COMRADES, AND HELL WON’T SAVE YOU BECAUSE I’LL PERSONALLY DRAG YOUR SORRY ASS OUT FROM LUCIFER’S HANDS AND THEN STOMP YOU BACK INTO HIS CAGE! Fuckin’ usless, get out of my sight!”

The Corporal and the privates quickly dispersed, heading back to their barracks without so much as a word. “Corporal Cook, get me more men.” The Sarge then ordered as he checked the list of inmates one more time. “And get me Callum Crane, the Mistborn terrorist… some of those merc drudges from cells 5 to 14… and that drunk bitch Morgan Carter.” He ordered as he walked out of the supply room. “If the C.I.A. wants bags of meat to serve Uncle Sam, well god damn they will SERVE.”

• Mentioned/Interacted: Callum Crane ( Sistros ) Daedalus ( Mook-LandStrider ) Morgan Carter ( Infab )

​

“Look outside,” Yanaye said, her radiant smile reminding the bot she worked on of something long forgotten. K4Z’s optics shifted slightly in response as it listened to her. “Get your… mind? Yeah, mind, distracted. Otherwise, I might fuck up these repairs.” She then said as she prepped her tools for additional repairs to the automaton’s systems. K4Z turned its head gently towards the RV’s window to see vast seas of green fields pass by, with crops being tended to by a hard-working rural population at this time of year. The not-so distant ruins of the original Southport were visible in the distance as a grim reminder of the past, yet the farmers worked hard in ignorance to the ruins behind them.

​

“I don’t think I’m that fragile. I won’t be spilling blood like with an artery… though perhaps circuits act similarly?” KAZ mused aloud as Yanaye put up a small soldering tool alongside some pliers to work properly and began to work delicately at some wires and circuitry. “Oh, gonna bleed electrodes on me now are you?” the techie joked, which brought out a rather bland response from the automaton.

“Irony – a machine cannot bleed. Electrodes used as a substitute for blood. Amusing on two levels.”

“Hmm, we’re gonna have to work on your humor, I think. Now hold still…”

Driving the RV was an older gentleman, his gaze fixated on the road ahead, and completely ignoring Jenn who was trying to talk to him and instead focusing on his task and the radio that blared. “So like, I originally wanted to kill her, y’know? Because she fucked with me and all that, so I had this gun hidden beneath my clothing… and I came to her room at night and I was just ready to fucking blow her head OFF. But she saw me at the door, and she dragged me in and pressed me against the wall! Turns out she had this massive crush on me and didn’t know how to… uh… what’s the word… PRIEST! WHAT’S THE WORD!?”

“Express.” The Flock’s leader replied as he flipped through another page of the folder that had been on KAZ’s body.

“YEAH! THAT! She didn’t know how to express her feelings!” Jenn said with a childish grin adorning her face. “It was uncomfortable but… ya’know… my heart was racing like a bat outta hell! I was red like a white union city boy under the sun for an hour!” She then sighed happily as she sank back in her seat: “I sorta wished she didn’t… y’know.,.. decide to stick ‘round Louisville…”

“She sounds lovely, sister.” Priest commented as he kept reading the folder that had enamored him ever since he picked it up. The picture of the automaton’s former owners now sat on a frame made of scrap metal over by the dash, though it was clear that it had no memory of them.

“Hey, uhm… if we ever go there, can w-“ Jenn began to ask before being interrupted by Priest.

“Of course sister.”

The song playing on the radio then stopped as it went to a transition: “AND THAT WAS… This Love by Maroon 5!” said the DJ on the station, the only international one that still worked around the world. "Hey everybody, it’s me! Your master of ceremonies, the one and only… MOOON BOT!” The sounds of blaring horns played quickly. “Coming to you live from the MOON! A little status update, I am officially the last functioning American robot on the base, the one I nicknamed Lucas was destroyed by a micrometeor piercing his central processing unit… he lasted a very long time for a Tesla bot to be fair!”

A generic laugh track played, despite the grimness of what was described. “That’s probably a joke only I will understand, haha! Now, before playing our next song, daily reminder to all those below: be safe. I might not know what hell you’re going through but remain strong! DJ Moon Bot will always be here to give you the good vibes… and to any of my metallic brothers and sisters that thinks and feels like me, look up at the night sky!” said the robotic DJ before announcing the next track. “Now, let’s play something melodic… coming up now! Oh Wonder – High on Humans!”

​

“Oh! Turn up the radio Jeb!” Yanaye said as she lifted her welder’s mask, eager as she heard the song name blare out from the RV’s speakers.

“Hell no, I’m waiting for the real music to show up.” The old driver said as he look behind him through the rear-view mirror.

“Ugh, country music only plays on Wednesdays. It’s Thursday, so come on and crank that up!” Yanaye shouted, almost begging, but Jeb ignored her as he scowled in annoyance. This prompted her to instead appeal to Priest. “Priest, Jeb its being a sour old coot again.” Yanaye said as she set down her welder’s mask again and went back to work on KAZ.

“Jeb…”

“Priest.”

“The vehicle owes you a lot, as you are it’s mechanic… however, this also belongs to Yanaye’s grandmother. So it’d be nice if you could raise the volume for her.” The man said, not even bothering to take his eyes off the documents he was holdings.

Jeb let out an exasperated sigh as he brought his hand over to the volume dial and turned it up. Yanaye grooved along with the song as she continued to repair the automaton: “Every time I feel your eyes, I can feel life come alive-“

“So… Priest. What’s so damn important about those papers that you haven’t taken your eyes off ‘em?” Jebediah asked, his eyes looking to Priest through the rear-view mirror.

“I’m trying to understand it myself, but I think…” Priest replied, going quiet for a minute before continuing. “I think I might have found the road to Eden, Jeb.”

The driver raised an eyebrow towards this, but his attention quickly returned back to the road as he saw the gates to New Southport approaching. Several vehicles and carts had been stopped by the entrance by Union Military Police. Rather unusual for a trading town, and upon seeing that they had stopped Priest got up and stashed the documents away elsewhere in the RV before looking out the window.

“Hmm… hey, Duke!” he shouted while looking on top of the RV, where a massive well dressed Goliath laid on a summer chair. The Goliath caught the attention of everyone who looked at the RV. “Do you see what’s causing the MP’s to stop traffic?” Priest asked, but an answer came instead as a high ranking military policeman barked through a megaphone.

“As requested by the Department of Defense of the United States of America and the Union of the Potomac, we announce that the city of New Southport requests the aid of scavengers, travelers, adventurers, loners, killers, explorers and robbers. The job consists of delivering crucial supplies to our allies down south in the United Cities of Mexico. You’ll receive a handsome reward for your service! If you have skills that allow you to traverse the wasteland, please, approach us at the gate.”

Priest raised an eyebrow upon hearing the announcement, but he wasn't the only one that was curious about the announcement, as he saw several strange looking adventurers slowly approach the MP's by the entrance. He quickly looked back at his companions, his smile growing wider. "Who's up for some humanitarian work?"

• Interacting: Jeremiah "Duke" Bishop ( DG-117 ) KAZ ( joshuadim )
• Indirectly Mentioned/Interacting: Artemis Hale ( SavannahSmiles ) Ash ( Woffy ) Dustin Renfield ( Roda the Red ) Aitan ( dikdik ) Cris Topher ( Azurian Dream ) Runt ( joshuadim ) Marisol & Lucero Cabrera ( BriiAngelic ) Slade ( Breadman ) Freyr Redwood ( The Prophet )

 

[Infab]

"They painted up your secrets with the lies they told to you. And the least they ever gave you was the most you ever knew. And I wonder where these dreams go, when the world gets in your way? What's the point in all this screaming, when no-one's listening anyway?"

A voice flowed from the one of the many cells, rough but still feminine. The same voice that had been flowing through the cell block for the past hour or two, much to the dismay of the guards as well as the prisoners in the cells around it. They had been singing song after song, apparently either to pass the time or simply piss off anyone in listening distance.

"Your voice is small and fading, and you hide in here unknown. And your mother loves your father 'cause she's got nowhere to go. And she wonders where these dreams go, 'cause the world got in her way. What's the point in ever trying? Nothing's changing anyway."

"JESUS CHRIST, DO YOU EVER SHUT THE FUCK UP?!" spat a prisoner from another cell adjacent to the one the singing was coming from. And the singing seemed to grow louder, forcing the prisoner to smack the wall between them a few times with his fist. A few other prisoners groaned, rubbing their temples or holding the lone pillow they were given in there cells against their heads. Wrapping it around so that it would cover their ears and block out the sound.

"They press their lips against you, and you love the lies they say. And I tried so hard to reach you, but you're falling anyway. And you know I see right through you, 'cause the world gets in your way. What's the point in all this screaming? You're not listening anyway."

Eventually their current song ended, allowing for a moment of silence and relief. But soon enough, the voice began again, shifting to a different song and shredding any peace that had settled into the prison block. But this time, the singing would be cut short by a rapid tap on the door of the cell.

"Carter, cut your shit. They'll make you stay in here longer if you keep belting that crap to the world." stated the guard just outside, clutching a rifle in his hand.

"Well, I have to do something to pass the fucking time. You idiots took my things." responded Morgan Carter.

"You got drunk and tried to beat a man with that piece of shit you call a rifle."

"He pissed me off. And the rifle's called the Skullcracker. It cracks skulls. What am I supposed to do with it? Tickle him?"

"Not try to kill him?"

"Killing is a part of life." she muttered in response.

"Well, it got you a night in the slammer."

"Yeah, in the nastiest cell you could find." She looked about as she sat on the cell's cot, taking in how the room looked. "There's black mold on the toilet, someone puked next to it. The mattress has piss stains. I found a tooth stuck in the pillow. Did a freak stay in here before me?"

"Yes. Big motherfucker from the Glades."

"Fuckin' knew it."

"You'll be out of there later. Just shut up till then, alright?" stated the soldier finally, before turning about and returning to his duties. Morgan grunted in response. Yeah. Later.

 

[joshuadim]

R U N T
- The Day Before -​

Under the afternoon light that began to wane, a young man worked with goggles strapped over his eyes, twisting a wrench in hand against a bolt on a piece of machinery in a makeshift barn. Grime and grease stained his hands and clothes, with small smidges marking his face to signify the effort he had put in on the current job. He was almost done fixing this geezer's tractor, which meant he could get paid and move on. While the place was nice for what it was, a pile of hay to sleep under slivers of moonlight, he couldn't stay forever as it didn't feel right. No place felt right to him. Plus, he didn't want to impose any more than he already had, asking for a place to sleep for the past two nights in said barn, but as fate would have it there were other plans for him as the owner walked over to the doorway and cleared his throat.

"Hey, uh... me and the missus are gonna have dinner. You're welcome to help yourself." the farmer said as he chewed on a small stalk of grass in between his teeth.

The scrappy mechanic shrugged. "I'm fine, thanks-"

"C'mon now, I insist. 'Specially since you fixed my equipment n' all. Least I can do is have ya fed, yeah?" Runt grumbled under his breath as he set down the wrench and stretched his back upon standing up, letting out a grunt as his back cracked in relief. "I'll take that as a yes then. See ya inside!"

The man left before Runt could protest and he simply sighed as he followed suit inside. The house was definitely old, pre-war even, but kept in decent shape thanks to the efforts of the couple inside. The floorboards still squeaked however as Runt took a step inside and was met with the unmistakable aroma of corn bread and roast pork. He couldn't help but begin to salivate at the prospect of getting a decent meal as he approached the dining room and was greeted by the duo sitting. "Ah, come on and sit boy!" the farmer said with a grin as he motioned towards the chair closest to him. There was a small iron pot filled to the brim with food and a platter of other delectable delights, but Runt didn't celebrate. He didn't feel worthy of such kindness as he took a seat and began to eat.

"So, where will ya go tomorrow?" the farmer asked as he took a bite from his portion, "Lookin' for work?"

"Hrm. Yeah." Runt said as he took a bite and let home-cooked warmth slide down his gullet. "Know a place?"

"Hmm... I dunno off the top of my head... Martha?"

"I heard New Southport's got some folk needin' help. Dunno what kind but it might be a place to look." the wife with a southern twang in her voice, giving a reassuring smile to Runt.

"How far?"

"Oh that's about a three hour drive if yer going fast." the farmer chimed in, "Think that motorbike of yours can carry you in two though."

"Perks of traveling light." Runt replied as he took another bite of food.

A moment of silence passed as everyone focused on their food, with Runt in particular making sure he had his fill for the trip ahead now that he had a new destination in mind. But this was put to a halt once the farmer finishing chewing on his most recent bite and scratched his chin in ponderment. "Say, I don't even know yer name." the farmer then realized with a chuckle, "Stayed with us two nights and I know scant boot 'bout you." Runt did not respond as he took another bite of his own food. "How's this. Where you from?"

Runt stilled for but a moment before setting down his fork and straightened in his chair. "Far. Too far from here."

"Well... got any family back home?"

"...I used to."

His tone cracked slightly, both from annoyance and melancholy. The wife darted a glare towards the farmer for a moment, signalling him to refrain from asking more to which he acquiesced. The rest of the meal remained silent in words.

- Present - ​

A motorbike, crudely stitched together and rusted in many places, drove down the road towards New Southport. Its engine bellowed loudly, not from power but rather from its haphazard state of partial disrepair. A constant reminder for Runt that he needed to find a replacement cylinder for one of the combustion shafts as well as a new spark plug, but a worry for another time. So long as it worked, it worked; that's all that mattered to him as the wind blew past his air. His goggles came in handy to block the air from stinging his eyes, and a bandana wrapped around his nose and mouth helped to keep dust and insects from flying into the rest of his face.

A few small bags hung from the sides of his vehicle, carrying essentials as well as tools for mechanical work. But the standout was a holstered sawed-off double barrel that remained by his hip at all times, yet it had remained there for the longest time without use. It was more a piece of shit for threatening people with than for actually shooting, but, fortunately, he never had been in a situation where he needed to pray to luck and pull the trigger.

As he drove, he could see the distant outline of the town grow rapidly but on arrival he was met with concern as the entrance had been, essentially, clogged thanks in part by Union MPs. Under his bandana, Runt scowled as he loathed the idea of being even put under suspicion by *cops*. His whole point was to drift from place to place and not cause trouble, carrying on with his current state of affairs without problem. But this attitude changed when it was revealed through megaphone that this was not about the law but, rather, about recruitment. The engine of his bike purred softly as he stood in place, taking a moment to think about this before removing the ignition key and setting it to park on the side of the road. He approached the MPs slowly and lazily wrung a hand up high.

"I'm a mechanic, and a driver." Runt announced from under his goggles and bandana.

 

[Azurian Dream]

Cris Topher


With the gaggle of people trapped at the entry point of the trader town it would be hard for most to mossy on in past the disgruntled collective yet upon hearing the news one person was silently, and almost eerily making it through at a normal pace without bumping into anyone, or anything. A humanoid draped in a strange black furred coat was elusively making their way through leaving no trace, no sound, or even being noticed by the crowd. So fluid was their movement that by the time Runt had called out his professions that the newcomer was now literally standing next to Runt having almost appeared out of no where with a advanced rifle slung over their shoulder.

"Where through," was the only words to be whispered out by the strangers lips as he lifted his head revealing a gas mask with a face hidden by a orange hued visor. They were clearly a Mistborn by appearance alone. Strands of white hair barely made it out of the hood of his coat that had seen better days sewn back together in a few spot, but still solid a piece doing its job. The mask the stranger wore was also rather strange much like the rifle it to was in unusual pristine condition almost looking pre apocalypse era in design almost military grade like from what little of it could be seen. Yet its size and sleek demeanor would fool most from even beginning to think such if the equipment.

"Trapper, Tracker, Guard, Marksman...," the stranger added his own professions labeling himself as a specialized bounty hunter. He simply stood their awaiting a answer to their projected route seeing if this caravan was worth hitching onto, or was a waste of his time.
​

Interactions: Runt joshuadim

 

[Breadman]

A few hours ago

​

"You actually play that shit for fun, sherif?"

"No, Dumbass." The ghoul growled a curt response to his prisoner. "The damn Moon Bot decided its time to torture us a bit with some irony." Slade turned up the dial on the radio on his wrist. A nice little device he recovered from some pre-war ruins. Has multiple functions besides that and the batteries still lasted even after so much time. Too bad most of its features were fucked up beyond repair.

"Oh you..." The horse started moving faster, forcing the prisoner to pick up the pace or be left to get dragged on the ground. "Didn't you just say you didn't like that?"

"No, you don't like it. I do. I just don't like the irony of the situation." He turned his head to get a good look at the struggling man and turned back to face forward "Dumbass."

"I have a name, you know."

"Yeah yeah. Jeffrey Jarret. Big double J. Everyone I spoke to about you said you're donkeyheaded enough to cause trouble for this town. Therefore you're an ass. You're also dumb as hell for leaving your gun so far away from you while you sleep. Therefore Dumbass is your new name."

"Oh and you're the lawman to come bring me to justice huh?" Jeffrey whined through tired breath "Some rotting mutie to win the town over."

"I'd be shutting my mouth about now if I were you."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do? If you were planning to gag me, you would have done it by now."

"Second warning, Dumbass."

"Oh please. I know I'm worth way more to you alive. You're not gonna do-"

"HYAA!" Slade shouted and Bowie started to speed up. It took seconds for Jeffrey to lose balance, trip and to start getting dragged behind the horse. The man started to shout, begging for Slade to slow down. Eventually the gallop would come to an end. It was only for a few minutes, but to the now battered and bruised prisoner, it felt like hours. "You're right, Dumbass. You're worth more alive." The ghoul dismounted "But you made one very stupid miscalculation." He knelled down and grabbed Jarred by the chin to bring the face to look at his "I get to decide how alive."

Now

New Southport was a nice place all things considered, even if a bit crowded. But the pay for bounty hunting was second to none in the area. Slade picked up Jeffrey and pulled him up on his feet just so he could force him through the door of the bounty hunter's office. The man moaned in pain as his face hit the floorboards.

"Sorry about that folks, but he got away from me." Slade walked over to pick him up and force him to the desk.

"Slade, we talked about this." The man at the desk, a MP Major, said through a sigh and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "You weren't supposed to get rough with him."

"I didn't." The ghoul lifted Jeffrey's face to the desk "See? Eyes, ears, tongue. All there. Well, the teeth aren't, but poor dental is the culprit there."

"He's bleeding and barely conscious."

"Give him a cold shower and he'll be wide awake to tell you everything." Slade extended his hand with the palm facing up "Now, my pay?"

"Locals aren't too keen on bringing in fucked up inmates to their prison you know?" The major said as he opened up a drawer to get the envelope containing the reward money "Wastes their resources to take care of them. Its why we try to be careful."

"Oh, he's just bruised a bit." Slade snatched the envelope from Bob's hand "He'll be fine." A brief count followed "Pleasure doing business with you, Bob. Unless you have more work, I'm gonna go drink something strong until I can't see straight." Slade pointed with a thumb behind himself.

"Well there's some word around town. Not bounty hunting, but you do get to caravan escorting as well, don't you?"

"Gives me an excuse to move around, why?"

Both men looked to the open window as they heard the sound coming through

As requested by the Department of Defense of the United States of America and the Union of the Potomac, we announce that the city of New Southport requests the aid of scavengers, travelers, adventurers, loners, killers, explorers and robbers. The job consists of delivering crucial supplies to our allies down south in the United Cities of Mexico. You’ll receive a handsome reward for your service! If you have skills that allow you to traverse the wasteland, please, approach us at the gate

"Well, they beat me to it." The Major pointed to the window as he laid back in his chair. "Word came down earlier about it. Dangerous, but pretty big payday."

"Well. My choices are to hope for more people like Dumbass here for barely livable pay" Slade pointed to the unconscious man that had now slumped to the floor "Or to risk my neck for a big payday." A brief pause followed soon after so he could weigh his options "Yeah, they're gonna need people who know what they're doing."

"You want a letter?"

"No thank you, I'll go introduce myself." The cowboy spun on his heel and walked out the door, leaving the bounty hunter staff to clean up after him. Outside, he got up on his horse and rode it towards the MPs that called for volunteers earlier. "Bounty hunter, tracker, caravan guard, enforcer and scout." He looked at some of the other people lining to sign up. He then wondered how many of them are gonna make it.

 

[Roda the Red]

-A few days ago-
​

Spoiler: Long inconsequential scene, skip if you want!

The road extended both ends, reaching far beyond what the human eye could see, cutting through a landmass of absolute nothingness like the first stroke of an artist over a white canvas. Resting at some random point of its immeasurable length lied a lone building, clearly showing signs of aging and deterioration, but otherwise in quite the decent shape. A few vehicles rested nearby, hiding under the protection of a makeshift metal plate roof, stopping the sunlight from furiously turning the machinery into ovens. Inside the place, several people enjoyed a relatively pleasureable afternoon. Some drank over at the tables, others played pool over at the south-east corner of the establishment, a few were napping on borderline clean mattresses at the back, and some even had what could be considered, in this day and age, a decent meal over at the bar's counter. Truly, because of its key location in the middle of one of the roads connecting to New Southport, "Pitt's Pit" was, by contemporary standards, a booming successful business, with upwards of twenty daily patrons.

Spoiler: Long inconsequential scene, skip if you want!

Pitt was washing some dirty dishes as the roaring sound of bikes parking outside drowned the comparatively low volume of the idle chatting inside. Kicking the door open, a large, bulky man with pistol in hand entered the establishment, heavy military boots clasping against the tiled floor with each step. Behind him was four more people, of similarly wild apparel and aesthetic.

"Huh, Jamie was right 'bout this place, guess I ain't cutting his tongue after all"

"Oh come on Bill, all he did was fuck your sister, grow up already" said one of the members of the small group, a woman with tribal tattoos covering all of her face.

"Speak like that again and it's your tongue getting chopped off instead"

no snarky reply on her end, she knew he wasn't lying about that. Bill dropped his heavy elbow on top of the counter, his other hand brushing the side of his head with the tip of this gun, Pitt tried his best to hide his fear, but in truth he knew these guys spelled nothing but big trouble.

"A'right buddy, you'll give us anything of value you have in this shithole right now, unless you want us to paint these walls red with all of your customers and yourself"

Regret came over Pitt, he knew it was a matter of time a group of raiders found this place, he just hoped it wasn't this soon, he was going to hire security in less than a week.

"P-Please, sir, I-I can give you some money, b-but I still need to keep this place afloat, I-I don't know what I would do if I were to go under again."

The raider leader stared at Pitt, an expression on his face that mixed apathy and annoyance. He turned his sight to his left, facing at one of his lackeys, and without uttering a single word, he nodded upwards. For the other guy, that was plenty enough to confidently take his revolver out of its holster, shooting at one of the random customers, who while was nervous about the visitors, did not expect the sudden attack. The shot went right into his stomach, causing the seemingly innocent man to scream in pain as he fell over on the floor. At that very moment, a few people tried to run away from the place, but froze in place as Bill released two gunshots at the ceiling.

"EMPTY YOUR POCKETS, MY FRIENDS, OR ELSE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU IS FUCKING DEAD!"

From one of the tables, a single person stood up from his chair, raising both arms high up in the air as a sign of surrender, one of them holding a small bottle of local moonshine.

"Alright, alright, I got it, sir, we'll cooperate" said the man, the majority of his figure hidden under a cream-colored cloak, presumably to protect him from the aggressive sunrays while on the road. He walked towards the group in a calmly matter as he chugged on his beverage.

"Got a little under a hundred, I hope that's okay with you" said the cloaked man as he rummaged through one of his concealed rear pockets, taking out an old, worn out wallet, one of the raiders quickly snatched it out of his hand, grinning as he checked the bills inside of it.

"Say, you guys are Mad Dogs, right? Heard you guys are the meanest motherfuckers of the whole area"

"Pff, fuck yeah we are" said the raider with the tribal tattoos. Bill, while slightly confused, was also quite entertained by the cloaked man's odd behavior. "Sounds like we have a bit of fanboy over here, and with a screw loose to boot!" The large man let out a rough, dry laugh.

"Well, I just think that, if I'm to get robbed, it better be by the coolest folks around, y'know? Better than getting shanked by a starving douche down the road" He let out a weird cackle, like the one a weird uncle would let out after casually making a racist joke, leaving the rest of the family at the table silently uncomfortable.

"Ya sure are a funny one, a'right? What if after we're done here, you come with us? Can let ya visit our place as our lil' friend" This was a golden opportunity, if they were able to drag someone to their hideout, it'd be a breeze to harvest the intact organs of the crazy idiot.

"Holy shit, really? I'd love that! lemme toast for that!" he raised his bottle of moonshine high up, before putting it against his lips once again. Bill reached the conclusion the man was just extremely drunk, he grinned in satisfaction at the unexpected bonus the came across. The people around the bar were overcome by a mixture of uncertainty and fear. A few of them were carried knives or even machetes, one even had a handgun of his own, but they knew if they were to oppose the five heavily armed raiders, most were guaranteed to die. Some even planned to attempt for an escape again, as they seemed distracted with the strange drunkard, but still, they were frozen in place by the idea of dying on the attempt.

In just a matter of seconds, however, the story would change entirely. With great sleight of hand, the man moved his free hand inside of his cloack, pulling out a short sawed-off shotgun, which had definitely seen better days, and shoved it right into the nearest, unsuspecting raider, who let out a gasp muffled by the mouthful of steel. Without even stopping from downing his drink, the cloaked man pulled the trigger. A loud bang echoed throughout the establishment as a spray of blood, bones and grey matter splattered against the upper end of the walls behind the counted. The body of the raider, who now lacked a considerable chunk of his head, fell on the ground lifelessly.

As the raiders were about to react, the cloaked man decided to be quicker. He threw his nearly-empty bottle of liquour at Bill's face, shattering on impact and causing the man to scream in agony, a small shard of glass caught beneath his eyelid. "MOTHERFU-" The female raider's words were cut short, as the cloaked man dropped his now-emptied shotgun and lunged towards her, his open hand now enveloping and pushing her face, following through as he slammed the back of her head on the floor with inhuman force, her skull cracked violently on impact, ending her life in an instant as blood started to slowly pool. The movement lowered the man's hood, revealing a head of ash-brown hair, and most notably, when he turned around to look at the remaining raiders, a face with olive-green skin.

"Mutant!" shouted the raider with the revolver, assuming position and firing his second shot at the green-skinned man. As he did, the other raider pulled out a mean-looking blade, still stained with the dried blood of some previous victim (Raiders need to learn about proper blade maintenance). Bill was still busy for the moment, writhing in pain with his hands covering his bleeding eye.

"Fuck!" yelped the man as the 9mm round hit his torso, breaking his skin and tearing a little bit of muscle, but barely doing any real damage at all thanks to his body's unnatural toughness. He scoffed in irritation as he brushed off the sting of the shot and ran up to the raider pair, twisting his body to the side avoiding a predictable following shot. As he got into close enough distance, he delivered a mean haymaker to the gunman's face, rotating his shoulders and core to properly have his whole body add to the strike. The guy fell to the floor less than a second after the fist connected with the side of his face, if his neck didn't break from the violent twisting, he was at the very least knocked out cold.

The blade-wielding raider was next, going in with a diagonal downwards chop. The green man was quick enough to intercept the attack, swinging his left arm upwards on a bias, hitting the back of the weapon-holding hand with his palm. The raider gasped in pain as his hand was shoved away, unwillingly releasing the blade from his grasp. The man followed up the disarming by grabbing the raider by the head, dragging him towards the counter, the ruffian released muffled screams as he attempted to overpower the grabbing arm with his own to no avail. Over there, the man reached for a steak knife laying next to an unfinished meal (the customer now far from the area the fight was taking place in), and jammed it into the bandit's throat, wiggling it around to make sure the carotid had no chances of remaining in one piece. The raider struggled for a few more seconds, his strength being sapped away from his body as blood poured down his neck.

Regaining the tiniest bit of composure, Bill stared at the green man, growling in a mixture of pain and rage. Before now staring in shock at his now dead comrades.

"GHAAAA, YOU MUTANT SHIT! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"Well, first off, a bit rude of you to say that, I'm a Half-Goliath...And you should've thought twice before trying to look for trouble" His face, while covered in raider blood, showed little in the way of distress, he was relaxed and cheerful, the tone in his voice was even upbeat, causing an uncanny disonnance. "Now, stay still so I can get rid of you, okay?"

Being several feet away, the green man lunged forward once again. Bill, on his end, reached for his holstered Colt Peacemaker, his fingers wrapped tightly around the gun's handle, hopping to be quick enough to shoot the abomination before he got close enough, the two men had settled on their moves.

*BANG*

"SHI-"

*BANG* *BANG*

Bill fell on the ground, bleeding from all three of the newborn bullet holes in his torso, now interchanging between growning in agony and painfully gasping for air. Confused, the green man stopped on his tracks, having no idea how did that happen. Then, from the corner of his eye he spotted a single individual. It was the one man in the entire building other than the combatants that possessed a firearm of his own, his hands trembled as he held his gun up, pretty much hyperventilating while at it.

"Hey, nice shooting, dude!" Said the green man in a cheerful way, giving the guy a casual thumbs up. He approached the fatally wounded head of the small group, cloudy eyes staring back with what little strength he had left. The man returned the expression with a smile, before brutally stomping on Bill's neck, breaking it under the pressure.

The small crowd stared in awe at the event, a general mixture of confusion, fear but also relief could be felt in the air. The man approached one of the raiders, rummaging trough their clothes. "Aha!" he let out as he found his stolen wallet, as well as a bit of extra cash. He repeated this same process with the rest of the corpses, pillaging a decent amount of money from all five in total. "Hey, Terry!" He called, and a scrawny guy with a black mullet peeked out from the bathroom door.

"D-Dustin!" Said Terry, with a tone of great relief in his voice.

"I got lucky here, so you're getting a bonus for the lift"

"O-Oh, really? Sweet!" Terry walked out of the bathroom, carefully watching his steps as to not get into contact with any of the corpses. "Can we leave now, though? I'd rather just get us moving again".

"Oh, sure, just gimme a minute". Dustin walked over to the counter, waving at the petrified Pitt, who was closest to the fight, and naturally was the most scared by it. But as he saw the Half-Goliath gesture at him in a seemingly friendly manner, he approached.

"So...I hope you don't mind if I leave the cleanup to you guys, right? Y'all can get the rest of what's left from those asshole, too, I don't mind" Pitt simply nodded, still a bit disturbed by the whole ordeal. Dustin was about to head to the exit, but leaned over the counter once again, hand reaching for his pocket, pulling out with his fingers now holding a twenty dollar bill, which he slid on the wooden surface.

"Oh and, get the champ over there the best drink and meal you have, alright? Thanks" He pointed towards the man who had shot down Bill. Now he was down with his business, he skipped over to Terry, the pair chatting nonchalantly as they opened the front door.

"Weed need to take care of that bullet."

"Oh, that?" Dustin pulled up his cloak, a small bit of lead stuck in his side, a tiny amount of blood dripping from the wound. "That's just a scratch."

"Yeah yeah, cry me a river once it gets infected."

"Oh wow, trader, great driver and also an expert on medicine? You're full of surprises!"

"Oh fuck off, will ya?" Despite the harsh words, his tone was clearly light-hearted.

The pair hopped into Terry's truck, the boxes on the back tied with rope as the back door was broken, and the seats on the front smelling like rat's piss, truly a luxurious vehicle. With a turn of his key, the truck's engine turned on, and in a moment's notice, they were now back on the road. It would take two more days for them to reach their destination: New Southport.

-The Present-
​

After getting a good night of sleep, eating a shitty breakfast (the good kind) and having finally said his goodbyes with Terry, Dustin now headed towards the congregation of people gathering around the MPs. The duo arrived to the city last night, Terry had to deliver some packaging from Delco and the nosey mercenary took the opportunity to join in on the roadtrip, as he had his own business in the city as well. Dustin had heard just around a week ago that some Union affiliates were planning to gather a group of useful volunteers, and that supposedly the pay was generous. The Half-Goliath thought it was a good time to finally return to these lands. He wasn't exactly low on cash, but work was something that you always had to seek, and this felt like a great chance. As he approached, he heard the others present themselves.

"Oh, is that how we're doing introductions? Oh fuck...Uhhh" He looked up towards the officers "Hired gun, guard...professional ass-kicker" He smugged, proud of his clever self-given title.

 

[Sistros]

CALLUM CRANE​

The north corridor was dimly lit with a stale, fetid odor that burned the nose and caused the stomach to churn uneasily. It was the same abhorrent stench that seemed to permeate the entire prison complex, from the main cell block to the dining hall, the infirmary, and back again. Even after fifteen years, it had a tendency to smack you in the face and overwhelm your senses whenever you entered a new area of the compound. The northside was always significantly worse—or maybe that was simply a trick of the mind.

Nevertheless, Callum Crane recognized that the intensity would soon abate, as it always did, once his body acclimatized to his current surroundings. It would become irrelevant; a mere inconvenience compared to the overarching circumstances. He had more pressing matters on the agenda today—namely, his freedom. In that sense, his lawyer had orchestrated a wonderful miracle. That’s why he now stood in this dark hallway with its unpleasant ambiance. It served as a holding area while he awaited his release.

But of course, a man of his reputation was never truly free. There were certain stipulations, propagated by the earthly forces of this sinful realm, that did not bode well for his continued welfare. He recognized that; accepted that. And yet, it was an opportunity to shed his old skin and gain new awareness. To become reborn and achieve spiritual transcendence.

At least, that’s what his followers wanted to hear. As long as it granted him amnesty, he would happily oblige them.

That notion brought a wry grin to his lips, and for a moment, Crane was able to detach himself from his environment. He no longer stood at the behest of his escort—two armed guards who flanked him on either side—nor did he feel as if the handcuffs and arm restraints were sufficient to contain him. He felt empowered, prompting him to straighten his posture and incline his chin with poise.

The guard on the left, a stout man with a pointed nose and dark, penetrating eyes, noticed the change in his demeanor and sneered. "No standards," he uttered under his breath, the disgust evident in his tone. "None at all. I don’t know what they were thinking to pardon a bastard like you."

His partner scoffed and shook his head, seemingly in agreement. "It’s a fucking travesty, that’s what it is, especially for someone who earned the death penalty ten times over. Who sacrifices an innocent child in the name of God—or hell, I don’t even want to know the reason. It’s fucking disgusting. If it were up to me, I’d bludgeon his brains in right now."

Crane angled his head but otherwise kept his expression carefully guarded. He would not give these two gentlemen any satisfaction for touting their apparent blasphemy. They did not fully understand the situation; they were ignorant… lost.

"I don’t denounce you for your resentment," he replied mildly, his gaze focused straight ahead. "It’s not wrong to harbor such emotions. In fact, it’s quite normal to feel… to feel anger toward sin and injustice… but, but…" he fluttered his wrist slightly, the gesture impeded by the cuffs, "it’s not our job to judge the other person in sin."

The left guard sobered, lifting his brow incredulously. "What the hell are you on about now?"

"Ignore him, Burke, he’s just spouting more of his divine bullshit." The burly man issued a derisive laugh. "Don’t you know we have a bonafide prophet in our midst?! He’s a fucking genius! If we’re not careful, he’ll thump us with his Bible."

Inhaling deeply, Crane turned to confront the vulgar guard, quoting scripture with an unnatural calm. In this instance, he settled for Luke 6:37. "'Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.'"

"Forgive?" This time it was Burke who allowed himself to chuckle. "I don’t think so, pal. You’re a convicted murderer; a child was among your victims. No one is forgiving you for that."

For the first time during their exchange, Callum’s demeanor wavered as a shadow seemed to pass over his countenance. His anger flared briefly, though he was able to contain it by clenching his jaw muscles several times. "I’m sorry, no," he uttered tersely, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "I have been forgiven. My current circumstances are a testament to that. A substantial number of people have afforded me their forgiveness. I can feel that in my heart. It’s the reason I’m here."

Burke buckled down and adopted a casual stance, adjusting the rifle in his grip. "Is that so?"

"Forgiveness… it’s like… a tide or storm," Crane continued in an almost wistful tone. "It clears the air… acts like a cure and absolves us of our sins. I’m very fortunate to have found such gratitude. I feel very—I feel very blessed."

"Blessed, huh?"

The two guards exchanged glances and smiled.

"You certainly are."

Burke’s partner brought his rifle around and cracked the stock across the back of Callum’s head. A surge of intense pain accompanied the initial blow, followed by a sea of stars that quickly spread to consume his vision.

He staggered once, his mouth working wordlessly, before pitching forward and sinking into oblivion.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

More footsteps echoed in the halls of the prison, bringing Morgan’s attention to the bars of her cell as the Sarge approached with Corporal Cook and four additional soldiers. The Goliath was an intimidating sight, and the small clipboard he was reading from was completely out of place with his proportions as he read the raider’s file. In comparison to the picture given there, the Sarge took a look at Morgan and scoffed: “Man, you are one raggedy ass lookin’ bitch.” The Sarge commented, “Listen up. You’ve been chosen for a mission. You aren’t getting the deets now, so don’t ask.”

The goliath waved a finger to the cell opposite of her, “Them too.” He said, causing the soldiers to open the cell and escorting the mercs out in their cuffs. As they were led out, they were followed by two other soldiers dragging an unconscious man that she couldn’t recognize. But before they moved on, the Sarge barked at them to halt. “The fuck did you do, knock his ass out?” he growled in annoyance, taking a look at Callum as he remained limp.

“He killed kids Sarge-“ one of the men spoke, trying to justify his actions, but was quickly shut up by a glare from the Goliath. “You think I don’t fuckin’ KNOW that? But what good is he if he ain’t able to walk? He’ll die out there if not here.” The Sarge then said, chastising the two soldiers. “Now GIT! BEFORE I HAVE YOUR ASSES CLEANING THE TOILETS WITH TOOTHBRUSHES!”

This got the two soldiers to scramble off with Callum in tow, his feet audibly dragging across the floor as he was hoisted off towards where he was needed. The Sarge then motioned a hand to Morgan’s cell, having it opened and her led out. The iron swung upon with unpolished creaks as the Sarge waved a hand: “Step out.”

• Interacting: Morgan ( Infab )
• Mentioned: Callum ( Sistros )

​

As volunteers stepped forth towards the MPs, they each went about engaging with them. One of the younger MPs gave an odd look towards Runt, clearly being judgemental about his ragged and dirty appearance, not to mention how obstructed his face was. But before he could say anything, his superior came over was gave a tap to the man’s helmet as a ‘knock it off’ type gesture. He turned to Runt and sighed: “Alright son, you can read I hope?” he asked gently, which brought a nod from the young man.

"I'm a mechanic, and a driver." Runt announced from under his goggles and bandana.

“Alright well, answer the questionnaire.” the older MP then spoke, handing Runt a piece of paper with a pen, “Fill out age, birthplace, loyalty to America, yada yada… then hand it over to me. And that goes for the rest of you as well!” He waved the papers about as he then walked over to distribute to the others who had approached.

"Where through,"

When Cris Topher spoke, the young MP snapped in annoyance: “How the fuck do you not know where Mexico is? You’re a Mistfolk!” he spoke, but it quickly brought the officer to shake his head. “He probably means where in Mexico.” He said, which brought out an embarrassed ‘oh’ from the younger subordinate. “You are going to the city of Tampico. There’s a deadly plague outbreak there right now, and they need supplies from the Union.”

"Bounty hunter, tracker, caravan guard, enforcer and scout."

On Slade’s approach, some of the other MPs nearby guffawed at the horseman and pointed at him: “Holy fuck, since when did Zombies talk?” But he was recognized by the senior MP among them and nodded: “You’re the bounty hunter Robert hired a few days back, right? Saw you drag that bastard J.J. in – good work. You’re welcome aboard.”

"Oh, is that how we're doing introductions? Oh fuck...Uhhh" He looked up towards the officers "Hired gun, guard...professional ass-kicker" He smugged, proud of his clever self-given title.

When Dustin made himself known, the senior MP gave a confused look to him but quickly shoved his thoughts aside as he gave a nod to the half-Goliath. Handing the same sheet he had handed over to Runt and Cris, he also handed a pen to go along with. “Just fill this out and hand it back when you’re done.” One of the MPs near the entrance to the town whispered to his comrade: “Holy shit, it's one of them… half-Goliath, half-Human. Who do you think is the mom?” His compatriot gave a look of derision to his fellow and slapped his helmet, “Idiot! Who in their right mind would bang a female Goliath? Have you SEEN how big they are?”

• Interacting: Runt ( joshuadim ) Cris ( Azurian Dream ) Slade ( Breadman ) Dustin ( Roda the Red )

 

[Infab]

Morgan Carter​

“Man, you are one raggedy ass lookin’ bitch.”

Morgan chuckled. "I've looked worse, trust me." she responded, standing up from the cot she had been sitting on. "Should've seen me when I first lost my eye." She motioned a thumb towards the blackened leather eye-patch over her left eye.

As she shifted about, stepping towards the cell door, the goliath spoke again.

“Listen up. You’ve been chosen for a mission. You aren’t getting the deets now, so don’t ask.”

"Yeah yeah, I know the drill. Same shit in LA." she said in response. "I'll play courier or assassin. Only things I wanna know is if I'm getting my shit back first, and if I'm getting paid for it or not."

She then glanced past the goliath, when he pointed to the other cell across from her's. The one with the weirdly dressed mistfolk guy inside. Wait, what was she thinking? They all dressed weird. He seemed to be coming too, so she'd apparently have a partner in this.

"Never worked with a misty before." she muttered, "Hope he can keep up. I'm not dragging his wheezing ass around."

Her attention was soon drawn to two other guards dragging a man clad in white, who seemed to be unconscious. And from the sound of things, they had been the ones to turn out his lights. Morgan chuckled again, a smirk appearing on her face afterwards as she shifted her attention back to the goliath outside her cell. These guys are a lot more sensitive than those out west.

As the door slid open, the metal grinding and creaking loudly before clacking as it hit its stopping point, Morgan stepped out and stood with her arms outstretched. Her wrists were pressed together. "Gonna slap me irons on, boss man?" she said, giving the goliath a cheeky grin.

 

[joshuadim]

R U N T​

Runt paid no mind to the look given to him by the younger MP, as he was used to being an outcast by this point. He never fit in anywhere he went, and so it never felt as though he was supposed to be offended. Using the pen given, he scribbled down his *real* name on the paper, as well as his age. As for birthplace... he hesitated for a moment. Could he really call it home if he was no longer welcome there? His ties had been severed in practically every way, but the emotional attachment remained. He opted to keep it blank, and when he got to the question about loyalty to America he also kept it blank as he handed the paper back to the senior MP.

The man took it with a soft smile and reviewed it, his brow furrowing upon reading the blanks. He looked up and gave Runt a strange look: "You're missing your birthplace son."

Runt sighed and looked off towards the distant fields. "...I don't remember it."

A white lie. And one that the man didn't bother to contest further on as he looked to the other blank on the form and frowned. "You're also missing the uh..."

"I can't answer it. I never lived in America. So how can I be loyal?"

The older MP was quiet for a moment before shrugging: "Fair enough." he grumbled as he took a pen of his own and filled both out as 'N/A'. With that out of the way, the form was complete and Runt was now put into the pool of volunteers as the young man crossed his arms and looked about. Slade's appearance when he approached caught Runt off guard as he had never seen *that* before. Or at least, to that extent. The man looked like a charred and rotting corpse, but completely lucid and vigorous as if nothing happened. There was also the remarks made by other MPs about Slade's appearance which was bound to cause some ire. And so, Runt crossed his arms and watched to see what would come of that.

---

K A Z​

When the RV came to a halt, KAZ was curious as to what was going on outside as it tilted its head towards the window. From this vantage point further back in the RV itself, it could only see parts of the road jam that had been created by the MPs and thus the origin itself was unknown. The MP shouting through the megaphone provided more data, which KAZ processed as its ocular matrices shifted. "Query: Why hire random, unqualified strangers for a job by a state entity?" KAZ then asked to everyone in the RV, "Seems counter to logic. More prone to failure. Too many failure points."

Yanaye then sparked a part of KAZ she was working on, letting out some light which caused the automaton to jolt slightly. "Warning, critical system failure. Shutting down." it then said, causing Yanaye to panic for a moment as she scrambled to find out what she did wrong. Realizing its mistake however, it quickly backtracked: "Apologies, it was a poorly timed joke it seems."

 

[dikdik]

An Unknown Number of Days Before. Near-white curls unkempt on the man's head bounced about as he danced, emotionless, in the middle of the floor- The remainder of the dancing and festivities having fizzled out a bit before. His eyes plainly reflected the flickering, dull lights in all of their flitting, fleeting glory, hardly distorting the deep shade in the bar with their own pale color. He found himself borderline motionless, a translucent plastic cup sloshing the last of its unknown lukewarm liquid on his knuckles before they found themselves dropping the vessel upon the uneven floor of the bar. Shattering, Aitan found himself staring at it for a moment before meandering shapelessly outside the darkening building. His voice grumbled, a little raspy, when he asked the gentlemen floundering with his few belongings in the alley just outside the esteemed establishment if he could bum a ciga-butt for the evening. Somehow, he’d managed to drop his pack somewhere between the bar stool and the Edge of Darkness that became the doorway. Never again. All in exchange for a day old biscuit he found crumpled in his loose tunic's pocket. Aitan made it halfway back to his humble dwelling, the attic above the neighborhood's bakery, before he remembered what he'd done. And the cigarette slipped out of his weak, bloody-knuckled hand into a puddle of sewage and wastewater across the street from his door before he cared.

Aitan awoke with a start, nestled deep into the bowels of the down-filled quilts with a seething headache threatening to break into nausea. He inhaled swiftly the notes of baking breads and pastries below his loft, sinking into that nauseated feeling. He threw the blankets off his heavy body and hesitated briefly before sitting up all the way, confirming his suspicions of having been out too late with no recollection of where he had been. Too often, this had been happening recently. Once more confirmed when he noticed the throbbing in his fists upon running his hands through his tangled, greasy hair. A hell of a bath was certainly in order, but something in him was convinced scrubbing his fists in the sink in his tiny room was enough for now.

Tan sighed deeply, attempting to salvage memories of his happenings the night, or several nights, before. Most concerning was the blood, he seemed to be noticing for the first time, flaking off the skin of his forearms and staining the gut of his linen shirt. In a slight panic, he hopped out of the bed, landing with his bare feet on the rough, unfinished wood floor of the loft, and threw his shirt off, wondering what blood could be his. Turned out, none. What had he been up to these last few days?

Aitan dug through a pile of mostly-loosely-laundered clothing and pulled out a gray, white maybe, shirt, no buttons, but a string at the top, which he left untied as he slid it over his head. His trousers seemed unstained and acceptable enough and with not a thought in his head, he climbed a ladder into a tiny closet area, with bags of flour stacked to his waist around the square room. The thin and squeaky door separated him from the ovens in the bakery, though their heat was evident through the cracking wood with no handle. He pressed it open, the light of the morning, or afternoon, and the fires and the candles becoming abhorrent. The chief baker, wearing a flour laden smock covering the rest of his thin linen outfit, rested his eyes upon Tan’s visage without a tinge of emotion, nodding his head before speeding back to kneading. Aitan left him without a word, slipping out the door at the back of the kitchen that lead into a damp alley. He landed in a puddle of gods-know-what before he realized he still wasn't wearing shoes. Too late now. He'd have to wash his feet before putting them on and that would take up time Aitan did not have on this morning. As this morning was the morning he'd step into the world freed from his Underworld wrought with death and trial.

Aitan remembered whose blood he'd forgotten to wash off his fists.

Fourteen days after suffering unimaginable grief and he'd finally murdered his assassin.

This Morning? What morning? Aitan lit up a cigarette with his black and blue lighter, sliding it into the back right pocket of his trousers after shielding it from the breeze that threatened to steal the last bit of its life away.

“Wish you’d fuckin’ steal me away, you fuckin’ dickhead.” Aitan found himself mumbling through the unfiltered end of his smoke at the wind that could never hear his complaints or misery.

His cigarette stuck loosely to the moisture on the inside of his bottom lip, drying out a tiny section as he threw his backpack over his right shoulder, checking each pocket and side for the appropriate bumps indicating he had all of his items. With one swift and deep inhale of the chem-littered tobacco stuffed into his unbleached rolling paper, his vision swelled with red-tinged edges, reminding him what drugs he’d let slip into the tincture he’d left on the desk of his tiny attic.

“I knew I was fucking forgetting something.” Aitan fumed at himself for forgetting, but he turned around anyways, not paying one bit of attention, care, or whatever the hell to the black plume of smoke raging towards the sky, leaving the footprint and frame of the bakery a smoldering mess, complete with the melting, burning bodies of those he’d left behind.

Slicking his soot-stained fingers through his hair and slipping one last inhale of the ciga-butt before it threatened to burn his drying lips, Aitan padded his way through town, towards the gates, towards the Out. He spat the butt out of his mouth with a mild vehemence that it had vanished so quickly as he noticed the clog at the gates. And along with the clog, came the slogging MP announcement over a staticky megaphone.

But Aitan’s ears perked at that. He was searching for a way out of this hell hole anyways. Why not?

“Why not?” Aitan blurbed as he approached. There was already a small crowd gathering around the MPs with the megaphone. Aitan scrubbed his hands on the shirt he was wearing under his heavy jacket, buttoning it, hoping no one had noticed. He floated around the group, finding an MP to approach about the job they had presented a few minutes ago.

 

[Breadman]

Holy fuck, since when did Zombies talk?

"What's your name, son?" Slade turned his head towards that MP

"It's-"

"I don't care." The ghoul didn't skip a beat "Bubbah, I'm not a zombie. You would know that if your steady diet of pre-war Crayola tins included orange colors for the carrot substitutes as you desperately need the vitamins for your eyes not only to hit a stationary barn, but also to establish visual contact with someone who talks to you. I know its hard to do that and talk seeing as your current jaw is open and in danger of leaking spit all over your CO's shoes, so let me be clear in the best possible way I can. If I were a zombie, I wouldn't be on this horse. Instead I'd be trying to crack open that thick bunker-like skull of yours to gobble up the teeny-tiny morsel of brain safely tucked behind those walls. Its currently gasping for air after it gained a brand new wrinkle for creating a very unique and original joke, so I'd give it a rest for the remainder of the day. Can you do that, Bubbah? Can you do your brain that favor and save us all the trouble of hearing you speak?"

Slade expected some sort of retort be it verbal or physical, but the senior MP beat the boy to it.

You’re the bounty hunter Robert hired a few days back, right? Saw you drag that bastard J.J. in – good work. You’re welcome aboard.

"Oh I don't have to fill any paperwork?" A bit surprising, but a welcome change. They probably already had all they needed on him in a file somewhere. "Mighty fine news to hear, sir." The cowboy shook the officer's hand. "Where do you need me?"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"I don't care. Bubbah, I'm not a zombie. You would know that if your steady diet of pre-war Crayola tins included orange colors for the carrot substitutes as you desperately need the vitamins for your eyes not only to hit a stationary barn, but also to establish visual contact with someone who talks to you. I know its hard to do that and talk seeing as your current jaw is open and in danger of leaking spit all over your CO's shoes, so let me be clear in the best possible way I can. If I were a zombie, I wouldn't be on this horse. Instead I'd be trying to crack open that thick bunker-like skull of yours to gobble up the teeny-tiny morsel of brain safely tucked behind those walls. Its currently gasping for air after it gained a brand new wrinkle for creating a very unique and original joke, so I'd give it a rest for the remainder of the day. Can you do that, Bubbah? Can you do your brain that favor and save us all the trouble of hearing you speak?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" said the MP officer as he looked at Slade in disbelief. "I think I need to arrest you sir, I can't let you murder an officer like that!" he said jokingly and with a big smile plastered across his face. The others nearby couldn't help but laugh at "Bubbah" as he tried and failed to regain his composure after such a serious burn. "As for your question mister, we've been told that a Fed will fetch you and the other volunteers. They'll hand you the deets of the mission." he then shrugged, "If I had more to give, I would. But really, that's all I know right now."

As soon as he finishing talking, the MPs attention quickly drew back towards the town as the shrill sirens of the fire department went into full effect. He frowned as he watched smoke rise off in the distance, before trailing his gaze towards the city gates and onto Aitan, who stepped forward from the entry. The face to him was familiar, but the name eluded him as he shrugged: “Hrm, seventh fire in the town so far… nuts. Damn nuts.” He muttered before waving the man over.

“You here to sign up? Then take this paper here,” the MP then spoke, handing Aitan the questionnaire and a pen, “And hand it back when you’re finished. I only have so many pens on me so do be quick about it, yeah?”

• Interacting: Slade ( Breadman ) Aitan ( dikdik )
• Nearby: Dustin ( Roda the Red ) Cris Topher ( Azurian Dream ) Runt ( joshuadim )

​

"Warning, critical system failure. Shutting down." "Apologies, it was a poorly timed joke it seems."

Yanaye looked at KAZ for a moment with a glare, thinking about delivering some choice words for making her scramble in a panic so suddenly, but her temperament melted away quickly as she instead shook her head and couldn’t help but smile. The automaton’s optical matrices shifted again as it observed her mood, taking in data to make sure whether or not she was offended or amused. Human intricacies were, after all, not its strong suit.

“Well, jokes are all about timing.” Yanaye commented as she went back to work with a soldering unit, putting back a loose transistor into place as KAZ remained still. She couldn’t help but feel it was learning… like a child almost. There definitely was more than meets the eye with this unit as she managed to put the loose piece back in its place with a quick application of heat.

"Query: Why hire random, unqualified strangers for a job by a state entity? Seems counter to logic. More prone to failure. Too many failure points."

In response to KAZ’s query, Jeb let out a dry laugh: “Ya see, metal boy, these yankee bastards tend to send the worst they can offer to their allies and call it a day.”

“Jeb…” Priest says, trying to calm Jeb down but the old mechanic was having none of it.

“You know damn well I’m right, Priest! They left us Dixies to our fates when the Tejanos and the Reclaimers showed up. The penal battalions bailed the moment they heard the hooves, tucking tail and running into the wilds to do god knows what now. And now they will do the same to the Mexicans, just you watch! They’ll send damn mercs out for blood-”

“I’ve got no love for either the Union or the Commonwealth, don’t get me wrong, but I’d lower your tone.” Priest cut in finally, lowering his voice to imply a bit of restraint. “We’re both Dixie veterans, and I was a Congaree rifleman… if they find out, things’ll get messy.”

Jeb grumbled under his breath before letting out a defeated sigh as he gave a soft slap to the steering wheel. However, he had his own questions: “Why do you want us to join them, Priest?” the old man asked, “We’re not the types to transport.”

Priest let out a smile as he closed KAZ’s folder. “I think it will lead us somewhere special… besides, we could use the cash. Right?” Priest then spoke with a smirk, but Jeb still wasn’t entirely convinced as he let out another grumble.

• Interacting: KAZ ( joshuadim )

​

The Sarge rolled his eyes to Morgan as she made her comments and shook his head. “Man, why do you gotta make everything weird, you nasty ass hoe.” He scoffed out with annoyance, before pulling out handcuffs and slapping them onto her wrists. Morgan was quickly pushed into line behind the other mercenaries to fall in to their ‘assignment’. Whatever that entailed, it certainly wasn’t going to be pleasant considering the company she was going to keep here.

Then there was the matter of the Mistfolk that she noticed earlier, who was stopped by some other troops on approach. The Sarge stepped up in annoyance to this development: “Hey, what’s the meaning of this? We’ve got strict orders to take this one in.”

“There’s been a change of plans Gunny.” One of them spoke, clearly higher ranking than the Sarge himself in the way he composed himself without fear to the Goliath. “He goes back in the pit. The Big Bitch says he poses too much of a natsec threat to be let anywhere near outside.”

Two troops took to the sides of this particular Mistfolk and grabbed his arms harshly to secure him in place, much to the Sarge’s dismay. He was taken aback for a moment and was left speechless by this sudden development, but recomposed himself in the aftermath quickly as he gritted his teeth. “What? She WANTED me to bring him in the first place! I swear, that woman’s been doing way too much BG-“

“Watch your tongue, Gunny. You know she’s got ears everywhere…” the officer then spoke, giving a quick glance behind the Sarge to set his point straight. “If she gets a whiff of that tongue, even I can’t protect you.”

• Interacting: Morgan ( Infab )
• Nearby: Callum (Awakening) ( Sistros )

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Boogey, Bonnie #91275C, and Fang #AFBEA1
Collab by AriAriAbabwa SavannahSmiles
​

Fang's dreams had never been pleasant, not for as long as he could remember having them. The faces of his family always haunted his sleep, their cold eyes staring down at him from their towering statures, their clawing, sharp fingers trying to drag him down into the water below him. He hisses and he spits and he claws but no matter how much he thrashes, he is always pulled down into the cold darkness.

His small, pale hand reaches towards the black sky, fingers seeking salvation. It comes in the form of a large hand extending down and wrapping around him. As he is pulled from the spidery hands gripping him, the sky lightens to a pale yellow, the faces of Bonnie and Boogey coming into view.

And Fang smiles, reaching out towards them.

…

She’d heard from a stranger that the dead end up in the skies. But why would they go someplace so filthy? Couldn’t they have chosen a better place? Why not that shack constructed of welded metal sheets? That was the comfiest place Bonnie remembered. Still, she reached upward, reaching for some unlikely chance that the clouds would take her, and she could meet her parents once again…

And her wish was granted.

The wind ran across her face; the yellow skies came nearer as her body lightened. A hand gripped her torso—she turned to see Boogey, holding and pushing her up and up. In his other hand, he pulled a familiar face up from below. She giggled at the sight of Fang.

Together, they flew into the clouds.

In the real world…

The Boogeyman trudged across the land, dragging his precious cargo with one arm. It creaked and screeched against the harder surfaces, cutting into the gurgled breaths escaping the tall Freak. But with each bump, he spat a frustrated growl, tilting the wagon ever so slightly to muffle the excess noise.

It was a stroke of luck they got by the gates with little trouble; Boogey’s unusually good behavior (for a Freak at least) paid off. Maybe he was getting better at this…? His gaze locked onto a notable group, and he twitched his body over in their direction.

They’d have heard the wagon’s scratching first, then Boogey’s entrenching footsteps. His free arm swung dangerously close to the ground as he walked. Soon, the Freak was upon them. He swung the wagon around as metal grinded against concrete, rocking the cans of food and other supplies—as well as the precious cargo.

Fang jolted awake as the surface he was laying on was rattled. He blinked, his disoriented gaze slowly scanning the space he was laying in. Light seeped through the blanket they had spread over the supplies around them to form a make-shift tent, illuminating the small form of Bonnie sleeping next to him. He lay still for several seconds, listening to her breathing, reassuring himself that she was okay and still here with him.

It took him several seconds to realize that the sled had stopped moving. Had they reached their destination? Moving slowly so as not to wake up his sister, Fang wiggled until he reached the opening to their tent and poked his head out. His slitted pupils blinked in the light, his small fingers reaching up to push his tousled white locks away from his eyes. His gaze darted around at the group that stood before him, reassured by Boogey's passive stance. His assumption they had reached where they were headed had been correct.

Giving the group a slightly distrustful glare, he ducked back underneath the blanket and scooted his way back over to Bonnie. "Bon-Bon, wake up. We're here." Fang murmured, gently shaking her shoulder to rouse the still-sleeping girl.

“Mm…” The girl turned away, mouth still ajar. “The clouds are so puffy…” Her eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for Bonnie to see they weren’t in the clouds, and she’d only been digging her face into the pillow. She frowned. The sled indeed stopped moving. Even though it was her suggestion to follow the request for work, she wished they had a little more time.

She sat up—colliding heads with Fang to make a solid ‘thonk.’

Bonnie bounced away, rubbing her forehead. “Ow!” She winced. “I didn’t know you put your head there…!”

Despite his fast reflexes, Fang was not able to avoid Bonnie’s forehead as it collided with his own. He hissed softly under his breath as he sat back onto his heels, fingers rubbing at the sore spot on his head from the impact.

“Sorry, I was trying to wake you up. We made it to the place for the job and by the looks of it, there’s quite a few people out there also here for the same thing.”

She yawned, already forgiving the older boy for the incident. “How many?” Though she asked that, Bonnie popped her head out of the tent before he could answer. She shook her face against the sudden light. First she saw Boogey. Then one, then two, then several people gathered. “We need to say hi…” she said, loud enough for her group to hear. With Boogey being a Freak, Bonnie learned quickly it was only up to her to prevent initial wariness.

The girl clambered out of the tent, then almost falling out of the sled as she stumbled over to Boogey. Arms against her chest, she looked between each person, fast enough that they only remained a blurred visage to the child. “U-Um…” She began in a raised, yet gentle tone. “I’m Bonnie… This is the Boogeyman, but we call him Boogey… Fang is inside the tent… We’re here for the mission…?”

Bonnie scurried behind Boogey’s legs, shielding her face, though her red shawl remained visible through the Freak’s limbs. Her hand went to one of her pockets—the gun she holstered, if any of them noticed.

Normally Fang preferred to proceed ahead of Bonnie, especially if it pertained to a group they were not familiar with but Bonnie was up and out of the tent before Fang could stop her. Grumbling to himself, he scooted towards the opening, hearing her soft voice introduce them to the group.

Maybe it was for the best that she introduced them, Fang wasn’t exactly known for being sociable and welcoming. Exiting the opening of the tent, he watched as Bonnie hid behind Boogey’s legs, most likely overwhelmed by so many people.

He padded over to her side, wrapping a comforting arm around her as he stared at the group with his pale, slitted eyes.

 

[BriiAngelic]

The path they followed was lined with blood… literally. He could only imagine what sick fuck left it.

His shotgun was strapped across his back as he held a white knuckle grasp on his machete. He brought a hand out to block Mari from moving further as he scouted ahead. The place seemed quiet enough to imply that no one was left but they’d been burned before and if one of them was going to stick their neck on the line might as well be the one with the enhanced strength and shorter lifespan.


His boots crunched over the few leaves left from the plants still surviving on this path. He brought his blade up and rounded the corner of the building ready to strike. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the one that left the gorey trail was most certainly dead as a doornail. He woulda gagged at the sight if it wasn’t one almost familiar by now. What was left were remnants of bodies from people who very clearly didn’t get a dignified death as they probably tore each other apart.


“Fucking Freaks. Eugh.”

He brought his arm up trying to block out the smell of the rot with the sleeves of his jacket. Even if it was a shitshow he still had to see if they had any supplies worth raiding. He jumped at the sound of the familiar footfalls.

“Ah! Mari, I told ya to fucking wait out there it ain't pretty in here.”


He could hear the irritation in his sister from the tapping of her feet. He knew she couldn’t stand the babying but fuck with this much gore it was more a matter of not wanting to smell the shit if it wound up staining her skirt.


“Cero, I can-”

“Yeah yeah. Big strong girl huh? Well lookouts are just as important to a-”

“Anything that passed through here is long dead and you know it.”


Well, it wasn’t like she was wrong he supposed. Still, he gave her a scathing glance before swinging his pack at her. She caught it just barely managing to noch the whip to her belt before it wound up in her hands.

“Fine you go raid supplies then while I get to check the goopy freakshow slushies for some usable gear.”


He knew he was being snappier than usual but after the week they’d had working to keep their timetable he could hardly feel bad for it. Didn’t help that his sis seemed to have the naivety of a child. What did pride matter if you died for it? He’d been sure their biggest enemy was going to be the dangers of other people but if Mari kept this up her biggest threat was going to be herself, which meant it was his job to knock that out of her.

“Gross Cero, really? Have fun and clean the hell up after.”


It took a while but they gathered up everything usable, used some water from a nearby stream to clean up, and got back to hitting the road. He brought up the rear always on the lookout for threats. He could tell his baby sis was being just as moody, tired maybe? Could be genuine irritation. He took a guess and figured it was probably a week or so now til he’d need to worry about her being even worse off… but his calculations could be off.

“Hey, are you bleeding alrea-”

“Fuck off, that’s none of your business.”


“One week, gotcha.”


He could hear her begin to mutter under her breath again. Controlling, Bastard, and Idiot making their regular appearances. He sped up and threw an arm around her shoulder with his other taking the chance to throw his own cowboy hat over her head pulling the brim down.


“Hey cheer up, we’re gonna be dealing with some hopefully decent folk. So you won’t gotta deal with just me. And if they aren’t we shoot em threw the eyes and still take the goods.”


----


"Who's up for some humanitarian work?"

He gave a snorting laugh at the the thought. A job was a job but he sure as fuck didn’t care about taking care of anyone but his own. Still, it was clear that Mari was eating that shit up as she slid through the gathering to get closer to the gate. He wouldha passed on the job but keeping her happy was worth it he supposed. He set a stride behind her muscling his way through with a thousand times less grace than his sister. He found her at the front giving an MP the third degree.

“Guess you can count the two of us in, as the Lady has spoken.”

With that, he snatched the papers from the MP for his own as well as Mari’s working on filling them both with as minimal information as needed. He didn’t need any of them being on their tail if they decided they needed to split suddenly. A lot of “Unknowns” suddenly filled the page with an “If the pay is good enough” filling out their loyalty to America.


He tossed the papers back to the nearest MP.

“Cero, Survivor. Good enough for you pretentious fucks?”


”CERO-”

”And this ball of sunshine’s Mari. We good?

​

 

[SavannahSmiles]

Artemis Hale

the Mistborn

interactions

interactions come here

mentions

interactions come here

Cities made her nervous.

All the hustle and bustle was a far cry from the quiet community she lived in with her brother; here everyone seemed to be in a rush and the constant noise that filled the streets gave her a headache. But she had someone depending on her back home and the funds to take care of him were not going to just fall into her lap.

Normally she might try her hand at finding a job in one of the smaller towns but there had been whispers on the road that the MP's in New Southport were paying a large reward for anyone that volunteered for a supply run. She generally preferred to work alone but a payout of this size was too tempting to resist.

And so there she stood along the road leading into the city, her gaze roving the check-point stationed at the entrance as she noticed a group of people gathering around some officers. The message blasted on the megaphone had her tightening the straps on her pack before heading over to join the group.

She waited quietly at the back as those gathered there began to introduce themselves in their own way, magenta eyes examining the people that she might possibly be working with; they looked competent enough she supposed.

As the officers began to distribute the papers to sign up for the job, Artemis slipped quietly through the group towards the front, her boots tapping silently against the packed earth. One slender hand reached out to accept a paper and writing utensil, her masked face tilting downward as her eyes scanned the document.

She filled in the information where she could before handing both the paper and pen back to the officer. "Hunter, tracker, scout." She said, listing her skills with a small tilt of her head.

coded by natasha.

 

[Infab]

Morgan Carter

- + - Six Months Ago - + -




​

Burbank, California

"Jesus fucking christ, Morgan! What the hell were you thinking?!"

The wounded raider chuckled, but pain wracked her body which forced her to stop rather quickly. She had been shot three times, once in the shoulder and left arm and once in the left side. She had been cut a few times, and bore several bruises from punches and kicks she had taken. And one of those fucks had managed to give her eye a good slice with his knife. She got him good, though. Bled out in seconds, when she hit that neck artery with her own knife. Was it worth the damage she had taken, though?

Hell yes, it was.

"I-I really wasn't." she muttered in response, a death grip on the chair she was sitting in. Blood was still pouring from her eye as well as the gunshot wounds, but those were being tended to. She just had to wait. Wait till she was patched up. Then, she could get the hell out of this place. Away from LA for good. "...How long is this g-going to take, Rayne?"

The raider with the lazy green mohawk, tending to her wounds with a large medical kit, grunted. "I'm working as fast as I can, Morg, but we have to make sure the wounds don't get infected. If they do, you'll be dead in no time." she soon said. "Now hold still. This is gonna hurt like hell."

"It already hurts like hell." muttered Morgan, rolling her remaining eye before shifting her gaze to Rayne's boss. Standing nearby with her arms folded, a look of worry plastered on her face. Faith Young was the leader of the Burbank Motorheads, a gang dedicated to keeping the many vehicles of the LA Raiders up and running as well as finding new rides to add to their arsenal. Faith was also one of the few genuine friends that Morgan had in California... besides Morgan's own gang.

Thoughts floated in the back of her mind. How were they? Were they alright? Were they angry at her? Disappointed? How hard was Cassandra taking things? She'd likely never know.

Faith soon spoke, her gaze shifting towards the floor of the grungy garage. "Just get her patched up, Rayne. I'll see to finding her a decent ride." she said, glancing to Rayne only once. She let her arms hang at her sides, slipping her thumbs into her jeans pockets as she turned about.

Before Faith could walk away, however, Morgan spoke again. "...You're just going to help me? J-Just like that?" she asked, a sliver of confusion in her voice. Faith and her gang were loyal to the Overboss and her cause. They always had been, since even before Faith became the gang's boss. "Why? They'll know you h-helped me escape."

"No, they won't." said Faith, pausing for a moment and looking back to her friend. "We'll bury all those used medical supplies. We'll say you stole the vehicle. We never saw you."

"It's going to take m-more than that, Faith." responded Morgan.

"If it does, then let me worry about it."

Morgan went silent, watching Faith as her friend suddenly smiled. "...We'll be fine, Morgan. Trust me."

- + - Now - + -

​

“Man, why do you gotta make everything weird, you nasty ass hoe.”​

"Because I like making you big motherfuckers uncomfortable. Its fun to watch." she said, still grinning as he put the cuffs on her wrists. And it wasn't long before she was pushed into line with the other mercs. Considering how these guys looked, this might be fun.

But then she noticed that the Mistfolk guy wasn't coming. And it was because someone a lot higher up the food chain than these Goliaths was intending to interrogate them a little more. Hate to be in his shoes. Torture's not fun unless you're the torturer. And even then, it gets really boring really quick.

All she could do was wait and watch. Listen in and see if she could pick up exactly what they'd be getting into. And hope she wouldn't be stuck with the guy in white. The man was a walking neon target, with those clothes of his, and he didn't look like he'd hold up well in a firefight.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

“U-Um… I’m Bonnie… This is the Boogeyman, but we call him Boogey… Fang is inside the tent… We’re here for the mission…?”

The commanding MP was taken aback at the arrival of Bonnie, a child the age of his young granddaughter, hiding behind the towering Mutant she referred to as Boogey. Upon noticing his intimidating but poorly bred nature, many of the MPs nearby placed hands on their holsters; Freaks were not welcomed in most Union towns, and often were driven out with violence or outright killed on sight. An alarming development that the commander quickly attempted to de-escalate as he put his hand on two nearby men’s shoulders.

“At east, soldiers.” He spoke while Fang wrapped a comforting arm around his adoptive sister. “…Freak or not, I assume that it… he’s their guardian.” He muttered. He stepped forward to the two kids and kneeled to get to their level, looking to see if they were mistreated in any way or in poor health. Much to his surprise, aside from old scars or general malnutrition common amongst Wastelanders, there were no flags that indicated the worst.

He stood back up, his gaze now fixated on Boogey as he remained quiet for a moment. “Corporal Dewey.”

“Yes sir?” one of the MPs quickly stepped up, his gaze also fixed on the mutant with far more apprehension.

“Bring a form for… uh… the Boogeyman.” The CO said, keeping his eyes fixed on the mutant’s. He was scanning his face to see if there was anything discernable about his mood in the moment. Dewey remained still for a moment as he looked at the mutant’s deadly tools before quickly scampering off back to the checkpoint to get more papers for him to sign.

"Hunter, tracker, scout."

A minute passed before he returned with his materials in tow. He was going to offer a paper, meekly, to Boogey, but another individual arrived at the now bustling checkpoint. A pink eyed, white haired woman with pale skin and a rebreather strapped to her face: another Mistfolk. It was rare to see them only wearing rebreathers instead of full on gasmasks. “Your skills are welcome, Mistborn.” The CO then spoke, giving her a nod before turning his attention back to Boogey.

Two more individuals passed by the vehicles now clogging the roadway, donning colorful clothes like from the Congaree, but it was obvious that it was an entirely foreign fashion.

“Guess you can count the two of us in, as the Lady has spoken. Cero, Survivor. Good enough for you pretentious fucks?”

”CERO-”

”And this ball of sunshine’s Mari. We good?

It was not rare for the Military Police to face insults and disdain from its own citizenry, in fact it was such a common occurrence that each MP took said insults depending on the city they lived in. In Norfolk, insulting an MP was a death sentence, while in New Richmond it was such a common occurrence that the MPs fired back with their own lip. In New Southport, most simply rolled their eyes when words were slogged their way… but to be insulted by a Wastelander? That was a unacceptable regardless of location.

The commanding officer glared at Lucero, his hand now resting on his holster and his men following suit. One even pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the Mexican, peering down the iron sights with lethal intent. These officers wore plain black military coveralls, some with service caps and pistols created before the Golden Age, and did not look intimidating. But then, from the checkpoint behind the CO, came four heavily armored men, carrying state of the art shotguns. One even had a plasma pistol in their holster as they approached, their armor audibly creaking and thudding as they moved.

“We got a problem, captain?”​

One of the armored men asked as he gripped his shotgun tighter at its base, while a finger caressed the barrel of the powerful weapon. “I don’t know… do we have a problem, son?” the CO asked Lucero as he gave an ice cold look towards the young man.

The rest of the people outside watched with bated breath, also seeing some MPs up top from a watch tower aim their guns at Lucero. It almost seemed overkill for a single man.

• Interacting: Bonnie and Boogey ( AriAriAbabwa ) Fang and Artemis ( SavannahSmiles ) Lucero and Mari ( BriiAngelic )
• Nearby: Runt ( joshuadim ) Dustin ( Roda the Red ) Slade ( Breadman ) Aitan ( dikdik ) Cris Topher ( Azurian Dream )

 

[joshuadim]

R U N T​

Runt watched from under his goggles and bandana with a stoic look towards the newer arrivals, taking stock as to who exactly he might end up working with. Most seemed rather capable, that Dustin fellow especially given his stature and all. However his small inkling of confidence towards the job went back into the dirt when he saw children walk up with some mutant freak monster thing. Runt visibly shifted where he stood as he scoffed. "Kids? No fucking shot." he muttered to himself at the very idea of having them along for the ride. At least the mutant 'Boogey' could serve as cannon fodder, but kids? Runt looked away towards the others, content to ignore them for now as if they didn't exist. He would rather not have to deal with that on his conscience for now as Lucero and Mari approached, with the former being rather hostile.

Runt knew well enough to keep his head down and out of trouble, but this dumbfuck was just ASKING to get shot as the MPs were now on edge. And not only that, they brought out some heavy artillery as well with those high-tech shotguns. Tensions were flaring and Runt visibly took a few steps back, trying to position himself behind a nearby car that had also been stopped. If something broke out, he'd scramble back to his bike and get the fuck out of dodge. He was not interested in shooting MPs, especially with the piece of shit that was his double-barrel. He could only wait in anticipation as his heart beat in his chest for any possibility.

---

K A Z​

KAZ listened to what Jeb had to say, keeping in mind the man's very visible biases in order to discern a truth from his words. Its routines processed and categorized Jeb's words and cross-referenced them to what it had learned about the Dixies, the Union, and so forth: both from human and non-human sources such as small databanks. From those, it came to a conclusion: "As valid as your experiences are, Jeb, do you not think your biases might cloud your judgement?" it asked, though not out of malicious intent but rather genuine curiosity. "Perhaps, there are good intentions here by the Union?"

But before an answer could be received, the situation outside changed to that of potential violence. Kaz could hear the commotion and so listened in with its audio receptacles to analyze the situation. "The potential for violence has grown to at least 73%." the automaton then announced as it look out the window to see the many new arrivals who had come to sign up, as well as the influx of MP forces at the gate. Its optical matrices shifted again before looking back towards Priest: "Perhaps, some diplomacy is needed."

Without waiting for a response, and against Yanaye's objections as it suddenly stood up, KAZ marched towards the RV door and exited. Its heavy metal clanged against the worn asphalt below as it readjusted to the new area and walked towards the MPs. "I bid that the Military Police units reconsider their stance," KAZ announced out of good intentions, practically towering over the humans nearby with its sheer height, "Force is not necessary here. You are not under attack. Only words were exchanged. Violence is not logical."

KAZ shifted its head as it looked towards the others before back to the commanding officer: "There are many people here. What happens if your men shoot someone else by accident? Loss of innocent life goes against Union law, does it not?"

It waited for a response from the baffled men.

 

[SavannahSmiles]

Fang

interactions

Bonnie and Boogey ( AriAriAbabwa )

mentions

His eyes narrowed as the officers seemed to grow nervous at the sight of Boogey, though thankfully the man in charge seemed to recognize that Boogey was not currently a threat and attempted to de-escalate the situation. As the man approached the children and knelt down near them, Fang unconsciously shuffled in front of Bonnie to block the mans view of her.

His head tilted back as he stared at the man without blinking as the man looked them over, most likely looking for signs they were being mistreated. Eventually the man appeared satisfied with their state of being and stood back up, ordering one of the other officers to get a paper for Boogey.

As the man offered the paper out to Boogey, Fang let out a small snort of amusement and skirted around the tall Freak to grab the paper before scurrying back behind him. In his time with them, Bonnie had been teaching Fang how to read but he still wasn't the best at it so he didn't hesitate to hand Bonnie the paper to fill out for them.

While she did that Fang kept his eyes on the group, tensing when armored officers showed up on the scene in response to some moron causing a commotion. "Bonnie, get back in the sled." Fang told her, wanting her to be somewhat protected should bullets start flying. Slowly, carefully so as to not present as a threat to the on edge officers, Fang inched his way around Boogey's legs until he stood in front of the Freak.

One slender hand rose up and settled on the Freak's arm; the last thing he wanted was for Boogey to perceive those drawn guns as a threat to them.

coded by natasha.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

​

“H-hey, wait!” Yanaye shouted to KAZ as it left the RV, which left her to scramble to get her gear. Its sudden departure came as a surprise, but also of great concern considering she was still busy getting the automaton’s kinks all worked out. “Damnit, damnit, damnit.” She muttered as she stowed away her repair tools without much care for organizing, haphazardly stuffing them into her bag before closing it and strapping it onto her back. She then grabbed her trusty katana, holding it as it remained stowed in its sheath while taking a pistol in the other hand. “That rustbucket better not get itself shot to pieces!” she said as she stepped out of the RV.

Priest didn’t share Yanaye’s annoyance, but was rather surprised as he witnessed KAZ take the initiative in such a diplomatic manner. He followed suit out of the RV, his surprise turning to a grin on his face as he watched KAZ speak to the MPs to try to de-escalate. A robot showed more restraint than most men, it was admirable to him. “Did you send me another lost sheep in the strangest of forms?” the leader of the Flock muttered to himself as he approached by KAZ’s side.

Jen however shared an entirely different mindset as she jumped up from her seat in the RV with a childlike giddiness as she picked up a flamethrower, alongside a barely kept together AK47, and whooped aloud in glee. “Haha! The fun’s getting’ started!” the ex-raider shouted with a wide grin, but was put down immediately by a slap to the back of her head. “Damnit girl, we ain’t tryin’ to get killed here.” Jeb said with annoyance as he picked up a shotgun himself before leading her out with supervision. “At least, I’m not.” The old man added with annoyance, unsure as to whether or not Jen was THAT crazy.

The two stayed further back, closer to the RV, but kept an eye on things as the situation progressed. Jeb was visibly tense, considering his own disdain for the Union as his nostrils flared at the sight of the MPs threatening to gun down people over a comment. Duke joined them on the ground on the opposite side of the RV with a heavy thud as his massive form contacted the ground. He crossed his arms as he observed with a snort.

On the front with the military police, their immediate CO only continued a stony gaze at Lucero that was complimented by the heavy armor that now stood behind him. People nearby could only watch with abated breath as KAZ spoke to try to rectify the situation. “Bubbah” drew his pistol at the automaton out of fear, given the automatons size and form factor being a sharp contrast to its demeanor and tone. KAZ’s eyes shifted in response to look at the MP, though without any visible emotion but rather analysis. Corporal Dewey however was the one to take KAZ’s word to heart as he leaned over to his CO: “Sir… with all due respect, this might be a bit too much.” He whispered to the older man, his gaze darting towards the kids for a moment before gulping. “There’s kids here…”

Near the back, a few of the regular MPs pointed towards Duke with concern: “Holy shit, that fucker’s HUGE.” He whispered to one of his comrades, “Is he here to help this asshole…? Or us?”

• Interacting: KAZ ( joshuadim ) Duke ( DG-117 ) Lucero and Marison ( BriiAngelic )
• Nearby: Runt ( joshuadim ) Dustin ( Roda the Red ) Slade ( Breadman ) Aitan (dikdik ) Cris Topher ( Azurian Dream ) Fang and Artemis (SavannahSmiles) Bonnie and Boogey ( AriAriAbabwa )

​

The Sarge gave a roll of his eyes towards the raider as he walked off in front to guide the prisoners forward. Morgan felt a slight shove to her back by one of the prison guards that beckoned her forward through the canyons of concrete and metal that comprised her place of internment. A final door swung open, and fresh air hit Morgan like a truck as she was guided out of the prison alongside the other prisoners that were selected. It had been a bit since any of them had seen proper amount of sunlight, so it took a bit of readjustment among them.

From their vantage, they could see quite a bit of the town itself which included the front gates. Something was happening there, given the commotion that was arising and the visible drawing of firearms. The prison guards looked on with concern from a distance before to one another in confusion: “The hell’s going on up there?” one asked.

“Probably some freeloaders causing trouble.” Another replied in a dismissing tone, “Nothin’ crazy ever happens here.”

More MPs arrived towards the gates, and they swung open to allow their passage… to aim their own guns at the entire crowd there. The prison guards looked again in confusion to one another at this development: “Wha-? The fuck’s going on?” the latter then spoke, now sharing the concern with the former.

• Nearby: Morgan ( Infab ) Callum ( Sistros )

 

[Roda the Red]

Dustin grasped the paper enthusiastically, giving it a quick look as he started to work on filling the blank spaces, he had nothing to hide, nothing to keep away from prying eyes, and so he filled it thoroughly, adding a nonchalant "I like it here" on the loyalty section.

He couldn't help but hear a certain exchange between a couple nearby soldiers, the man grinned as he turned his body in order to face them.

"Well, you'd be surprised but Dad was really into 'them huge Goli titties' as he used to say, maybe that's why I'm tiny compared to other halves?"

He returned the papers as soon as he was done and took a look at his surroundings, more specifically the other folks who seemed to have taken a similar interest to the job. Most seemed pretty capable, one even looking like a walking corpse, but he sure knew how to talk smack, how cool is that! A few stood out as well but mainly because they didn't look much like mercenary, a short woman wearing a curious mask...She was probably one of those people...what were they called again, Fogdudes? Poor girl looks like she could be toppled over by a gust of wind! Then there was this really crazy dude, a freak probably, and one ugly as sin at that...Wait, are those children behind him? Why are kids applying for this job, were they really going to accept them?

Things quickly took a turn for the worse, as a rowdy man summoned the ire of the MPs with only a handful of words, Dustin couldn't help but admire the guy's balls, even if he was also clearly an idiot (it takes one to know one). He simply took out his canteen of whiskey and took a chug as he watched the tense scenario, his other hand firmly gripping his wrapped blade in preparation, just in case things REALLY went south, but then his eyes went wide as he noticed the big ass robot showing up, presenting points against a possible shootout in a way the Half-Goliath never heard coming from a machine.

"Holy shit, that robbie is a mediator!"

 

[Breadman]

Seven fires in the last few days. That was probably not a good sign. But Slade didn't have time to ask as the new people were signing up and they made their impression.

"You're hiring kids on this job?" Slade raised an eyebrow as he looked at the MP "You sure that's a good idea? I get that you want the big guy over there for your improvised meat shield needs, but if the tikes get hurt or god forbid, KILLED, he's not gonna behave. I mean sure he's smarter than Bubbah on account of drooling a small trickle of spit and not slobbering, but don't count on that being the trump-card."

The cowboy looked again to who was signing up. A mistbourne girl. Shorter than average, but she says she says she can scout, so maybe it would be an advantage. Then some idiot wastelander decided to start a fight. The ghoul made a wild whistle after the heavy duty officer walked into the scene.

"Come on up and place your bets! Come on and try and guess what goes first, smooth operator's temper, wasterlanders teeth or will we see a KO in under 10 seconds as the lawman gets to finally use his stick."

The showdown of course attracted everyone else's attention. What wasn't expected was the robot that came in to act as mediator.

Holy shit, that robbie is a mediator!

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Tiny." He quickly turned his head towards Bubbah again when he heard the gun being cocked and aimed towards the robot "Put that thing away before you shoot the only chance for shit not to hit the fan." He sounded more annoyed than angry. Almost like a disappointed parent who's child just came home with a dead rodent.