IC- Chapter Three: Lone Wanderers

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IC-

“There, I’m afraid we can do little more for our friend until Duke and Shannon recover the robotic arm.” Said Reggie worrisomely before making his way over to the badly wounded caravan guard.
Without the necessary equipment, there was little more they could do for Syphon’s arm. The only way they could possibly help was merely to keep him stable for as long as possibly. A task which Reggie was becoming more and more fearful of.
What if they couldn’t find an arm? The ghouls most certainly had such a technology but what was to say they left such mechanically advanced equipment behind during their evacuation.

Reggie prepared the guards leg, readying it for a simple operation.
The mans right leg had been broken in the fight against the slayers, as far as Reggie could see in at least two places. A simple task was all that was needed to correct the problem, for the most part; time would be the healer of this injury.

Nat stood at Syphon’s side. She watched his hypnotic like vital signs traverse across the monitor.

Reggie glanced across to his assistant, “He’ll make it, have faith.” He said. “Now, I could use your assistance here.”

Nat smiled, letting go of Syphon’s hand she went to Reggie’s much needed aide.

Just as they were starting, they heard the faint humming of the elevator descending down before jolting to a stop on their level.

“Duke.” Nat exclaimed. She turned and rushed to the door to greet them but got one hell of a surprise instead.

“What on earth.” She muttered under her breath.

Approaching her was a large pale looking man with a serious expression on his face. In his arm, he carried a small, dwarf like guy who seemed to be just hanging there. Behind them Duke followed closely. If it wasn’t for Duke following them, Nat would have mostly likely freaked out by now.
She recognised the man, Pip as well. But how could it be possibly?
No, it couldn’t be, he was dead. She’d seen him die from the cyanide pill he’d taken in Talon’s tent.

As the three of them got closer, Duke made his way up front and placed a hand on Nat’s shoulder, “You are not going to believe this.”

Nat pushed up tightly against the wall as the Andy bot brushed past her, not wanting to get to close to the thing she stayed well back as it entered the room where Reggie was attending to the injured guard. As they passed Nat by, Pip threw her a smile from under the mans tightly gripped arm.

“We need a doctor.” The little man said smiling.

“Do you have the…” Reggie began but soon stopped when he noticed it wasn’t Duke and Shannon stood before him but some complete strangers, strangers which happened to remind him of something, something not to pleasant.

The ghoul stared at them. Duke who appeared standing next to them shrugged helplessly.

“Seems he needs a doctor.” Duke exclaimed.

The Andy bot dropped Pip to the ground.

“Fix.” Were the cyborg’s only words.

Pip walked casually forward to where Reggie stood in momentary shock. The ghoul was shocked yet curios at what stood before him. There, the little man proceeded to spill everything which had happened between him and the Andy bot since they left the camp to arriving down on the med levels.

A little confused, but Reggie understood the important parts.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Said Reggie. “Never would have dreamed to see one of these still in a functioning state.”
Reggie had heard of the Andy project but he’d never actually seen or come into contact with one of them. He’d never heard of any Andy bots surviving the war either and would have seriously doubted that anybody would hold knowledge or the technology to re-create such a being anymore. Well, up until now he did anyway.

He looked at the cyborg standing just in front. “If what you say is right, then the body part has died yet the robotic side thinks it’s still living.”

“I don’t see how I can help in anyway.” Answered Reggie, “The body is far beyond any medical help now. What you need is a bloody good technician”

“Wont listen.” Said Pip, “Just wants to be fixed.”

“What if we can’t fix it?” Asked Nat stepping in.

Before Reggie could answer Nat’s question, a panicking Luciel burst through the door. He bent over for a brief second, his rifle in hand whilst getting his breath back before speaking quickly.

“We got problems… up stairs.” he gasped. “Something attacked us, Serge managed to kill what ever the fuck it was… but we think there are more coming.”

“What was it?” Reggie asked quickly.

“We don’t know exactly, but it was big enough… got one of the scav’s and would have had away with some of the people up there… if it wasn’t for the big fella.”

“We need to get out… as fast as possible before something really bad happens.” Warned Luciel.

“We can go no where until a robotic arm is found, not to mention that it would be critically dangerous to move Keli.” Reggie exclaimed.

“Duke, go with him.” Nat added.

Duke grabbed his assault rifle, “Right, let’s go.” Things just kept getting worse in this god forsaken place.

Luciel turned, heading out of the door closely followed by Duke. They headed for the elevator but stopped suddenly, inches away from the elevator doors.
The elevator was making a faint humming noise, it was in motion.

Luciel pointed up to the lights above the door. “What the, that’s coming from down below.” He exclaimed.

“You know anybody down there?” He asked Duke who shook his head in response.

“Well who the fuck?.” Luciel exclaimed.

Then the elevator slowed down, on the panel it indicated a stop on this very floor.

“Oh shit, that’s stopping right here.” Duke shouted brining up his assault rifle towards the direction of the doors. Duke took a few paces back and dropped to one knee where the wall curved in. Peering round the corner, he trained his weapon on the elevator doors.

Luciel copied on the other side, Rogue’s rifle locked and loaded.
The two watched as the elevator slowly came to a stop on their level and the doors slid open with a shard hissing noise, revealing 4 soldiers; 3 men and a woman. They were well armed with heavy armour and had their weapons trained down the corridor.
The moment the elevator doors were far enough open to get a good look, the recon team noticed Luciel and Duke’s presence with their weapons aimed on their position.

“Oh shit.” Duke exclaimed. “Who ever the hell you are, drop those fucking guns.”

“Aint gonna happen amigo, we got you covered. Kill you at any moment.”

“Just try it asshole, I’ll drop you first.” Spat Luciel bravely.

“Drop your fucking weapons.” Duke repeated, now nearly yelling it at the armed men in the elevator.

Those still in the med labs heard the commotion. It was Nat who stepped out the room though, only to find her self in the middle of a tense situation and staring straight down the barrels of the Recon team’s weapons.
She cursed her luck, that was twice now she’d come out only to be thrown into some weird situation.

Noticing the men in the elevator, She barely contained her self from screamed. Cleary brought his rifle’s sights in line with Nat. “Don’t you move an inch.” He yelled.

“No don’t shoot,” Duke yelled back “She’s just a medic.”

“Drop your weapons. I won’t hesitate to order my men to fire.” Lyall said coldly. Whether the lieutenant would have actually opened fire or not was unknown but he’d seen this as a chance and went for it.

Duke looked back to where Nat was standing. She seemed nervous, nearly shaken.

Silence filled the air. A nerve racking tension hung between the two factions like a murky fog. Neither wanting to shoot or to step down. Duke knew that Nat’s life was at great risk if they tried anything, just as lieutenant Lyall knew that they wouldn’t be able to take them down without one of the two men getting at least one shot off which could be fatal to his team not to mention there could be more of them on this very level.

But it was Duke who made the first move. The fighter slowly stood up and lowered his weapon. He glanced to Luciel and nodded. The young boy reluctantly lowered his rifle which had been aimed between Lyall’s eyes.

“We’ve discarded our weapons, now you do the same.”

The lieutenant looked at the two men. They’d put their lives in his hands. If he wanted to, he could take all three of them down this very instant but he didn’t. Besides, they had a medic and he needed medical attention desperately.

He signalled to the rest of the recon team to lower their weapons and walked forward to where Duke and Luciel stood firmly.

“Lyall, Lieutenant Lyall, commanding officer of recon team zero one.” He said presenting him self, “And we are in great need of medical attention.”

Duke looked passed the Lieutenant and saw the female soldier unconscious in the lift. He also noticed the wounds both the lieutenant and one of the other soldiers were suffering from.

“Duke.” He replied, “ This is Luciel.”

“Well met, I think.” Replied the lieutenant. “You must forgive our entrance but believe me it was well justified.” Lyall jested his shoulder forward showing the deep gashes where the abomination had taken him down.

“Damn.” Duke exclaimed, “Well you better come this way then.” He said motioning towards where Nat was still stood watching.
 
IC-

Jeeva watched despondently as Caleb Rutgers once again tried to take his first uncertain steps in days. If he had ever seen a newly born fawn, the ex-slaver would have immediately tagged Caleb with such description. But with his limited imagination, he could only think of Caleb as “that fucking cripple”.

He watched like hard-loving mother. One part of his mind wished the old man to succeed. The other part knew that he would surely fall and would not learn from his mistake.

Jeeva crossed his legs and shouted, “Attaboy, Caleb. You show ‘em.”

The ancient Blade, in the middle of supporting himself with a spindly branch of a dead tree, cast him a withering look. Jeeva smiled back and gave him a thumbs up. Caleb returned it with a less friendly finger gesture.

That was semi-reassuring to Jeeva. The antibiotic pills were doing Caleb well. It was his third day of his week long therapy of pills and the fight was already seeping back into the old man. The pallor of Caleb’s skin was too pale and his ribs showed through his shirt. But at least the ugly gangrene of infection had faded from his shoulder and he was no longer coughing vehemently.

Jeeva had started dragging the Blade on a pieced together travois. They both could no longer stand staying near the collapsed bridge or the rotting corpse of the German sniper. With the bridge burnt, there was no convenient way east. Caravan cartographers had depended on this ancient bridge and an alternative path wasn’t mapped out. Acting on a whim, Jeeva started following the canyon north where it would eventually have to end and allow the pair to bypass it.

By the second day, Caleb was conscious and speaking coherently. Jeeva had nursed him with the gradually declining rations of water and brahmin jerky.

Now, on the third time, Caleb had deemed it proper enough time for him to start walking. Jeeva wasn’t too sure about that.

The old man, bracing himself up with the branch, allowed his degenerated legs to settle onto the ground. He released the branch and promptly began falling. To save himself, Caleb grasped for the branch which naturally snapped underneath his still strong grip. The Blade came careening down.

Jeeva gave a whistle. “Keep it up, son. It’s a long and lonely road back to fitness.”

OOC- Sadistic?! More like cruelly hilarious.
 
Atop the speeding grey, Gabriel felt alive. His blood was up, the wind was rushing through his shaggy hair, battle and fury was around him. At the head of the stampede, Gabriel had become Death, riding at the crest of a wave of destruction. A horseman of the apocalypse, a harbinger of doom and chaos, heralding terrible pain and carnage.

Admittedly, the horse was having a much greater influence on the course of events than Gabriel was. The assassin was in fact thankful that he was still astride the beast and not under the hooves of its companions.

Looking about him, he could see gunfire and explosive exchanges across the canyon floor, returning the fire from the rim, where Rogue and Gruug were keeping up a healthy barrage. Still, as the Oprezki began to organise themselves, their return fire was getting more accurate. Gabriel could see the attackers were beginning to take losses. Minor so far, but any loss should be avoided if possible.

As his galloping beast sped on, Gabriel realised he was rushing toward more Oprezki troops. Like most warrior types, flight did not suit them and they were swinging their weapons on the stampede. The assassin hunkered down by his mount’s neck and hoped fear and darkness would sway the troops’ aim.

Charging nearer, bullets whistling past and thudding into horse flesh behind him Gabriel tensed, preparing for impact. He was unsure of himself, not be a natural rider but he had to do something. Sitting up, he let go of the horse and gripped tightly with his knees. Drawing the SiG, he opened fire, knowing most of his shots missed, but seeing a few Oprezki go down, scarlet spreading across their chests.

When he clicked empty, he holstered the weapon and glanced back. Those he hadn’t shot, had been trampled by the unstoppable stampede.

The charge was still going and they horses had a way to go. The Oprezki were firing up at the rim and the attackers were still pouring lead down on them from above.

With any luck, he would be free of this death trap, thought Gabriel. Unhappy at hugging his horse’s mane for protection, he unsheathed his katana and rode on, finding the rhythm and speeding forward, like a cavalry commander, leading his troops into bloody, fierce battle.

His blade would taste blood again before the sun rose.
 
Dreg had been watching the stampede. Funnily enough, Mr Sneaky was leading it. He had the gift of the tongue, so Dreg had converted quite a bit of the Ozprezki language to his own, and he had heard about these beasts, these horses, but he did not know how powerfull they were. It must of been hell for those Ozprezki looking straight at the stampede, seeing death there, waiting for it to bear down on them, virtually helpless.


Then Dreg got back to what he was doing, and that was scaling the rocks. Thank god he was a good rock climber, or he would be down there, under those hoofs, and thanks to that sniper, or he would of been shot dead by Sneaky.


Slowly, but surely, he climbed, get a hand hold, make sure it secure, get up to it, get a foot hold, make sure it secure, get up to it, and he repeated this procedure. He was almost to the top, only about another ten meters or so.


Gruug kept on firing, raining down a shower of lead and the occaisonal rocket.
"I'm out of rockets" Announced Gruug. Oh well, atleast he had had a good killing night. He knew he had killed more than 50 people, enough for a town in the wastelands. But one of his old saying, Be quick or be dead. And that certainly applied here, didn't it?
He put the launcher down. He would have to clean it at some stage. Now he concentrated more with his kalashinikov, bringing out his targeter to help him with this sighting. Hmmm, sweeping, trying to find a good target for a nice shot.... THERE! There was a sniper, doing the exact same as Gruug was. Gruug lined up the shot, and.... BAM BAM BAM, went his rifle, firing single shots in close sucsesion, and he saw, through his targeter, that the first bullet snibbed his arm, and spun him around for him to be impacted in the groin with the second, and the third in his stomach. No need to try and finish off that one, as he could suffer. Gruug went sweeping again, looking for a target, unaware that half a mile away, Dreg was just about over the ridge.
 
"Piece of shit!"

Tyler kicked the aging bucket-of-bolts Corvega Chaser, which he had been driving for over a week. Ever since the city of Great Phoenix had awarded him their only functional car as a token of their appreciation for his role as town sheriff, Tyler had been traveling east. It seemed natural, almost divine that Tyler would pick up and head in the direction of the former state of Texas. Ever since he left home, he had earned the reputation of a cowboy. This was not to say that the gravitation towards the Lone Star state was intentional. On the contrary, Tyler had absolutely no idea where he was going. The only thing that guided him was the rising sun, and the wanderlust that fed him.

Now, broken down, with no civilization in sight, Tyler was alone. At least when he was traveling from Chicago to Idaho, there were cities every few miles (by the end of the war, Chicagoland had leeched out well into the Dakotas). Out here, it seemed like the wasteland stretched on forever, with not a living soul for days in every direction.

Tyler had packed his belongings up in a duffel bag, when off in the distance he noticed a cloud of dust rising up from a canyon some distance away. It didn't take much longer for Tyler to realize that it was also accompanied by loud rumbling, followed by heavy booming sounds, like explosions.

What the hell?

A battle?


Tyler riffled through his belongings and pulled out an old pair of binoculars that he had found in the Chaser when he left Great Phoenix. He walked towards the canyon, near the edge, when a sudden explosion rocked his footing and made him stumble. Better be careful… This cliff could be— Tyler’s train of thought was suddenly cut off when he noticed what was going on below. Creatures, resembling Brahmin to some degree; one-headed, missing horns, and marked with dark mains down their necks; were stampeding while a battle raged around them. For a moment, Tyler did not pay much heed to these creatures, and dismissed them as merely a mutation indigenous to this region. Just as Tyler started to look away, however, a flash of memories from his childhood appeared. Cowboys portrayed in old holo-films rode creatures very similar to the ones in the canyon. Suddenly, the name hit him.

Horses!

Just as Tyler peered over the edge of the ridge to get a better view, a stray bullet fired from below whizzed past his ear. Tyler hit the ground instinctively, and looked around for a way to get closer without getting shot. Something told him that whatever the reason for the battle, these horses had something to do with it.

OOC:

I hope I was congruent with the geography of the surrounding area. Somebody say something if I screwed up. J
 
The stampede of hundreds of horses had kicked up a cloud of dust that slowly rose above the ruined campsite below, hiding the devestation below. Above, on the canyon rim, the shooters paused in their fire. The rising cloud of dirt and smoke masked all movement below, although they could hear the moans of the dead and wounded.

The survivors were still returning random fire against the Rim, so the De Silvas and Caravan shooters stepped back. Despite the damage below, the survivors were regrouping and reorganizing.

Clearly the raid had been a success. Most of the horses had streamed out the North entrance of the Canyon. But not all. There were still horses below and certainly the Oprezki were herding and calming the terrified beasts.

Rogue looked back in the direction they had come. They would have to withdraw and soon.

Galloping from the South, coming along the rim. The men, as a group crouched down, hoping to hide in the tall grass and shrubs of the Canyon rim.

Rogue trained Syphon's big gun in the direction, eased on the trigger.

It wasn't Oprezki.

It was Grim riding next to one of the DeSilva children.

Behind were another two horses, each with a machinegun lashed to the horse.

"It's ok, They're ours." Called out Rogue, allowing the others to ease up on their weapons.

Grim heard the call and galloped in.

Rogue took a quick look around. Three men lay bleeding in the tall grass. One of the shooters had been killed by shots coming from below. Two others were wounded, one badly. Taking causalities had been painful, but the price was small compared to the damage below. Many of the others were nearing the Rim.

Grim didn't get off the horse, more for fear of embarrassing himself in remounting the strange beast. He smiled down at Rogue, but even so it was a frightening sight.. Grim had killed with his hands, and it was obvious from the blood on his clothes.

"Good to see you." He said.

"And you. We have three down, one dead. But we can't stay here." Said Rogue.

"There can't be many left alive below." Said Gruug. "It might do well to finish up here. I must have killed near 50!"

Rogue and Grim both smiled. The big mutant was clearly delighted with the destruction he had wrought, but they had learned that he tended to exaggerate.

"Perhaps but there are more Oprezki out here somewhere, and those below are regrouping." Said Grim. "We've hurt them, sure. But they still got the strength and I don't like the idea of them riding up and clearing us out."

"But we still need our horses." Said Rogue.

"I can see them." replied Grim. High in his horse, Grim could see one of the Desilvas bringing the horses up for the escape. But then he saw something further along the rim.

"What the hell is that?" He said, pointing.

Rogue turned to look in the direction that Grim was pointing at, but couldn't see anything. "I don't see it."

"Fuck, a man on the edge." Said Grim.

"Oprezki?" Asked Gruug, now turning his launcher towards the man. Taller than the others, the mutant could see the lone man.

"Maybe." Said Grim.

"Ain't one of ours." Said Rogue. "Could be one of their patrols. But there looked to be some civilians down there too, people captured from a raid."

"Yeah, I found some as well. And who ever he is, seems more interested in what's going on down there than up here." Said Grim

Gruug was beginning to target. "Better I kill him, no risks."

Rogue put a hand on Gruug's shoulder. "Hold on."

But the Desilva rider shook his head. "No. No Oprezki." Said the Desliva child. "Yo voi."

And before anyone could speak the DeSilva rider took off towards the new comer, peering over the canyon edge near an old pre-war automobile.

OCC- Ok, Ed, that should get you into the story.
 
Dreg was just about at the top. He knew that the only chance to get up without being shot at was to launch himself up and over, onto the top of the canyon, and he had to do it in less than a second or two, because he knew the Oprezki were just shooting random fire, but if they saw him go over the top slowly, that would give them something to shoot at.
Here goes....
He hurtled himself up and over, and that was when he came crashing right into the youth that was there, the both of them tumbling, and both hit their heads on some rocks, and blacked out, at the mercy of the caravan ambushers. Today, luck seemed not to be favoring Dreg.

OOC: Hope that last bit wasn't bad, and didn't muck up anything, otherwise just tell me. Just that, I wanted to portray that Dreg is having a very unlucky day.
Also, even if Gruug wanted to kill them with his rocket launcher, he couldn't, as he has used up all the rockets he had.
 
OOC: No problem, although I can't find your character's sheet anywhere, and Tyler's a little more difficult to knock out than that (he's a career fighter, after all).

IC:

What the fuck?

Jesus H. Christ!


Tyler felt woozy, like someone had just taken the rock to his skull. In this case, it was more like the skull took to the rock after being shoved by another skull -- the stranger next to him. His vision was still a little blurry, but Tyler was somewhat able to get his bearings.

Suddenly, the sound of animal trotting alerted Tyler in his somewhat dazed state. Quickly, he reacted by whipping his 10mm out of his jacket holster (as he had conditioned himself to do through even a foggy mental state by years of practice) and aimed it at the general direction of the rider. His vision was off, and he still lacked equilibrium, but the rider was close enough to where a gunshot would cause damage no matter what. Hazily, almost with a drunken demeanor, he shouted, "Back off! I don't wanna fight you!"

He blinked, trying to regain focus, and added, "My... car broke down. I heard... gunshots..."

Tyler suddenly felt a rush of dizziness, and in an instant, he fell over. Whatever the blow to his head did, he was incapacitated because of it. Now, it would be up to the rider to decide the fate of the wayward traveler.
 
OCC-

Sorry, I lost this post and had to redo it.

Some of the older characters can be found here- on the archived boards-
http://www.nma-fallout.com/dcforum/ForumID18/148.html
also
http://www.nma-fallout.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=124

There are a couple of characters that will show up on the New Character thread, but most of that is the story of Pscyho Sniper- currently the Andy-bot that has kidnapped Pipboy.

Gruug sometimes comes in like a bull in a china shop. Gruug! Behave!

Ok back to the story. Dreg if you didn’t post a message introducing your character on the Character thread, you should.
____

ICC-
The boy who had been riding up to the strange pulled up and looked at the newcomer. This was someone he had not seen before, and his weapons looked like Oprezki.

Behind him, Gruug had also seen what had happened when a man had lifted himself over the cliff face. The same man from before. He brought the launcher to fire but the rider had stopped in his line of sight. If he fired he would hit the target.

Rogue had also moved. Fleet as a timber deer, she had gone up the slight rise that had blocked her view and had Syphon’s rifle targeted on the newcomer.

But it was Grim who rode out. Coming up near the boy who had stopped, Grim pointed his six shooter in the new comer’s general direction. From past experiences with the Oprezki, this new comer didn’t fit the general description. He also knew that there were hostages down there, and it was possible that this newcomer had taken advantage of the chaos below to make his escape.

Still, maybe I should kill him, come back and eat him.

“Speak quick or eat lead.” Said Grim, pulling the hammer back. Impatient now. They needed to withdraw and fast.

In the corner of his eye he could see that Rogue was ready to put a bullet through the man if he so much as moved wrong. Grim returned his focus. Noticing the other man had passed out, blood coming from his scalp.

Behind him he could hear the other horses coming up, their escape back to the mission. This was causing undue delay.


Further away, Talon almost stood up as the horses stormed past his position. Never in his past, and probably never again, would he see such a sight. Not even during the seasons of the twisters had Talon experience such a close connection to the incredible power and destructive force of nature.

The horses had come through the canyon, their gallop a roll of thunder that echoes against the canyon walls. Behind them, the dust they had kicked up filled the air with grit, making everything tanned and dirty. It was wild and uncontrolled, a tempest unleashed and now channeled through the canyon in his direction.

Talon watched mesmerized. Had not the man next to him pulled him down, a horse, jumping over his position would have been knocked aside. But the man grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down. Talon looked ahead and saw the legs of the animals moving as if a blur. Above him the animals leaped over the position.

The sound was thunderous, nearly deafening. The power of the hundreds of feet pounding the floor of the canyon, resonating off the canyons. The smell of dirt and perspiration and wild fear all around him, but most of all the power of the horses as they stampede past and over him.

He was laughing, laughing loud. The excitement, the adrenaline all coursing through his system. He felt, in this moment in which the destructive power of the stampede was all around him, suddenly and remarkably alive.

“Horses!” He yelled.

The man next to him was also smiling and laughing. “Se! Se! Caballos!”

And then, nearly as soon as it had begun, the stampede was past him and moving away.

Behind him he could hear the hoot and gun shots as the De Silva man tried to herd the frightened horses, taking advantage of their wild fear to race them back towards the Mission where the caravan and De Silva’s had made camp.

But Talon could see none of that. Nor could he see what was before him. Even the man besides him was hidden. The dust of the horses had raised a cloud of dust that penetrated everywhere. Even with a cloth mask over his mouth, Talon could taste the dirt in the air. When he reached his hands out, he could not see his fingers.

He put his hand on top of the tarp that covered the light machine gun. Knowing that the stampede would raise dust that would dirty the weapon, they had put the tarp down to keep the weapon free of unwanted grit.

He waited, trying to calm his heart, trying to ease himself down. Too much breathing, too much adrenaline would make his shot less true.

He waited, patiently. But he would not have to wait long.


In the camp the survivors of the stampede were already reorganizing. Those horses that had raced back into the canyon were being controlled quickly and being remounted. They would have to go after the horses, to retrieve them. Without the horses the Oprezki would be vulnerable, the edge of their sword dulled. Nor would they suffer the indignity of such a theft.

The Oprezki were perhaps the finest horseman to have ever road the Americas. Taken early from their mothers and raised from childhood with horses, they spent their lives with the beasts. Their early days had been spent cleaning and grooming the creatures, caring for them and raising them and then riding until riding became as if second nature. They had learned to fight with sword and lance and gun. They could maneuver as cavalry or as mounted infantry. They were the vanguard of their people and they understood the use of terror as a weapon of war and of politics. They knew how to use cruelty and the power, both that came with a cold heart.

They name was only whispered, for many believed to speak it would bring the demons upon them. Where they left, one found piles of skulls. They used crucifixion as a means of entertainment and cared nothing for humanity in any guise. They were loyal only to one another and their pride.

It was their wounded pride that had driven them this far north. The thirst for revenge of a great indignity had fired their pursuit of the De Silvas, who alone had dared to steal their horses. And now they had suffered yet again.

The first riders were mounted before the dust settled, and the first squad was galloping North to recapture their horses even as the others were reforming.

They would scour the canyon, they would slay whoever they found. They would drink the blood of those that insulted them, and so repay the insult.

As the dust clearer, Talon looked over to the other side of the canyon opening, to where Raoul was to have set his gun. But there was still too much dust, and Talon could see no one. Indeed as the cloud of dust rose up the canyon or settled down, the air seemed grainy and orange in the early morning light.

At the first sound of horses, Talon knew that the enemy had reformed.

He got down behind the gun, his hand on the trigger, and waited. His heart calm now. His was to be the last to withdraw, to be the rear guard, while the others escaped. It fell on him, as it would have fallen on Jeeva. This was the responsibility of leadership.

The riders were already close when they first appeared through the dusty air.

“Shoot” said the man next to him. But Talon held his fire.

Held his fire until they were very close.

They rode as if directly towards him, as if trying to ride him down. And then, almost when they were atop him the veered to the side.

And then he fired, first a short burst than a long burst, the surprised stopped the riders cold.

They were so close it was hard to miss.

The first shots dropped the nearest rider and the one behind him. Their horses rearing up as the bodies of the riders fell to the floor. Bullets hit the animals now, and fresh blood in the air. The other horses and riders stopping suddenly.

Tracer fire coming from Talon’s position, under a fallen log. Tearing into the Oprezki riders.

Then tracer fire coming from across the canyon floor, from Raoul’s position. Tracer fire, and the staccato hammer of gun fire. The other gun firing like a buzz saw. The bullets cutting into the riders and horses, dropping them. The horses screaming in fear and pain, the men falling from wounds, crushed under hooves.

When it was over one horse was running back to the canyon. Another, hobbling behind, wounded. The others lay in the ground where they had fallen as the dust settled upon them.

The man next to Talon, crossed himself with his hands, whispered a prayer. “Madre de Dios.”

As the dust settled visibility became clearer. Talon could see now the two guard emplacements that the Oprezki had established at the mouth of the canyon. One had been destroyed, as if the stampede had been a hand of God that had swept the position away, carrying with it the men across the ground, their bodies trampled and crushed like rag dolls.

At the other emplacement, they were manning a machinegun as one of there number disappeared into the Canyon, perhaps to call for help.

They turned the machine gun towards Talon’s position and soon he could hear the bullets whizzing by. He returned fire, but the gunfire fell short of the Oprezki position. Then he could hear the impact on the wood above their position, and Talon and his colleague dug in deeper.

Raoul’s position opened up now, its firing a loud fearful buzz, finding the range of the Oprezki. But if he did damage, Talon could not tell, for the Oprezki gun now turned back towards Raoul and fired until Raoul’s position became quiet. Whether Raoul’s position had been wiped out or moved, Talon could not tell.

He waited, quietly. The Oprezki gunner also waited, unsure if he had destroyed his targets. Somewhere in the canyon, the Oprezki would be regaining strength. They might rush out again, or more likely circle around and cut from behind.

But there was nothing to do but wait. Wait until the others had withdrawn and only then would Talon retreat to safety.
 
"Speak quick or eat lead!"

The voice of a man echoed in Tyler's ears, and weakly, the cowboy looked up to see a man aiming a six-shooter at him, while a woman aimed a rifle at him further away. Slowly, Tyler pushed himself up and looked at Grim, muttering, "I'm lost."

Grim kept his pistol fixed on Tyler, but glanced over at the car smoking a few dozen meters away. "That yours?"

"Yeah."

Grim studied Tyler, reasonably satisfied with the answer, but still wary. "On your feet. Don't try anything fancy, or we'll give your body some new air holes."

Both had their weapons fixed on Tyler as he rose to his feet, stumbling as the dizziness hit him. Slowly, he lifted his arms up, indicating that he was not about to start trouble. If they were raiders, they would have killed him by now, and they certainly wouldn't be riding with a youth. "What do you want?"
 
Grim looked at the man surprised. He had figured him for unconscious. It was the other one. The big brawny fellow in little clothing that hand flopped over the Canyon edge that concerned Grim more than this other. It was this other fellow that Grim had his gun trained on.

"What do I want?" Asked Grim. "Right now, to get the fuck out of here. In a few minutes I am expecting a group of riders on those things to come sweeping up, and if we are caught out, we'll be cut to pieces. So what I really don't want is to waste my fucking time."

The new comer raised his hands. "Look, I just wandered into this..."

"Look, I don't know you from Adam. But this ain't the time for introductions. You ain't one of them and for now that's good enough. But you have to make a decision, and you don't got much time to decide. You can either ride with us or take your chances with them. We got extra horses because we got wounded men. But if you ride with us, best be prepared for a fight. I ain't promising you salvation, and I might be offering you a sure thing at a rather nasty party."

Grim didn't wait for the answer.

"You, came from down there. Did they capture you with the others?

The big fellow merely nodded.

"He was down there with Gabriel. Took out a few Opreski." Called out Rogue.

Grim nodded, but wasn't completely satisfied.

"Same deal. I got no time to waste. You can ride out or take your chances here. Up to you."

Grim turned away and rode back to the others. They had already mounted, the wounded riding with others had already withdrawn.
"Ok, we need to get Talon and Raoul out and then get the fuck out of here."

__________

Down in the Canyon, the other horses that remained were being saddled. Other Oprezki were now training their rifles on the canyon edge, waiting for opportunities.

two score riders were ready, and were already using the cover of the dust cloud to mask their movements as they raised to the South exit. From there they would sweep along the canyon ledge.

Other Oprezki men were moving, on foot, towards the North entrance where they would flush out the machinegunners that had cut down a squad of riders.

Other riders would soon follow.

The two column leaders had been killed either before or during the stampede, and one of the seconds had been found with his neck broken. The remaining Second had taken charge, and quickly appointed his subordinate officers from those that remained. Then he had gone to ruins of a house that housed the radio.

In language of the Oprezki he asked the radio man."Did you send the message."

"Yes, the 6th column is coming." Replied the man.

100 riders with another hundred mounts would be arriving. Soon the horses woudl be retreaved. THe second smiled, yes, that and their revenge would finally be delivered.
 
Tyler shook his head and worked out a series of blinks to clear his dizziness. His vision returning, he looked at one of the horses, and then observed the others to figure out how they mounted the beasts.

Looks like you just grab the reigns and--

Upon trying to mount the creature, Tyler stumbled, and hit the ground with a loud thud. --not lose your balance...

"Hey, you gotta secure your foot in the holster at the bottom the first couple times!" said the female rider.

Okay, I can do this. This is just like riding a brahmin.

Tyler steadied himself. In an instant, he grabbed hold of the reigns, locked his foot into the holster, and swung his other leg over the creature's back. Had he not been as flexible as he was from years of martial arts training, he would have surely nutted himself.

"Not bad, stranger." Grim commented, noting the stranger's success after only one other attempt. "Got anything other than that pea shooter to fight with?"

Tyler drew his Desert Eagle and nodded. "Yeah."

Grim blinked at the weapon, which had obviously been modified to a lethal extent, and slowly nodded. "Right... Get ready to move."
 
IC-

Reggie examined Mitzi’s injuries closely. The abomination had practically cleaved the young woman’s stomach open from right to left across her mid section. The creature’s powerful claws had sliced through the tough combat armour with out any visible problem and entered the flesh like a knife through butter.
The wounds were deep but clean cut making stitching the wounds an easier job.

The ghoul found something curious however.
The wounds inflected to Mitzi’s stomach resembled remarkably those which are often found after a deathclaw attack. Reggie had examined many mutilated bodies produced by the primal creatures in the past and the resemblance was uncanny. Same size claws, same powerful slice.
Made him wonder just what those ghouls had been experimenting on down here.

“She’s damn lucky to be alive.” said Reggie turning to face the others. “Any further over and the beast would have sliced right through her kidneys and possibly other vital organs in the process.

“It caught us by surprise down on level 6.” Lyall explained whilst observing Mitzi’s wounds. “Got the better of us and damn near took out my entire team but we killed it.”

“You mean their below us as well?” Luciel asked.

“That they are kid.”

“Just exactly what were you doing down there?” Duke questioned curiously. He didn’t like the look of these people and found the way they were kitted up rather suspicious, not to mention snooping around the lower levels of the university. To be honest, he didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them.

The lieutenant looked up towards Duke but didn’t answer immediately.

What to do? He thought.

As a long serving member of the Slayer’s, he knew well enough that not everyone was fond of the organisation he worked for. Even less so since they under went new management.
Should he tell them they were Slayer’s, fully aware that these fellows could be hostile to his brethren? Or make up some bull shit about scavengers on a mythical crusade for pre war treasures, which was his usually bull shiting story.

Lyall glanced over to his sergeant with a quick stare. Cleary was leant against a table over to the corner of the room away from the others. A rather handy position if things went pear shaped quickly. He returned the glance and shook his head cautiously as not to make it obvious to others present in the room.

“Scavenger’s of the pre war material type.” Replied Lyall, “Couldn’t find any decent bangles on the surface so decided to check out the lower levels.”

“Really…”Exclaimed Duke adding, “I didn’t know scavenging paid so well in this day an age.”

“We get by.” Lyall replied sharply.

“I’ll say.” Said Luciel examining the neatly kept combat armour the members were wearing, not to mention the classy weapons.

Lyall stood up but Nat intervened before anything came of it. “Hey, cool off, we haven’t got time for a game of who has the biggest balls.” She said coldly.

“Once were out of this mess I couldn’t care if you kill each other but until then you get along, work together and do something fucking use full.”

Duke stared in shock; he’d never seen Nat react in such an authoritative manner.

“She’s right.” Said Cleary stepping forward. The sergeant had remained silent up until till now, “we need their help as much as they need ours”

“You said these things are already out side?” Cleary asked.

“Yea, we put one of those fuckers out of its misery just before we encountered you. But there was more than one of them, we couldn’t physically see the others but they were out there all right, lurking in the dark.” replied Luciel.

“We?” the lieutenant asked.

“We have some more wounded on the surface, their being brought inside as we speak by those who are still physically able.”

Cleary rubbed the gritty stubble around his chin. With abominations controlling both the surface and the two lower levels below them, the only safe place seemed to be the medical levels. Providing the creatures didn’t have an access point to this level as well.

“If these things block our exits then were trapped down here right?” muttered Duke. “Fuck, we just blow a path out.”

“Not a chance in hell.” Cleary laughed.

“We nearly died in open combat against one of these things. A pack of them would be suicide.”

“Yea, those mother fuckers are fast, take some killing too.” Exclaimed Luciel nodding.

“How soon can you have the wounded ready to move?” Cleary asked looking towards Reggie. The ghoul had been rather passive since the soldiers had arrived. Maybe it was the fact that he new something the others didn’t.

“These two will need some support but could be moved within the hour however this one isn’t going anywhere soon I’m afraid. Not unless we find what we need.” Reggie explained. “Without the mechanical arm which we came here for, he is as good as dead.”

“Were looking for it now but seems to be well hid.” Duke added.

“Plus there’s one other problem.” said Reggie nodding in the Andy bots direction.

“I don’t suppose any of you are familiar with the Andy/Giles bot project?”


OOC-

I believe i have found a use for the Andybot.
Syphon, if your looking for some actions get ready because your going to be involved in this some way or another :)
 
The Dark Pilgrim Enters...

It was a long way from the frozen north from... To being tailed by mercenaries and bounty hunters. The man in dark garb walked the dark path where ever his feet would take him.

Snake like green eyes hidden beneath the shade of a black fedora hat watched the horizon; the high collar of his flak jacket trench coat covered his mouth at the zipper. His body seemed to be rapped in black with only silver clips and buckles that kept it altogether. The silver hair was falling past his shoulders, ties in a single tail.

Two guns at his hip and one under the arm... Four or five clips. Hard to tell with the past two skirmishes in the last three weeks. The Desert Eagles were fully loaded and the Slayer's Edge, his blade through many battles was as sharp as ever. The nickel plated Eagles were carefully taken care of, almost the way a mother would care for her babes. Loaded and ready for the kill.

The blade was cared for with much more care since it had kept him alive in so many close encounters. The midnight handle was seen from behind as he walked, trudging through the sand and stony landscape.

Before his leaving of Arizona, Stryfe had caught a glimpse of a rival, a man from another time... his time... connected to him. It was Bellford. A man he both respected and loathed. Tyler Bellford. Though before Jade had passed on, she had told Stryfe to let it go... But for some reason, Stryfe couldn't let it go...

For Hannibal Stryfe to let anything go, he'd have to face Tyler and perhaps beat it out of him... That was the only way the past could be reconciled. Of course a lot has changed in the last five years since Battle Royale.

Creak...

Creak...

Stryfe could make out some old wreckage in the distance and the silhouettes racing back and forth. It was the kind of thing that sparked his curiosity. Violence and the scent of it always attracted Stryfe like a moth to the flame.

Odd... too big to be human or even super mutant.

Stryfe knew the mutants well... Of course, that was another story.

Reaching for the handle of the Slayer's Edge, Stryfe reversed his grip, the blade now perpendicular to his forearm. It was Stryfe's stance, good for offence and defense, especially when it came to parrying.
 
OCC- OK Stryfe- post up what you are planning with this character on the OCC so the rest of know. Syphon and Rogue, stay in touch with each other so you know what's coming next in that section.

New players, this is a good time to introduce your character and get into it, or just play with the NPCs in the story so to stay involved. While most of the people here have characters, we tend to borrow from each other to tell our stories, Characters and NPCs.

Ok, Grug I am taking a long bit with Dreg here because we don't know anything about him and perhaps this will flesh him out a bit for you.

ICC-

Dreg watched as the man climbed up on the horse, not without difficulty. He paused to mediate on his next course.

The others watched him as he stood, immobile. Grim mentioned to the boy to leave one of the horses they would not be needing. Perhaps this other might find it useful for escape.

Dreg did not pay attention to the other people as they withdrew, mounted their horses and rode West and then North, back towards the mouth of the Canyon.

Dreg paid no heed, meditating on his choices.

They were connected with the one down in the Canyon. That much was obvious. But were they a new ally or another potential foe?

He mulled this over as the others disappeared over a nearby rise.

Over the canyon the cloud of dust had dissipated. Dreg ventured a glimpse over the rim. A moment later, just a moment after he pulled back his head, bullets could be heard screaming against the Canyon walls or cracking above his head.

He looked to the other side of the canyon. A small group of riders were scurrying over the other rim, looking for the opposition. More would be riding along this edge as well.

Dreg had spent much of his adult life against the Oprezki, and had taken many skulls from their shoulders. But they were many and they preferred to kill from a distance, not his way.

He could hide in the tall grass, let them ride close, pull them from their horseback, and crush the life from them with his hands. But they would find him sooner or later.

To stay was to die.

And it was good day to die.

Dreg breathed in deep the morning air, feeling its coolness penetrate his lungs as his chest expanded.

But, it is a better day to kill. And today there would be plenty of opportunity to take more of them.

There were more Oprezki then these columns. Another column at least, but more.

The DeSilvas had humiliated the Oprezki by stealing their horses and then escaping. They had chased them throughout Old Hispaniole, through the mountains that formed spine of the land, over the Great River that stretched out like the skin of a giant dead snake.

The Clan leader, Pablo De Silva, had led them on a merry chase. Through the mountains, committing raids against them at night, terrorisizing the terrorists. Using their numbers and knowledged of the terrain against them. Leading the Oprezki off their main target, the body of the clan itself.

Each day the Oprezki humiliation grew worse. Each day their need for revenge had grown.

Such needs breed madness.

Two columns had been sent, then another, and another and finally the rest of the corp. One corp had chased them North, behind them the rest of the brigade had followed, then the regiment.

For where the Oprezki went, they dominated, they ruled, through terror. It was their way. For every league they traveled, men would have to stay behind to maintain that domination.

It was there way- dominate and subjugate through the fear of death or torture.

Always North. Why?

Dreg had often dismissed the thought. Because the predator lives to hunt and must therefore go where the game is.

But perhaps they had come North to fast. Their hunger for vengence, or perhaps the thrill of the chase, too great for sound judgment. They were far ahead of the main force.

These two columns had been only the scouts, a third was near, two more as well. They thirsted the way snakes in the desert thirst for blood to nourish them. They had taken what blood they could find, the village only a target of opportunity.

They were remorseless, soulless men. These dark riders, with their powerful horses, their terrible swords. These men who relished the torture and the crucifixtion.

That was why he had followed them. Why he had picked at them, killing them in small numbers.

Today they would fight in great numbers. Those who had survived the stampede would gather with the third column and they would strike at the De Silva clan. They would not wait another night for fear that the De Silvas will take the horses they had stolen and flee. They would not wait until their strength had gathered, not when the prey, so elusive, was easily within their grasp.

It would be an imprudent move. The De Silvas had new allies. They had good weapons. But prudence was rational and the Oprezki had been driven mad with revenge.

It was the madness of the hunter.

Yes, Dreg, thought, it would be a good day to die, but it was a better day to kill. There would be many to kill later. To die now? Well that would be an imprudent thing.

Yes, tomorrow perhaps was a better day to die. Today, better for killing.

Dreg heard the sounds of horses. They were now patrolling nearby. He looked for the others, but they had already departed while he had meditated.

He found the horse and quickly lept upon his back. Past experience with the horse made this task easily familiar. Digging the heels of his bare feet into the animals side, it took off in a gallop, and soon he was following the others.

_________________


WHUMP BOOM! Another explosion near by.

Talon ducked again. The heavy machine gun had torn the tree limb above him to shreds. If he popped up his head too long he chanced a burst of fire.

They were coming on cautiously. Not willing to risk the few horses that remained.

With them were a mortar. With the machine gun they hoped to keep Talon and his colleague pinned down while footmen got closer.

something sailed through the air, over his position, and he heard it impact the ground. A second or to later it exploded. Grenades.

The younger man glimpsed over the side, then ducked back down.

"Closer?" Asked Talon.

The boy, who spoke little English, understood. "Si."

Another grenade sailed over but this time it hit the side of their little hole and bounced into the position. Talon quickly reached it, grabbed it and tossed it out, then ducked. It had barely left the hole when it exploded, sending fragments down into the hole.

The younger man made a sound, a biting down as if pained.

Talon looked.

A fragment and sliced through part of his arm. The boy put his hand over the wounded, to stop the bleeding. Talon, motioned with a finger to his lips. Silence.

He reached for his pistol.

HE could hear them, close now. A crack of a twig. They could not be more than a few feet.

Talon waited, pistol ready. The boy also grabbed his weapon, a short submachine gun, not much bigger than a pistol and yet very large for his hands.

Footsteps approaching.

Talon waited for the first man to come up and be visible from the hole. Talon fired once, and the man fell with a bullet wound to the head. Talon then came up in the hole, and fired twice more, both shots hitting a man, who also fell to the ground and stopped moving.

THe boy got up but faced another corner, and let go two quick bursts. The targets he fired at dropped to the ground, and were hidden in the tall grass.

Then the machine gun from the Oprezki emplacement opened up. Both Talon and the boy fell to the floor again as the bullets through air above their hole.

But then there was another sound, the chainsaw buzz of Raoul's machine gun, and the Oprezki gun suddenly stopped firing.

Now there were more gun shots. Talon got behind his own light machinegun and pointed it at the emplacement.

He could see tracer fire coming from where Raoul had moved his gun, getting closer to the Oprezki emplacement. Now men were firing on Raoul from behind the emplacement and from a number of positions in front of it.

Talon fired his light machinegun at what positions he could see, and again the Oprezki were in a cross fire. Many stopped firing, but whether because Talon had hit any or because they were remanuevering, he could couldn't tell.

He saw movement from Raoul's position. He was moving back.

Talon continued to fire, confident the heavier machinegun had been silenced. When fire picked up from the other corner, where the boy had shot at two men. Talon turned the gun in that direction, firing bursts in their direction. WHen he was satisfied they had been silenced he turned the gun back

The bullets from the machineguns tore through the high grass cutting it down. The horses had also trampled much of it down, but so much was still up that it provided ample cover for others to manuever in. Surely the enemy were getting close.

Behind him, a crack.

Talon let go the machinegun and turned to face the new attackers, pistol ready. The boy quickly getting behind the machine gun.

"Talon?" He heard a familiar whisper.

Talon eased back the trigger.

"Talon?" The call again. Familiar.

"Grim?" Called Talon back.

"Yeah, we got horses close, but we need to get out of here on foot. We'll cover you."

Across the field, Raoul and his companion were also quickly withdrawing.

"On the count of three."

They waited for the count, and then when Grim said three. Talon and the boy rolled out of their hole and quickly, almost on all fours, raced through the high grass for the position.

Grim, Grug and Rogue, as well as others, suddenly got up and began firing at what ever targets they could see. A quick burst, enough to keep the enemy's heads down. It was enough.

IN a moment, Talon had found secure company. They withdrew quickly, firing as they went, until they once again found their rides.

They remounted and were off, only to find that Dreg had already gotten ahead of them.

_______________

In the South end of the Canyon the lead scouts of the Third Column had begun to arrive.
 
It had been several days.
Several long days. She stoped counting.

The travel had not been uneventful: after a few encounters with bandits here and there, she had used most of the ammunition she had brought with her when scaoing the vault - "now there are only two boxes left..."

Zoe was getting tired. Even without the bandits, the nature was merciless there. She had to kill a few of the beasts - beasts she had so long studied in the labs at the vault where she grew up. In the time she had to face them in the wilderness, scientifical interest was set aside for sheer survival instinct.

Her head was spinning. With a dried throat and sunburns in her skin (despite the armor) she was desperate for some water. The last she had brought, she had drank hours ago. The armor was being a torture in that travel but she did not dare take it off, for it did save her life in the last encounter. The three bandits shot at her not knowing she was wearing the armor under her civilian clothes.

Pain.
This was not just tiredness. Her shoulder was aching too much and her hand was sticky. Sticky?
Then she looked at her hand. It was red with blood.
"Oh gosh I got wounded!"

She was so concentrated in keeping walking to reach a safe place, after she had regretfully to kill the bandits, that she did not stop to think that, despite the armor, the shock of the bullets could have hurt her. Specially at that close range.

Zoe rechecked: her armor was not breached, though. But she was loosing blood.
"I have to dress this wound, quickly!"
Her vision was gettig blurred but she did have the impression of hearing or seing someone at a distance. Not just people...
"Horses? I must be in dellirium..."
She reached in her ackpack for a stimpack and used it on her.
But she knew she was weakened by not having slept enough in the last few days and nights and that along with the wounds was colecting a tolll....

"Who are they? Should I hide? Or maybe not, maybe they are the help I...."

Collapsing on the warm sand, she lost consciousness.
 
OOC-My god, we have found the holy grail of technology, well nearly...

IC-

“Well, it’s like they say, always leave the best till last.” Shannon murmured approaching the sharp winding stair case leading down into the midst of darkness below.

The slender built woman ran a gritty hand through the light fine hair which blew gently around her shoulders. It had been some time since she last cleaned up yet the dusty cloths and dirty face seemed to only bring out the woman’s fine features giving her an air of a fighter, of someone who had strived for her very life since the days she was born.

Standing before the winding stairs the air seemed some what chilled and draftee.
There was a gentle breeze blowing through the mutilated remains of a once glorious building. The chill causing Shannon to mildly shoulder as a cold feeling rushed up her back. A wind was coming, maybe a storm even brewing.

Grabbing at her sides, the young woman contemplated the stairs before her.
After having searched through the mechanics level of the old university with a fine comb, Shannon had found no sign of anything remotely resembling that of a pre war tech mechanical arm.

But not to despair, all hope was not lost. For remaining at the far end of a crumbled, blasted out room was a narrow spiralling stairway built from solid stone. The stairs winded down like a coiled up snake rapped around a long stone funnel. It didn’t look too inviting.

Shannon breathed in deeply; the icy air was some what refreshing to a tired and run down body, before exhaling with a gentle sigh.

Then, as if winning a battle with her inner self, Shannon commenced her descent.

Round and round the stairs twirled. The further she went downwards, the more it occurred to her that there was some small light shining from below, like a small glow was emitting just around the next turn.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, before her was a small doorway leading into a room which could only be described as similar to a small bunker created from old stone.
From inside, there was evidently a dimly lit light illuminating the inner area of the room.

Shannon slowed, advancing with the greatest prudence as she entered the small room. Thank the heavens she wasn’t Closter phobic or she would have been in a right ol’ bother.

Allowing time for her eyes to adjust to the small quantity of light, Shannon glanced from left to right and then round the rest of the densely compacted room.
The walls were laden with tools and metal objects which looked of ancient use. Lockers, placed neatly around the room, each clearly labelled as to what once, what still may lie within.

Placed where what looked to be symmetrically in the centre of the room was a large metallic work table which gleamed like a star where the dim light reflected off it.
Shannon peered into the table, staring at her own reflection. She sighed quietly to her self, running a slender hand across her cheeks.

Shannon wasn’t a vain woman, nor did she value greatly the way she looked but every girl has her standards and this clearly wasn’t it.
There would be time for pampering once they got out of this structural disaster zone and for that to occur, she needed to locate a certain invaluable mechanical arm.

At first glance, there was nothing that resembled the robotic object amongst the many items hanging from the walls. No, but the steel lockers looked to be promising.

Shannon pushed aside a stack of empty creates and stepped quietly up to the locker first in line.
On the front, was a tarnished, rusty looking tag accordingly named “Electro Generator”. Obviously not what Shannon was hoping to find.
The young woman turned to face the next locker but stopped chillingly in her path. A sound, light as a coin dropping to the ground yet as clear as a sound could be, stole her full attention.

Shannon stood silently still not daring to move an inch, every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for something dreadful to happen. Like prey which has been caught blindly by the predator.
A cold feeling crept over her, a feeling as though there were some hidden eyes bearing down on her, watching her every move.

Breathing heavily, she waited, her ears straining for a sound, her eyes for a sign, for anything but it never came. Everything seemed normal and nothing seemed to be out of place.

Clearly freaked out by the feeling of being watched and weary silence, Shannon rushed quickly back to the task at hand.

From locker to locker she went, checking the name on each one till she found what looked to be very promising. Shannon felt a rush of excitement flow through her body, like someone who is close to winning yet not quite there.

The metal label stamped on the front had the words “Robotics” printed upon it in bold letters.

Shannon reached forward jerking at the handle eagerly. The door rattled loudly but refused to open, locked…

“Locked…” Shannon growled under her breath. “Well there’s a surprise.”

The young woman’s eyes dropped to her feet. Noticing the metal pole with a hook like end lost under the locker, Shannon reached down, tearing the bar from under its current location.

“Right!” she exclaimed tightening her grip over the bar.

Shannon stepped a pace back and brought the crow bar like pole to waste level.

Aiming carefully, Shannon thrust the bar forward into the narrow gap of the door. The old crow bar jammed tightly between the door and the side of the locker.
Using her weight as leverage to manoeuvre the bar round, she pushed against her end of the bar forcing it round.

Gritting her teeth through pure concentration, Shannon strained to open the door which now creaked against the young woman’s force.

As Shannon gave a final powerful push against her end of the crow bar, the door cracked suddenly and burst wide open. Shannon, who wasn’t expecting the door to break so freely, was sent flying with crow bar still in hand against the opposite locker.

She let out a shrilling cry as her head and shoulder collided with the hard steel side of the locker and fell to the ground, letting the crow bar clatter to the flaw besides her.

It took a few seconds before Shannon regained her senses fully. She shook the dizziness from her mind, blinking a few times to clear the slightly blurred vision hindering her sight

Ignoring the pulsing pain cursing through her shoulder which felt like it had been hit with a sledge hammer, she pulled her self up against the locker.

The site from inside almost took her mind away from the burning pain in her forehead and shoulder.

It was if an entire era of lost technology had been stored neatly into this one small locker and she was, after so many years, the one to finally open its locked doors to reveal the forgotten fruits of a time long since passed.

Sat inside the locker were many different robotic parts. Computer chips as well, with circuitry boards and other electronic gadgets but most importantly there was, placed on the top most shelf, what Shannon had been searching for.
After all this time searching and the pain sustained from the knock, it was like finding the holy grail of technology and made it all worth while.

Taking the robotic arm in hand, she looked it over admiring its finely fabricated synthetic look. It was almost like holding a real arm. There seemed to be no difference in weight, yet it was cold, so very cold.

Taking one last look at the lockers contents, so much forgotten history within, it would most likely stay lost till some lone wanderer would happen upon this lost treasure.

For some reason, Shannon gently closed the locker door too before turning and heading back out up the spiralling stairs, back to an awaiting Syphon who had yet too regain consciousness.

As she left, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was watching her.

OOC- Right, thats the arm found. Now to gte out of this crappy death trap of a place.

Ciaos
 
OCC- Ok Zoe, I am going to mess up your little entry a bit, but more to make it more interesting for you. Well at least I hope so.

ICC-

Had it been other riders, perhaps Zoe's collapse might have gone unnoticed. Her clothes were of such a color that they blended easily against the backdrop, making her near invisible even on a good day. The early morning sunlight on the rising mists created a shimmering effect, creating gentle distortions in the distance.

It was not the De Silvas nor the caravaneers that saw her fall. Had that occurred they would have have quickly seized her and brought her to aid station, where her wound would have been tendered.

Instead it was the 4th Column, now quickly moving forward to participate in the long delayed slaughter of the De Silvas. They had come near 100 miles in two days, and their mounts were exhausted. Still, they would be there for the final killing.

It was scouts who saw her fall. Two of them to the far right of the column. One had taken off his binoculars and was surveying the distance. The other had gotten off his horse and was taking a leak to the side. The Oprezki with the binoculars looked right past Zoe, unseeing. But the one releasing himself in a welcoming stream saw her when she fell.

"There, someone out in the grass." He called to his partner.

The other stopped. and looked in the direction he had fallen. At first nothing. "No. I don't see anything."

A shadow in the grass could be a anything. A man down with a rifle ready, a shallow depression in the land.

"I think he fell." Said the first.

"Could be getting down to avoid us" Said the one with the binoculars who was still watching the spot. "Go forward and investigate. I will cover."

This was standard. The one still on horseback steadied his beast and took the long sniper's rifle from the saddle holster. The other zipped up his fly when he had finished, remounted and then raced his horse in the direction he had seen the person fall. As he got closer, he readied his carbine.

The sniper watched and waited.


OCC- more later
 
"Blood here." Said the scout. Traces of blood could be found on the leaves of the tall grass, sprinkled about on the ground.

The sniper continued to watch.

"Found 'em. Ah it's a she. Cute one too. But looks wounded." Said the scout again. He dismounted and inspected the girl.

Gunshot wound. The girl looked pale from blood loss. He turned over, carbine ready in one hand. But she didn't move.

He checked the pulse.

It was there but fainter than it should be.

Pretty girl.

"She's still alive." Said the scout. "But unconscious. She'll need medical attention."

"Put her on the horse. The doctor will have a look." Said the sniper. "She could be a scout or a spy. Or maybe there is a village nearby."

Collect intelligence and return to command. Simple orders really. The scout looked at the girl. They would interrogate her and get what information that they needed.

And if there was anything left of her, they would give her to the men.

OCC- Ok, Zoe, this puts you in a bit of a spot. You have been captured by the Oprezki, and are about to be tortured, interrogated and then some. Now, if you can escape.
 
A youngman stood in the breathe of the battle, holding his M-1 rifle tightly with both hands at waist level. His long brown hair swayed in the constant desert wind, and dust flew gently in the air. His baggy red shirt, loose at the collar, and his dirty, baggy demin jeans gave him the average wasteland look. He held a long face, because he wasn't given a horse unlike everyone else and had to walk to combat, which wasn't too far off into the distance. Bullets occasionally sprayed the ground, making a slapping sound against the hard desert floor.
 
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