[hider=Continuation]
"We got it, now move it woman!" Marshal shouted.

Sweet Gin's breathed deep as she stepped forward. Ahead of her, the liquid fire cracked and popped as he slide across the ground like sludge. She had to do it. She stepped back, murmuring afraid to herself. With a frightened whine, she shut her eyes and charged ahead. Jumped into the air, trying to clear as much as she could.

With a thump, she landed. Falling face-forward into a tumble through the last fires. Collapsing to the Earth in a sprawling twisting tumble.

"Sweet Gin." Will said, tentatively as the android rolled in the dust.

"Sweet Gin!" he bellowed again as the android failed to stop. The severity of his voice called herback and she stopped. Laying flat against the dust, the dry scratchy ground pressed against her cheek. It was cool. It was good. It wasn't burning.

"You're fine." he said.

"Less so your clothes, my lady." Marshall added, tossing down the familiar, heavy weight of her coat on her..

Lifting herself up she realized that though her flesh had not burned near as much as she had dreaded - it simply glowed a faint red - the old shirt that she had worn under had taken a considerable amount of the heat. What was left was sharp, knife-tipped shred supported by the collar and shoulders. It wasn't much of anything, and large holes had been melted along her belly and sides. It hung loose and twisted on her body. And she realized it was edging in to reveal too much.

She wasn't like that. Not anymore.

Her face flushed with embarrassment. And before standing up she grabbed the edges of the coat and wrapped it around her..

Marshal's face was as stoic and blank as ever. Where as Will fought poorly to keep subtlety over his attention; his struggle wasn't particularly helped by the slight bulge he sported in his pants. Something which somehow made the android feel more uncomfortable, and she herself come under the spell of a certain alien warmth. "Right," she said softly, nervously, "Where's Barston? I would like to go now."

"Here." the grumbling, groggy voice of the prince snickered from behind. Sweet Gin turned to the man, a strange sack of blood-spotted cloth dangled from his clenched fists as he hobbled around the ring of fire, "And I agree. Let's get a move. We've not got far to go until the airfield."

***

The wind hit them with a warm, abrasive force as the four scrambled over the hill. Leaving behind them the scraggly trees they scaled the small retaining wall that ran the length of the road. Behind them, the cold urban ruins of Worcester rose from its valley in the cradle of seven large sweeping hills. Ahead of them, the collapsing ruins of its old Airfield stood.

The towering mast of the con tower was little more than an empty shell that had long collapsed onto the runway. The offices and terminals shredded dark tombs, from where flapped and moaned the ruins of New England. The wind here was harsh, being in a high clear spot. And climbing the last birm to the airfield proper, the true extent of the desert that was the airfield came to full. For over a mile stretched a network of concrete and gravel. The rusted and stripped hulks of crashed and grounding air craft choked the runway. Several olive-green trucks dotted the property between planes.

"This is where we leave you." Barston croaked behind Sweet Gin as she took several tentative steps forward. The prince looked as she felt, ratted, bruised, and tired. They all were. They had been scorched, bruised, and pursued. Cuts and gashes spider webbed their outfits and armor. The voyage had been tiring.

"I see." Sweet Gin said softly. Looking at the prince, Marshal, and Will she asked, "What of you? Will you be able to make it back."

"We will, m'lady." Marshal nodded. The coldness of his voice had subsided, as if the android had won a little respect in his eyes. Even Barston looked a little confident in her.

"I don't know where else you plan to go." Barston said, "But where ever you do, then I hope you've learned a little bit from The Worm. No doubt, the roads ahead will be as bad."

Sweet Gin looked back at the city. She thought that had she had more time, she would have come to know more of it. But there were wider places to explore. At the edge of the city, between its ruins and the sand-blasted wilderness of New England beyond Sweet Gin felt a tinge of longing for the city. It had been the first big settlement she had come to know. She felt like she owed The Worm something more than a good bye.

"I wish I could stay." she said suddenly.

The three knights laughed awkwardly. "I have not known a person who would stay in Worcester." Will chuckled, "We would all leave, if it weren't for duty."

"Duty?"

"I'm sure you'll learn of it, synth." Barston said.

"Maybe I will." she said, "Like 'life'."

"One step at a time." the prince sneered.

"But if you do wish to keep the Worm at heart..." Marshal started, "Then we could use more people who could use a weapon."

A dry grin quivered across Barston's sore face, "Some days, I feel we loose more men than we can bring into the city, or the world." the prince added. Limped towards Sweet Gin he spoke in a emboldened voice, "Back there," he said, "With Logan and his butt buddy, you showed something that we've rarely seen. If I had it in my power, I would demand you stay. You're a force of nature, even if you're artificial."

Reaching for his belt he drew out his sword. It was long, jagged. Dents and large gaping gouges had been lashed into the steel. The prince looked at it with a strange mix of repulsion, and longing. "Don't be afraid to take a bit from others." he said, holding the sword at its blade. Carefully, he lowered the hilt to Sweet Gin.

"I don't share thrill in ceremony." he said, "But look at this as a battlefield commission."

"A sir Sweet Gin." Marshal cackled, "I don't think I ever would see the day."

Barston ignored him, "I have a charge of you." he said, "If you ever meet any man worth himself in fighting as you, send him this way. We will put him to his share of work on share on loot.

"See this blade as your authority to do so."

"Bu-" Sweet Gin started.

"Shut up and take the sword." Barston scowled, "I can always get another, and someone needs to get people to do what his father is too lazy to do." the prince thrust the hilt closer to Sweet Gin's face. Gripped with apprehension, the Android rose her hand up to grab a hold of the weapon. As her fingers wrapped around the pummel, the prince released the blade, allowing it to fall to an awkward dangle from Sweet Gin's metallic hands.

Barston stepped back and gave the android the slightest bow. "This has been your charge." he said, "So go and do it."

"Alright..." the android muttered, watching as he turned to his comrades and lead them off. The android stood there for a good several moments, staring into the jagged warped trees. A hot gust of wind blew and sand blew against her body. Turning, Sweet Gin looked out ahead of her, to where the marker in her vision blinked softly. Taking a breath, she walked off. Heading back out on the road again.

Off in the corner of her vision, a trimmed shadowy figure watched from behind the airport's ruins. The man adjusted something at his neck, and turned to leave.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[i]Chapter footnote: Level up![/i]
[i]Level footnote: Level 5![/i]
[i]Skillfootnote: Explosives 26/100[/i]

[i]Quest Perk Added:[/i]
[i]Knight of Worcester:[/i]
[i]You've been knighted. This perk opens up unique dialog options to some characters.[/i]

[img]http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/256/a/5/frp_banner___unforeseen_consequences_by_aaronmk-d6m711x.png[/img]

If one thing was becoming quickly fluid, it was time. 

It dripped through Sweet Gin's metal hands like running water. Passed her by on the wind like the sands of the wasteland. It was misused, and the facted taunted her via her navigation. The program continued yet to think that Sweet Gin was on the easiest path of travel, as opposed to the hilly country-side of the Commonwealth's wasteland, and not moving at a constant pace. In the belief that she did not need to hide in fear at the passing of strange wasteland wild-life, or detour around obstacles and problems, or answer the protests of bruising and injury.

Aches and pains still rocked the android's body. Crippling her to the point that even a woman of metal and artificial flesh found herself laying down within the abandoned ruins of wayward country homes, or across the seats of wrecked automobiles. She was still functional, and her systems said that her vital functions were operative. But the discomfort of simply moving was a taxing problem that bore down on her shoulders worse than the pack that rode on her back.

As such, The sweet moldy smell of decaying leather and rotting upholstery was becoming as familiar as the harsh ripping of sand and the blistering dry heat of the nuclear sun. The itch of melted nylon fiber on her exposed face becoming akin to the sand and gravel that rode on the wind currents. Rest was becoming a thing.

And of course, the practice was also eating at her travel.

Her internal clocks insisted that her destination was little more than twelve hours from Worcester. Maybe she would have gotten there if she followed the roads and didn't stop to break. But four hours of having to relieve her tired self in the shelter of a sweltering shell of a car, or in the dusty and languid air of an old house long abandoned ticked the hours away dangerously.

Before she knew it, the sun had set and night had fallen on her. The might of the sun surrendering to the crisp cool of the night. With feet stepping over rocks and climbing over the toppled stumps of knotted, poisoned, and burned out trees the Android continued through as the sun passed away.

Cresting over a dusty sandy rise Sweet Gin stood at the breast of a low rolling hill. Laying out around her stretched the picturesque night landscape of south-west New England. A sky of deep darkened blue, lit up with fiery oranges and powerful ruby-reds behind her blazed from behind the horizon with a furious fire-storm. Gilding her back in gold as she looked to the shadows beyond. If anyone had been there to see, they may have said she had a halo of fire; maybe a little something given to her for one moment by Logan. His scream still echoed within her.

The hills that stretched and cracked the landscape for miles beyond were nothing but black and ominous shadows of ash and ruin against the growing velvet blue of the night sky. And tucked warmly in their hidden breasts a hundred hiding holes. The kind of hiding holes that the Android felt she needed now her back protested the load she carried and the battle she had fought. The bruises doing the most of the moaning. Her flesh felt twisted and knotted under the straps of her pack. Not an hour after the last ten minute break in the shelter of one of a hundred shapeless ruined homes it felt time to lay down again.

Drawing her eyes closer to her position she spotted a large gravel-choked clearing at the bottom of the earthly basket. Seated at the bottom stood a still-standing metal building, the dying sunlight and the rising moon glinted off of the corrugated steel that lay across its eaves in a thatch-work of rusty plate and knotted abused cabling. The monster of two-hundred years lay in a herd of sunken, sullen automobile wrecks. Rising from its furthest corner looked to be a twisted and collapsing spire, leaning precariously on a few barely-there guy wires.

Hitching her pack up, it looked to be the Android's best bet. And fighting against the clawing ache that wrapped across her side and shoulders she marched down the hill to it, weaving between the thick trees.

With a soft hush of gravel and a trail of sand riding after her wake Sweet Gin came to a rest at the bottom of the gully. And simply walking through the remains of a long-gone chain-link fence she came upon the yard of the large building. From the look of the bricks, and the rusting metal siding it looked like an old storage facility; a warehouse. Its higher walls decorated with ventilation units the size of a man, and between them windows so caked over in grim they were a darker black than the shadows that played behind them. Thick pipes and conduit raced into the walls.

Parked trucks caught in the end days rested in a scattered orbit around the central building. Being among them Sweet Gin noticed a few pockets of the same faded, olive-green vehicles that had occupied the Worcester streets. Were these of the same people, she thought, those old knights?

Never the less, the building they sought to occupy had little in the way of entrances and to her anger many side doors were locked. She tried to force them, but they were stiff. Welded shut by decades of rust. Trying to ram them down, she discovered to her painful dismay that they were sturdier than she. They did not need to move to spill her over the rough cement at her feet.

The bruises screamed out more in pain. Or it was to mock her.

Climbing to her feet, the android did manage to find an entrance. A space on the loading dock side. The shutter doors here had been opened, but froze inches above the ground. Just enough for her to slide in. Throwing her pack under the empty space, she squeezed through. It was tight, but the Android made it in.

Sweet Gin pulled herself under the iron grating of the warehouse's loading gates. Trading one darkness for another, she passed into the metal shell's forgotten hulk. The strength of the moon and stars in the irradiated sky was scant and barely visible in the dust-choked and wreckage strewn aisles of the storage facility. The mating of dust ensured that much of the light that managed through was nothing more than a soft azure glow patched by thick blackness. Blue spears pierced the darkness and illuminating dancing fractals of dust, as granted by opened eyes in the thick hide of grime in said windows.

The warehouse's interior as well throbbed with a soft mechanical heart beat. Muffled for sure, and choked. But somewhere something popped and sputtered in a distant locked-down corner. It was odd, for sure. Though weak as it was, the past forty-eight hours in the wasteland lead to the cautious fear that it might be something to fear. Or to be careful about.

For all the Android could tell the warehouse was a mess. Stacks of shelving units lay crumpled and crisscrossed across the cement space throwing the formally organized crates against the grounds. There was a soft supple organic reek in the stagnant air. Like that of decay. Whether or not it was the content of the boxes or another matter entirely was a story all its own. Sweet Gin didn't so much care, she felt she needed somewhere to lie down for several moments and let her body catch up.

She clutched blindly into the darkness for her pack, finding a stray strap and hoisting it over her shoulder. Sighing tiredly she carried herself and her gear over the ransacked storage towards the sound of the metallic, yet meaty rumble at the far end. She reached for her belt, lifting back her coat to hold the heavy steel of her 10mm.

She trudged across the semi-open aisles, crossing the wide building. The deeper in she drew the louder and more distinct the mechanical rumbling came. The more guttural and wheezing its rumbling became. Its low speech coming and going in forced and tired cycles. "Grr-vum. Grr-vum Grr-rrr-vum."

And, there was something else. Hidden behind a sheet of tarpaulin and nestled in a cave of collapsed shelves and tipping dividers poured a soft green light. Invisible from the entrance on account of the massed pile of shit around it. But it too pulsed a ghostly green glow to the rhythm of the strange alien beast tucked away somewhere.

Sweet Gin's fingers tightened around the gun, softly drawing back the hammer. She was sure that it was loaded, at least. Stepping around the corner of the accumulated garbage she saw the source of the light.

A softly lit, glowing terminal.

The piece looked to be under the influence of some miracle resting on its aluminum poker table as it hummed weakly away to the tune of the not-to-distant moaning. Its screen brandished a display of CRT black and green. Relaxing her grip on her weapon Sweet Gin apprehensively approached the screen, her head cocked to the side, frowning.

Slumped off to the side of the machine rested the skeletal remains of a man. The limp, torn, and faded rags of a uniform hung from his remains as the bones sat slumped to the side. By a miracle the mummified strands of sinew and blackened cartilage held its form together. An impressive hole had been gouged in the slumping bones head.

Unintroduced and apathetic to the pile of bones, Sweet Gin merely swept it off the chair. It clattered to the ground in a tumble, breaking apart. Anything that was holding it together simply turning to dust and melting away at the impact with the cold cement.

The Android rolled the skeleton's chair closer to her. In the dim light of the CRT light she spied a thick bound cable running from the back-end of the computer terminal and off to a separate office.

[i]It's a generator,[/i] she thought to herself. A feeling of ease washed upon her as a sigh escaped her lips and her body loosened. The grumbling and pulsing was merely an effect of a still operational generator.

As well, she felt modestly warm.

Dropping her heavy pack on the ground nearby Sweet Gin uncomfortably turned the chair around to her, sitting down. The metal groaned under her weight and the bearings in it felt as if they would give at any moment and throw her to the floor. But even with the protesting and hanging fear of it giving out, it stayed put.

She put her attention towards the computer. Looking up at the softly glowing screen. Budding curiosity flowered in her as she read its contents. Obviously someone had not remembered to lock it down after use. A memory of the brothel came to mind and the same terminals the bouncers and her pimp, Scrap Daddy used; they were all - at some point or another - always password protected to prevent others access them.

But it's not like she cared then, she remembered. It was merely a recording, let alone a true memory she felt. These past 48 hours have given her memories. Fear, longing, curiosity. What she was beginning to feel now for her past was an after-the-fact.

Like looking at pictures.

Or read log titles.

"Mission parameters." read the top most log. It was also the earliest made entry, with a date of October 22, 2077.

Apprehensively, she tapped the keys to figure out how to work the machine. A number of gibberish in-valid orders crossed the bottom bar of the screen as she mashed strings of random letters and numbers to get it to do something. Or at least anything other than:

[i]"fhbskdjfnw4t090we9fjqwjnaskm”[/i][/center]
[i]”INVALID COMMAND"[/i]

Finally, her fingers passed over a key and the screen flickered and its contents stayed. The command bar now read ">USA2000494 (C:) > FRT DEVONS FIELD UNITS > ORDERS > MISSION PARAMETERS"

Sweet Gin blinked in awe as the screen loaded with words. She looked down at her finger held firmly down at the enter button.

At the end of the page load a singular word encased in a green box reading "back" appeared. Sweet Gin lifted her finger away from the enter key as she read the text on screen.

[i]"Field operations are to be dispatched to Worcester County in response to possible liberal commie threat in uprising of local population at indications of a possible PRC nuclear weapons launch. Sources of intelligence are confidential.[/i]

[i]"Local units are authorized to use full force to suppress possible liberal-communist sympathizers in the area of Worcester County in conjunction of neighboring regions in a coordinated effort issued by the New England Commonwealth government and local military command. Those of suspected COMMUNIST ideology are to be detained on charges of mounting insurrection against the government of the United States and units are to be on stand by to escort loyal citizens to nearby Vault 21 pending threat of Nuclear Warhead launch from China or Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.[/i]

[i]"Orders are to stand until overridden by the Commonwealth's order from Boston, or from Federal Command in Washington DC."[/i]

Sweet Gin cocked a brow and mashed "enter" and arrived back at the list of log entries. This time more tentatively, she pressed keys, eventually finding the set to select the next one down. Titled "Captain Ronald. A - Field Report1". It was dated the same time as the order previous.

[i]”Company B of the 52nd Army of Massachusetts log.[/i]

[i]"Unit has secured parameter field position west of Worcester to practice rural patrols and to preemptively take hiding positions before suspected Communist sympathizer refugees evacuate Worcester. The unit has detained Gerald F. O'Maley of Four Clover Storage on charges of conspiring to commit espionage by denying unit access to his property. We have secured the main storage facility and are using it as a field outpost to serve logistical support.[/i]"

The next file down was a corrupted string of commands and characters which made hardly any sense, which greatly puzzled Sweet Gin. Regardless, it was titled as the second in a series of field reports and dated October 23, 2077. Below that sat a file titled "Incident Report - 24 Oct 2033"

[i]"Company B has requested contact with main core in City of Worcester following nuclear discharge of Chinese origin. Attempts to radio to unit command in city center has gone unheard. We are distributing RAD-X and RADAWAY as needed but do not have supplies to last for a prolonged period and we request a return on our requests.[/i]

[i]"Traffic otherwise has been heavy through region as I-90 is reportedly clogged. Majority a foot traffic and Unit field medic is struggling to cope with the demands of refugee populations. General unruliness has been sighted and we are discharging weapons to quell violence and maintain what fragile order we can manage."[/i]

Incident Report2 - 26 Oct 2033

"[i]Men's morale is low and we have exhausted our diminutive medical supplies. What the fucking Hell is going on? Worcester is still blacked out and Boston is silent. If we do not get a reply and supplies through then desertion is imminent and we will lose the position![/i]

[i]"I am holding onto the orders as best as I can, but already much of the unit has deserted over the previous night.[/i]

[i]"I am also reporting green snow."[/i]

"Fuqck it - 24iiehn67 OTIvept 20$$"

"[i]I would like to apologize. To everyone. My wife, son, and commander. My ma' and dad and everyone else. But the state of affairs has run afoul and I feel I am incapable of carrying on.[/i]

[i]"I believe I am suffering symptoms of acute radiation exposure. My skin is peeling and I feel nauseous. My head has balded, I can feel it. I can hardly stay awake. I am vomiting up what I never ate. If my medic was here, I am sure he would tell me what I know: I am suffering from some fucking terrible radiation exposure.[/i]

[i]"I don't know how they outside are taking it.[/i]

[i]"This isn't how I imagine to have died and I would have much rather went how the men in Worcester went. Without ado, I am opting to take myself out here.[/i]

[i]"Fuck America, it's dead,[/i]
[i]"Captain Ronald. A"[/i]

The reports from then on seemed to have went silent for a century or more, with no additional logs tagged into the terminal. The latest set of entries caught Sweet Gin as being especially curious. Not trimmed and formal as the last were. Tentatively, she tapped down to them, and selected the third newest entry. The entry date was crudely corrupted, as was the title.[/hider]