All was quiet in the Waste.

Wind blew the ash into small, lazy tornadoes, sending them dancing for a few moments before settling again. Sparrows cried out overhead, fighting amongst themselves for scraps, and occasionally a rat or some other creature would dart from one patch of vegetation to the next. It was almost peaceful, really, if not somewhat lonely.

Dawn sat cross-legged in the ruins of some abandoned house, scooping some sort of stew out from a can and into her mouth. She wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, it was that she was eating- the label had been worn to the point of being completely undecipherable- but it was filling, and seemed fresh enough not to kill her with food poisoning. That was good enough for her.

She paused to take a swig from her canteen, placed her meal at her side, then pulled a map from her pocket and carefully unfolded it. The towns printed on it had been long since destroyed, but the roads and landmarks remained. Dawn had scribbled over some of it upon actually finding the thing, filling blank spaces with notes and the like. Helped to be prepared, after all.

A few of the more amiable travelers she had encountered had tipped her off to a settlement off in the east- a bit small, apparently, but friendly enough and open to trades. If its residents were still there, it would be a good opportunity to replenish some of her supplies, and to have what might be the first friendly bit of conversation Dawn had had in weeks. “Friendly” being the key word, there, seeing as the last person she had met as of late had attempted to put a bullet through her skull without batting an eye. It was only expected, out in the wasteland, but it was an unpleasant experience regardless. Shaking the thought off, Dawn tucked the map away, and was cleaning up some of her mess when she stopped in her tracks.

Someone was coming.

Dawn quickly stuffed the rest of her things into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped away from the nearest window. She cast her Gift out to the stranger in the same moment, probing carefully at the forefront of their thoughts. If this person was a more hostile sort, Dawn didn’t want to take any chances.

There came a soft but noticeable clattering of rusted, stiff metal. A brief glance out the window would reveal that a wheelchair was clattering along down the broken sidewalk. The chair was rusted and noisy, but it was still serving its function effectively. But there were two interesting things about the wheelchair. First of all, there was a large mass of what looked like maybe grass or some kind of unrecognizable plant matter strapped to the back of it like an improvised cape. Secondly, and more to the point, unlike most wheelchairs that clattered along down most broken roads, this one was occupied. There was a blonde man sitting in it, rolling down the street and whistling softly to himself. He clattered along, seemingly oblivious to the noise he was making. After a moment, he glanced up at the sky for a moment, then nodded and twisted around in his seat, taking his hands off the whee. He reached into the mass of plant matter, fished around for a minute, and came out with a scrap of cured meat. He grinned, stuck the jerky into his mouth and turned around, only to quickly grab the wheel and skid to a stop just in time to keep himself from slamming into a mailbox. He chuckled softly, rolled his eyes, and quickly corrected course. "That could've ended badly," he muttered, for the benefit of no one but himself.

If this man noticed Dawn probing his mind, he didn't do anything about it. His thoughts swirled semi-randomly through his mind, not taking shape into rigid words in favor of fluid concepts and half-formed images. The man was daydreaming. This was perhaps not the wisest thing to do in a Wasteland, but he seemed... if not happy, at least content. And one thing was clear: he certainly seemed harmless.

However, more thoughts soon started to flood from someone else's mind a small distance away.

"I am really getting old for this, and my damned bad leg isn't helping me at all!" Aran complained in his mind as he got close to the abandoned house. "Eira should be here soon enough, I only sent her to scout around the area." he thought, looking briefly at the abandoned house from a distance, squinting to see if anyone was at the house and noticed a... wheelchair? Who in the world survived in this wasteland in a wheelchair, the person he saw was either the luckiest person ever, or had a very powerful gift that allowed him to survive, it might end in combat.

He briefly thought of the machete at his hip, thanking whatever deity was in the skies that he had found such a good melee weapon, his gift was powerful enough to be sure, however, compared with most other guns, it's range was lackluster and very hard to aim with at that. However, he knew that if he was going in a melee fight, he would win 8 times out of ten as most times a target would not be able to handle the force of one of his punches or kicks combined with a large electrical surge.

However, as he looked on at the man, he thought that he may be a bit paranoid, while a significant amount of people were hostile on sight, this person that he saw looked friendly enough to at least talk to before wishing to shoot or attack him. He sighed and decided to take the risk and approached the wheelchair bound person at a steady pace.

"Hello there, friend, if you are armed, please do not shoot, I am not hostile!" he said, approaching, if his opponent was hostile and armed with a gun, it was in his best interest to get close enough for his electrical strike to be able to do any significant damage.

Eira was bored. Eira was nearly always bored. And when Eira wasn't having fun or working (which was still fun to her), it lead to her wandering through the waste, looking for.. What? She wasn't an outright killer like some people, but she did like to cause mayhem, and if someone died in the process, oh well. Wrong place, wrong time sort of deal.

Eira ducked into a few abandoned homes, searching for anything semi-intact. She like to collect random items, be it teddy bears or socks or jewelry, anything small that once had significant meaning to someone. She was trying to flex her psychometry, as she liked to work on it every so often. Picking up a harmless-looking corkscrew, a flood of emotions hits the girl and vague images flashed through her mind. Throwing the tool down as if it had burnt her, she had to take a moment to regain her composure, leaned up against a wall.

She heard a clattering outside and climbed the top of the decapitated building she was currently exploring, first noticing the source of the noise. A wheelchair, hmm? Interesting.. Then, her eyes fell onto her mentor, and she could tell by his mannerisms that he was favoring his good leg ever-so-slightly. If she felt things like guilt or shame, she might have at this moment, but all that went through her mind was 'Damn it, if this handicapped dude is hostile..' With that thought, she quickly makes her way down an attached gutter pole, jogging over to her mentor to better asses the situation. Upon reaching the pair, she could feel another mental nearby, but seeing as how her powers were in sensing objects history, that's all she could determine.

A thundering heartbeat, a cackling storm crashing against the mud soaked ground. The shivering of fear, and endless motion of blood creeping its way through the battleground, soldiers laid scattered across the vast scene which in turn painted a picture most horrid. Buildings were torn to what could only be considered ghosts of their former glory, bullet holes riddling their shapes to the point of devastation. The otherwise ever cleansing rain blanketed the darkness in a futile attempt to wash misery from sight, though faded beneath the gore splattered against the now bronze colored mud. Throwing a tired hand forth, a boy, no, a soldier crawled forth in desperation, a series of wounds riddling his body with clothes torn and shredded due to wartime strife. Pulling himself up, the soldier slipped and fell once more, his fall cushioned by the disemboweled corpse of one once called friend. Nearly barfing at the sight, the stench was enough to turn the soldier's stomach. Shivering from the cold, nearly fainting from the pain, and cursed by the very sight of hell's own embrace, Miles clenched his teeth and once more struggled back to his feet.

Obfuscated by the furious rain, the tears making their way down his cheeks were washed from place with his messy black hair sticking to his forehead. Miles reached for the gun holstered in his protective vest, the one thing which had kept him alive throughout the ambush he had endured. Never before had he seen such a monstrosity, a creature of such abominable strength. What ungodly creation had come to be, joining the ranks of Erubesco? What manner of abomination had they pulled from the bowels of the abyss itself?

He could hear it, Miles' heartbeat accelerating at the sound of an inhuman growl. Once berserker rage had overtaken the beast once considered a reflection of mankind, neither friend nor foe held different merit. The very ground shook at its footsteps, forcing Miles to pick up his pace through the mud soaked path while trying not to fall to his knees. It was so, that serendipity never came to bless him after survival had brought him from the brink of death. The Reaper stood by, watching, but he would never raise a single of his skeletal fingers in a manner of help.

Crushing through the crumbling remains of a ruined building, the monster of myth and horror came rushing towards Miles as he desperately jumped to the side. With a hand grasping the wound on his stomach, Miles once more got well acquainted with the mud soaked ground and aimed his gun at the foe now shifting its attention towards him. Several shots rang out, the sound of bullets leaving the muzzle of a gun echoing throughout the thunderous air but did little in stopping this messenger of hell's wrath. Raising a deformed hand, this massive beast rammed it down towards the smaller soldier and nearly cracked the ground only moments after Miles rolled away from the attack. The boy jolted back to his feet in a desperate sprint from the chasing beast and replicated another clip for his gun. Even in top shape, the soldier would have no hopes in outrunning the nightmare following him, but the wounded boy now trying to escape could only throw himself into an adjacent building through one of the many cracks.

Droplets of blood followed him like a tail, with the enemy crashing through every wall in a straight line towards its prey. Whenever Miles was granted the opportunity, he spun around and unleashed a hail of bullets from his pistol but saw the futility in his attempt once the shattered debris of architecture hit him as a result of the disastrous path of destruction circling the beast. Thrown to the ground, Miles' pistol was knocked out of his hand which left him with little more than a knife. Grasping the hilt of his blade, Miles drew it from place and narrowly escaped death a second time. Moving out of the way at the last second, Miles avoided the beast's next attack which shattered the wall behind him. With a swing of his knife, the soldier planted the blade in his foe's leg but was quickly backhanded in a knee-jerk motion.

Once more sent to the ground, Miles was thrown out of the building and back into the mud. With the thunderous rain crashing down upon him, body broken and spirit soon to follow, there was a glimmer of hope shining its rays upon him. An assault rifle laid next to his fallen comrade, only inches from where Miles had landed. Reflexively reaching for the rifle, Miles didn't bother using his Gift on the ammunition. He spun to his back, aiming the rifle at the monstrous fiend now charging him. He pulled the trigger, squeezing it with desperation as a rapid and constant series of bullets flew out from the barrel and lodged themselves in the mutant's upper body. Not even a devil like that could survive an entire clip's worth of bullets in the chest, some of which made their way into its heart and throat.

Crashing down in front of him, the monster now laid lifeless in front of Miles who himself breathed a desert of air from parched lungs. Every breath sent a jolt of pain down his chest, his legs having given up on him. He could barely move, with blood leaking from his body mercilessly. This was it. He could not cling to consciousness further, his sight slowly fading into complete, and utter darkness.

@Claw2k11
@bmxbrat484
The man in the wheelchair gasped. He gripped the wheels of his chair in both hands and spun the right wheel as hard as he could. With the left wheel held firmly in place, he spun swiftly around to face the two wanderers. "What the-- Oh! Hey!" He laughed softly and released his grip on the wheels, rolling backwards slightly.

There was, for a moment, the flash of panic. He looked like easy prey, and he was well aware of this by now. And the fact that he'd recently been forced to trade away his gun for a few days' worth of food didn't help matters. But then, these people didn't know that. "Unless they can read minds," he realized. "...Naaaah, that's not gonna happen. I haven't met anybody who can read minds since at least Tuscaloosa."

He cleared his throat after a moment, then scratched his collarbone, peeking over the edge of his stained muscle-shirt. He needed to appear non-threatening, and fortunately he was very, very good at that. "Hey. I didn't see you two there." He then donned a hopefully disarming grin and shrugged. "Well, you didn't try to sneak up behind me and stab me in the neck, so you're already doin' better than the last guy. How you folks doin'?"

After a few moments of picking and prodding, Dawn relaxed slightly, drawing the tendrils of her Gift out of the tangle of the stranger’s thoughts. Whoever they were, they seemed...calm. Relaxed. A bit eccentric, if the willingness to drift off into fantasy was any indication, but not someone who read like they would shoot first and ask questions later. She was further reassured upon looking out and finding that the person was, surprisingly, wheelchair bound- although that raised the question of how they managed to survive out in the ash. Still, the person seemed well enough, and Dawn was about to reveal herself when two more entered her range. Jaw tightening, she slipped back into the (relative) safety of the house, probing at the newcomers as cautiously as before.

A man. On the older side, if the leg trouble was any indication. Not actively hostile, but willing to fight if necessary.

A woman. Sensor of some sort- the fact that she was aware of Dawn made her a bit tense, but it seemed as if stranger wasn’t sure where, exactly, she was. Hoping to avoid conflict altogether.

There were too many people here for her taste, but there was no way that she would be able to escape without their notice. Shifting the weight of her bags, Dawn stepped out of the doorway, sticking close to the wall in case anyone decided to start firing (although it seemed that the man in the wheelchair wouldn’t even be able to, anyway).

“Um. Hello, there.”

Her voice was a bit raspy from lack of use, and Dawn cleared her throat a bit to try and smooth it out a bit.

@Conch Shell VII@bmxbrat484@Claw2k11

Eira starts when the man reacted so suddenly, her fingertips lighting like candles. Nowhere near a significant flame, but noticeable all the same. Once the flames had dissipated, she laid a hand on her mentors arm, stating lowly "There's at least one more nearby.." before reaching a hand out to the unknown man cautiously. "No shit you didn't see Eira, you wouldn't have reacted so poorly. Eira needs to touch your wheelchair. If you don't comply, you will be set on fire." She stated matter-of-factly. It was the only way she could tell if the man was being genuine or not, to touch an object that he had a deep connection to. Before she could, however, Eira saw a small movement out of the corner of her eye. Shifting her weight towards the stranger, the ground at her outside foot caught fire in warning, a small fire about 8" in diameter. When she finally saw the woman, she could just tell that this was the Mental she had sensed before. "You, you were trying to sense me earlier, and I assume you were in the others minds as well?"

@Conch Shell VII@EchoicChamber@Claw2k11

@bmxbrat484 @Claw2k11 @EchoicChamber

"What? Why d-- uh..."

The man in the wheelchair seemed more than a little taken aback by this. He leaned back slightly in his chair, unsure of how to react. He took a brief moment to consider his options. Obviously, he wasn't armed, and he wasn't sure he could take down a firebug even if he had a gun. That left him with considerably fewer options than he was really comfortable with. He could try to run, but he didn't have the best track record with outrunning people on the best of days, and right now he was a little behind on his repairs. He could try to fight, but based her reaction when she'd showed up, the firebug was in league with the older guy. That would make any fight two to one, and he didn't know what the other guy's gift was. That left him with about one choice.

So, after a moment, he cleared his throat, pasted the smile back on and nodded. "...Okay, Eira. That seems reasonable. Just, uh, be careful with it."

At that point, he heard a fourth person enter the fray. He quickly glanced over and let out a quick, relieved sigh, grateful for something else to bounce off of here. "Oh hey!" he said, waving his hand above his head. "I didn't see you there either! People keep getting the drop on me today. Huh. Anyway, hi! I-- oh," he added, quickly turning back to the rest of the assembling group, "I'm Overreach, by the way. Did I mention that? Good to meet you anyways. What're your names?"

As guns went off in the town, Lucas strolled around in one of the houses, humming to a tune he'd heard in the city before. There seemed to be some kind of altercation going on outside, but it didn't really make Lucas' job more difficult. He had already found some good loot. There were quite a few old electronics, but most of their ancient hardware had rusted. Still, such old materials could pay well to the right person. Some people are just fascinated by what happened, but apparently not enough to actually go outside and look to see. People who call themselves collectors.

Lucas' train of thought was interrupted as one of the windows of the house shattered with a painful scream from one of the men outside. The young man jogged over to the window to peer out. He looked in disgust at the monster throwing the dead husk of the soldier to the side. "Ugh. Hello, ugly." He walked into the next room and peered into a different building. He disappeared from the spot he was standing in and reappeared on the balcony of the next building, watching the next few seconds of the fight as only one of the soldiers seemed to remain. He walked inside the building through the shattered door, careful not to step on any glass. He walked over to the room that looked like the master bedroom, where rats had gathered in a corner and cobwebs had tied a fallen painting frame onto the broken bed. There was a large fracture in the wall, in the shape of a cube. The bottom was empty, leading downstairs, so he reappeared downstairs, just under the hole. He felt his feet standing on some kind of metal safe. "Bingo," he said with a grin. He opened the broken case and pulled out what was inside. "A photo? Aw, they look so happy! Let's see what else..." Just then, the sound of a window crashing interrupted him again, followed by quick bursts of gunfire. Rolling his eyes, Lucas looked back down to the components of the safe. "A pocket watch... Some banknotes from before... Ah! Here it is," he said as he found a box under everything. "Hm. Only a few gold pieces. The rest seem to be too decayed," he muttered as he looked at the bronze and gold jewelry. As he bagged the valuables, he looked up just as before, but this time at the lack of any sound.

He walked over to the door, looking over at the scene. After a moment of deliberation, he went to see the corpses. "I wonder what they were fighting about." As he kneeled to search the young soldier, he noticed a faint breathing. Clicking his tongue, Lucas wondered if it was just because of the rain, but soon realized that the soldier was still alive, even if only barely. He let out a frustrated cry before sighing. "I'll look at the other bodies, then. Gotta get you out of the rain and patch you up, hm?"

@Conch Shell VII@bmxbrat484@EchoicChamber

"I am Aran Seiran, traveling surgeon/medic, I am currently on the move with my... well, I would not call her apprentice, but she's slowly learning!" he said with a chuckle before clearing her voice. "I am truly sorry for my student's rather... hostile approach, the last fellows we met were not as nice, though we were able to scare them off with a few flames and sparks, so I apologize on her behalf." he spoke to the man in the wheelchair.

"And young lady!" Aran said smiling as gently as possible, though being a 7ft, fairly muscular man would diminish a bit from the friendly tone he spoke. "Come out, don't let my big ugly mug scare you away, I'm as friendly as can be!" Aran spoke with a wide smile on his face, taking care to conceal his true thoughts, not even allowing them to form in the first place. "I know it's a bit much to ask of right now considering we have just met, but do any of you have any extra water?" he asked, patting his half-empty backpack. "Though I don't have much to trade with, I could do a few preliminary check-ups on you, maybe treat a few scrapes and bruises?"

Upon catching sight of the woman’s flames, Dawn recoiled as if struck, although she managed to compose herself after a moment or two. The last thing strangers needed to see was weakness, after all. Giving an almost sheepish smile, she stepped away from the wall, palms open to show she had no weapons at the ready.

“Sorry,” she said, mildly. “I just, um, wanted to make sure you weren’t the types to try to kill me as soon as I came out. Telepath here.” It wasn’t technically a lie- after all, she had been reading their minds not only a few minutes prior- but that wasn’t all she could do. Better to keep her cards up her sleeve for as long as she could. Dawn rubbed her arm nervously, looking between the three like she was trying to keep watch of them all. Her brow twitched upwards as the man in the wheelchair introduced himself- odd name- but there were far stranger people out in the ash.

“I’m Dawn. It’s, ah, nice to meet you, everyone.” She shifted on her heels at Aran’s request, and, after a moment, she carefully reached over her shoulder and drew a plastic bottle of water from her bag. She lifted it up, as if about to throw it, before thinking better of it, moving forward, and setting the bottle on the ground before retreating. It wasn’t too heavy of a loss, as she had two other containers- full, thanks to a building with still-running water a few miles back- but with any luck, it would convince the mentor and student alike to keep things peaceable. “I know it’s not much,” Dawn admitted, “but hopefully that’ll last you until you get to...wherever you’re going, I guess. You don’t have to give me anything for it.”

Especially as the idea of a complete stranger getting close enough to give a “check-up” wasn’t too appealing of a thought.

@Claw2k11@Conch Shell VII@bmxbrat484

"This body is named Eira, I however am a psychometric. No hard feeling, but next time you try and enter my domain, I will mentally bitch slap you to tomorrow." The ease of which she said this made most of her threats ring true, whether she was bullshitting or not.. Most people didn't dare take that chance, and those who did tended to end up dead. The girl glanced at the self-proclaimed 'Overreach' curiously. "I didn't mean to come off as hostile, but Eira must still touch your wheelchair, sir." Slower this time, the girl reached out a hand to touch the arm of it, her eyes rolling back slightly once she made contact.

Unlike the vengeful past of the corkscrew, the subsequent flood of images and emotions were much more tragic and sorrowful.

"The person who previously owned this wheelchair died quite an unpleasant death.. But they weren't the first. Salvaged from a hospital, then? So you weren't born paralyzed.." Eira removed her hand, tilting her head to the side as she observed the occupant of the chair. "I'm sorry, Overreach. You've had this awhile though, hmm? I'd wager 8 or more years, no more than 14. A lot of memories tied to your chair, a friend or loved one that died or you lost contact with."

Eira looked up at Aran, before stepping forward to grab the water for him, much preferring to put herself at risk. "Sir." She handed the bottle to Aran, keeping her eyes on the Mental. "We thank you for your consideration, Dawn."

@Conch Shell VII@EchoicChamber@Claw2k11

To call this place a dump was a bit of an understatement. Every shambled home lay in disarray, many buildings no longer resembling buildings so much as heaps of stone and metal all compiled to the ground thanks to gravity. The buildings that were still standing were certainly decayed and deteriorated, vines spiraling up them in ashen shapes and spirals. No plant seemed to have gotten far, having rotted partway in their ascension, leaving browned fingers barely latching on to the higher up walls. It was a dump most certainly, but it was his dump.

Not much more could be said of any home he’d had over the years, though if Drake had to choose between the four walls he used to call home back in Erubesco, stained with horrible memories of a drunken father, a mother who was never home, and a deceased and innocent younger brother, he would choose to live his life in the wastelands any day.
Of course, he could choose Liberty…

Ha, yeah right.

His large, leathery wings carried him from building to building swiftly, the thin fur coating allowing him silence while moving through the air. Some of the buildings he landed on were of sketchy infrastructure… Luckily for him, his hollowed bones made him light on his feet and thus the buildings remained standing for now. This attribute of his was great for scenarios like this, though put him at a great disadvantage in physical combat.

Silver eyes darted about the dusty floor below, searching desperately for something. And if his increased haste was any indication, he wasn’t finding it. His quickness was not doing him any favors, for as soon as he grabbed hold of one of the buildings ahead with the intent of pulling himself up, a sharp pain rang out from his hand earning him a hissed, “Shit!”
It seemed he’d sliced his index finger on a jutting piece of metal, causing him to falter and scramble a bit to get himself over the scaffold and onto the roof. A few stray bricks fell to the ground below, causing a small amount of noise but nothing too impressive.

Moving to his feet, the boy inspected the wound with irritation. There was a bit of blood starting to ooze from the rather deep cut, and as much as Drake wanted to simply shrug it off, he knew better than to let it get infected. Luckily he had found some travel kleenex earlier in his journey and took this moment to pull one out from his back pocket. He placed it between his teeth and, from one of his front pockets, withdrew a lighter. With a skillful flick, he had a flame going in no time and placed it carefully against the wound.

One would expect the wound to sear shut - but they would have been wrong. Rather, the wound remained perfectly fresh. The only thing that changed was the layered dirt around it which slowly burned away from his skin and fell to ash below. It certainly wasn’t your traditional anti-bacteriating method but for someone with near-heat immunity, it worked.

The flame gave out halfway through the process, followed by several failed attempts to reignite it and earning more annoyance from the already disgruntled boy. He gave a muffled groan before tossing the lighter aside. Oh well, it was good enough.

Using his fingers and teeth, careful not to catch the tissue on his sharpened canines, he wrapped the kleenex around his finger as a makeshift bandage and tied it tight. There.
What a nuisance.

A brief glance toward the discarded lighter resulted in a mild kick to get the useless thing away from him. He would find another. After all, the wastelands were practically riddled with them. Who knew a bunch of ashlanders would be tobacco-addicted smokeheads?
Everyone, actually... Everyone knew.
He really couldn’t blame them, either.

Things were rough out here and, in most cases, it was smart to keep to yourself. Which was why the next thing caught Drake’s attention now that he wasn’t focused on his first aid. There were people nearby. And not just one or two, no there were MULTIPLE. How extremely abnormal and… curious.

And curious he was. The boy edged across the roof now, closer to where he sensed the auras of several starting to gather, his large wings folding in to make him appear smaller. Fortunately people tended not to look up unless cued by the sound of a helicopter whirring or bird squawking, at least in his experience. Still, he ducked a bit to remain hidden, his unnatural slitted eyes watching the group.

The one in the wheelchair had been rather bold - or recklessly stupid, depending on how one perceived it - to be wheeling himself along in the open like this. Perhaps he had nothing to lose? A death wish would certainly make the most sense. And yet it seemed to do something for the heavy atmosphere, drawing quite a few more out of hiding. Well, he wasn't quite so ambitious as to put himself out in the open, just like that. No, he would observe for the time being and gauge the danger level from his safe spot on the roof.

Overreach cleared his throat, then gave Aran a quick, polite nod. "Right. Well, that's fi--"

He was interrupted by Eira's swift and thorough rundown of his chair's history. He just looked over her for a few moments once she was done, then glanced off down the street for a moment. "...I mean... yeah. I'd rather not talk about that, if it's all the same to you, but... yeah. Good guess." He chuckled softly at his own joke, and using that momentum, quickly swung his way back up to his normal confident swagger. "But yeah. I was just thinking, I haven't met a Mental since a couple of states back, and now here's two at once."

Suddenly, Overreach snapped his fingers and pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards Dawn. "Oh right, yeah, that reminds me! Uh, first of all, nice to meet you, Dawn. Secondly, since you brought it up, where are you folks headed, anyway? Me, I heard there's a village a ways east of here, so I thought I'd swing by, see if I can pick up some supplies. What about you?"

@bmxbrat484 @Claw2k11 @EchoicChamber

They had been in the bad-smells-no-sun-damp-air place for three days, and it was a bad place. Things had died here, or had died and been left here. And maybe they would, too. It made Apple chittery to consider; that his Bad-Eyes-Good-Pets Friend had taken him all to a die-place with her mate. There was no water to be found, even though the sleep-nests and walls were sweaty. And there was not much else to the place: Just four walls and two soggy nests and a little room to skitter and hover and sniff about in. The floor was too hard to dig.

Big-Friend (Pets-Friend's mate,) had found the hole they crawled down. He picked it open like a scab on the ground, and there was a climb-thing, and Big-Friend had put Bad-Eyes on his back and said "Apple come," and then they had gone down and not come out again since. Whatever was outside, Bad-Eyes-Good-Pets smelled scared of it, and Big-Friend smelled scared, too.

But mostly everything just smelled like droppings, thanks to the corner with the little bucket for everyone to do their business in. Bad-Eyes-Good-Pets said it was a "BadApple!" thing to drink from, even though the water-holders they had brought were almost empty.

Apple did not like it here, and he was tired and hot. His furry-fizzed body flopped to one side at the feet of Pets-Friend, and let his frondy antennae droop over his eyes. He did not know why his friends had left the cool-nest, soft-sounds, good-food place they had been in before, but he was a good Apple. And good Apples did not question these things.

----

"You ever wonder what he's thinking?" Orion asked, strapping on his left boot. His right one was already on; an assertion of the decision he had already made. There was a false levity in his tone, somewhere between "I'm not scared," and "I don't like this plan either, but it's a bit late to tell me you're dumping me over it."

Mitch did not reply at first, staring ahead into the white-grey blur before her. Her feet dangled off the edge of the molded mattress and she folded her arms. "Probably, 'I'm going to leave my partner to die in a shit-reeking, abandoned human war bunker while I tromp about getting myself killed trying to barter with Ashrats for MREs. But I'm gonna dart around the elephant in the room to talk about her pet roach.'" She paused, and turned to shoot him a glare that leveled remarkably close to his face. "Or were you talking about Apple?"

One set of Apple's eyes opened at the sound of his name, but closed again as soon as he realized nobody was paying him adequate attention.

Orion yanked on his boot laces. "Listen, Leila--"

"Don't you 'Leila,' me-"

"-- We're out of food. We're out of water. And I don't hear a better plan."

"I should come," she snapped. He answered first with the thud of his rubber soles hitting the floor, and then with the zrrrrirp of his backpack zipping shut. "I don't care if it's dangerous, Orion. I don't care. I'm not going to just let you go out there and- and... What if you get killed? How will I know, or will I just- just-" Mitch was cut short by the touch of a calloused hand cupping the side of her face.

She pulled back. "I didn't risk my life just so you could go die." Her voice was soft, then. Like all of the edge she had mustered for her brief protest had finally crumbled under the weight of the past week.

Orion ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, his thumb pausing to wipe away a single tear doing its damnedest to clean a streak through the caked on Ash. "I'm gonna be okay, Mitch. I can fight hard if I don't have to look out for you, too. And Apple's not exactly a pro at moving quietly, so..."

She sniffled, and turned her face away. "I'm not a damsel."

"Nah, you're the prince. You saved me from the tower and everything. But-" He crouched in front of her, and put one hand on her knee. "I gotta do this. I can't get shot, and you can. And I'll be back before sundown, maybe with a better place we can move to, yeah?"

Mitch nodded. Orion kissed her knee before standing. "You be good, Apple. You look out for each other for a minute, yeah? And I'll be back before you can even worry."

"Be safe."

Orion was climbing the ladder, his muscled weight causing the tired bars to creak. "I'm always safe."

"I love you, Mr. Lazos."

The weight of the bunker hatch swung open. The rush of fresh air poured in like a flood, and both Mitch and Apple took a deep breath below. Orion's nostrils flared and he closed his eyes against the glare of daylight. "I love you too, Mrs... Mrs. Ingram-Lazos-to-be. And that's a promise."

The door swung shut, then, and the earth above was so thick that Mitch could not so much as hear him walk away toward the ruins in the distance. The hand she clapped over her mouth to muffle her sobs, too, was completely unnecessary.

Apple, being a good Apple, flutter-hopped up into her lap.

The Citadel. The biggest military base on the east coast. The dark heart of Erubescan military operations on the north american continent. It rose up above the surrounding city like a great sentinel, the banners of the three disciplines, Knight, Alchemist and Acolyte, fluttering in the breeze that blew in off the Atlantic and whipped the flag, the King piece, into a frenzy atop the tallest tower.

There were plenty of windows in the Citadel. Made with a strong, impact and heat-resistant polymer, they looked out, but not in. That was how,as she progressed along towards the departure point, Knight Kora Norrevinter could see for miles.

Below them was the Citadel Capital, a sprawling metropolis of shop, housing and attractions existing n constant defiance of the threat of war.
Beyond there, industrial land, beyond there, farms, beyond there, defensive lines, beyond there...the ash. The place of savages and poison and death. Soon to be her destination.

'Teleportation Area - Manual Checks in Operation'

Kora stepped inside, passing a quick salute to the stationed knights guarding the entrance and exit checkpoint. There was only one place in the citadel where teleportation disruption was not in constant active effect and anyone teleporting in from the outside wouldn't end up with only around one half of them actually arriving. It was also one of the most actively guarded parts, for obvious reasons.

You could get away with being reasonably lackadaisical when near every room in the base was under constant unceasing scrutiny from the eyes of-

"I'm pleased you eventually saw fit to arrive, Knight." the synthetic voice in her earset wasn't especially grating, perhaps like something that had undergone far too heavy a use of autotune, and conveyed no tone whatsoever. And yet Kora still in some fashion found it needlessly condescending.
"I'm twenty seconds off the hour ORIN. If you have an issue feel free to pester the quartermaster on duty instead of me. I submitted the requisition forms for the new uniform a month back."
Kora and the current quartermaster had exchanged some rather terse words several times over uniforms.
Each year the fashion houses of the city engaged in vicious competition to design the next Erubescan military uniform. Each year Kora had to go through the rigmarole of trying to acquire a field set for a 6ft 6inch female. Each year it was a nightmare and generally resulted in her threatening some acolyte on the acquisition with intense levels of physical harm before she got it. They massively resented havng to order anything in for anybody under Commander rank.

Knight Commander.

The coveted position where you gained a unique uniform and people started knowing your name and inviting you to parties. The position Kora had been gunning for for eight years and still hadn't caught a viceroy's eye.

But you never knew. Perhaps this next mission was exactly what she needed to pull some attention.
Recovery of some fugitives who'd escaped into the ash. Pretty standard really, but if the rumours were to be believed they were attempting to sell state secrets to Liberty. That in itself was going to reflect well on her when she dragged their sorry asses back to the Citadel.

"Bay 16K Knight. There's a teleporter waiting. Drop zone is near the last recorded sighting. They are wanted alive. Any deaths are going to result in consequences."
"Yes ORIN, I know not kill them. I'm not stupid."
"Your previous records do nothing to give me confidence, Knight."

Whether that was a reference to Kora's ability to moderate her damage to opponents, or her being stupid or not, Kora wasn't certain.

So she stood there in all her glory. Six and a half foot high, with wavy ginger hair that threatened to obscure her vision on the regular basis and yet she'd made no attempt to cut back or style in a way to avoid it. Armed, not with firearms or anything so needlessly practical, but with her two most favourite combat knives, Geri and Freki, and seemingly nothing else.

It was always that kind of soldier, the under-equipped kind, that you had to look out for. If a Knight was not carting kit around, it meant they were carrying inside them something that negated the need for it. A very destructive gift.

"I've uploaded the data of the targets to you. Ingram, Leila. Lazos, Orion."

Kora half listened as she adjusted the new bracers her current uniform had been graced with. Black, this time around, with the knight insignia, a horse-head chess piece, cast into a curved metal insignia on the chest. It provided no camouflage whatsoever. Fortunately Kora needed none. If the people in the area weren't aware of her upon her arrival...they would be soon after.

Ingram. Lazos. The names didn't really matter as far as she was concerned. Traitors were traitors.

---

Within a control room somewhere in the depth of the citadel, ORIN sat across a high-backed office chair. Her legs were hooked over the arm and a cup of coffee rested in her gloves hands. Several cables trailed up from her shoulders up to gaps in the room's ceiling, leading into the citadel's grid.

Whilst she was a long way removed from the female knight, ORIN saw exactly what was going on. She also saw the names and faces of the fugitives that command had sent a retrieval order for. Orion Lazos and Leila Ingram.

Ingram.

ORIN would be lying if she said that she didn't take some satisfaction from this particular deployment. Some work was a chore, others was a joy to do. Even having to work with an idiot Knight wasn't going to entirely ruin the satisfaction of watching Ingram get dragged back to the Citadel as a traitor. And ORIN herself hadn't even done anything to bring about this catastropic change in fortunes.

Well, they did say it, if you give someone enough rope they'll hang themselves.

Death would not be a release, not yet. Making his way out of Erubesco, the city he once called home and cradle, Miles had strode towards the embrace of Liberty. It promised freedom, equality, and solidarity. The city promised everything Erubesco loathed, what it despised. Having fought the armies of Liberty on the side of that monstrosity seemed all the more revolting now. Defecting from their abhorrent ranks couldn't have been done soon, enough. With a cough, Miles slowly opened his eyes, the pain aching through his body forcing him down to the spot. Though disoriented, the soldier knew enough to draw the surroundings a dry spot. There was no rain, and he was inside. Had there been a voice speaking to him, before? Had someone moved him? Slowly regaining his sense of movement, Miles attempted to drag his bloodied fingers towards the strap of his vest. With a soft moan, he clenched his teeth and undid the confines, his bloodied and battered vest falling to the ground with a thud. It was refreshing to lose the weight, especially now.

Looking down at his scrawny frame, he noticed how the bleeding had stabilized, somewhat. Soldiers were taught basic first aid. Enough to tell a deadly wound, from a stabilized one. Shifting his gaze upwards, Miles tiredly searched the vacant home for the presence which had come to his aid. Unarmed, and at death's door, the soldier was at this mysterious person's mercy. An attempt to gather his bearings allowed Miles to slowly pull himself up towards the wall where, with a heavy breath, he remained sitting. The thunderous storm continued to ravage, outside. The sound of rain crashing down against the now silent battlefield.

“Woah, there,” Lucas said as the young soldier sat up straight. “It might not be very smart to be moving around like that.” There was a bizarrely light tone in his voice. He looked over at the creature laying on the ground to their side before turning back to the wounded young man in front of him. “How’re you feeling after that? Anything need patching up?” His eyes glowed with glee as he spoke rapidly, clearly excited. “If you want, I could get you out of the rain. Maybe that’ll help. It’s up to you really.”

Attempting a deep breath only lead to more pain aching through his lungs, causing the young soldier to flinch. “I’ll...” He tried, swallowing the hoarse words before attempting once more. “J-just need to add pressure...” He managed, carefully slipping out of his shirt, which left him in a rather torn tank top. Slipping the shirt behind his frame, he used the sleeves to make a tight grip around his torso to prevent further bleeding. Some bandages, and probably some stitches were more than likely a requirement, but Miles couldn’t be picky, right now. Once again, he tried to breathe deeper. It hurt, but he managed through the sandpapery sensation dragging itself across the length of his lungs. Finding a stable state to speak from, Miles raised his tired eyes towards the beast lying dead outside the house. “Feels like...I got hit by a truck...” He began, his light voice raspy and silent. “...with an attitude.”

Lucas looked over at the monster, following Miles’ eyes. “What is that thing, anyway? Wait, no, don’t speak too much,” he said quickly. He got up to his feet and glanced around. He glanced around, looking to see if there are any vehicles nearby.

“When…” Miles began, against his better judgement. Speaking wasn’t the best possible thing he could have chosen to do, but life had not left him quite to the extent of paralysis just yet. “When I was in the Erubescan army…” The young soldier continued, taking a breath. “There were rumors of experiments conducted on some of the soldiers…” Miles finished, moving ever so slightly so that he sat in a more comfortable position. “Guess it was true…” He concluded, frowning softly at the abomination outside.

“Well, at least it’s dead now,” Lucas responded. He turned back to Miles before continuing. “How did you get here? Do you have something you can drive? I mean, you can’t stay here forever, and you don’t look like you’re going to be walking anywhere soon…”

“There...there’s a truck, close by…” Miles was never tasked to drive the vehicles, and as such, wasn’t an impressive driver. He could however manage his way from point A to point B without much of an issue. “It should be just around the corner of that building, over there…” The boy motioned towards the ruined house opposite the home they had currently occupied. Either way, he would have to move. Attempting the feat, Miles was quickly reminded of his limitations, and slid back to the floor with a soft groan. “Damn…” He clenched his teeth. “Look, just get me a gun, and save yourself. Don’t think I’m going to be moving, anytime soon…”

Lucas quickly jogged over to the window looking at the house Miles had gestured to. He turned back to the young soldier with a smile. “I can help you there. You’ll be in that truck before you even know it,” he said. He approached the young soldier once again and kneeled. “Maybe I should drive. We don’t want you doing anything reckless, now do we? I’d just need some guidance. Ready to go? Of course you are!” Without waiting, he grabbed onto his arm, and the two disappeared, leaving no trace but the blood Miles had shed in their wake.

@Conch Shell VII@EchoicChamber@bmxbrat484

"We were heading there as well, but I badly needed a break." Aran answered, briefly tapping his limp leg. "But with a bad leg such as mine, I need to take more breaks than I would like to and I would really like to reach that village as soon as I can!" he said allowing himself to relax a bit, though still not allowing any thoughts that might give a clue to his more... special side. "Though there is something that piques my interest, my good man!" he said to the wheelchair bound man. "I am truly curious as to how you survived in that wheelchair so far, it's no secret that disabled people do not survive long in the wastes unless they either are the luckiest person alive, or they have protection from other people or from their... powers."

However, as soon as he finished speaking he turned towards Dawn and gently took the water bottle she offered. "My lady, even this water bottle will be enough and it shows that kindness has not died in this world!" he spoke, smiling towards her. "If it makes you feel any better, I am visiting my younger sister and her new husband to make sure she's in the right hands." he spoke, brief images forming as to the grueling fate his older sister suffered so long ago, but he shook those images away and smiled. "Plus, she's already mad that I couldn't get to them when they married in the first place, any time longer without me visiting and she would have my head!" he said, chuckling. "Where are you heading, by the way, we may be able to travel together and converse!" he said, his smile growing ever wider. "I mean, not that I don't mind conversations with my student here, but I know nearly all there is about her, she's been with me for years now!"

"Speaking of, stop calling me, Sir!" Aran said to Eira, slightly displeased. "I raised you myself and both me and my sister pretty much consider you part of our family, so stop being so formal with me!" he spoke, patronizing her as one would patronize a child for bad behavior.

With a sigh, he turned towards the group and asked them all. "So, shall we all become traveling companions here?"

There was blood everywhere. One the walls, the floor, the mouldering volumes left on the old shelves, everywhere.

Out at the doorway, a silhouette of a man slipped out of the door, spreading a dusty light across the room, and to the body on the floor, a young woman in a dark jacket. She lay on the dusty boards in an expanding pool of arterial blood, struggling for breath through a ruptured trachea, watching as the man who had just shot her stroll off into the wastes, with her duffel bag in hand.

The trade had not gone well.

He hadn't even had a very good aim. What she suspected had been intended to hit her head instead hit her in the side of the neck, blasting apart the carotid artery and causing far more mess than it needed to. Maybe being the one who got shot gave her a bit of personal bias, but some of the last thoughts that flickered though Magdalene Atwood's mind as she bled out in the ruins of a pre-war bookstore, was that the murder had been a very sloppy one.

---

It was around two days that the corpse of Magdalene Atwood lay in the abandoned bookstore. The blood puddle had begun to become dry and sticky, though no flies or vermin had made any approach upon it.

About 48 hours after she had died, the body gave a sudden spasmodic twitch, the back arching up before pushing back down as she flung up into a sitting position and let out a sudden gasp for air. Two more desperate intakes of breath before she threw herself onto her knees and violently threw up, splattering the already ruined floor with congealed blood and stomach acid.

However many times it happened, re-animation was still impossible to get used to. Like even the body rejected such a violation of natural laws. Everything had to die. Very few things had made it a two way street.

It took a while, but Magdalene was able to rise onto her feet.

Her skull felt like it had been chipped out on the inside with a mason's chisel and her throat was burning with bile. All kind of par for the course, but she was pretty sure she was going to need to find something to drink pretty soon or this was going to get into a really unpleasant cycle.

'Don't pass out don't pass out don't-'

Clumsily, Magdalene reached round the bookshelves, blinking through fuzzy vision.
She just hoped that bastard hadn't found the-

Her fingers closed round a book.

'Got it.'

With shaky hands the book opened, revealing the hollowed-out inside and a concealed ID card with its chesspiece symbol sat within.

The motheaten rug in the corner was pulled aside, and the white plastic crates bearing similar insignia that had been set into replace the floor beneath were revealed, and the first opened with swipe of the card. LED strips on the inside flared and lit the packages inside.

The bag, with a couple of day's worth of rations stuffed inside, was a decoy. It served its purpose very well. Apparently her trader buddy had completely missed the real prize.

Three crates of Erubesco field unit supplies. Freeze-dried rations, water purifiers, heat packs, medical supplies...all the kinds of things you might miss living out in the ashlands. Also worth their weight in gold.

If anything gold was less important. You couldn't eat gold.

Mags reached round in the interior until her trembling hands seized upon an orange carton, which she cracked and downed near enough in one, but for what she lost when it spilled down her bloodstained shirt.

It would normally take a few days to be back up to standard after a reanimation. She was pretty sure she did not have that long before one of that scumbag's buddies got wind of the place and turned up to try and loot her corpse. One way or another she was going to have to move her cache without any of the wasteland's more colourful characters catching on. That would take strategy, cunning....all the kind of things you lost when you were short around half of your blood. Mags leaned back on the crate and groaned. Why could she never reanimate to good news?