Apologies for taking so long.
Without having to deface your armor and equipment, you can put it all on immediately. If you weren't accustomed to it, putting all the equipment on would be a lengthy process. As it was now, Instructor Roman's constant drills had allowed you to put on your full suit much faster, in about eight minutes or so.
You quickly strip down, placing your yellow-brown GDI fatigues in a neat pile next to you. Out of habit, you rub the skin of your arm: synth-fabric could be made by an Assembler, but it was itchy as all hell. With all your clothes off, you then move on to putting the first piece of the armor: the undersuit. You step into the rubbery garment, pulling it tight over your shoulders and swinging your arms, making sure that you had fitted it properly. If you had, it would not impede your movement any.
Satisfied, you then begin to lay on the external armor components. These would protect you in combat: gauntlets over the hands, greaves over your legs, chest armor around your torso. While it covered much of your body, you could still see the undersuit sticking out of some parts of it, like the inside of the elbow and the back of the leg. The material used did a good job of resisting bullet impacts and shrapnel, but it wasn't very flexible. So, to compensate, the designers had not armored some parts to allow you full range of movement.
After the armor came the backpack. For Disc Throwers, like you and Instructor Roman, it held the explosive discs you needed to fight with. Hefting the bag over your shoulders, you estimate there are about 20 or so discs stored in there. Buckling it around your chest, you decide to check and make sure.
And with that, you also put on the last piece of equipment: the helmet. You examine the filtration system carefully. If you went outside into the Wasteland, the only way you would be breathing is with the helmet, and if there was anything wrong with it you were fucking dead. Not seeing any problems with the important system, you place it over your head, hearing it connect to the undersuit with a loud *click* sound.
A moment after that, the HUD came on. First popped up the navigational aids and the battery life (a little less than fully charged, about 20 hours of operation before you would have to recharge it.) Then popped up armor status: green all around, nothing you had to fix or maintain. You frowned when the ammo count didn't appear before you remembered that you had forgotten to connect the backpack to the armor system. Quickly fishing out a short cable (with enough slack to avoid being yanked out while in combat,) you plug it into the back of a concealed port in your armor. After that, the ammo count finally manifested, lower-right corner of your vision.
You were almost right: about 18 discs sitting in your backpack, all ready to be used.
Finally, you were ready. Private Lazić of GDI, ready for battle!
You march towards the steel door, stopping for a moment to look behind you. You couldn't say the place was tasteful. Like you observed before, it was spartan, boring, devoid of any life or color. You shouldn't have any attachment to this place.
Yet some part of you can't let go. You spent the last few months of your life here, as Instructor Roman turned you from a worker into a soldier. Despite how little you had lived here, you felt it had scarred you, somehow, left an imprint on you. Giving one last glance around the room, you remembered your training: when you had nearly set off an explosive disc in the room, and Instructor Roman made you do push-ups, sit-ups, squats (while holding your backpack) in the corner, along with a myriad of other exercises. You swear that you could still see a faint discolored outline, roughly human-shaped, against the floor.
Or that little speck of green paint on the wall, a leftover of the time Instructor Roman taught you how to throw discs. And then when you had to scrub it all away after you had misthrown one of the paint-filled balloons and hit Instructor Roman's poster on the wall. You could still see a rectangular spot on the wall where it once was, torn down after you had reduced it to illegibility.
Those memories and more passed through your eyes before you turned around and walked out the door.
Walking through the hallways of Crossroads, you couldn't help but turn to look, searching for something that was looking at you.
There was no one in the hall, of course, but that didn't seem to assuage your fear. Instead, it seemed to heighten it. Is there someone there? Is there not? If there is, what are they thinking? There's no one out there. You repeated, mentally. I am safe. No one is after me.
That didn't reassure you, no matter how many times you repeated the mantra, or how you were the only human being walking the halls, with no one else around.
When you finally reached the chapel, you couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. You were finally here.
The chapel was one of the more unique rooms you had seen. Most of the rooms and hallways had short ceilings, and when combined with the tight corridors, you felt a sense of claustrophobia no matter where you had gone to. The chapel, meanwhile, had a taller ceiling, which also curved inward and upward, making it feel more open than other parts of the town. The only other part of town that was like that was the Commerce quarter, and that usually saw enough foot traffic to the point where it still felt crowded for you.
Looking around, you could see that the chapel was currently in a "neutral" configuration. All the chairs were folded up and stacked neatly in the far-right corner, there were no religious symbols on the walls, and there was only a podium standing alone in the back.
The chaplains, you knew, were in their offices off to the side, where they waited in-between services or for more private discussions. You didn't see them that much: busy as you were working, but you know where to find them.
Still, you couldn't help but grimace when you saw the Brotherhood's Scorpion Tail painted proudly on one of the office doors. After hearing all the Brotherhood's barbarous, depraved actions, you couldn't look at that black-and-red symbol with anything but disgust.
You tore your attention from the hateful symbol to a more neutral one: a simple cross. Unless it was the Brotherhood's little cult, Instructor Roman had been neutral about religion, simply telling you to go with what worked. With that, you knocked lightly on the door, took a step back, and waited.
A few moments later, the door slid to the side, revealing the chaplain behind it. The man was unremarkable himself, only his white robes distinguishing him in any way. He smiled. "Anything I can do to help you, son?"
"Not for me, sir," you reply, "but a…" you're hesitant to call Instructor Roman a friend, lessons about fraternization drilled into you coming to the forefront of your memory. "Someone I know," you begin again, "has just died. I was wondering if there was anything you could do?"
The chaplain's face lowers a bit at that. "One of your Soldier friends?" He asked. You nod. "I'm sorry for your loss. And yes, there is something I can do."
"What is it?" You ask.
"Funeral service," the chaplain said. "A little event to remember him by before you lay your friend to rest." He waves you into his office, and you step inside, following him to his desk. He sits down in his padded chair and gestures you to do the same with a chair on the opposite side.
When you sit down, he continues. "So how many people do you think are going to come? Usually, I see a squad your fellows come around, after the last time I had to deal with a full platoon I like to make sure now, though."
"Just me," You say.
The chaplain made a humming noise at that. "A little unusual." He said, "I take it you weren't part of a squad?"
"Not yet."
"I see." The Chaplain said. "Now, are you thinking about a burial or cremation?"
"Which one do most soldiers go for?" You ask, in lieu of a preference.
"Cremation," the man answered, "Most soldiers I've seen either let the ashes spread to the winds or carry them with them. There's a few that prefer burials, however, to finally let their sibling-in-arms rest after fighting for so long."
"Burial?" You ask, "What, outside?"
"Yes." The chaplain confirmed. "In a sealed, Tiberium-resistant casket, with a grave marker to identify them."
"It sounds like something the Brotherhood would do." You grumble. Who in their right mind would want to spend their life with Tiberium? Only those crazies.
"The Brotherhood does their burials differently." The chaplain corrected. "They don't use a casket, preferring to leave their dead outside for the Tiberium to claim. Make no mistake, your friend would be protected from the ravages of Tiberium in the coffin. Now, do you have an idea of what you want?"
[][Funeral] Cremation
[][Funeral] Burial
[][Funeral] Write-In (Subject to GM Approval)
You make your way back down the hallways, having worked out what you were going to do with the Chaplain.
As you entered the Commerce quarter, you slow down. You felt you were being watched again. Something wasn't right here.
You had passed by here on the way to the chapel without problems: being a heavily-armed soldier tended to scare people away, even the Mayor's Men took a step back. You didn't feel threatened, a little nervous, perhaps, but not threatened.
Now, the hairs stood up on the back of your spine. Your instincts screamed at you to pop a disc out and hold it, just in case something was out there. Your eyes, hidden beneath your visor dart back and forth. What was different?
The Mayor's Men. They timidly avoided you the first time you walked through here. Now, they were looking at you. Experimentally, you decided to try to meet their gaze. They instantly looked away, focusing their attention on something other than you.
You were their target.
You picked up your pace, looking left and right for more of the Mayor's Men, even as you analyzed your situation. Minimal cover in the Commerce quarter, unless you dive into a storefront which would also limit your movement. Mayor's Men typically carried light arms: pistols, SMGs, with light body armor to protect them. You could probably take a few hits from their weapons while being hit with a disc would kill them and anyone nearby. This was compensated by a significant numerical advantage.
Should you attack first? Right now, they weren't actively attacking you, they were waiting for something.
No, rules of engagement prevent you from being the aggressor. If you did attack them, you would give them the high ground, they can argue that you attacked them out of the blue, and they killed you while protecting themselves. If they wanted to fight, you were going to let them start it.
With that thought, you realized you were surrounded.
In front of you was the main exit out of Crossroads. The mayor always kept a squad of guards next to the airlock, and you could see them noticing you, in turn, straightening up and staring at you. Behind you, there was a two-man team following you. No civilians nearby.
You look around, trying to figure out an escape plan. You cursed quietly: there wasn't one. You could have dived into the Inn, hidden with a squad of GDI soldiers, but the two-man team had already walked past the entrance to that, leaving you with only two avenues of escape – deeper into Crossroads or leave it completely: both of which would require you going against the Mayor's Men.
You look back, and forth, trying to decide as the guards encircled you.
"Interesting little thing we have here." One of them said. "You know who that armor belongs to, boy?"
You didn't respond, keeping your eyes on the loose circle around you. The Mayor's Men weren't advancing, but you were thoroughly cut off and surrounded. You might be able to kill a handful of them with a disc before they returned fire.
"Cause I'm sure as hell it doesn't belong to you." The guard continued. "You know what the rules are, right? You don't get to play soldier, kid."
"What makes you so sure of that?" You ask, your fingers twitching towards the release, to feel the comforting weight of the explosive disc in your hands.
The guard snorts. "I've seen that fucking armor before, boy. The man who wore it was taller than you were." He grinned, "A lot less twitchy too."
Well, fuck that. You weren't going back to working on a farm all-day long or in the Tiberium fields. You almost slide a disc into your hands when a new voice calls out.
"Whoa whoa whoa. What do we have going on here?"
The Mayor's Men look at something behind you, confusion and a little fear writ on their faces. You turn to see what's gotten them so spooked, and see a GDI squad standing there, behind the two-man team that was chasing you.
It was a small squad, about four men in total. The speaker was a Rifleman, and from the three chevrons painted on his breastplate, was the sergeant of the group. Behind him and to his right was a Jump Trooper, who was holding their SMG tightly, finger near the trigger and their thumb next to the safety.
Behind them stood the last two members, a little more back. You recognized the Combat Engineer, who didn't even have their weapon out, just holding a briefcase in their left hand while leaving the weapon holstered near their right. Next to him stood… A mutant?
Yeah, a mutant. You saw the slivers of green running through her skin, a hint of the crystals that ran rampant through their entire body. Her eyes, unobscured by a visor, steadily shifted from each of the Mayor's Men to the next, her DMR out and in her hands.
In the meantime, the guard recovered enough to respond. "Listen, this doesn't concern you." He said. "Just one of our citizens getting a bright idea, not one of yours."
"Don't know about that," The sergeant replied. "Looks like GDI, through and through to me."
"Armor isn't his," the guard continued to talk, "it's one of your guys that retired here a while back, he stole it."
The sergeant shook his head. "Now, now." He said, "We're getting into some serious territory here. Sounds like you're making up stuff about a fellow soldier here, you know we don't take kindly to that, right?"
"Bullshit." The guard replied. "You know this boy ain't one of yours, now get lost."
"Can't do that," The sergeant replied. "Cause I say he is one of mine. See the issue here?"
The guard growled. "Listen here you damned adrenaline-addict. This boy belongs to the Mayor, and the Mayor don't let anyone go, you hear?"
The sergeant chuckled at that. "You and I know both know I can't just let you take any soldier off the streets just because you think they're trying to escape from here." He shook his head. "Listen, we can argue about this all day, you hear? But you keep trying this, right here? The rest of us are going to get involved." He gestured towards the Inn, and you realize that the constant stream of chatter, audible even through the sound-proofing the business had installed, had gone quiet. Looking at the one-way mirrors, you think you can spot faint outlines looking out of them, and at the confrontation.
Looking back at the guard, you think he saw that too. His eyes darted between you and the sergeant for a few moments. "Must have made a mistake somewhere." He said, finally, stepping back, before looking at you. "Carry on." And with that, the guards split up, the five returning to watch the exit and the two-man team walking back into the depths of Crossroads. Now, all that was out there was you, and the squad. You turn to look at them.
The sergeant spoke first. "Paranoid as a Noddie." He said, "Only reason I'm sure these aren't closet cultists is because they bother the Noddies just as much."
"Um, thanks?" You say.
"Don't mention it." The sergeant said, with a wave of his right hand as his left clamped the rifle on his back. Around him, his squad followed his lead, similarly holstering their weapons. "Now, let's get back inside, you too, newbie, I think we can help each other out." You blink but decided to accept the invitation, following the squad inside.
The cacophony of conversations hit you as you enter, a thousand different discussions melting into a single discordant melody. You spend a few seconds searching for the squads before you find them cloistered around a small table, with a single empty chair. Walking over there, you see a Brotherhood Squad sitting on the opposite side of the Inn, and as you walk back, one of the soldiers, not wearing a helmet, glares at you as you walk past. You return the gaze, though they remained hidden behind your visor.
You sit down in the chair, across from the sergeant as you face each other. Neither of you says anything for a moment.
You decide to break the silence. "Thanks for the help."
"Like I said, don't mention it." The sergeant responded. "GDI's got to stick together, standing up to some backwater civvie hicks is the least I could do."
"Thanks anyway." You continue, deciding to cut to the chase. No way he decided to help you out of just charity. "So, why'd you ask me to come along?"
The Engineer speaks up. "You're not part of a squad." He said. "If you were, the militia wouldn't have tried harassing you. Unless I'm wrong?" You shake your head. "You need a squad, and we are looking for another member. Seems simple enough math to me."
You blink. This soon? You thought about trying to see about joining a squad (or even gathering your own,) but you thought you would have a little more time.
But no, it had come up right now. "Any reason why I should join you in particular?" You ask. "Not that I'm not thankful for helping me out back there, but I want to know what I'm getting myself into."
"Fair enough." The sergeant shrugged. "As for why you should join us, we're on our way to one of the big towns, Westwood. It should have plenty of work for a squad like us, especially a well-rounded one."
"How big are we talking about, here?" You ask. Crossroads was your entire existence, the Mayor being sure to clamp down on any information coming into the town. Instructor Roman had some stories about cities before the war, but you knew those weren't accurate, not anymore.
"Easily ten times the size of this backwater." The Jump Trooper cut in. "It's a trade hub, too, so it has plenty of vehicle bays, a GDI section just for us, and lot of rich, scared merchants looking for some strong soldiers to protect them. Easy money."
"How far is out?" You ask.
"About a day's drive normally. We should get there by nightfall, though." The sergeant answered.
"How?" You ask.
"Fully functional APC." The sergeant replied. "Tough enough for us to roll right over the Tiberium fields, save us a little time on the way." You nod. "So have you made up your mind yet?" The man asked.
You frown. "I don't even know your name yet."
"Little advice, private: names are a valuable thing. Tell you what, we'll exchange them if you join my squad."
You think about it, for a moment. You look at the Mutant, but she didn't have anything to add, just staring at you, impassively. Her presence brought something to mind though: Mutants weren't common in the GDI. They served in enough numbers to be recognized, but they were far from being universal. So why was one of them here, part of a squad sitting in a backwater town waiting to pick up some random soldier off the streets. There was something else there, you knew. With that, you decided...
[][Squad] Accept
They did help you out with the Mayor's Men. Besides, you aren't going to get any work here. Westwood, though, sounds like it has plenty of work available, and here you have a squad that's willing to take you there.
-[][Squad] Invite
While you're at it, maybe see if they're interested in attending Instructor Roman's funeral? They didn't know him personally, but with the sergeant's whole talk about how GDI had to stick together, you think they might be open to it if nothing else. Not taking this option means that the funeral will still go on, but only you will be in attendance and will head out with the squad afterward.
[][Squad] Refuse
You are thankful for the help, but you don't think you should join the GDI sergeant at this time. The other GDI squads look like they aren't interested in hiring anyone on, but a few of the Allied and Communist squads look like they can use another member. And if nothing else, there are a few scattered Contractors sitting around the room, maybe you can make a squad out of them? Triggers a turn where you explore other options, including Allied, and Communist squads.
