List of Signs (Destiny SI)
- Thread starter FloraRead
- Start date
- Sci-Fi Fantasy
- Pronouns
- Male
Dreg don't have 2 pairs of arms, only vandals have them. Dreg just have a pair of arms and some stumps that may or may not grow into another pair of arms.
- Location
- Isekai'd to this shitty world we're live in
Huh. I never noticed that.
Hopefully, the MC will have both pairs by the time he's Vandal. It would be bad to get rid of them just to be a bit more human.
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- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- She/Her
So I'm just getting blank spaces where failsafe's text is supposed to be.
Chapter 16
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Scenery 2
As it turns out: the list was pretty small. There was around seven points that needed to be addressed, but only two of them were immediately doable: un-welding the servitor from the floor, and disconnecting the whole valve system thing. It was pretty easy to do, but the spout had to stay.
But as it turns out, five of the mentioned points for ether production that had findable replacements were usually produced by humans, meaning that I might actually get to die by Cabal weapons. The city is still pretty far away as I pass by the location where all of the reptile-dog-things were laying. A scene of sleeping beasts, I reckon, as I drift past lower down the mountain than I originally was.
There's a particular kind of word for a mix of serenity and chaos, but to my chagrin, I cannot remember it. Or there no word for it? If there was it's probably gone from my memory.
I still remember the seventh year of biology vividly, when we were learning about human development during infancy: "use it or lose it". It was when regarding neural pruning I think. But if that's the case, does that means Dregs are nothing more than child soldiers?
All things considered, that wouldn't be the most fucked up thing in this world (solar system? Universe seems more likely). I reckon that perhaps that mention went to the vex experiments regarding foreign intelligence, or how the hive literally worship pain and suffering, or… something else. If I have not actively been trying to remember it, it probably will be lost at some point if I'm unlucky.
The path narrows into a thin outcrop, and for all that it's worth, it would have been a pretty dangerous thing to walk past. Fortunately, I am bound to no paths, and no death walls affect me.
I really hope that is the case.
And fortunately, it seems to be the case. I do not instantly perish, or find myself pushed back by invisible walls. It just ends up being a particularly nasty down climb with a decent possibility of plummeting towards my death. At least I'm not jumping over gaps, but this is arguably more nerve-wracking, as it's a constant problem instead of a quick and swift mistake.
Considering how far Fallen can jump I'm not sure if it will even properly kill me. Just maim me badly.
And so, the path went on. And the mountain, eventually, became slightly flatter, but not by much. And a green and brown valley became the central focus of my view, in stark contrast with the stonier grey and brown mountaintop.
I'm still nowhere close to the pillar of smoke that is the last city, and I'm beginning to get a tad disappointed with my lack of progress. I know resting is not an option, but If I wanted to live, then I had to do this trip around four times. In two days. And that was being optimistic.
I let out a sight of wasted air, I assume, as I continue my trek down the first tree I finally get to touch, since I woke up. And, against all odds, I do feel some of it's texture, and the pressure I exert on the tree. Just not as much as I would have expected, or enjoyed.
The trek continues.
And I find myself bemused by lack of fauna. Flora is all around. I was even stepping on grass, for a welcome change, but the usual chirping of birds is noticeably absent. Even the usually crawling of insects leads me to believe that either, the war scared everything off, or I was about to enter somewhere really, really bad.
And so, for the first wise decision I think I've taken since… in… some time, I decide to take a detour around this area of no animal life. Maybe for the best.
And the path remains monotonous. Mostly.
But the change in the vegetation is almost… supernatural, to say the least. The leaves brighten up, the sun shines brighter, the grass is greener. It's almost like that song who's name I fail to recall. It must have been good, if I'm remembering it now.
A rusted car emerges from a particularly overtaken section of an old road. I can't help but smile a little. I must be getting closer.
I eventually begin following the road, somewhat. There were entire chunks missing, covered by the sliding dirt, or collapsing rocks.
Sometimes both.
I reckon that if I had to barefoot this the traditional way, I would have given up long before now. The amount of pebbles that have gotten incrusted in the sole of… this thing I used to walk is unreal. Kind of makes me wonder why dregs are not even given bandages to walk around on. The amount of foot injuries must be unreal.
My thoughts begin getting monotonous again wondering on the whereabouts and motives of the captain that spared me. He's probably un-important in the large scale of things. Someone to feed the endless meat grinder that was the (can I still call him player?) guardian.
But still, in that moment that he had decided to spare me, he had somehow gained some relevance in my world view. What was his name? What did those under his command think of him? Was he starved, as the rest of fallen were (that's probably a yes)?
For un-important as he was in the large scale of things, it led me to realize that, perhaps, I was not so different. Just another cog in a dysfunctional machine. I was probably even more disposable than him. I was the cannon fodder. Useless cannon fodder, considering how guardians could regen health.
Another car. Rusted over too. It doesn't even have its engine compartment full. I think what amazes me the most about all the things I've seen so far is how cars could remain so vanilla looking for so long. I find it both, hilarious, and plausible, that someone would have chugged along in their Honda Civic 2001.
The ambient thinks my joke is amusing as well because a particularly loud explosion rings nearby. I head deeper into the woods, but not deep enough so that the Forrest turns foreboding. I still felt like I was actively being hunted in, being corned into an oncoming cliffside if my map was right...
That's when I hear the twigs snap behind me as if a bipedal set of trucks were strolling by...
OH SHIT!
As it turns out: the list was pretty small. There was around seven points that needed to be addressed, but only two of them were immediately doable: un-welding the servitor from the floor, and disconnecting the whole valve system thing. It was pretty easy to do, but the spout had to stay.
But as it turns out, five of the mentioned points for ether production that had findable replacements were usually produced by humans, meaning that I might actually get to die by Cabal weapons. The city is still pretty far away as I pass by the location where all of the reptile-dog-things were laying. A scene of sleeping beasts, I reckon, as I drift past lower down the mountain than I originally was.
There's a particular kind of word for a mix of serenity and chaos, but to my chagrin, I cannot remember it. Or there no word for it? If there was it's probably gone from my memory.
I still remember the seventh year of biology vividly, when we were learning about human development during infancy: "use it or lose it". It was when regarding neural pruning I think. But if that's the case, does that means Dregs are nothing more than child soldiers?
All things considered, that wouldn't be the most fucked up thing in this world (solar system? Universe seems more likely). I reckon that perhaps that mention went to the vex experiments regarding foreign intelligence, or how the hive literally worship pain and suffering, or… something else. If I have not actively been trying to remember it, it probably will be lost at some point if I'm unlucky.
The path narrows into a thin outcrop, and for all that it's worth, it would have been a pretty dangerous thing to walk past. Fortunately, I am bound to no paths, and no death walls affect me.
I really hope that is the case.
And fortunately, it seems to be the case. I do not instantly perish, or find myself pushed back by invisible walls. It just ends up being a particularly nasty down climb with a decent possibility of plummeting towards my death. At least I'm not jumping over gaps, but this is arguably more nerve-wracking, as it's a constant problem instead of a quick and swift mistake.
Considering how far Fallen can jump I'm not sure if it will even properly kill me. Just maim me badly.
And so, the path went on. And the mountain, eventually, became slightly flatter, but not by much. And a green and brown valley became the central focus of my view, in stark contrast with the stonier grey and brown mountaintop.
I'm still nowhere close to the pillar of smoke that is the last city, and I'm beginning to get a tad disappointed with my lack of progress. I know resting is not an option, but If I wanted to live, then I had to do this trip around four times. In two days. And that was being optimistic.
I let out a sight of wasted air, I assume, as I continue my trek down the first tree I finally get to touch, since I woke up. And, against all odds, I do feel some of it's texture, and the pressure I exert on the tree. Just not as much as I would have expected, or enjoyed.
The trek continues.
And I find myself bemused by lack of fauna. Flora is all around. I was even stepping on grass, for a welcome change, but the usual chirping of birds is noticeably absent. Even the usually crawling of insects leads me to believe that either, the war scared everything off, or I was about to enter somewhere really, really bad.
And so, for the first wise decision I think I've taken since… in… some time, I decide to take a detour around this area of no animal life. Maybe for the best.
And the path remains monotonous. Mostly.
But the change in the vegetation is almost… supernatural, to say the least. The leaves brighten up, the sun shines brighter, the grass is greener. It's almost like that song who's name I fail to recall. It must have been good, if I'm remembering it now.
A rusted car emerges from a particularly overtaken section of an old road. I can't help but smile a little. I must be getting closer.
I eventually begin following the road, somewhat. There were entire chunks missing, covered by the sliding dirt, or collapsing rocks.
Sometimes both.
I reckon that if I had to barefoot this the traditional way, I would have given up long before now. The amount of pebbles that have gotten incrusted in the sole of… this thing I used to walk is unreal. Kind of makes me wonder why dregs are not even given bandages to walk around on. The amount of foot injuries must be unreal.
My thoughts begin getting monotonous again wondering on the whereabouts and motives of the captain that spared me. He's probably un-important in the large scale of things. Someone to feed the endless meat grinder that was the (can I still call him player?) guardian.
But still, in that moment that he had decided to spare me, he had somehow gained some relevance in my world view. What was his name? What did those under his command think of him? Was he starved, as the rest of fallen were (that's probably a yes)?
For un-important as he was in the large scale of things, it led me to realize that, perhaps, I was not so different. Just another cog in a dysfunctional machine. I was probably even more disposable than him. I was the cannon fodder. Useless cannon fodder, considering how guardians could regen health.
Another car. Rusted over too. It doesn't even have its engine compartment full. I think what amazes me the most about all the things I've seen so far is how cars could remain so vanilla looking for so long. I find it both, hilarious, and plausible, that someone would have chugged along in their Honda Civic 2001.
The ambient thinks my joke is amusing as well because a particularly loud explosion rings nearby. I head deeper into the woods, but not deep enough so that the Forrest turns foreboding. I still felt like I was actively being hunted in, being corned into an oncoming cliffside if my map was right...
That's when I hear the twigs snap behind me as if a bipedal set of trucks were strolling by...
OH SHIT!
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- Location
- USA
And it was at this moment, he knew. He tripped into Plot.
Kell of Snow
Verified TinTin enjoyer
- Location
- New York
Taken forest time? You don't want to get eaten by a creepy shadow tree, do ya?
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
No Taken forest yet. This is a leftover from the Taken war, but it doesn't mean it'll be any less dangerous. A leftover landmine is still a landmine.
No cutscene. Probably not for some time.
Chapter 17
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Scenery 3
There's one single reason why the Taken remain relevant after their head honcho died: they're really fucking good at what they do.
And what they do is claim more and more units to add to their collective. Eliminate those that are not worthy, and execute their boss' orders.
The latter should be a little hard at the given moment, but the earlier two? Oh, they were not going to give up on that. I could bet for sure.
The prior illusion of safety vanishes and the booming of cannons of some kind begins ringing through the air. For all that I'm worth, I just run. I like living, and I do not doubt that I'd be a nice ether and chitin paste pancake if any of those bolts hit me. I was not too keen on that.
Trees fall after the fire of the torch hammer, stumps being set on fire and trampled on as I get chased by the invisible colossus. I hop over a recently snapped tree, no turning back.
The sound of wood being crushed demonstrates, that, the one chasing me doesn't even need to try. The heat of a nearby shot makes me cringe and squint my eyes to avoid the exploded terrain from blocking my sight.
I run. I run as I never had before. Despite the leg pain, the tree scratches, or any time I trip on a branch or a rock, I don't stop.
The soft incline becomes steeper, and the shots stop firing.
Stumbling is simple when you have feet that were not meant for sprinting. A jolt of pain curses through my legs as my legs get tangled on a particularly thick branch, and it's all rolling downhill from there.
I feel like a fleshy slinky as I accumulate speed before coming to stop by colliding onto a tree, back first. A solid thud is the only sound present in the environment, for a while. The pain is bad, there's no doubt about it. I doubt I can walk without a part of my body aching at this point. But complaining right now is probably a bad idea. I try to quietly stand up.
And to my surprise, nothing happens. At least, until I check for my stuff. It's all there, but the PDA's screen is cracked. I don't even get to measure the extent before the large, crushing footsteps resume their motion, and despite the pain, I run once more, no goal in mind. As long as I get downhill, all should be good. The Last City seemed to be in a valley, so hitting the flat ground should be a relief.
Keywords: should be. If I arrived with this thing chasing me the cabal was incredibly likely to be on red alert, and then proceed to turn me into a shooting target for live practice. So I had to either loose the big, invisible metal hunk or risk death. It was like being offered an injection of cyanide or arsenic. They were both going to kill me, but hey, there's a chance they won't. It was all to how I played either situation, but death was equally likely.
So I decided to hide from the nearly invisible monster.
It may be more of a long term plan, but if I can keep the cabal guard squads to a minimum, then I'm all for it.
As for executing this brilliant plan, I have no clue! So instead, I keep on running downhill, brushing past a tree that tries it's best to violently pull my neck with my scarf. It fortunately tears, but I have a feeling looking around will only end up being more painful because of it. Outrunning them should be the first step I take.
My run downhill slows down when I find myself a creek, and for the first time since I've returned to my ship since I left Enceladus, I can feel the water sticking upon my "feet."
I don't get to enjoy the sensation for long before the rustling of trees alerts me to the incoming, invisible, thoughtless abomination. Instead of following the creek downhill, I take a left turn and run uphill.
It's significantly more painful than being aided by gravity, in any measure, and I'm sure that the… Minotaur, if I'm not wrong in remembering its name, won't have the same problem. After all, it's a machine powered by dark forces beyond anyone's understanding, and no technobabble could convince me otherwise.
The fireballs resume being fired, and a tree narrowly misses scratching my back. It's branches, however, present no said problem, and while I'm unsure if I'm suffering any gashes on my back, it certainly feels that way.
I scramble to stand up before the thing can nail me down to oblivion, and I run before dirt and wood chips explode behind me, being set on fire as I do so.
Talk about overkill, huh?
I ignore this mostly. Or I try to, having embers land on your back, even if you can't feel them, is bound to make anyone nervous. Especially a pyromaniac like me. I was meant to control the fire, not be consumed by it-
Another explosion rings nearby, this time, I do feel the small rocks impact against my left arm and "ribcage" nice and hard. I know breathing doesn't do anything for me, but doing so now hurt.
So I decide to stop. Breathing I mean, refusing to continue running (though at this pace it could be considered a light jog, considering how everything hurt) would be suicide.
I decide to run along the incline. Not straight down, as the ground was steeper along this corner of the mountain, but in a path that, hopefully, guaranteed the big boy was going to trip and fall before me.
As I stumble slightly, I reconsider the truthfulness of my prior thoughts as the collapsing trees reveals the Minotaur to still be trailing behind me, despite the incline.
I don't remember them being this stubborn in the games, but I reckon I could have forgotten that. After all, "Use it or lose it" was in the full display every time I went to bed. I reckon that the Eliksni's evolutionary history considered the brain (or whatever they had, it would seem that it wasn't as important as it was made out to be if you were to consider the scorned), as important as human evolutionary history had considered our brain to be.
Tripping on the root of a tree, I quickly remind myself to not become too self-absorbed, as I was still being chased by the bulky, invisible, explosive launching abomination that was the minotaur.
Just who thought that was a good idea?
It would seem that Oryx was more of a maniac than what would be expected. I mean, considering that the-
I jump out of the way of a falling tree, reminding myself once more, that I was, in fact, not dreaming, and that the…
I take a moment to consider the intervals between the shots. It didn't seem like I had noticed its friend. Or maybe, he decided to join into the chase as it was going.
Taking a deep gulp of air, and immediately regretting it, I proceed by standing up, and running downhill. Looking back, I should have taken my chances with the Cabal earlier, I reckon. If these clowns are going to constantly pop up, I better have their licenses removed, before they become a problem too large to handle. Or at least, large for me. I barely have a pathetic thing that could be called a pistol, a knife with no battery to make it fun to swing around, and a welder/gun/thing, stolen from a dead vex. I was unsure if they could still control this thing, but I'd rather get a regular welder, just to make sure.
A shot lands nearby, causing a current of dirt to fall. I doubt a small avalanche would do as much as phase them, but it sure as hell was going to stop me dead in my tracks.
Quite literally. I don't think I can survive a landslide. The diminishing trees around here does not make me comfortable in this regard in the slightest.
I quickly glance around, before resuming my half-assed "sprint" down the mountain.
I don't enjoy braving certain moments of air time, each landing has been more painful than the last, but every time one of the two minotaurs has fired, I've ended up injured in one way or another, I'd rather not get shot up again only to realize I'm missing a leg.
Talking about which, they would seem to have resumed their barrage. I must be slowing down.
But then again, I should have checked the map as I went along. I stand before a small cliff and… them.
Drawing on the handgun I had removed from the Exo not so long ago, opening fire I come to realize what has happened too late to do anything after firing two shots from a said sidearm.
I fall.
There's one single reason why the Taken remain relevant after their head honcho died: they're really fucking good at what they do.
And what they do is claim more and more units to add to their collective. Eliminate those that are not worthy, and execute their boss' orders.
The latter should be a little hard at the given moment, but the earlier two? Oh, they were not going to give up on that. I could bet for sure.
The prior illusion of safety vanishes and the booming of cannons of some kind begins ringing through the air. For all that I'm worth, I just run. I like living, and I do not doubt that I'd be a nice ether and chitin paste pancake if any of those bolts hit me. I was not too keen on that.
Trees fall after the fire of the torch hammer, stumps being set on fire and trampled on as I get chased by the invisible colossus. I hop over a recently snapped tree, no turning back.
The sound of wood being crushed demonstrates, that, the one chasing me doesn't even need to try. The heat of a nearby shot makes me cringe and squint my eyes to avoid the exploded terrain from blocking my sight.
I run. I run as I never had before. Despite the leg pain, the tree scratches, or any time I trip on a branch or a rock, I don't stop.
The soft incline becomes steeper, and the shots stop firing.
Stumbling is simple when you have feet that were not meant for sprinting. A jolt of pain curses through my legs as my legs get tangled on a particularly thick branch, and it's all rolling downhill from there.
I feel like a fleshy slinky as I accumulate speed before coming to stop by colliding onto a tree, back first. A solid thud is the only sound present in the environment, for a while. The pain is bad, there's no doubt about it. I doubt I can walk without a part of my body aching at this point. But complaining right now is probably a bad idea. I try to quietly stand up.
And to my surprise, nothing happens. At least, until I check for my stuff. It's all there, but the PDA's screen is cracked. I don't even get to measure the extent before the large, crushing footsteps resume their motion, and despite the pain, I run once more, no goal in mind. As long as I get downhill, all should be good. The Last City seemed to be in a valley, so hitting the flat ground should be a relief.
Keywords: should be. If I arrived with this thing chasing me the cabal was incredibly likely to be on red alert, and then proceed to turn me into a shooting target for live practice. So I had to either loose the big, invisible metal hunk or risk death. It was like being offered an injection of cyanide or arsenic. They were both going to kill me, but hey, there's a chance they won't. It was all to how I played either situation, but death was equally likely.
So I decided to hide from the nearly invisible monster.
It may be more of a long term plan, but if I can keep the cabal guard squads to a minimum, then I'm all for it.
As for executing this brilliant plan, I have no clue! So instead, I keep on running downhill, brushing past a tree that tries it's best to violently pull my neck with my scarf. It fortunately tears, but I have a feeling looking around will only end up being more painful because of it. Outrunning them should be the first step I take.
My run downhill slows down when I find myself a creek, and for the first time since I've returned to my ship since I left Enceladus, I can feel the water sticking upon my "feet."
I don't get to enjoy the sensation for long before the rustling of trees alerts me to the incoming, invisible, thoughtless abomination. Instead of following the creek downhill, I take a left turn and run uphill.
It's significantly more painful than being aided by gravity, in any measure, and I'm sure that the… Minotaur, if I'm not wrong in remembering its name, won't have the same problem. After all, it's a machine powered by dark forces beyond anyone's understanding, and no technobabble could convince me otherwise.
The fireballs resume being fired, and a tree narrowly misses scratching my back. It's branches, however, present no said problem, and while I'm unsure if I'm suffering any gashes on my back, it certainly feels that way.
I scramble to stand up before the thing can nail me down to oblivion, and I run before dirt and wood chips explode behind me, being set on fire as I do so.
Talk about overkill, huh?
I ignore this mostly. Or I try to, having embers land on your back, even if you can't feel them, is bound to make anyone nervous. Especially a pyromaniac like me. I was meant to control the fire, not be consumed by it-
Another explosion rings nearby, this time, I do feel the small rocks impact against my left arm and "ribcage" nice and hard. I know breathing doesn't do anything for me, but doing so now hurt.
So I decide to stop. Breathing I mean, refusing to continue running (though at this pace it could be considered a light jog, considering how everything hurt) would be suicide.
I decide to run along the incline. Not straight down, as the ground was steeper along this corner of the mountain, but in a path that, hopefully, guaranteed the big boy was going to trip and fall before me.
As I stumble slightly, I reconsider the truthfulness of my prior thoughts as the collapsing trees reveals the Minotaur to still be trailing behind me, despite the incline.
I don't remember them being this stubborn in the games, but I reckon I could have forgotten that. After all, "Use it or lose it" was in the full display every time I went to bed. I reckon that the Eliksni's evolutionary history considered the brain (or whatever they had, it would seem that it wasn't as important as it was made out to be if you were to consider the scorned), as important as human evolutionary history had considered our brain to be.
Tripping on the root of a tree, I quickly remind myself to not become too self-absorbed, as I was still being chased by the bulky, invisible, explosive launching abomination that was the minotaur.
Just who thought that was a good idea?
It would seem that Oryx was more of a maniac than what would be expected. I mean, considering that the-
I jump out of the way of a falling tree, reminding myself once more, that I was, in fact, not dreaming, and that the…
I take a moment to consider the intervals between the shots. It didn't seem like I had noticed its friend. Or maybe, he decided to join into the chase as it was going.
Taking a deep gulp of air, and immediately regretting it, I proceed by standing up, and running downhill. Looking back, I should have taken my chances with the Cabal earlier, I reckon. If these clowns are going to constantly pop up, I better have their licenses removed, before they become a problem too large to handle. Or at least, large for me. I barely have a pathetic thing that could be called a pistol, a knife with no battery to make it fun to swing around, and a welder/gun/thing, stolen from a dead vex. I was unsure if they could still control this thing, but I'd rather get a regular welder, just to make sure.
A shot lands nearby, causing a current of dirt to fall. I doubt a small avalanche would do as much as phase them, but it sure as hell was going to stop me dead in my tracks.
Quite literally. I don't think I can survive a landslide. The diminishing trees around here does not make me comfortable in this regard in the slightest.
I quickly glance around, before resuming my half-assed "sprint" down the mountain.
I don't enjoy braving certain moments of air time, each landing has been more painful than the last, but every time one of the two minotaurs has fired, I've ended up injured in one way or another, I'd rather not get shot up again only to realize I'm missing a leg.
Talking about which, they would seem to have resumed their barrage. I must be slowing down.
But then again, I should have checked the map as I went along. I stand before a small cliff and… them.
Drawing on the handgun I had removed from the Exo not so long ago, opening fire I come to realize what has happened too late to do anything after firing two shots from a said sidearm.
I fall.
Last edited:
- Location
- Israel
Yeah, I too was starting to think that this story is starting to suffer from "being the MC is suffering because the universe hates him", IMO the entire thing with him being caught by the Captain shouldn't have happened as it just caused the story to basically go back to square one. The MC with no allies and no resources, only now it's even worse as he has even LESS in his starting point than what he had with Failsafe.
Good to know!
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I'm more or less trying to follow the following saying while writing this:
"Everything in life is temporary. So if things are going good, enjoy it because it won't last forever. And if things are going bad, don't worry. It can't last forever either."
"Everything in life is temporary. So if things are going good, enjoy it because it won't last forever. And if things are going bad, don't worry. It can't last forever either."
Chapter 18
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Climbing Out
Oh fuck.
It's a soft thud, and I'm sure I've broken something because that cracking was not a branch, I could make sure of that.
Everything hurts.
I take a look around. There's a pillar of smoke, massive, and it's relatively nearby. It taints the blue sky and ugly grey, but I doubt whoever is behind it really cared.
The trees around me remain uncaring to my plight. The stream to which I fell down upon just continues to go around me. I really hope the notepad is not…
I sit up, ignoring the pain, and to my relief, other than losing some more paint, and getting de-attached from my belt, it still looks relatively intact. The handgun? It takes awfully long to stand up, if the pain is to have a say, but… it's still in one piece. I let out a (mental) sigh. Honestly, It could have done with a paint job anyhow, it's only that it really needs one now if it's to not look like a gleaning, silver piece.
"…"
There's no Minotaurs. Did they give up? Unlikely. Maybe they got distracted instead. Good for them. Excellent for me. Awful for their new targets. But I'm sure they could handle.
I check… myself. It's still weird to be stuck like this. Three fingers in hands and feet, brown skin, and an even browner… plates, maybe. I'm not sure what these are called. But they're definitely something for sure. The banner on my waist? I decided it could do for a nice bandage, for… it's definitely a tight, but the plate over it is all cracked. It isn't seeping anything, which I guess it's good, but I still got to stop it from moving and running along with itself. It's basic first aid, and frankly, I should make sure to write it back in the book. It's got to be something worthwhile to remember. So two sheets, torn from the banner One on the upper tight, and one on the lower tight. That should keep anything from falling out, if it was planning to.
The cliff face… it's pretty tall. It's kind of amazing I only broke one thing. I'm not quite sure how tall it is, but it's definitely taller than a tree. All and all, I might have gotten off track, but I was definitely closer to the city. I sure hope the servitor could... of course it could. Only the vital machinery to Ether production was removed. Even the internal antenna vital for it to interface with machinery was still intact.
How I knew this was not vital to my current situation, but I was sure as hell to check it out later on. Preferably, when looking around was not painful.
I send the ship a quick message, and I really hope the servitor gives it a check, even if he's currently thinking in hijacking the ship. I am unsure if it knows English, but there's no way to send messages in Eliksni "Proper".
Eureka. Time to wait for an answer.
As for what to do meanwhile? Continue my pace downwards. Of course!
There are more trees, and that's a given. There's also the pain, which at this point, I have begun wondering if it's temporary. It's mainly because chronic pain would both: ironic, and morbidly funny, be ironic, considering my family's history with arthritis, and morbidly funny, because I can't stop thinking of that prior chase as some sort of whack comedy.
A cabal gunship flies overhead, and I do my best to stick to the treeline since then. That they're not actively gunning for me doesn't mean they won't in a second or two if I stay on the sightlines for too long.
And so, I follow the creek downwards, because otherwise, it wouldn't be flowing… Until I find a patch of surprisingly still humid mud. And even if I had a lesser sense of smell than before. I could tell this stuff stank. Faeces level stunk. And for a city? There was no confusing where that might have come from.
The trek from the muddy, sticky, but surprisingly slippery ground through one of the sewers was, what one may call, "uneventful". There were no cabal squads roaming in the sewers, but I don't doubt that could change at any minute. And frankly? 13 bullets had to be enough to take out at least one space rhino. Call it overconfidence or desperation, but I had to get through, or I died either way.
Choosing starvation over dying fighting was like choosing long term suffering over euthanasia. I know which one I would pick if I was suffering of a crippling, incurable disease, which, in a way, hunger was.
So onwards I went, past the dank, colourless stone brick walls, past some of the rubble that had somehow found it's way down here.
I am pleasantly surprised when the PDA rings. I turn off its notifications quickly before I forget about it, and It alerts a squad to my location.
So that answered my question to what I required. I quickly stow it away, not even daring to let out a mental sigh due to the hygienic risk involved with this place.
But then I come face to face with a disillusionment: the iron bars.
"The walls are full of gaps" my ass. You should have learnt to not shut up or sell out, Hawthorne. Also, fuck those bars. I doubt they're able to stand against being welded
I manage to avoid an eye sore (by the most part) by closing my eyes and looking away. Turns out, I'm far sloppier than expected this way. It hardly matters, since the bar comes off and it's top end begins sizzling the mud.
And so, the gate becomes a problem of the past. Kind of makes you wonder why security is so shoddy. "Security though obscurity is no security" kind of deal. You still need to back it up with proper safety. An automated system would be nice, because if we're being honest, this is the security of mankind right here. Not fulfilling those requirements could get someone hurt, or even killed! Oh wait…
The Vanguard failed at that one pretty high, if I do say so. I mean, I have never been put in charge of a group of peeps, but I'd try to make sure they are well defended, and taken care for in case push comes to shove. This was just negligence at this point.
Not these fuckers again. Once again, the only enemy that won't torn me into a pancake with a mean look: the sewer bars, make themselves seen once more. Well, if it was going to be this way…
My eyes still sting, but I think I've found a way out of these sewers: the bar I just cut down. I might only see things in monochrome in the dark, but I was not blind, there might be debris blocking the exit, but workarounds were not the deal I was looking after at the given moment.
Finding loose stones was easier than expected, and even more so removing them. What was not to be expected, was the ever-present pain. No matter how far I went, I doubt I could escape it.
The monotony of this task bores me, but I'd rather have this than falling off yet another cliff.
I am not amused when I ended up blinded again when I remove one stone to come face to face with a collapsed neon sign that somehow still finds itself functional. I manage to remove enough rubble to squeeze myself under a tiny gap.
If it's one thing I'm thankful about this body, is how flexible it is. Getting squished is still painful, and I have to resist swearing when my bandaged leg brushes up against the rubble on the ground. It's almost like a ramp, of sorts, and considering how the corner here is rectangular, it would be safe to assume that this was a small window into the sewers from a slightly elevated walkway. Poor City design or aesthetic choice? I may never know.
But I made it.
I was in the City.
And I only had half a day and a half left.
Pretty good timing, if I do say so myself.
And then, I proceed to remain hidden behind the neon sign as I hear the marching approach. I was unsure of my ability to resist getting ganged upon by Cabal, so I really plan to stay hidden, for the most part.
As the marching goes on, I am unable to see who it is composed of. I do see a few of the… traditional kind, of space rhino, and I'm pretty sure I see one of the more "decorated" ones as well. But soon enough, they manage to slowly exit away. A right turn and the footsteps become more distant. I do wait sometime after they vanish before I finally begin advancing. From behind the neon sign, to behind a collapsed billboard, and I wait once more when the marching comes on, then fades away.
This was going to be one long-ass day.
Oh fuck.
It's a soft thud, and I'm sure I've broken something because that cracking was not a branch, I could make sure of that.
Everything hurts.
I take a look around. There's a pillar of smoke, massive, and it's relatively nearby. It taints the blue sky and ugly grey, but I doubt whoever is behind it really cared.
The trees around me remain uncaring to my plight. The stream to which I fell down upon just continues to go around me. I really hope the notepad is not…
I sit up, ignoring the pain, and to my relief, other than losing some more paint, and getting de-attached from my belt, it still looks relatively intact. The handgun? It takes awfully long to stand up, if the pain is to have a say, but… it's still in one piece. I let out a (mental) sigh. Honestly, It could have done with a paint job anyhow, it's only that it really needs one now if it's to not look like a gleaning, silver piece.
"…"
There's no Minotaurs. Did they give up? Unlikely. Maybe they got distracted instead. Good for them. Excellent for me. Awful for their new targets. But I'm sure they could handle.
I check… myself. It's still weird to be stuck like this. Three fingers in hands and feet, brown skin, and an even browner… plates, maybe. I'm not sure what these are called. But they're definitely something for sure. The banner on my waist? I decided it could do for a nice bandage, for… it's definitely a tight, but the plate over it is all cracked. It isn't seeping anything, which I guess it's good, but I still got to stop it from moving and running along with itself. It's basic first aid, and frankly, I should make sure to write it back in the book. It's got to be something worthwhile to remember. So two sheets, torn from the banner One on the upper tight, and one on the lower tight. That should keep anything from falling out, if it was planning to.
The cliff face… it's pretty tall. It's kind of amazing I only broke one thing. I'm not quite sure how tall it is, but it's definitely taller than a tree. All and all, I might have gotten off track, but I was definitely closer to the city. I sure hope the servitor could... of course it could. Only the vital machinery to Ether production was removed. Even the internal antenna vital for it to interface with machinery was still intact.
How I knew this was not vital to my current situation, but I was sure as hell to check it out later on. Preferably, when looking around was not painful.
I send the ship a quick message, and I really hope the servitor gives it a check, even if he's currently thinking in hijacking the ship. I am unsure if it knows English, but there's no way to send messages in Eliksni "Proper".
| Guest_001>What parts do you think you would be missing, were you ransacked? Guest_001>I mean if you had the parts that produced ether removed. Emergency_074 is typing… |
Eureka. Time to wait for an answer.
As for what to do meanwhile? Continue my pace downwards. Of course!
There are more trees, and that's a given. There's also the pain, which at this point, I have begun wondering if it's temporary. It's mainly because chronic pain would both: ironic, and morbidly funny, be ironic, considering my family's history with arthritis, and morbidly funny, because I can't stop thinking of that prior chase as some sort of whack comedy.
A cabal gunship flies overhead, and I do my best to stick to the treeline since then. That they're not actively gunning for me doesn't mean they won't in a second or two if I stay on the sightlines for too long.
And so, I follow the creek downwards, because otherwise, it wouldn't be flowing… Until I find a patch of surprisingly still humid mud. And even if I had a lesser sense of smell than before. I could tell this stuff stank. Faeces level stunk. And for a city? There was no confusing where that might have come from.
The trek from the muddy, sticky, but surprisingly slippery ground through one of the sewers was, what one may call, "uneventful". There were no cabal squads roaming in the sewers, but I don't doubt that could change at any minute. And frankly? 13 bullets had to be enough to take out at least one space rhino. Call it overconfidence or desperation, but I had to get through, or I died either way.
Choosing starvation over dying fighting was like choosing long term suffering over euthanasia. I know which one I would pick if I was suffering of a crippling, incurable disease, which, in a way, hunger was.
So onwards I went, past the dank, colourless stone brick walls, past some of the rubble that had somehow found it's way down here.
I am pleasantly surprised when the PDA rings. I turn off its notifications quickly before I forget about it, and It alerts a squad to my location.
| Guest_001>What parts do you think you would be missing, were you ransacked? Guest_001>I mean, if you had the parts that produced ether removed. Emergency_074> A BIOGENERATOR, MATTER PROCESSING UNIT, COMPARTMENT FOR STORAGE, CHEMICAL HEATER, SCANNER, A COOLING UNIT, AN ELECTRONICALLY OPERATED VALVE, A TELEPORTER OF SMALL SIZE, AN ELECTRONICAL HOVERING UNIT. |
So that answered my question to what I required. I quickly stow it away, not even daring to let out a mental sigh due to the hygienic risk involved with this place.
But then I come face to face with a disillusionment: the iron bars.
"The walls are full of gaps" my ass. You should have learnt to not shut up or sell out, Hawthorne. Also, fuck those bars. I doubt they're able to stand against being welded
I manage to avoid an eye sore (by the most part) by closing my eyes and looking away. Turns out, I'm far sloppier than expected this way. It hardly matters, since the bar comes off and it's top end begins sizzling the mud.
And so, the gate becomes a problem of the past. Kind of makes you wonder why security is so shoddy. "Security though obscurity is no security" kind of deal. You still need to back it up with proper safety. An automated system would be nice, because if we're being honest, this is the security of mankind right here. Not fulfilling those requirements could get someone hurt, or even killed! Oh wait…
The Vanguard failed at that one pretty high, if I do say so. I mean, I have never been put in charge of a group of peeps, but I'd try to make sure they are well defended, and taken care for in case push comes to shove. This was just negligence at this point.
Not these fuckers again. Once again, the only enemy that won't torn me into a pancake with a mean look: the sewer bars, make themselves seen once more. Well, if it was going to be this way…
My eyes still sting, but I think I've found a way out of these sewers: the bar I just cut down. I might only see things in monochrome in the dark, but I was not blind, there might be debris blocking the exit, but workarounds were not the deal I was looking after at the given moment.
Finding loose stones was easier than expected, and even more so removing them. What was not to be expected, was the ever-present pain. No matter how far I went, I doubt I could escape it.
The monotony of this task bores me, but I'd rather have this than falling off yet another cliff.
I am not amused when I ended up blinded again when I remove one stone to come face to face with a collapsed neon sign that somehow still finds itself functional. I manage to remove enough rubble to squeeze myself under a tiny gap.
If it's one thing I'm thankful about this body, is how flexible it is. Getting squished is still painful, and I have to resist swearing when my bandaged leg brushes up against the rubble on the ground. It's almost like a ramp, of sorts, and considering how the corner here is rectangular, it would be safe to assume that this was a small window into the sewers from a slightly elevated walkway. Poor City design or aesthetic choice? I may never know.
But I made it.
I was in the City.
And I only had half a day and a half left.
Pretty good timing, if I do say so myself.
And then, I proceed to remain hidden behind the neon sign as I hear the marching approach. I was unsure of my ability to resist getting ganged upon by Cabal, so I really plan to stay hidden, for the most part.
As the marching goes on, I am unable to see who it is composed of. I do see a few of the… traditional kind, of space rhino, and I'm pretty sure I see one of the more "decorated" ones as well. But soon enough, they manage to slowly exit away. A right turn and the footsteps become more distant. I do wait sometime after they vanish before I finally begin advancing. From behind the neon sign, to behind a collapsed billboard, and I wait once more when the marching comes on, then fades away.
This was going to be one long-ass day.
Last edited:
Chapter 19
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Climbing Out 2
There were several benefits to being inside a building: most cabal are too fat to get through a door, and there was the good benefit of being able to raid people's home for anything I could find remotely useful. Amongst them: Clothes, a nice blue and black backpack, a poncho, some pants… I can't believe fallen don't use pants. Just… why?
So, I finally had somewhere else to keep my stuff, which in turn, meant less back and forth trips, and considering the list, I had received and the two invisible behemoths that had chased me all the way here, maybe that was for the best. A trek upwards was always more painful than one downwards. And in this case, I actually meant "painful" as in "causes pain" rather than "being annoying".
The apartment, for all that was worth, was pretty decent. It was definitely nicer looking than my prior home, back when I still had pink-ish skin. The way it seems to have been done, they tried to maximize space, which was reasonable, all things considered, but it made for a very cramped home with an incredibly cramped staircase in comparison with everything else. In spite of this, everything was used: the kitchen's fans also made for some neat cabinets, which I had no clue how they had managed to do that without blocking any venting ports. Even the bedrooms, which I had counted to have been two, one for what seemed to be two kids, and one for what seemed to be someone else.
There was also a camera by the front door, that had somehow survived having said door be blasted open by what I assume to have been a rogue explosive.. I made sure to take care of it quickly, but I already assume it had spotted me.
But what would anyone around do if they were still around? Scream for help? It was going to do them no good. Plus, they were probably dead.
I sure hope that was the case. For as much as I loved having clothes once more, I absolutely despised having to steal, this might still be someone's home. Still. Bio-generator with a label, and a scanner to check for spoiled food in the fridge. I reckon they were standard technology by this point, but I certainly did not expect them being in the kitchen. The bio generator might be slightly clunky, as it was, essentially, more or less a more rectangular blender, and the scanner? That was smaller, certainly, and it was surprisingly easy to pop off from the back wall of the fridge. Nice fridge too, and surprisingly, the polished metal did not contrast that much with the rustic style of the home.
And so, inside of the backpack they went. I made sure to pack a vest around the biogenerator, just so I didn't have to make the return trip to the city.
And so, with a renewed determination and a more stylish outfit, I waited until the next patrol passed by. The clothes were not exactly form-fitting, but it sure as hell was less likely to have me being spotted with the greyer and in the case of the pants, browner colours. I'm uncertain that this will beat military level camouflage any day, but as long as it stopped anyone from looking back, I was all for it.
Eventually, I could progress back into the rubble of the streets below, and in doing so, I quickly proceeded along the wall, until I came to a back alley. I hid, not because there was a patrol nearby, and I liked roaming around in trash and faeces, but because I'd rather not take a risk with being caught by a patrol.
What most amazes me, really, is how little trash bins have changed. They're still green, rectangular metal boxes with black lids. I wonder who did trash collection around here because they were overdue for sure.
In due time, another patrol passes by. I reckon I could have managed to reach the building with a collapsed wall before that, but it was better to be careful than to be dead.
The marching abruptly stops, and I silently panic.
But they retrace their steps shortly thereafter, after muttering something in an incomprehensible language.
Letting out a mental sigh over just having them change patrol groups, I quickly limp over to the building with the collapsed wall and the mustard coloured paint.
White walls on the inside. A small foyer. A door to the kitchen, and a claustrophobic staircase to above. To the left of the stairs, I found a jackpot.
I was unsure where I was going to find a teleporter of small size, but I think I hit the jackpot on the hover unit: this house's garage. Unlike the clothes, I was sure I could find a way to pay for this speeder(?). I never really cared for the name of these things, I only constantly remembered that the name of the one with guns was a Pike. And as overwhelming as they were, pikes were a blast. Why guardians didn't have sparrows with guns was something beyond me. Slap a rifle on the thing. It isn't too hard.
Anyhow, I was unsure, where this hover unit was. So, as methodically as I could, I removed the external pieces of the machine, then turned it on. I was worried about any sound it could have produced each time I turned it on, but it always kept hovering, at least, until I removed what I assumed it to be nothing other than a sort of electronic box with holes. Satisfied with this, I just leave the sparrow behind, as even attempting to rebuild it was not only cruel but likely impossible, considering all of the mess I've left of the thing. After dumping it on the backpack, I remove what seems to be two small oxygen tanks from the wall, and slightly open their valves.
As I expected: gas. Flammable gas. I reckon this guy enjoyed the taste or going out on barbecues. Maybe, just maybe, he was planning on going full "freedom fighter".
The marching comes by and leaves once more. Second patrol group, I assume. By that time, I simply manage to have another two vats of empty gas that I can make use of as storage for more Ether. I hated to admit it, but I already craved the thing.
So those were two other items off the list. I don't think this ease of finding items would continue for longer. There is a chance there was also a garage in the other house, and maybe, the kitchen ran on gas as well. But this one? It showed promise. And getting too deep into the city was bound to be particularly bad for me, considering the cabal occupation, so maybe I should just shut up, and accept that something good is happening for the first time in particularly long.
And so, I go up the stairs.
I don't mind the hole in the celling, even if it meant that the floor above this one could be considered practically gone, but I am instead drawn to the small living room, armed around a table that has seen days where a large piece of concrete wasn't sitting on it, or rather, on it's remains. What interests me the most, however, is the shotgun on the wall, on a frame.
It's not worn, but well kept. It could just as likely be decoration, as it could be…
The frame breaks under having the shotgun pulled, and while a wince is in order, I have managed to get it free.
Going back to the garage. I check how many rounds it has. I begin pumping the shotgun.
One round falls out with the first pump, and I have to insist, I was not expecting it to be this hard to pull the slide back and forth.
Four rounds later, and I really regret having checked.
One more round falls, and the next pull has nothing drop. Taking an actual breath, then regretting doing so due to the gas in the room, I begin the arduous task of re-loading the damn thing.
Pulling the lever back, in go the six rounds. The lever returns to its original location, and the light blue shotgun has a round in the chamber. I dislike the fact that has no strap or anything of the sort. So either I went with this at hand, or suffer the fact that I only had 43 bullets left in the handgun.
I knew what I picked.
So, now armed with a shotgun, a little more confidence, and the taste of gas in my mouth, I go back up.
Turns out, either the people in this house left in a hurry, or were complete slobs. The beds were a mess in the only bedroom. The study was ransacked before I got here, and the room that seemed to be some sort of workshop, it too, was devoid of nearly anything. They left some sort of wire-like things behind, plugged to the wall. Judging by how they scorched the wood, I reckon that I only need a cooler, a valve, a teleporter to engage in tele fragging, and a matter processor, whatever that was. I reckon it meant a 3 d printer or pen. But just to check...
Time to wait for an answer once more, but meanwhile, I wait for the marching cabal to pass by one more from the safety of being behind the stairs with a shotgun. Due to their body mass, I still reckon I should be safe if I get caught up here, but not guaranteed.
They pass by, and I wait an extra moment, just to be sure.
I nearly suffered a heart attack when I peek over the corner and spot a Psion inspecting the house.
That isn't good. But I'll maintain my composure. He… or she, hasn't seen me yet, thus, leaving the door open for a well-timed escape.
I wait until it checks the garage before carefully trying to sneak past the hole in the wall.
I somehow manage to cause some rubble to tumble over, which, while it notices it, based on the way it's footsteps sound, and how it passes back to the living room. Unfortunately for it, I have already begun my trek to the next alleyway.
I don't know how I feel about that, but frankly, I consider it an absolute success. Now to wait for the Psion to report back this abnormality, and increase the overall security on this area.
I reconsider having not slit it's throat while he was in the garage.
Soon enough, I begin to listen to the results of not taking the Psion out. There's the marching of the cabal once more, and considering the number of steps, it's hard to consider that they probably number in the dozen, if not slightly more. It's only when I listen to a gas explosion when I realize what they were doing.
They were torching the house! The absolute mad lads, they were not even risking a fight, and frankly, I can't blame them, any fight could end badly.
My foot stumbles on something as I accommodate myself behind the trash bin.
A weird thing I stumbled upon one of these.
==================================
Spoilers: It's dead.
There were several benefits to being inside a building: most cabal are too fat to get through a door, and there was the good benefit of being able to raid people's home for anything I could find remotely useful. Amongst them: Clothes, a nice blue and black backpack, a poncho, some pants… I can't believe fallen don't use pants. Just… why?
So, I finally had somewhere else to keep my stuff, which in turn, meant less back and forth trips, and considering the list, I had received and the two invisible behemoths that had chased me all the way here, maybe that was for the best. A trek upwards was always more painful than one downwards. And in this case, I actually meant "painful" as in "causes pain" rather than "being annoying".
The apartment, for all that was worth, was pretty decent. It was definitely nicer looking than my prior home, back when I still had pink-ish skin. The way it seems to have been done, they tried to maximize space, which was reasonable, all things considered, but it made for a very cramped home with an incredibly cramped staircase in comparison with everything else. In spite of this, everything was used: the kitchen's fans also made for some neat cabinets, which I had no clue how they had managed to do that without blocking any venting ports. Even the bedrooms, which I had counted to have been two, one for what seemed to be two kids, and one for what seemed to be someone else.
There was also a camera by the front door, that had somehow survived having said door be blasted open by what I assume to have been a rogue explosive.. I made sure to take care of it quickly, but I already assume it had spotted me.
But what would anyone around do if they were still around? Scream for help? It was going to do them no good. Plus, they were probably dead.
I sure hope that was the case. For as much as I loved having clothes once more, I absolutely despised having to steal, this might still be someone's home. Still. Bio-generator with a label, and a scanner to check for spoiled food in the fridge. I reckon they were standard technology by this point, but I certainly did not expect them being in the kitchen. The bio generator might be slightly clunky, as it was, essentially, more or less a more rectangular blender, and the scanner? That was smaller, certainly, and it was surprisingly easy to pop off from the back wall of the fridge. Nice fridge too, and surprisingly, the polished metal did not contrast that much with the rustic style of the home.
And so, inside of the backpack they went. I made sure to pack a vest around the biogenerator, just so I didn't have to make the return trip to the city.
And so, with a renewed determination and a more stylish outfit, I waited until the next patrol passed by. The clothes were not exactly form-fitting, but it sure as hell was less likely to have me being spotted with the greyer and in the case of the pants, browner colours. I'm uncertain that this will beat military level camouflage any day, but as long as it stopped anyone from looking back, I was all for it.
Eventually, I could progress back into the rubble of the streets below, and in doing so, I quickly proceeded along the wall, until I came to a back alley. I hid, not because there was a patrol nearby, and I liked roaming around in trash and faeces, but because I'd rather not take a risk with being caught by a patrol.
What most amazes me, really, is how little trash bins have changed. They're still green, rectangular metal boxes with black lids. I wonder who did trash collection around here because they were overdue for sure.
In due time, another patrol passes by. I reckon I could have managed to reach the building with a collapsed wall before that, but it was better to be careful than to be dead.
The marching abruptly stops, and I silently panic.
But they retrace their steps shortly thereafter, after muttering something in an incomprehensible language.
Letting out a mental sigh over just having them change patrol groups, I quickly limp over to the building with the collapsed wall and the mustard coloured paint.
White walls on the inside. A small foyer. A door to the kitchen, and a claustrophobic staircase to above. To the left of the stairs, I found a jackpot.
I was unsure where I was going to find a teleporter of small size, but I think I hit the jackpot on the hover unit: this house's garage. Unlike the clothes, I was sure I could find a way to pay for this speeder(?). I never really cared for the name of these things, I only constantly remembered that the name of the one with guns was a Pike. And as overwhelming as they were, pikes were a blast. Why guardians didn't have sparrows with guns was something beyond me. Slap a rifle on the thing. It isn't too hard.
Anyhow, I was unsure, where this hover unit was. So, as methodically as I could, I removed the external pieces of the machine, then turned it on. I was worried about any sound it could have produced each time I turned it on, but it always kept hovering, at least, until I removed what I assumed it to be nothing other than a sort of electronic box with holes. Satisfied with this, I just leave the sparrow behind, as even attempting to rebuild it was not only cruel but likely impossible, considering all of the mess I've left of the thing. After dumping it on the backpack, I remove what seems to be two small oxygen tanks from the wall, and slightly open their valves.
As I expected: gas. Flammable gas. I reckon this guy enjoyed the taste or going out on barbecues. Maybe, just maybe, he was planning on going full "freedom fighter".
The marching comes by and leaves once more. Second patrol group, I assume. By that time, I simply manage to have another two vats of empty gas that I can make use of as storage for more Ether. I hated to admit it, but I already craved the thing.
So those were two other items off the list. I don't think this ease of finding items would continue for longer. There is a chance there was also a garage in the other house, and maybe, the kitchen ran on gas as well. But this one? It showed promise. And getting too deep into the city was bound to be particularly bad for me, considering the cabal occupation, so maybe I should just shut up, and accept that something good is happening for the first time in particularly long.
And so, I go up the stairs.
I don't mind the hole in the celling, even if it meant that the floor above this one could be considered practically gone, but I am instead drawn to the small living room, armed around a table that has seen days where a large piece of concrete wasn't sitting on it, or rather, on it's remains. What interests me the most, however, is the shotgun on the wall, on a frame.
It's not worn, but well kept. It could just as likely be decoration, as it could be…
The frame breaks under having the shotgun pulled, and while a wince is in order, I have managed to get it free.
Going back to the garage. I check how many rounds it has. I begin pumping the shotgun.
One round falls out with the first pump, and I have to insist, I was not expecting it to be this hard to pull the slide back and forth.
Four rounds later, and I really regret having checked.
One more round falls, and the next pull has nothing drop. Taking an actual breath, then regretting doing so due to the gas in the room, I begin the arduous task of re-loading the damn thing.
Pulling the lever back, in go the six rounds. The lever returns to its original location, and the light blue shotgun has a round in the chamber. I dislike the fact that has no strap or anything of the sort. So either I went with this at hand, or suffer the fact that I only had 43 bullets left in the handgun.
I knew what I picked.
So, now armed with a shotgun, a little more confidence, and the taste of gas in my mouth, I go back up.
Turns out, either the people in this house left in a hurry, or were complete slobs. The beds were a mess in the only bedroom. The study was ransacked before I got here, and the room that seemed to be some sort of workshop, it too, was devoid of nearly anything. They left some sort of wire-like things behind, plugged to the wall. Judging by how they scorched the wood, I reckon that I only need a cooler, a valve, a teleporter to engage in tele fragging, and a matter processor, whatever that was. I reckon it meant a 3 d printer or pen. But just to check...
| Guest_001>What parts do you think you would be missing, were you ransacked? Guest_001>I mean, if you had the parts that produced ether removed. Emergency_074> A BIOGENERATOR, MATTER PROCESSING UNIT, COMPARTMENT FOR STORAGE, CHEMICAL HEATER, SCANNER, A COOLING UNIT, AN ELECTRONICALLY OPERATED VALVE, A TELEPORTER OF SMALL SIZE, AN ELECTRONICAL HOVERING UNIT. Guest_001>What counts as an appropriate replacement for the matter processing unit and the cooling unit? |
Time to wait for an answer once more, but meanwhile, I wait for the marching cabal to pass by one more from the safety of being behind the stairs with a shotgun. Due to their body mass, I still reckon I should be safe if I get caught up here, but not guaranteed.
They pass by, and I wait an extra moment, just to be sure.
I nearly suffered a heart attack when I peek over the corner and spot a Psion inspecting the house.
That isn't good. But I'll maintain my composure. He… or she, hasn't seen me yet, thus, leaving the door open for a well-timed escape.
I wait until it checks the garage before carefully trying to sneak past the hole in the wall.
I somehow manage to cause some rubble to tumble over, which, while it notices it, based on the way it's footsteps sound, and how it passes back to the living room. Unfortunately for it, I have already begun my trek to the next alleyway.
I don't know how I feel about that, but frankly, I consider it an absolute success. Now to wait for the Psion to report back this abnormality, and increase the overall security on this area.
I reconsider having not slit it's throat while he was in the garage.
Soon enough, I begin to listen to the results of not taking the Psion out. There's the marching of the cabal once more, and considering the number of steps, it's hard to consider that they probably number in the dozen, if not slightly more. It's only when I listen to a gas explosion when I realize what they were doing.
They were torching the house! The absolute mad lads, they were not even risking a fight, and frankly, I can't blame them, any fight could end badly.
My foot stumbles on something as I accommodate myself behind the trash bin.
A weird thing I stumbled upon one of these.
==================================
Spoilers: It's dead.
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- Location
- Lost in Thought
Sentence cut off here?
- Location
- USA
Drag memory has the weirdest priorities.
My childhood? Nah that's useless. Potential threats? Throw it out.
Interior decorating? Life or death information that must be retained.
My childhood? Nah that's useless. Potential threats? Throw it out.
Interior decorating? Life or death information that must be retained.
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Thank you for mentioning this, must have slipped past proofreading.
Kell of Snow
Verified TinTin enjoyer
- Location
- New York
Please elaborate what you mean by this.
- Location
- Isekai'd to this shitty world we're live in
Another cut off.
I assume he stumbled upon either a dead Ghost, dead Hive Maggot, or other somesuch that I can't figure out right now.
- Location
- Israel
Probably a ghost, since it's called a ghost, this is "dead". If that's what it is I'll be disappointed in the bad pun 
- Location
- Somewhere in South America
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I must have been sloppier than usual when proofreading. Thanks once more. I'll try to avoid situations like this in the future.
I should have been clearer there. Thank you for the feedback.