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#Post#: 2272--------------------------------------------------
The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:52 am
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“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in
broken places” – E. H.
The Freedom War: Introduction
The screeching of the alarm klaxon jolts Xander’s sleeping mind
into overdrive, nearly toppling him out of his metallic,
standard issue bunk. The dull, but bright red light burns into
his eyes, forcing him to squint for several, long moments as his
senses return to awareness from their slumber. ”All crewmembers
to battle stations, this is not a drill, repeat, this is not a
drill”, a soft, woman’s voice screams over the vibrant roar of
the alarm. Around him, hidden by the drapes of the withering
light, the shouts, the calamity of others scrambling about in a
disordered diaspora as they rush towards their various stations
like a never-ending stream of silvery salmon splashing their way
violently upstream, beat a roaring war drum, a rush of hot red
blood and stimulating adrenaline that permeates his throbbing
ears and his muddled mind. ”Come on, bloody hell we can’t be
late!”[i], a fellow below him cries, already almost fully
dressed in full uniform, a mixture of smooth greys and milky
blues, as he tugs aggressively at his wrist, [i]”frack.. not my
problem, get dressed and get going!”, he bellows once more
before hiding once more in the opaque curtains of the consuming,
shifting shadows.
The darkness of the corridor hampers Xander’s every movement,
pulling a hand through a sleeve, attempting to straight out
every groove, every wrinkle in his uniform, even placing one
step ahead of another. Others race around him, forwards in back,
their faces lost, and meaningless. Each step, each wringing step
atop the sleek, icy steel floor brings him closer towards a
light, towards a blinding light so intense all he can sense is
the withering commotion around him, the commands shouted by
others, the heavy steps echoing from wall to wall, but loudest
of all, the pounding of his heart to that beat, that awful,
brash, beat of readiness. Bum bum. Bum bum. Bum bum. Eventually,
his awkward gait thrusts him headfirst into that white, fiery
abyss ahead, only for the burning blindness to clear as he cross
the threshold. Here, the din of activity, the ferocity of
preparation for the coming moments screamed as if in fervor and
lust, men and women hunched all which ways, roaring, crying. A
lone, elderly women, her surplus of gleaming medals glinting in
the sharp light, stands atop the crowd, elegant, but barking
orders all the same. A bulky lieutenant, seemingly materializing
out of nothingness, grabs him roughly by his arm, bunching his
uniform, and drags him towards a row of monitors alongside the
walls of the warship. ”FRACK IT ENSIGN, GET YOUR FRACKING ARSE
HERE QUICKER, WE GO COMBAT LIVE IN TWO FRACKING MINUTES YOU
BLITHERING MORON!” he roared as if forced to expel every
molecule of atmosphere from his gullet into Xander’s throbbing
ear. ”SIT HERE, NOW!” the lieutenant screamed once more, forcing
him roughly into a nearby padded seat. He points with a gloved
hand toward a dark, but active monitor which lay in front of the
seat in which Xander now occupied, ”Bloody idiots, every time we
need to get something done- listen up dipsh*t, I’m only going to
frackin tell you this once- your sector is Omega 3 Charlie 2,
which is battle group,.. er.. Beta, led by commander,… er,..
Captain Ortega,… your job is to relay any actionable data to the
fleet commander once the battle goes live, and/or answer any
frackin questions she has, you got it you frackin scrub?”.
The brute of a lieutenant evaporated into the muddle of a mob
as quickly and as abruptly as he had consolidated out of
oblivion to harass Xander, leaving him some limited time to
familiarize himself with the flashing, chrome display console as
it lay humming softly before him. Though the various nobs and
switches, as varyingly important as they were, remained foreign
in nature to Xander, several elements were simplistic enough for
even the least astute individual to derive function from. A
single, moderately sized black screen, laden with various bright
red dots, and labels beneath each of the dots, with faint
numerical lines intersecting around the screen, as well as a
single pair of lush, black padded headphones, in which faint,
though unrecognizable, sounds spouted from time to time, lay on,
and in front of the monitor to Xander, respectively.
Tentatively, following in suit of the other crewmen who sat
quietly to either side of him, Xander placed the headphones
gently across his ears, awaiting orders.
Not several terse moments later, abruptly as to almost startle
those not tense enough with dread, a shout rang throughout the
bridge, “MULTIPLE CONTACTS, FRONT LINE, SECTORS 1-4!”, a young
communication officer screamed from somewhere inside the bridge,
his location obscured by the shifting crowds from Xander.
Immediately, as if a sudden violent diaspora had lay waste to
the bridge in a matter of moments, Xander’s view of the
happenings around him abruptly expanded, leaving but no
individual except that wiry old woman, her grey hair neatly tied
in a uniform bun to the back of her head, standing alone atop a
raised, metal platform, staring intently out into the void ahead
of her. As she clasped her wrinkly hands firmly behind her back,
turning her head ever so slightly to her right, grey, milky eyes
now downcast, she intoned softly, “Communications, open a fleet
wide broadcast…” Pausing for perhaps a second or more, she
continued, this time more audibly, “This is Fleet Admiral Hopper
to the fleet,… we are engaging multiple hostile targets in
sectors 1 to 4, all military units are authorized for weapons
free, repeat, all military ships are free to engage targets.”
She gestured strikingly, as to have the communications officer
to end the broadcast, before turning abruptly, and strolling to
rest in her plush, padded chair, scrubbing her eyes lightly and
blinking rapidly.
Operations began smoothly, as far as Xander could tell through
the tunes echoing from his padded earphones, a few harsh barks
from unknown captains, a few hoots and hollers from enthusiastic
pilots and jockeys,
“Watch it, port side, multiple hostiles!-”
“Smoked em’ Gardier, yeh owe me a shot when we back!-”
“Target,.. er… painted unit 16G,.. all batteries, full spread!”
However, this relative peace, like a leaf upon a harsh, winter
gale, was not to last but a few moments, giving way to more
alarming rhetoric. The luminous flashes of far off discharges
became brighter and brighter, drawing more defined, more deadly.
“SH*T!!! THEY GOT AARON! FOUR BASTARDS LEFT FLANK!-”
“This is R.S.S. Magadan, requesting immediate assistance, to
any-”
“MULTIPLE HULL BREACHES, DECKS 4 THROUGH-”
Xander’s headset rang with dying screams, each louder, each
more blood-filled than the last. The cacophony of sounds
distorted so much so that by each moment the noises sound less
like the death rattles of men and women, but rather like a
crashing typhoon, drown out all other noise around Xander, until
all he could hear is the roaring beat of that awful drum in his
ears.
“Bum-bum…. bum-bum.. bum-bum. bum-bum, bum-bum, bum –bum,
bum-bum!”
Xander’s eyes tearing, he ripped the headphones from atop his
head, slamming them into the console in front of himself, nearly
shattering the desk with his repulsive force. As he watched in
horror, that dark, encompassing monitor in front of him seemed
to grow exponentially, the numerous red lights that once adorned
it slowly disappearing as if one by one, an electrician
unscrewed each bulb, leaving only the blackness to consume
Xander.
Xander scrubbed his eyes vigorously, now is not the time to lose
his mind, focus, breath. The screaming voices on the bridge once
more breach his ears, a mess, but at least compressible.
“Sector 2 has collapsed completely, I just have the Vanahiem and
a few frigates left sir!”
“Admiral Chenya reports total shield collapse, on the battlestar
Newport, and has transferred command of Sector 1 to Captain
Diahaus on the Omaha.”
“Sir, we only have two functional caps left, the Arcadia and the
Russi dreadnaught Kursk, we need to think about…”
This last statement, by a male flag officer towards the front of
the bridge, seemed to dull the majority of the bridges voices,
as if every crewman collectively held their breaths as they
looked to the withered Admiral as she stood, gesturing to
silence the officer. She brushed her nose lightly, stared into
the void, the effervescent flashes of death fading with every
passing moment, before clearing her throat to continue.
“All right, inform Captain Yumashev to spin up their nuclear
missiles, and being spinning our as well. Open a broadband
channel on all frequencies…”
She paused for a few moments rubbed her eyes as if to clear an
invisible speck of dust from them, before continuing.
“This is Fleet Admiral Hopper on all frequencies; this is an
emergency message to all parties. The combined fleet has failed
to repel the enemy forces, and has sustained heavy losses,
repeat, the fleet has failed its combat operations. I hereby
command all remaining coalition forces to engage drives and
calculate for Telemachi swing to rendezvous at the fallback
coordinates. You are ordered to assist any civilians ships with
the jump, until such is no longer reasonably possible. I now
herby relinquish command of the fleet to Rear Admiral Nagumo,
and promote Rear Admiral Nagumo to Fleet Admiral, authorization
code AlphaZuluOne-DysonTwoNineZero. To the people of Hiroikku,
we have failed you, and for this, we are sorry. Good Speed and
Fair Winds, Admiral Hopper out.”
She turns to face the bridge, her eyes now wet, as if morning
dew now sprung from her ducts. She rubs her chin, her eyes shift
from left to right, before continuing, this time more softly.
“Arcadia is now re-designated Palisade 1, and the Kursk is now
Palisade 2, as designated under Naval Law J3, Section Two,
Defender Clause. I thank you all for your service.”
She looks directly a comm officer, “Is Captain Yumashev ready?”
The officer listens for a quick moment to inaudible distance
voices, then nods, solemnly.
“Target 5A seems to have sustained the most damage of their
caps, Palisade 1 and 2, launch missiles full spread. Lets crack
that mother*cker!”, Admiral Hopper roared.
Streaks of light blossom from both the battlestar and the nearby
dreadnaught, as if seeds had been suddenly ripped up by a gust
of wind and thrown into the air, towards a distance spec. The
light rays lanced out, piercing the hull of the alien warship.
As the onlookers watched, the distant ship faltered, then
detonated in an array of vibrant deadly colors, scattering
irradiated debris amongst the corpses of war.
“Target 5A is no longer on scans; sensor suite reports multiple
citadel hits and total obliteration of target!”
A cheer rose in the throats of the bridge crew, a few muted
hoots, as Admiral Hopper began to speak again “Eat that, you
filthy scum, alright tell Captain Yum-“
A ray of light pierced the Kursk from bow to stern, as she
seemed to hang in time for a still moment, before dissolving
like so many before her into a storm of fire and metal. The
Arcadia rocked violently, throwing several crewmen around Xander
from their padded seats and to the metal floor.
“Palisade 2 is not responding, sensor suite reports multiple
enemy hits onto her,…”
Admiral Hopper leaped quickly upward from her seat, roaring into
the intercom system, “This is Hopper, general evacuation orders
to port escape pods to any non-essential personnel, repeat,
non-essential personal to port escape pods “. She turned to her
helmsman, “Fire starboard bow realignment repulse, get our
starboard broadside facing them. Pull main batteries to face
starboard. We aren’t going down without a bloody good fight!”
Suddenly, that gruff, broad, angry lieutenant that had harassed
Xander earlier materialized once more behind him, hand atop his
weary shoulder. “Come on, you fool, get to the frackin escape
pods, we don’t exactly have all frackin day!”
As Xander ran, stumbling with every lurch and jerk of the
Arcadia as she bore the brunt of weapons fire, the carnage of
war blurred around him. Splatters of blood adorned every wall, a
corpse here and there, draped across and under fallen metal
girders. Occasionally, a bloody crewman would run in front of
Xander, before fading into the darkness of the emergency
lighting. Several times, He was forced to backtrack, as locked
blast doors, fallen debris, and fires delay his egress.
Alongside Xander, or rather behind him, the lieutenant breathed
heavily, turning pale by every passing moment.
“Stop,… here… escape… room…. 12B…. there..” he mumbled between
each breath.
Entering the room, a hatch lay open to a pod beyond. Inside,
several others sit waiting on a padded bench, each with various
uniforms and in several states of health, though many seats open
with their woven harness unoccupied. Upon entering, the heavyset
lieutenant closed the hatch behind Xander, shouting, “There’s no
one else coming, the past couple of hallways are probably
engulfed in flames now, we’re pushing off!” He closed the hatch,
then straps into the bench beside Xander, struggling to lock the
harness around his large girth. An alarm sounded, the lights
dimmed and turned red, a sudden, viscous jolt, then a sudden
feeling of gravity tearing at Xanders innards ripped through
him, as the pod fell away from the warship.
The viewport built into the hatch gave Xander an unrestricted
view of the Arcadia as he fell away, several pods falling
alongside theirs. As Xander watches, the Arcadia takes numerous,
destructive hits, her guns still blazing away into the void,
before being lanced by a brilliant beam of light into her
midsection, breaking into two oblong pieces, as if torn apart by
the wrath of an almighty god of light and chaos.
“Don’t worry” the lieutenant next to Xander utters softly,
“everything is going to be alright”
From his groin blooms a wet spot, staining his trousers.
#Post#: 2273--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:53 am
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Chapter 1: Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here
Wet…
Red…
Wet Red…
Sh*t….
Xander awoke suddenly, eyes flickering as piercing white light
broke through the shadowy wall in front of him, scattered
through new born crevasses. The musk, the smell of smoke and
death filled his nostrils as he drew in a deep breath, forcing a
labored cough from him. The escape rocked slightly, as if
lightly brushed by smooth waves, jingling the bloody corpses
still strapped into their harness around him, a rather awful
puppet master. Muddy, murky water seeped in through the ruptured
hatch, flowing around Xander, mixing with the wet blood of the
corpses, mixing an awful velvet concoction that stained his
trousers. Struggling, sharp pain burrowing deep into Xanders
chest; he unhooked the woven harness, splashing into the deathly
liquid before righting himself with the pods metallic walls.
Struggling to pull each leg forward, water dragging and
permeating his now heavy clothes, he made his way through the
broken hatch, and into the bright, blinding light.
Squinting heavily, Xander attempted to clear his vison, the
dreadful ringing in his ears doing little to forestall the
coming migraine in his future. Opening his eyes, he rotated
from side to side, his eyes observing all around him. A wall of
tall, leafy trees arose some ways off, and opposite of which lay
some distance black mass. Around him, tall reeds of swampy
grasses dotted the horizon, gleaming with fresh dew in the
morning light. He reached down to pluck a handful from the murky
waters. Rice.
“Urgh… f*cking stupid arse pod..”
Xander’s head snapped quickly back to the entrance of the pod.
The hefty lieutenant that had accompanied him lay resting in the
shade of the pod, hand upon the wall to steady him. A deep gash
ran across his face, dripping blood every few moments, as if
someone had left a faucet almost, but not quite completely
closed.
”Where the bloody f*ck are we?”, the man hoarsely utters. His
eyes turn, resting on a distance mass. ”Uh… is that Saruleah
Bay City? And is it on fire?!”
Indeed, barely visible, smoke billowed over the distance mass, a
funeral pyre set upon the living. Xander squinted, attempting to
make out the various buildings, but was abruptly interrupted by
a sound, a silencing call from somewhere around him. He turned,
suddenly.
”Shh- you lot, any other survivors? We need to get the f*ck out
of here…”
Seemingly out of nowhere, though perhaps the thrush had hidden
and muffled his approach, a uniformed man, an officer of some
sorts though more urban, had walked into in front of the crashed
pod. At his hip, a service pistol lay holstered, however, his
hands twitched over the clasp, as if ready to draw at any
moment.
”Who the fracking ‘ell are you?!”, the lieutenant that had come
down with Xander replied, rather loudly, leaning in to try and
observe the newcome.
”Not so loud you fool! Look, we’ve just escaped the city, and we
saw your escape pod come down into the fields. This area is
going to be swarming with the,… well,… whatever the buggers are
at any moment, you need to run to the tree line with me now if
you want to--- OH SH*T RUN FOR IT”, the officer whispered, until
his voice rose abruptly. The man had begun to point, decided
against such an endeavor, had pulled his service weapon from its
holster, and had begun to run for the tree line.
Xander turned to look for whatever had made the man run with
such fear, as did the Lieutenant. Not a kilometer out, a
metallic object glinting in the morning rays race towards them,
hovering, the reeds below it being pushed downward as if some
magical invisible beast bore down upon them.
The Lieutenant turned to run, as did Xander. Whatever bore down
upon them clearly wished them no good will. The Lieutenant’s
voice became short once more, breathing heavily, running from
the coming threat.
”Huff… huff… gotta… keep… runn- ARGPH-….”, the Lieutenant
groaned, before a splash sounded somewhere behind Xander. He
turned his head sharply to the side, still running for his life,
searching for the man. A large lump lay in the water, facedown.
Sh*t. The metallic flying object bore down upon them, closing
the distance rapidly, its features, sharp, spindly looking guns
attached to the front becoming more distinct to Xander.
”Kee.. keep.. huff… running… trees… friends…”, the officer
mumbled amongst each galloping step, as Xander closed the
distance between them. A bright light shot past Xander, landing
the officer in front of him. A moment past, the officer stopped,
hanging there for a moment, as if time had stopped for him. His
top half fell away, into the murky water, the gun in his hand
flung somewhere in front of Xander. The arterial spurt of blood
peppered Xander, staining his clothes further, as if red
raindrops had flown outwards in a shower of glistening crystals.
Where had the weapon landed? The murk of the water clouded the
location of the gun. Xander reached down, searching… where…
something sharp brushed upon his hand. He grabbed, and pulled
from the murk the officer’s gun. Xander wasn’t prepared to go
down without a fight. He turned to face the attacker.
The metallic war machine now loomed meters away from Xander, as
if it had been carried along by the fantastical trade winds of
the open oceans. Its gleaming weapons, pointed at Xander, began
to gleam with energy. This was it. Xander pointed the weapon
upwards, eyes clenched, before-
”Ratatatatatata”,… something pinged off the hull of the flying
death contraption. Bullets? But from where? Out of the thick
forest behind Xander, an armored vehicle flew out into the open,
ripping up the rice plants as if an oversized lawnmower had
forgotten to clean up its mess. Atop, a man rode, a large
caliber gun pointed at the alien machine. ”Ratatatata” the gun
went. The death machine pointed its weapons away from Xander,
trying to shoot the moving vehicle. ”BOOM!” the machine fired,
bright light lancing outwards, but the driver, the bloody
excellent driver, swerved adeptly to avoid the oncoming fire.
Twice more, the alien machine fired, but the armored vehicle
remained too fast to hit. Cracks began to appear in the armor of
the alien machine, sparks flying. As quickly as it had arrived,
the machine flew away, back to the burning city, as if a scared
bear being chased by a tiny cat.
The armored van stopped in front of Xander, shielding him and
blocking his view from the fleeing machine. A light splash
drenched Xander again,… his uniform was utterly ruined. Along
the side of the armored van, printed in eggshell white, the name
“SBCPD” were inscribed. The passenger side door opened abruptly,
hanging out over the marsh. A dark skinned man rode in the
driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, his
perspiration evident in the morning sun.
”Where’s Captain Bruse??? Just get in, I don’t think the 50Cal
is going to keep them away for long…”. The officer reached out a
hand to help pull Xander into the vehicle, a warming gesture
given the mornings experiences…
#Post#: 2274--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:54 am
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As the van stopped in front of him, Xander thought to himself
”Thank God, maybe… maybe we can get away”. As the man stepped
out he felt relief, he had made it. He accepted his hand and
climbed into the van stumbling as he got in, almost falling
over. He bent over taking deep breaths and said “I.. I don’t
know. H-he got… the machine got him. He’s dead and in half…”
Xander slowly stood up slightly shaking “Anyplace I could uh..
Sit down?”
#Post#: 2275--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:55 am
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Xander firmly grasped the man’s hand, as the man deftly pulled
him up into the tall armored van. The swampy waters and wet
foliage that had expertly entangled Xander fell away, some
dripping back out of the vehicle, much staining the interior.
Once inside, Xander could more clearly see his uniformed
rescuer, his features now shadowed from the blinding gleam of
the morning sun, showcasing his silky smooth features, as if he
had lived a life fought with the perils of privilege. Light
sweat poured from his crevasse, staining his blue, formal
uniform, however, his eyes sparked widely with determination.
“Diver side is good, I suppose, if Captain Bruse is dead,” he
replied, removing a hand from the vehicles wheel to dab the
sweat forming upon his forehead. He pushed heavily upon a lower
peddle, as the armored van lumbered back into the tree line,
deftly maneuvering between the trees.
”Name’s Henry, Henry Johnson,” he said, as they left the carnage
behind them, ”We saw your pod come down in the rice fields,…
we’d just escaped Saruleah Bay City, and,… well,… Captain Bruse
said we couldn’t just leave you to the metal heads”. He pointed
with one hand into the back of the van, though still managing to
steer around the many trees in front of them. Xander turned his
head to view the interior of the van, his neck straining with
pain after the suffering he had endured. Behind them in the
cabin, numerous figures lay on padded benches along the side of
the vehicles, from all walks of life, though all scarred,
burned, injured in some form from the trauma from which they had
escaped.
”You from one of the starships?,” Henry asked, ”I heard just
before those,… those things descended upon the city, that the
combined fleet had lost with heavy casualties. We were ordered
to evacuate the city, but… I mean… it was just chaos. The army
tried to stop them, but they were just annihilated. Most of our
precinct, I mean, Captain Bruse and mine, hadn’t even shown up
for work this morning, and the ones that were left,… well most
just walked out. We got a few stragglers at our precinct
building, civilians who didn’t get out in the first rush to
leave the city, and so the Captain commandeered one of the
abandoned riot vans, and we got the heck out of there.... man… I
can’t believe Captain Bruse is dead... I think I would be dead
thrice over if it wasn’t for him…”
Henry paused for a moment, exhaling loudly. The cracking of
twigs underneath the van resounded as they moved forward, as if
a lumbering beast flinging itself widely into the unknown,
chased by a bigger predator.
”Oh shoot, I’m sorry,… I tend to ramble when… you know… there’s
a lot going on. My father, well… he’s… never mind… sorry… but he
told me I needed to keep a lid on my mouth more once. Guess I
never learned that lesson”, Henry, loosing a nervous chuckle,
”but, I never asked, what’s your name?”
#Post#: 2276--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:56 am
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Throughout the rambling Xander sat there thinking about what had
happened, and then comparing it to Henry's story. After the
story when Henry was talking about his father Xander slightly
nodded his head in agreement only partially paying attention.
After the question Xander looked up “Huh? Oh… The name is
Xander.”
#Post#: 2277--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:56 am
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”Xander huh? Odd name, not from around here…” Henry replied. The
armored van hit a light ditch, jostling its passengers slightly
as to cause little harm but enough alarm some, forcing Henry to
quickly place both hands back upon the steering wheel, lest his
deft but unorthodox driving relegate them to a grave of rich
dirt and murky water. A splatter of mud, littered with decaying
leaves and various indistinguishable bits of foliage was kicked
up upon the windshield, only to be removed a moment later by the
voracious whirling of the wipers as they efficiently removed the
obstructive debris.
”Shoot… sorry, I’m not used to off road driving,… haven’t had to
drive outside of the city. Uh, can you reach in there—yes, in
the glove box, there should be a map” Henry shouted over the
loud humming of the van’s tired engine, forced to endure a
terrain for which it had no experience and fondness for. ”David
said-- David is the guy on the 50-Cal above—he told us he had
some experience with heavy weapons so the Captain put him up
there –, “ a gloved hand pierced the carpeted ceiling of the
armored van, waved gently, then rose to the heavens once more as
quickly as it had arrived, “that there was a broadcast that went
out just before the main attack arrived, telling civilians to
evacuate as soon as possible to a Lattimer Valley. Captain Bruse
decided that we were going to retreat to there, so I think we
should stick to that plan. Can you take a look at the map and
try and figure out which roads we need to go to get there?”
Xander bent down, opening the compartment to examine its
contents, fishing for his desired prize. A chipped, dusky
flashlight, its lens blemished by a slight oblong crack, brushed
upon on him, its worn edges etching a painful but short scratch
upon his curious hand. A few used shell casings—the owner of
this vehicle really ought to spend some more time cleaning his
spaces—jingled loosely, nearly jumping like escaping frogs out
of the compartment and onto the muddied floor. A few loose
pieces of undistinguishable paper, then something thick, dry,
and papery, crinkled but relatively unblemished caressed the tip
of Xanders forefinger. Grasping, Xander pulled, exerting far
more effort than warranted to remove the sought object, removing
the crinkled, lightly worn map from the dim depths of the
compartment and into the dying light.
Henry watched silently out of the corner of his eye, as Xander
fumbled amongst the loose objects of the compartment. “Sorry,
sorry, we didn’t have many options of vehicles to take.
Lieutenant Atwood took SBCPD-1 to the beachhead and didn’t make
it back-shoot, you think he’s dead?,” Henry blurted out, “and
both 2 and 4 were out being repaired. SBCPD-3 was Lieutenant
Bransons car, he’s not known for his cleanliness, but he didn’t
make it in this morning. I hope he’s alright, I mean, he had a
family geez. Probably just didn’t make it in because he was
helping them,.. right?”
Xander traced his hand along the stained map, each crinkle a
crevasse that spoke long tales about wonders this parchment had
seen throughout its vast lifespan. Locating the red ink dot that
denoted Saruleah Bay City, a solitary island amongst a sea of
rice and ocean, Xander estimated where the Arcadia’s escape pod
had plummeted and slammed into the watery farmland, and slowly
but carefully traced their path into the tree line in which they
now moved hurriedly through. There, some distance away ahead of
their presumed position, a winding, insignificant but
nonetheless defined road wormed its way through the tree line.
Forced to squint in the fading light to view the name of the
road, Xander bent in, his nose inches away from the crinkled
document, mumbling the name of the road quietly to himself,
“I-105.”. Following the I-105 further up, each jostle of the van
forcing Xander to reacquire the line to continue, he observed
the line pass through another minor, black dot, insignificant
enough to allow one to question whether the dot had even been
part of the original map design, and had been an accidental
blotch left from years of use, if it had not been nearly labeled
by the author, ”Medona.” Continuing, Xander followed the dark,
thin line up into a distant mountain range, as it disappeared
into the rolling hills and valleys that defined the range.
Xander stretched out the map, as to cover his lap with the
geography of the region, a quilt of grass and woodlands, and
pointed to the solidary snaking line, so that Henry could follow
as best he could.
”I-105 huh?,” Henry replied, as he followed the line up into the
mountain range. The van seemed to jostle ever so much more;
clearly multitasking was not Henry’s forte. ”Hrmm, I think that
was the road Captain Bruse said we needed to follow. We had this
larger map up in the precinct building, but it was nailed to the
wall and far too large…”
Xander folded up the aged map back into a tight, neat square,
before placing it in his ruined trousers. He turned his focus
back upon the chaotic glove compartment, search, seeking, before
grasping upon the offending black flashlight, and placing it to
in his trousers. Perhaps they both would be useful at some later
date.
Henry continued, a light yawn stifled quickly before he
continued to speak, ” That shouldn’t be too hard to find, but I
don’t think we’ll get there tonight… why don’t you close your
eyes for a hot bit. I’ll wake you up if we need you… okay?”
A bumpy jolt awoke a tired Xander quickly from his slumber. His
eyes, unfocused, took several long moments to clear the
billowing fog that blinded his eyes. The ungodly heat of the
dying summer’s rays had microwaved the interior of the armored
van, causing blossoms of salty water to heavily stain the
various joints and crevasses of Xander’s utterly ruined uniform.
This, compounded with the perspiration of the other several
occupants of the vehicle, mixed an unholy salty stench that
burned badly inside Xander’s nostrils, as if arcane magical
wizards had teleported tiny flaming bonfires of ocean creature
carcasses straight into his nostrils as he slept. Though the
light rest had helped alleviate some of the pain, the awkward
position and the day’s tribulations had left hard knots along
his neck, a shooting pain that erupted like a new born volcano
each time Xander made any effort to move, forcing a heavy groan
out of his parched, flaking lips.
Henry turned his head to face a now awake Xander. His eyes,
baggy with coursing blood, strained heavily from the stress of
driving hurriedly through the thick, vibrant forest, observed
him as he groaned. However visibly tired, he still was able to
form a large, pleased smile, his pearly white teeth nearly
blinding, backdroped by the darkening world in the dimming
afternoon light.
”Ah, looks like you’re awake. Just in time, did you see a town
on the map? We’ve just hit the outer limits of one. Looks like
it might be a good place to spend the night,” Henry spoke
softly, as if not to disturb the blemished calm that had fallen
over the occupants of the armored vehicle. He removed one hand
from the hard, leather-bound wheel of the van, and pointed ahead
through the front window.
Xander looked up, his eyes painfully forced to refocus from the
changing light, squinting into at the distant objects ahead. As
they approached, the objects became more defined, even in the
fading light, a stalwart, suburban house there paint peeling off
its weathered sides, perhaps a shingled barn to the right,
cluttered by loose materials and tools, propped up against its
sides waiting for some future use. As they moved closer, the
buildings grew from the earth faster, each subject a light blur
until Xander focused more closely.
As the armored van moved swiftly closer, the density of the
surrounding buildings grew, as if low bushland, caressed softly
by frigid winds had been transformed into a thick forest of
yellow corn, sweetened, but also tainted by its time in the sun.
Each building, a standalone one story suburban home, clay pots
upon the porch filled with dead and dying flowers of distant
realms, or a tightly bound storefront with a rusting, sagging
display rack propped up against the front to showcase
nonexistent wares, exuded a deathly calm that permeated the air.
Paint peeled from the once vibrant building walls, a testament
to more elegant times, and various singles remained absent upon
the many sloped roofs, weathered by torrential rainfalls from
past generations. Here and there, signs of modern,
industrialized life sprouted like foreign seeds carried aloft by
trade winds only to be planted in this isolated realm by the
sheer power of luck, a red, shining vending machine to the right
that gleamed with a fresh paint job, a sleek gas station to the
left, the pumps advertising their ever lowering prices.
However, as the group drove onward into the thick forest of a
town, the calm, the sound of silence, filled their hearts and
minds, a rushing feeling of anxiety and fear, that paralyzed
some to the bottom of their core, and readied others for a swift
jump into a future fray. Not a single lively sound flew through
the air, but the slow creak of moving parts, a rusted, dangling
green street sign hanging from a lengthy street light and the
quick, hurried rustle of loose brown leaves and dirty pamphlets
as they rode the along the ground, as if carried by invisible,
wispy gremlins. Not a soul, not a single animal, or a lone
humanoid, or even the faint apparition of a forgotten deity let
their presence be known amongst the winding streets of the town.
”… I wonder what happened to the people who lived here? It’s not
as if this place has been uninhabited for a long time…,” Henry
spoke softly, his voice quelled by the consuming sound of
silence. ”Well the road goes through the town, maybe we’ll find
out what happened as we go. I hope they’re okay, I mean, a town
this size had to have at least a thousand people living here, if
not more.”
The party inched forward slowly as Henry applied as little force
to the metal pedal of the vehicle, as if he were walking around
the mouth of a den of voracious carnivores. The van left muddy
tracks in its wake, gluing the floating debris of decaying
leaves and shredded loose papers to the surface of the road, a
stain upon an otherwise smooth thoroughfare.
”Oh sh*t, hold up, stop dude, there’s something in the middle of
the intersection!” a muffled voice-probably David the
gunner-shouted through the roof of the armored van to them,
rising panic intertwined with his rapid words. The van ran to a
screeching halt, nearly throwing Xander from his seat had he not
been prepared, having strapped himself to the chair. Something
loud collided and fell to the ground behind him in the main
cabin.
The van had stopped just a hair from the center of the town, a
broad, asphalt intersection, dotted by numerous businesses
advertising an assortment of wares in their dusty windows.
Sickly, brown, deciduous trees lay planted at intervals along
the sides of the path, in clear need of proper maintenance in
care. Burned husks of cars and trucks, split open like chestnuts
on an open fire, dotted the main street sporadically, left
haphazardly, as if their owners had fled in a rush. A ruined
store, perhaps an established, franchised drug store in its
prime, lay burned to the bones, a few crisp timbers lay rising
out of the slag like skyscrapers overlooking a sea of favelas.
Some of the other business showed signs of light damage, a burn
here, or a hole there, as if some deadly firefight had taken
place here. In the center of the intersection before them
however, a lone dark mass lay silent.
Xander squinted in the dying light at the mass ahead of them, a
dirtied uniform, perhaps frilly and pink at some point earlier
in its lifespan, now caked in mud, dust, and dried blood was
worn by the creature, perhaps a vile beast from some far off
land. Its extensive, black hair covered its face utterly from
the blinding beams of light protruding in front of the armored
van, as it sat upon its knees, still, silent, unmoving.
”Oh, Xander, do you think that’s a person?” Henry spoke softly
to Xander, a hushed voice loud against the noisy silence the
wafted over the occupants. David, now crouching into the van,
his bearded, oily face shown for the first to Xander, began to
speak aswell.
”F*ck that Henry, with all the sh*t we’ve seen, ain’t no way we
going other there to take a closer look. Sh*t’s probably a trap
by the metal heads, we don’t know what they’re capable of. Drive
us CAREFULLY around,… whatever that thing is, the more distance
we put between us and it the better we’ll be. If the metal heads
got to the rest of the town, they’ll be back, and we don’t have
the rounds in the 50 Cal to get them off us again,” David
whispered, and undertone of panic underneath his words.
”David, there’s no way we’re going to leave someone out here.
Night is coming soon, and we aren’t going to leave someone to be
attacked out here in the open, we’re better than that. Come on,
lets go see if we can help,” Henry spoke, his voice firm with
determination.
Choice 1 (Strength: Mild)
A: Side with David, and get away while you can. There’s a high
probability that whoever attacked the town may be coming back,
and we have everyone else to look after.
B: Side with Henry, and render assistance to whoever is in the
middle of the intersection. They need our help, and as officers
of the government, it’s our duty to render that help.
#Post#: 2278--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:57 am
---------------------------------------------------------
After thinking for a few moments Xander looked up at Henry "We
need to help whoever that is. If we leave now, someone may die.
Even if it is a trap, we will know that next time. Just remember
David, if we can save them, they can help us save others or
ourselves. It's our duty as officers." He looked around at both
of them hoping they wouldn't break out into arguing again, or
David just leaves them. He also thought about the fact that they
may not get out alive.
#Post#: 2279--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:58 am
---------------------------------------------------------
David sighed wearily, exasperation alight upon his breath.
”Sh*t, I ain’t no copper. You do your thing dude, Imma stay here
up on the 50 Cal, where’s frackin safe…”.
Henry adjusted his belt, his shiny black service weapon flashing
in the fading light. ”Come on Xander, let’s go help her. Light
is wasting!”, he said cheerfully. Grabbing the handle of the
armored van, he jumped out to the broken paved road below, a
resounding thud audible enough to lightly vibrate the van.
Xander followed suit, boots slipping ever so slightly atop the
gravel that coated the dusty black road. Both continued ahead,
ever weary of their surroundings, boots crunching over loose
debris as they made their way towards the figure. Behind them,
Xander could sense David moving about, possible anxious about
the threat of immanent attack.
As they drew closer, the figure grew more defined, shadows
repelled only by their sharpening eyes, highlighting her deep
Asiatic features. Her dark, silky hair, stained by dust and
decay, draped over her figure like a rotten mop-head atop a
figure-glass pedestal. Her clothes spoke to her menial work, a
frilly white apron atop a light pink frock, ripped, shredded,
stained with blood but not her own, caked in grime and shoot. A
chipped white nametag, clearly inked in neat black letters was
pinned upon her lapel. “Hello! My names is Tsubaki”, they read,
obscured only by a solitary line of dried blood that ran from
her shoulder down her chest. Her face and hands were soft,
perhaps silky smooth if one were to spend the time to wash away
the filth, but beneath the thick layer of dirt, her eyes shone
brightly, glassy, but alive.
”Er… miss…?”, Henry began to speak, his voice warry but full of
the light hearted compassion he exuded, far too trusting he was.
”My name is Henry, Henry Johnson, this here is Xander. We’re
both officers of the law, in a sense I suppose. You,.. er, need
any assistance?”
”Channel… 1… 3… unknown units spotted…. over… Arcaida… Kyoko…
Saruleah Bay… New Daschan… São Paulo…”
”Er… what miss?”
”All flights are… are routed to return to airports. If return is
impossible… evasive action and head to nearest available
airport…”
”Miss,.. er.. can you tell me what happened here?”
The youthful, battered woman turned to the pair, her eyes
widening, striking invisible holes into them. ”THEY COME! THEY
COME! THEY COME!”, she shouts, before collapsing to the pavement
below, as heavily as a felled tree slamming into the rocky crag
below a cliff. She lay there, motionless.
Henry turned Xander, his face colored by a mix of confusion and
sympathy, eyebrows raised but a hair, shoulders enthralled in
the early stages of a shrug. ”Shoot man, what kind of stuff do
you have to go through to make you like that? Shoot, I mean, I
don’t mean to be rude, you jettisoned out of a starship in a
warzone,.. but at least you’re not babbling… come on, I don’t
want to stay out here any longer than we have to”
Gingerly, Henry picked up the now comatose woman, Tsubaki,
bracing her against his chest as if she were an infant, and
began to walk back towards the armored van. Opening the rear, he
laid her down upon one of the rear benches.
”Your name’s Shawis, right? Make sure she’s alright, just call
us back if there’s a problem,” Henry spoke to one of the
passengers in the rear, who looked none too pleased with the
added burden, and eyes her warily. Henry returned to the side of
the van, stretched his arms towards the stars for a few moments,
as if worshiping some unknown deity, before climbing once more
into the driver side of the armored vehicle.
”I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to, and we’ve
got maybe an hour of usable daylight left. Keep a lookout for
any farmhouses that we can stay in at the fringe of the town.”
Outside the town, some half-hour away, the van slowed to a stop.
Here, the path had devolved, no longer the smooth, but rugged
paved terrain they had grown accustomed to along the road, no
here, dirt was pervasive and king, deeply entrenched in the
formally black tires of the van, coating anything exposed, from
front grill to rear bumper. A short distance away, a rickety old
farmhouse, peeling paint and rough wood, a behemoth whose glory
days were long since passed. Farm tools lay scattered, some
rusting, others sleeker, haphazardly stored around the farm, a
clear lack of organization. However, with the exception of a
handful of field mice that played a mesmerizing game of tag in
and out of the stalks of rich, yellow wheat, not a single being
stirred. An ample hovel for the night.
”We’ll have to shack up here, I don’t think we’ll find a better
spot by tonight. And I really don’t fancy being stuck out in the
van with everyone,” Henry spoke to Xander. Re-engaging the
vehicle, Henry turned right, into the farm.
Parking inside an abandoned barn, long since vacated by its last
inhabitants except for the rare spider, the survivors shuffled
groggily towards the dilapidated, Xander leading at the front,
with Henry bringing up the rear. ”Xander,” Henry shouted, ”You
go first. Make sure the house is clear for everyone!”
Xander obliged, leaping up several steps up to the porch. A
wooden rocking chair, perhaps once painted a vibrant green, lay
propped up against the side. A few wooden crates filled with
nothing but the sweetest air stacked to the other side. The wide
porch was relatively clear, an oddity given the uncleanliness of
the farm in its totality.
First opening the outer screen door, Xander knocked gingerly, a
light tap, then a heavier rap against the hardy front door.
Thick, sturdy wood rough against Xander’s hand, the door was in
dire need of a good sanding. Nothing. Xander tried once more.
Still nothing. Carefully, Xander turned the brass knob, and
entered the home, watching keenly for the slightest movement.
Xander stepped inside, the arcane floor boards creaking under
his weight. Sh*t, too dark. Xander fumbled in his pants, shoot
he had put it there earlier,… there. From his pants, he pulled
the ancient, chipped flashlight that he had stashed there from
the van’s glove box. A quick shake, a flip of a switch, and a
shaft of bright, yellow-tinged light shot forth, barely
illuminating the dusty hallway ahead of Xander. Still too dark
to firmly define the muddled shapes, but enough to seek out the
light switch.
A few more steps, a single flick. Click. The old house was
suddenly thrust into a sea of murky yellow lighting from dim
overhead lights, somewhat illuminating the ancient home. Xander
looked around, observing the house for any peculiarities that
might be lurking.
Where he stood, Xander could see a good portion of the rooms of
the first floor, should he turn his head. To his left, a living
room, furnished with rough, plush, antique chairs and a sofa,
surrounding a long, scratched, oak wood table and a red brick
fireplace filled with long dead cold charcoal, protected by an
iron grate, the wooden floor beneath plastered with dirty brown
rugs, in need of a good thorough wash. To his right, a sketchy
kitchen, appliances as old as the house, and as worn to,
countertops decked in once egg-white linoleum, chipped from
years of use, rough, wooden cupboards with unknown goods and
mystery filling available space along the walls. In front of
him, brown, wooden stairs, perhaps leading up to the second
floor, ending in void, undefinable by Xander’s eyes. Everywhere,
a light layer of dust and grime coated each surface, barely so
as if someone had seasoned the entire house in fine dirt, shook
loose from the ceiling rather recently.
Henry poked his head into the house tentatively. ”You alright?
Don’t see anything out of the ordinary? Good.” Henry disappeared
outside once more. ”It’s okay, everyone let’s get inside,”
Henry’s parched, muffled voice could be heard even through the
thick oak door. A brief second past, then the weary civilians
stumbled in, a rag-tag assortment from all walks of life. For
the first time, Xander could see them all clearly in the broken
yellow-ish light, their grime encrusted clothes from suits to
casual atire, some with dried, cracked, crimson blood, others
with dark, painful bruises as if their bodies had been tattooed
by an inexperienced artist consumed by Lou Gehrig’s disease,
just under a dozen, each individual more fatigued and more
battered than the preceding.
Tsubaki came in second to last, a new, white cotton shawl draped
over her like a obscuring hood-good, she was walking-, her eyes
warily avoiding Xander as he watched her move into the home
quietly. Henry followed shortly after, closing the thick,
wooden door behind him with a solid, resounding thud. He turned
to the ragged survivors as they huddled in the atrium nervously.
”Alright everyone, this place looks sufficient for the night.
Xander checked it out-right Xander?-and he didn’t find anything
out of the ordinary. I don’t know how much food there is in the
kitchen, but there’s probably clothes for everyone to change
into upstairs. Try and group up in groups of 2-3, and pick a
bedroom for the night. If there’s any water still running
through the plumbing, try and take a shower and find any buckets
to fill with water. We don’t know how long we will have to wait
until another shower, or when the plumbing is going to go out.”
Henry turned abruptly to Xander as the others dispersed in a
rather unorganized fashion, some heading upstairs to the promise
of a sweltering, relaxing shower, others foraging like timid
rodents for food in the various wooden cupboards of the antique
kitchen. Henry was exhausted, his eyes deeply sunken, above
thick, swollen bags. He wavered slightly, a light tremble barely
visible through his limbs, a consequence of his inopportune
escape and subsequent rush of life-giving adrenaline. He began
to speak.
”Um… sorry, I don’t want to hedge our bets on there being a
functional heater in this house, and with fall coming around,
it’s going to get cold fast. We need to build up a fire as soon
as possible, but there’s no wood to burn in here… I think there
was some wood propped up outside the barn. Since you have the
only flashlight,… you know… could you?”
Xander obliged, was only a short walk outside to the barn and he
was probably the most fit member standing, even as pained and
tired he felt, bones roaring, akin to the flames of the depths
of the deepest pit. He trudged relatively silently forward,
boots crunching on the thick dirt and gravel, guided by his
single beam of yellow light bursting from his flashlight, the
night obscuring everything ahead, and his rear solely
illuminated by the dim fluorescent lights of the house behind
him.
The red, wood barn rose like a ferocious, lunging bear out of a
deep cave as Xander neared. The wooden, front barn doors lay
open a hair, so that Xander could scarcely see the van parked
neatly inside, but that was not his prize tonight. Around the
side, Henry had said. Xander walked right, feeling the rough
barn ahead to guide him. There, a thick stack some ten logs high
and thirty logs wide, illuminated by his emanating light. Should
only need one or two for the night to keep everyone warm. Xander
bent down, back creaking under the stress of the day, feeling
the rough bark of the wood as he attempted to gain purchase
upon-
”You there, hands up! Turn around slowly! No sudden f*ckin
movements!,” a man’s thick, deep voice ringing through the quiet
night.
Choice 2 (Strength Mild)
A: Oh, this is trouble. Try and bash whoever that is with your
flashlight like a club.
B: Comply, nothing good can come from startling someone who
sounds ready to hurt you.
#Post#: 2280--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:58 am
---------------------------------------------------------
As he heard the man he quickly dropped the wood that he was
trying to pick up and raised his hands. "I don't mean any harm!"
He then started to slowly turn around thinking to himself that
maybe he could manage to hit the man hard, but he wasn't too
sure in his hand to hand combat skills. He also thought that
maybe Henry or David should have come with him, so that maybe
this wouldn't have happened.
#Post#: 2281--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Freedom War
By: guest121 Date: March 15, 2018, 10:59 am
---------------------------------------------------------
”Yeah, sure you do cupcake. Ah ah ah-, keep those hands up
unless you like a few rounds through the noggin.”
In the dim light of the blanketing night, the figure, no,
figures, features were far too obscured for Xander to
extrapolate any useful information, save for the manly figure
they cut against the moon’s light. The glint of a long rod, a
barrel, pointed ominously, directly at the brow of Xanders
forehead.
”How bout’ you pretty boy get movin’ to the house there. No
sudden movements cupcake, don’t want a little accident on our
hands, now do we?”
Xander turned slowly towards the house and began to walk
forward, his feet’s noise combining with his captors, raising a
din upon the rough gravel such that he was sure the others would
hear them, to come rescue him. But none such help arrived.
Slowly, he opened the screen door of the rickety house, a
roaring creek alighting the night, turned the door knob of the
thick, inner door, and walked inside into the embracing warmth
of the abode.
”Xander, hey, never mind, David found fire wood stacked up in
the kitchen, just leave the new stuff by the-“ Henry spoke,
before his eyes fell upon the new arrives. His eyes flicked
towards his service weapon, nestled snuggly on an opposing
recliner, but an invisible movement behind Xander warded him
from his future action.
”Best you get sittin’ there cupcake, you to Officer Boogie.
Nothin’ too swift, ya hear?” one of the men behind Xander spoke,
his voice gruff and low.
Xander obliged, promptly sitting next to a now seated Henry on
one of the coarse, dirty sofas. In the sepia house light, he
could now clearly observe the details of the opposing men. Both
were young and light skinned, perhaps somewhere just beyond
twenty years old. One was stocky, thick muscles on all
appendages, his nose bent at a barely observant odd angle, as if
he had been lightly punched many moons ago. The other was far
less meaty than his cohort, his skin pocket-marked with light
grooves from a clear lack of skin care, one eye, a hare off from
alignment with its partner. Both wore thick, flannel shirts,
with long, ragged jeans caked in dust, mud, and other unknown
afflictions. The broader of the two began to speak.
Names’ Atvulf, Atvulf Lasserson. This here be Mikey, dearest
cousin of mine. “[/i] The scrawnier of the two waved a evident,
if awkward hello. ”Now, before we get on with the pleasantries,
might you tell us bout’ your dealings n’ such.”
Henry began to explain to the duo, though hesitantly, about how
they had fled Saruleah Bay City in the initial wave of the
invasion, and how they had met Xander in the rice fields, and
their current destination of the rally point. The pair seemed
to relax as Henry continued further into their tale, until he
finished, and the larger of the two began to speak.
”Bout’ the same with us. We were goin’ into to town today,
needin’ more foodstuffs, when the metal heads began attacking.
Popped a cap in a few of them suckers, but didn’t quite have the
ammo to shoot all them, so we high-tailed it out of there. Saw
your lights a few hours back, and we’ve been trying to get to ye
since.”
Atvulf paused for a few moments to scratch his forehead, before
he continued.
”Err… sorry bout’ sticking this here to yer’ head. Didn’t mean
to be all aggressive and such. Don’t even have a round
chambered.” A quick flick by the man opened up the rifle, and
indeed, it lay empty inside. ” Didn’ really know who the hell
you were though, just saw ur’ lights and though we should pay
yall a visit, and didn’t think no dinkly little knife was goin’
to convince yall we weren’t going to hurt you. Though I guess us
stabbing ye would hurt bout’ the same. Eh, can’t be too careful
with them metal heads, don’t know who we can trust ye know?
Atvulf shrugged indifferently.
He paused for a few moments to rest the rifle alongside the
chair in which he sat. ”Look, we don’t exactly have means of
transportation at the moment… and well, a destination… you mind
if we be adding ourselves to your group?”
Henry looked worriedly at Xander. ”Well,.. we could do with a
few more people to help take on those monsters. With what we’ve
seen, I don’t fancy our chances defending the whole group with
just David, you, and I.”
Turning back to the duo, Henry continued to speak. ”Okay, you
two can join the group. Just,.. please don’t start waving your
guns in everyone’s faces anymore. Everyone’s already on edge.”
A noise sounded from the stairwell, a heavy creak of an
individual descending. The group turned to look, a clear
weariness but preparedness evident. However, it was only Tsubaki
quickly descending the stairs. She had donned a worn, long
shirt, adorned with some archaic academy logo, which rested but
a few lengths above her knees. She had shed her earlier work
attire, and had clearly taken some effort to make herself more
presentable. If this had been any other day, Xander might have
even called her cute.
”Hey there sugar, why don’t you come sit here by me?”, Atvulf
hooted, as his cousin, Mikey, chuckled along. Tsubaki’s eyes
widened, clearly frightened, and she quickly scurried back up
the stairs in much the same speed as her arrival.
”Shoot, er…” Henry looked at Xander again, worry written clearly
upon his face. ”I’ll… I’ll go calm her down. Might as well tell
the others of our new members to.”. Soon, he to disappeared up
the stairs, his feet heavy upon the wooden floor until even that
sound to faded into oblivion.
”Aww, shoot, we didn’ mean it like that, now did we Mikey?”,
Advulf spoke, the comedic flare embedded in his tone. ”No, nope,
we didn’ nah mean it like that, certainly note”, Mikey replied
in an equally wry manner. The pair chuckled together heartily,
before removing themselves from their seats and evacuating to
the kitchen alongside.
Xander walked outside quietly. Given the nights commotion, he
resolved to give the farmland a once over, to forestall any new
unwanted intrusions. The night’s brisk air entered lightly into
Xander’s nostrils, invigorating him much like the kick of a
hearty stimulant. To the gate, maybe a few moments, then back.
Nothing more, nothing less. The crunch of the gravel was
melodious, a pleasant deviation from the new norm of the
ancient, rickety house. As he looked back towards the abode, he
could barely make out two figures atop the porch roof, sitting
quietly, stilly, and could hear hushed whispers broken solely by
a random chuckle. One last, deep, filling breath, and Xander
began walking back towards the house. Tomorrow was another day,
another adventure, more time for unfortunate events, and
pounding in his head was not going to get any better with him
standing outside.
*****************************************************
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