Jobasio groaned, clutching his head and trying to get his bearings as he hung from the straps of his seat.
The whole driver's compartment seemed to be spinning, but he tried not to focus on that- had to work out what was going on.
"Ughhn..." He groans again, then jabs at his wristpad, trying to bring up a comms channel to Steve.
"Steve? Do you read me? Are we clear of... whatever's happening back there? Or do we need to run for it on foot?"
Then he glances around the APC and at the others in the back, then braces his feet against the dash to steady himself as he awaits a response.
"You lot alright back there...?"
>Try and contact Steve, to ask him if we made it far enough to escape whatever's happening back at the dig site.
>Assess myself for any injuries. Check on the rest of the team in the back.
Then work out the easiest, quickest way to escape the APC should we need to in a hurry- is my seat in the side nearest the ground, or am I hanging a fair distance up? Is Whig still in one piece? Grab her if I can reach her.
Edit: If Steve tells me we aren't far enough, try and kick out the windshield. If that doesn't work, open the door nearest me and climb out. Once I'm out, just run as fast as possible away from the dig site. If the vicious winds make running impossible, crawl. Crawl like an angry rage-filled toddler on a mission of vengeance. Crawl like my life depends on it, since it does.
If Steve says we're safe, just sit, chill, and watch the fireworks from where I am.
The radio is nothing but garbled static; maybe the storm, maybe some side effect of whatever the hell is going on now. Either way, he's out of contact with you, and you with him. But you have the distinct, sinking feeling that you aren't far enough from the epicenter of the shitstorm. Honestly, you don't think there's such a thing as "Too far away" from shit like that. So, nothing to it but to try and get a little farther.
You unlatch the seatbelt and fall sideways into the passenger side door. Pain shoots through your chest left arm. You can't really tell whats broken, but if you had to guess, probably a few ribs, hairline fracture in the arm, maybe some internal bleeding, just to spice things up. You grab your rifle and climb out through the driver's side door, now pointed straight up in the air. The world outside is a maelstrom of formless white and directionless, swirling wind. You climb down from the APC, bash the side of it a few times with the butt of your rifle, and scream for anyone inside to get moving. And then you run. You turn your back on the boiling light behind you and just run as best you can, through knee deep snow and the pain jabbing in your side every time you breathe.
"Blargh...why is the room spinning?" Michael looks around for a minute. "So, you think we're at minimum safe distance? Because I for one am fucked if we have to get out and run for it, heh. Ow."
Assess current situation/injuries. Michael tries to figure out a way to keep up if forced to run for it with the others, barring that, a way to live through what's next.
Vincent rubs his forhead as the world stops spinning. Looking down, Vincent unbuckles himself in a way that has him land on the floor on his feet. If Michael needs help, help him out of his seat. "Are we clear of danger? If not, I'll carry Michael" Vincent then tries to open the hatch door of the APC. If they receive word from Steve that they still need distance, have Michael piggyback Vincent, and start running
Name: Vincent Klart
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Appearance: Average build, Brown Hair, Green Eyes
Personal information: Flirtatious personality
Reason assigned to HMRC: (Caught in bed with a magister's daughter)
Stats:
Strength: 3
Dexterity: 4
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 3
Willpower: 2
Skills:
Speech: 2
Intuition: 2 (except when it comes to flirting... then it is 0)
Handiwork: 0
Conventional Weapons: 0
Unconventional Weapons: 1
Exotic weapons: 0
Auxiliary systems: 0
Medical tech: 0
Profession:Mercenary (Unconventional Weapons Spec)
Equipment:
Mk-1? (Equipped)
Long Coat (Equipped)
Laser Rifle (Equipped)
Unknown Mask obtained from green box, no lines, triangle shape {I think that was the box info, correct me if I'm wrong} (Equipped)
When the APC comes to a stop, Mike is unconscious, laying in a corner, broken seatbelt still around his waist and chest. Vincent unbluckles himself is crouching over Mike, checking if he's even still alive, when someone bangs on the side of the apc and the faint words "RUN FOR IT!" can just be heard over the roar of the storm outside. Vincent half groans, half screams out of frustration and picks up the body of his unconscious teammate, throwing the man over his shoulder. He hits the open button on the back door and squeezes through as soon as it has struggled open enough for him to get out. Even though he's only maybe 15 seconds behind Jobasio, no more then a hundred feet away, he can't see him or anything for that matter. Everything is swirling nothing. A world made of white noise. He sets off, away from the light.
((Yay, still alive for the moment. But are we still in the line of fire for the bombardment?))
Keep doing what I'm doing. Specifically, hanging in Mesk's arm as a broken lump of a body
"We're not out of this yet. I won't feel safe until we're out of this system, really. Just hold tight... I wouldn't have left you behind, regardless of how bad you might have fucked up. Would've been nothing, compared to what's going on now..."
Slow down to a slightly less fuel-guzzling speed, but keep gaining distance on the site. Try and keep it just on the edge of vision until the bombardment. Open a channel up to the ship.
"Paracelsus' Sword, this is Mesk with Jason and Dubley. Please acknowledge. Don't know if you're receiving this yet, or if you saw what's happening on the ground... I can't exactly explain it, but trust me when I say don't hold back with the bombardment. Whatever's in there needs to be vapourized."
"Thanks for saving me Mesk, bro. I wasn't sure if you were gonna. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't."
Hang in there.
Mesk cuts some of the power from the rockets and levels off into a straight horizontal flight. The countdown over the radio continues, getting ever closer to zero. When the timer finally runs out, the announcement changes.
>Payload away. Directional thrusters engaged. Matching calculated trajectory. Time till impact estimated at 238 seconds. All ground units, continue egress. The men on the ground would never have seen the shell, even if they didn't have their back to it, running blind through a blizzard. Even on a clear day when they were looking for it, they never would have seen it. Even Mesk, from his high vantage point, would have seen nothing as the round- a tungsten slug the size of a semitruck- punched down through the cloud layer at 40,000 feet per second. The detonation that followed, though bright enough to blind anyone looking in its direction for several miles, and powerful enough to utterly vaporize the ice sheet and 50 feet of solid stone beneath it, was only a fraction of what it could have been. Steve hadn't fired the round so much as just released it, dropped it from orbit and let gravity do the work. If he had actually fired it from the cannons with the full might of relativistic speeds which they can harness, there would be men 100 miles away struck dead just by the overpressure of the shockwave, which would turn their lungs, and any other vacant area in their chest cavities into a bloody mush. As it was, the round filled the sky with a blast not too far removed from the familiar mushroom cloud of a nuclear impact, a new, somehow comforting sun which replaced the alien flame spouting from the rising abomination. Mesk and his cargo are far enough to enjoy the sight, but the men on the ground find themselves buried in several feet of radioactive snow.
Author
Topic: Mission 15: Arctic Expedition: I. HEAR. A. SOUND. (Read 67569 times)