Realistic or Modern Overcast: Marten Rietveld

[Lorsh]

There is painfully little food on board. Some chips, some beer, bag of salted almonds, some granola bars... it's all eaten up very quickly, due to the relatively large number of souls on the boat. It didn't look like Sarah and Ben had been preparing to take on this many people. However, land isn't that far off, so tensions don't raise particularly high.

A navy frigate is encountered as the group nears the coast of the mainland.



A patrol craft equipped with loudspeakers speeds out, and orders the motorsailer to be redirected to St. Nora.

"Thank god, we're saved!" Mr. Wigg says. A few of the others cheer. The situation must be under control, there. Cassandra, on the other hand, is aghast that help had been so close... she has another fit of sobbing.

 

[Croike]

Marten keeps his eyes on the horizon, standing atop the deck and watching for anything out of the ordinary as the motorsailer re-directs toward Saint Nora. He idly goes over how much fresh water is still aboard the vessel and how much further they have to journey. He draws his own thoughts back to the 'state of heightened alert' from his youth abroad and considers how that government acted as compared to the current situation.

He is oddly silent, and notably non-jubilant regarding the change in their situation.

 

[Lorsh]

Rhand has always been dominated by the minority Emperians, with the local Barreni being kept firmly under the boots of the colonial government. The economic situation in Rhand was better than most countries in the communist-backed United Coalition, however, since it had relatively little infighting among itself. The Barreni were always treated expendably, and fielded in separate 'auxiliary' units during your military service.

In the Central Republic, there are no formal racial divisions - technically - though the government does not have a good track record with the Unified Humanitarian Organisation when it comes to treating people that once hailed from enemy communist nations. It's been awhile since the last war, so there are no internment camps anymore - but the authorities in the CR are still said to play their games in the shadows.

You're able to stay hydrated until St. Nora comes into view. It's swarming with civilian watercraft, presided over by a navy destroyer and several helicopters above. Smoke is rising from the outskirts the town.

There are gas-masked members of the Civil Guard waiting on the docks, with rifles at the ready. Everyone is ordered off - Ben decides to leave his gun in the cabin.

 

[Croike]

Eyeing the Civil Guardsmen carefully, Marten assesses their general demeanor as the party evacuates from the vessel, and deliberately makes sure they're not going to find his taser or telescopic baton without searching him thoroughly. He whispers to Ben as they disembark. "We should try to stick together as a group, last thing we need is to get lost now that we've reached relative safety. I don't like the odds of things being 'under control' with the military being out in force."

 

[Lorsh]

You keep your security weapons hidden in your clothes. The two soldiers cautiously peer through their masks' portholes as the civilians file off the boat. They give everyone a glance up and down, before waving them along. Cassandra is still crying, but they ignore her.

Ben nods nervously. "Alright... but when I get the chance, I'm gonna go look for my brothers, see if they managed to get picked up. I just knew they could be out there. My in-laws, too." He sounds far too hopeful.

The group joins a throng of people disembarking from a yacht and a fishing trawler, waved along by people in surgical masks and high-visibility vests. At a maze of chainlink, anyone nursing a bloody wound is separated to one side, while the others and processed through.

"Name?"

"I'm Sam Wigg."

"Hey, that's pretty cool, love your show," a clipboard-wielding sergeant sitting behind a table remarks. "Okay... Next. Name? Have you had any contact with anyone who hasn't been themselves?"

 

[Croike]

"Rietveld, Marten. Define 'contact'. Define 'anyone who hasn't been themselves'. Do you mean the infected?" He asks, brusquely. He levels an exhausted look at the sergeant in question.

"I understand that this is part of- whatever procedure, but none of us are going to remember exactly what just happened because Congress was collapsing into a state of chaos when we left. Can we just get some rest? Nobody's hurt, nobody's touched any biohazards."

 

[Lorsh]

"You didn't get blood all over you, or touched, or anything like that, then? Fine," he says, suddenly lowering his voice. "Just be careful out there - we still don't really know how it spreads, and we're cramming a lot of fucking people into this little town right now." The sergeant doesn't sound too hopeful himself. "Move along. Get into the next line over there," he points, "and wait for your second checkup."

You have to wait for hours in a line of civilians, slowly filing into a distant medical tent, where the entrance flap is flanked by Civil Guards with auto-carbines. People mostly talk among themselves, or just nervously look around, or cry. You overhear stories about stores being ransacked and people being ripped apart by 'crazies'. Soldiers patrol up and down the throng of waiting civilians, keeping a close eye on everyone. Someone who vomits is yanked up and pulled away to god knows where.

By the time you're called into the tent, you're feeling a little weak from hunger, as well as dehydrated. When they open the flap, you can see a few regular nurses and doctors, as well as medics. A military policeman with a submachine gun is sitting on a foldup chair in the corner, wearing safety goggles and a dust mask. "Please take off your clothes, sir," a nurse tells you.

 

[Croike]

Marten does so without any complaint, popping his jaw as he does so. "Nurse, none of my group have eaten a real meal in a day. Where, and when can we get some food, water?"

He looks tired, and bedraggled on account of their harrowing flight. He avoids making any sudden moves as he divests himself of clothing for an inspection.

He looks over at the MP, sizing him up. "How bad is it really? The situation I mean. Congress was collapsing around us and the news broadcast was acting like everything was more or less fine."