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[queendilettante]

Sybille was leaning on the outside wall of the shop she ran, Rayney Day Mechanics; the coarse exterior irritated her bare shoulder left exposed from her thick strap white tank top. The blue-colored bricks repulsed her when she first arrived at The Mall, but the lead paint had grown into a familiar comfort; a sky colored escape from the assholes in charge of the place she’d forced herself to call home. Sybille winced as she shifted slightly, scratching her shoulder on the rough brick in the process. She was holding her sunbleached chocolate brown leather jacket in her arms, but groaned at the thought of putting it on to comfort her shoulder in the middle of the unseasonably warm weather Missouri was suffering through.

She looked up at the cloudy sky; the cold gray clouds taunted her as a far cry from the heat Sybille felt around her. The barely-obscured sun shone painfully into her eyes past the edges of her sunglasses, making her wince and lower her gaze. As she wiped the sweat from her forehead, she tried to relax and rest her head on the coarse wall. That morning, she woke up before dawn sweating through her thin pajamas. It wasn’t like she was having an especially good night’s sleep prior to that, but that wasn’t anything new. The foggy view of her wife, Claire, being yanked away by a panicked crowd, her face contorted into a mix of resentment and fear, had burned itself deeply into Sybille’s psyche. Over the last two years, Sybille has occasionally wondered if the face in her mind was still correct, but she couldn’t let herself dwell on that for too long. She could never get back to sleep after seeing Claire in her dreams, though, so she got ready for the mission well earlier than was needed.

Five hours after the fact, Sybille continued waiting patiently for the arrival of the crew she had been assigned to lead. She wasn’t sure about the mission, but she knew she couldn’t let onto that in front of the crew. When Larry told her that the NUSA had contacted the Founders to establish a relationship, Sybille didn’t know how to feel. Her first thought was for Claire, who Sybille had resigned herself to hoping had made it across the Mississippi somehow. Maybe Claire had found her and Sybille’s families safe in New York? Sybille couldn’t make herself believe it, but she tried telling herself to all the same.

The next inescapable thought, though, was to the devastation of the west following the Crash; the US retreated like cowards and bombed tens of millions of civilians into dust for the sake of their protection. It would have been different if all they had done was abandon more than half of the country, but the government actively tried to destroy everything that moved west of the River. Sybille doubted the New US’s intentions, but clearly not enough to refuse the mission. If there was a chance to find Claire; just one chance…

“Ugh,” Sybille scoffed, getting up from the wall and spitting on the ground. Santa, her husky, looked at her with a tilted head. She smiled, scratched his head behind his ears, and walked out toward the road. They should be arriving soon, she thought to herself, looking in the direction of the inner gate.

One of The Mall’s doctors, Charlie, was instructed to accompany them by the Founders in the event that something terrible happened. Sybille wasn’t too thrilled about the Founders assigning one of their best doctors toward what they referred to as a “simple bodyguarding mission,” but she was relieved to have someone experienced in saving lives with her in the field.

Beyond Charlie, Sybille went out of her way to ask Lars, Teddy, Ashlynn, and Leon to accompany her and their... special guest. Lars and Teddy were oddballs that made a living doing the same kind of menial good samaritanism that Sybille did, so she had learned that they were reliable. Ashlynn, despite being a bit young, had proven to be a surprisingly good scavenger. She probably smuggles shit inside to sell, Sybille thought to herself absentmindedly. She didn’t have a problem with smugglers; she actually respected their craft. In her experience doing Security Department work, though, the scavenger types had a habit of not being… forthright with all of the goods they found. Whatever, she thought, not like it has anything to do with me.

Sybille hoped that everyone was going to react calmly when they discovered the final member of their envoy. Kat Roberts, an average height and average looking middle aged blonde woman, was accompanying them; she was also one of the Founders and led the Diplomatic Branch of the Security Department. When Jones realized Kat had made contact with the DHQS about meeting, he furiously demanded she accompany the rendezvous team. What I would have done to see that bitch chewed out, Sybille thought to herself, equally annoyed with Kat Roberts and the fact that she sided with Jones, even in her head. The way Kat would go from a sweet woman reminiscent of Sybille's paternal grandmother to a vile creature hellbent on human destruction in the span of seconds left everyone around her on edge. All Sybille could do was hope for the best with the crew and pray to whatever spiteful gods could still be watching that nothing happens to Kat.

The only incoming member she actively resisted was Jordan. Sybille couldn’t understand why the Founders would approve a teenager to come on this mission. She’s heard the girl had a reputation for persistence, but she was still a child. If Jordan were to get hurt, Sybille wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.

Sybille shook her head in frustration and spit through her cracked lips again. Santa looked as concerned as last time, but she paid him no mind when she saw movement at the inner gate. It seems to be go time.

Hard Boiled Togy Solar Daddy idiot Aeris gouache

 

[Solar Daddy]

Lars had awoken bright and early as he normally did, albeit a bit earlier than normal. He was one of the few who enjoyed the sunrise more than the sunset, and oftentimes woke early just to enjoy it. However this morning he was preoccupied with readying himself for his assignment with the mechanic, Sybille. She had come to him a few nights ago with a proposition, and Lars didn't need convincing. Sybille requisitioning him was interesting enough to get Lars on board for whatever was going on. His curiosity always got the better of him, paranoia be damned. He didn't ask too many questions nor did he make any demands or offers. Lars simply asked what was needed and when to show up, where. He had prepared his gear for the job, in addition to his usual assortment of gear. It wasn't unordinary for him to be unsure of what the day would bring; Lars was often doing a different task every time the sun rose and set. He readied himself in the same way, always carrying the same gear. He carried most things he could need in a given situation and didn't deviate from his kit much. Once it was all assembled and he was set, Lars meticulously put on each piece of equipment slowly and methodically to ensure he didn't forget anything. The last two things he applied to himself - the most important, in his eyes - was the M15 gas mask integral to keeping him sane, and a sickly colored poncho with a varied pattern matching a drab camouflage, its hood hanging loose around his neck. The mask hung from his hip on a loose rope for easy access under the poncho which covered most of his torso. It was always his comfort to be able to breathe regardless of the circumstances, and be able to disappear in the foliage at any moment. It was how he kept his sanity these past years.

Once set, Lars exited his humble dwelling in a conserved manner; he cared not for waving at acquaintances he may have known or admiring what was on sale that morning. He did, however, need to contain his excitement at the mysterious invitation he received. Lars' love for finding out a mystery always kept him moving. To be inquired about by the Sybille, mechanic and defense department, someone he seldom conversed with - it was enough to get him thinking about it nonstop. Now that he could get his answers, he traversed the grounds of the Mall until he reached the famed mechanic's shop. It was a location he rarely visited, since most of what he used or needed didn't require such a craft. Still, he respected the work Sybille produced and admired the pillar she represented in the Mall's community. The heat of the day bothered Lars, but not enough to ever get him to travel without his protective and concealing outerwear. Not knowing what kind of mission this was meant Lars outfitted himself with the most amount of caution and care as he could.

Lars arrived where he was asked to be, by the inner gate. His fingers twitched slightly as he waited for something to happen. He appeared to be the first to arrive outside of their host, and didn't mind waiting for anyone else to arrive. He gave a meek wave to Sybille before his hand fumbled with the mask on his hip. "Good to see you again," He spoke with a slight nod. "I'm excited to see what the day brings." Lars' mind raced with the ideas of who may be joining them; a diverse skillset, she had said. How diverse?

 

[Hard Boiled]

Another day, another dollar.

Charlie had been over to Rayney Day already, a few hours ago to see if Sybille could take a look at one of the hospital wing's two Lifepaks, which had been giving incorrect CO2 measurements for the past week or so. These two machines were his pride and joy, and were keeping half of his patients alive. Besides the calibration being off, they were critically low on electrode stickers and wiring. All in all: not a good situation.

Besides machinery failures, his patient roster was not particularly cheerful either as of late. To count just in the past fourteen days, he had seven individual cases of dysentery from a group of idiots drinking contaminated water, five severe traumas ranging from nails in the leg to a basilar skull fracture, two infections (which were swiftly dealt with by Security), and a woman who he still hadn't told that her child was developing epilepsy, and likely wouldn't survive six months without medication, if he was very lucky - and these were just the patients at the top of his list. Frankly, there was nothing he could do about the last one, it's not like anyone was handing out free Topamax. He figured it would be best to let them enjoy their time in blissful ignorance, at least for a few days. A few days, he convinced himself, then he'd tell them.

All that said, Charlie was baffled when he was asked to go on some "special assignment" with Sybille and a few others. The hospital wing needed as much help as they could get, especially one of their senior members. Why not send one of the younger guys? His mind boggled. Regardless, he'd do his duty and accompany the group. He loaded up his bag, which he referred to as his "first-in" bag from his EMS days, and made his way to the inner gate.

He'd been very vaguely briefed by Sybille when they spoke in the morning, likely, he thought, because they gave her as little information as possible, as usual when it comes to handing down assignments. The extent of the briefing was mostly who was coming with them: He was most familiar with Sybille herself, who he'd been acquainted with since his arrival, and was the closest thing to a friend he had. Three DHQS agents would be attached, but that was expected, you couldn't take a shit without them hearing about it. Of course, there's Teddy, someone Charlie considered volatile and a bit untrustworthy, but would support nonetheless. Leon, he knew mostly because of his children, whom Charlie had given checkups regularly for as long as they'd been there, developing a mutual respect between them. The last three - Lars, Ash, and Jordan - were Dwellers he'd seen around, and wasn't acquainted with past the standard patient-clinician relationship. Although, he wasn't exactly sure on how the latter made her way into this expedition - a decision for smarter minds than him, he supposed.

Upon arrival, he set his bag down at his side as they waited for the rest, only two were there before him.

"Good morning." He greeted Lars and Sybille with no smile, leaning against a concrete traffic barrier.

"Quite the motley crew we've got, no?" He made smalltalk with Sybille, looking past the chain links and into the distance. "I hope you can work out what's wrong with the Lifepak. We're going to need it."


Interactions: queendilettante Solar Daddy

 

[idiot]

JORDAN KHATRI.​

The trainers thumped rhythmically against the cement, sweat beading down her forehead as one deft hand sprung off the railing, leaping over it with ease. No momentum was lost as she weaved gracefully through the Tent Quarter of the Wall Area - avoiding tent poles and discarded shoes. Immigrants who resided here were used to the teenager's antics and some even watched intently. The Missouri sun gleamed against her dark skin, her unruly, thick hair was tied back in a dishevelled ponytail. Soon her feet sunk into down-trodden grass, her muscular thighs screamed for rest.

Pushing through the exhaustion, she could see Emmett up ahead, stopwatch in hand. Almost there, come on! Heart pounding, the girl barely registered the two figures hauling supplies up ahead. Oh shit! No time to stop or change directions, she fell back into a last-minute skid, sliding under the supplies and between the figures.

"Goddammit, kid! I swear you're gonna lose your head one of these days!" A grumpy and old, Garrison, yelled after her. His leathery skin contorted into a scowl.

Jumping to her feet, she continued her pace, head swivelling back to the pair, "I'm sorry!" She sang back but couldn't keep the smile off her face.

Eventually, she had reached Emmett, his huge shadow engulfing her small frame; hands on her slender hips as she gulped in the fresh air.

"You have a flair for the dramatics, huh, Jordan?" Emmett laughed, his tree-trunk arms folding over his equally built chest. Most presumed the 20-year-old was a part of the Mall's security detail, considering his menacing size but Jordan knew he couldn't hurt a fly. He worked within the Food Court and made a mean vegetarian burrito. The two had become good friends since she joined the Mall three years back. She agreed to taste test his newest creations if he supervised her little training sessions.

"Pfftt...that?" Jordan shrugged her shoulders, "that was nothing." Emmett couldn't hide his signature gap-toothed, wide smile, shaking his head in the process. Jordan loved his smile. He would always roll his eyes and say he hated his smile. If only he could see what she saw right now, he'd be a changed man.

"Well you beat your personal record," Emmett gestured to the stopwatch.

"Really?" Jordan squealed, her face lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. She hadn't beaten her latest record for the past three months. Unable to help herself, she hugged Emmett, barely managing to wrap her arms around his torso. Her ear up against his chest she could hear his heart thumping quickly. It was oddly comforting. Slowly pulling away, her head craned up to meet Emmett's grey eyes. A moment of silence settled between them. Butterflies began jittering inside her stomach - a feeling she was very unfamiliar with. An impulsive thought in her head was quickly dismissed as Emmett pulled away, hand rubbing the back of his neck. His pale skin was quickly reddening as though he was suddenly scorned by the sun.

"I, uh...s-should let you get going..." Emmett stammered, "you got assigned to that job with Sybille, right?" She had never seen him this nervous before and for once she was oblivious to why.

"I may or may not have asked one of the Founders to go." Jordan smirked.

"And by asked you mean begged?" Emmett raised a aurburn brow.

"Tomato, tomahto." Huffing, her smile dropped. "I feel like people underestimate me, you know? I might not be as old as everyone, but I'm definitely quicker." Jordan reassured herself, confident in her abilities or maybe she was overly confident? It was a difficult distinction for the teenager.

"Like, sure, they send me out on scouting missions but I want to prove I can pull my weight even more," Jordan's fingers instinctively began fiddling with the mess of bracelets around her wrist. One stuck out like a sore thumb - rainbow coloured beads surrounding black lettering that spelt '#1 KID' - "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"I don't..." Jordan peered up to Emmett, not him too..."I don't underestimate you." Jordan blinked in surprise. He believed her? She didn't realise his hand was on her lower back, nor did she realise her hand was on his chest until now. The two awkwardly stood in silence. The impulsive thought filled her head once more, but this time she decided to act upon it, blocking out Garrison's complaining in the distance.

​

Scribbling the last sentence into the over-stuffed notebook, Jordan carefully shut it. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of yesterday before sitting up in her tent.

Jordan had decided to settle into the Mall within the Tent Quarter, enjoying the outdoors and privacy it gave her. Battery-powered fairy lights were strewn around the tent, photos haphazardly clipped between them. The photos were mainly of her fathers but Emmett, her favourite person to annoy, Teddy, and Leon with his cute little girls also made the cut alongside other residents. Seemingly, despite the atrocities the apocalypse had brought, Jordan had managed to make the most of it and met some pretty amazing people. If only they were here to meet them all, they would of--

Her alarm interrupted her thoughts, scrambling to turn it off she eyed the time.

"Oh, shit!" Jordan lept to her feet and began madly dressing herself. She settled on a faded-yellow tank-top thrown over a white sports bra and short, blue running pants. Finishing the look with some scuffed, shock absorbant knee-pads and her usual trainers. She could areadly imagine Teddy comparing her to an 80's rollerblader but she didn't have the time to contemplate her attire. I'm already late. Jordan always went for speed and mobility over protection. No one could hurt her if they couldn't catch her. Strapping the holster to her muscular thigh, she slotted the Glock 19 snugly inside.

Shoving her belongings into the compact hiking backpack, she stared around the tent before spotting it. How could I forget you? Jordan carefully attached the sky-blue, high-tech drone to the front of the backpack alongside her recurve bow. Heading for the entrance of the tent, she almost tripped over the container outside. Squatting down, she picked up the container and read the note attached: "My latest invention, should give you all the energy you need to prove them wrong" Considering the hand-writing looked like a child's, she knew it was from Emmett. Opening the container, half a dozen of what looked like handmade protein bars, were neatly packed inside. Taking hold of one, Jordan used her other hand to place it inside her backpack.

Setting a brisk pace, Jordan hurried to the meeting spot Sybille had set. A multi-tasker, she took a bite of Emmett's protein bar on the way and swallowed greedily. His culinary skills made up for his handwriting, that was for sure.

 

[queendilettante]

Sybille wasn't surprised to see Lars first through the gate. Over the course of the year she had spent at The Mall, her many sleepless nights left her with little else to do in the night than wander the grounds. Lars was an odd figure who she would frequently spot before dawn. Morning people, Sybille thought to herself before realizing that she too almost assuredly came across the same way. "Morning, Lars," she said, forcing a slight smile.

"I'm excited to see what the day brings."

Are you? Sybille couldn't help but be pessimistic about the prospects of their mission. I suppose it's my fault for not fully briefing them yet. The people whose lives Sybille had asked to be put on the line for a government job she herself didn't agree with had been weighing heavily on her mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Charlie's second arrival of the day. Much earlier that morning, he had stopped by to have her look at a few Lifepaks for the hospital, which luckily ended up as an easy fix. At least Charlie had been briefed separately and agreed on his on terms, she thought. He was the only member of the crew Sybille didn't feel directly responsible for endangering them with the mission; Charlie was conscripted by the Founders just like she was. Of course, she still felt a drive to protect the doctor she had come to view as a friendly face in The Mall, she was just able to avoid the guilt for him.

"Quite the motley crew we've got, no?" He made smalltalk with Sybille, looking past the chain links and into the distance. "I hope you can work out what's wrong with the Lifepak. We're going to need it."

"Lifepak's are inside, Charlie," she responded, pointing to the store behind her, "It was a pretty easy soldering fix." Sybille looked toward the fence and away from the two men that had already arrived. Sybille thought the girl running on the other side of the fences was Jordan; seeing her, even from a distance, reminded Sybille of her objections to the young girl's involvement.
"Motley crew's pretty accurate, Charlie."

 

[Aeris]

Ashlynn awoke in a cold sweat.

Just a dream...

It was always just a dream, of course, the last eight years could best be described as a neverending nightmare no one could escape from. Ashlynn blinked the last bit of sleep from her eyes before rising from the cot. A new day, a new set of responsibilities, or so her parents would have said. And today wasn't going to be an ordinary day either. Today, she was accompanying Sybille and a few others on some sort of mission. She had been apprehensive to accept the offer at first, after all, she'd only spoken to Sybille in passing. Ashlynn raked her brain trying to remember the others that would be joining. She'd seen Charlie on occasion, same with Leon and Lars. Teddy and Jordan's faces didn't come to mind as easily. It was likely she hadn't formally met them yet, so introductions could be made later. Ashlynn shifted her attention to getting dressed, throwing on a simple gray t-shirt and swapping her pajama shorts for some black leggings. Sybille hadn't elaborated much on what they would be doing so she made a point to dress in something easy to move in. Ashlynn silently went about stuffing her backpack with some essentials. Nothing too big of course, just the bare necessities. She swung the back over her shoulders along with her compound bow before exiting her space.

Ashlynn kept her head down as she made her way to the meeting spot. She allowed her thoughts to wonder, why her? She and Sybille were acquaintances at best and, she was fairly certain there could've been someone a little more qualified than her. In the time she'd been here though, Ashlynn had worked up sort of a reputation with scavenging. Sure, most didn't agree with her line of work, but it wasn't like she had much of a choice. In the world they lived in now you had to do whatever you could to survive. And she just happened to be good at scavenging. She also did some scouting too, but that was few and far between.

Growing up, her parents taught her to be resourceful and use the land to her benefit. She had learned how to survey an area, what was safe to eat and what wasn't. Tears blurred the ground in front of her as she thought about them. Not a day went by that she didn't think about what would've happened if she had ignored her sickness and went with her parents. Would they still be alive today? Would she have ended up dead as well? Those were the kind of questions that haunted her thoughts. She could've stayed with her old group, they had told her she was like family to them. But staying there without her parents felt wrong, that's why she left at the end of the day. There, she would have been labeled as the girl who lost her parents, everyone would've treated her as someone who needed protecting. Here though, she didn't have to worry about such problems. Ashlynn just hoped that her parents were proud of her, wherever they were right now.

"Goodmorning," Ashlynn said as she approached her destination. So far there were only a few other people there. She turned to Sybille, "Thank you for having me." Ashlynn tried to make her voice sound cheerful, but was failing miserably. She probably wouldn't be at ease until she learned the full details of the mission. She was someone who liked to be prepared for anything, and not knowing why she was called upon was weighing heavily on her shoulders.

 

[Togy]

Teddy Callahan
​

The Canadian, unused to the sweltering sun of Missouri, had taken to tying his flannel jacket around his waist and tying his scarf around his forehead like a headband. The collar of his tie-dyed T-shirt was damp with sweat, which absolutely did not complement the rainbow pattern he'd spent hours making. His aviators, fortunately, were exactly as they should be, pristine and blocking the sun from his eyes.

He'd been given more than one odd look on his trek to the garage, which he'd returned with a smile and finger guns each time. The people inside the main building had seen him around enough to rarely question his unique idea of fashion, but he doubted the people in this area had become accustomed with him to do the same. He thought he'd visited Rayney Day Mechanics, which was an absolutely delightful name by the way, once to fix the lens on his Range Finder around six months back and that was it.

He could tell people in these parts didn't know much of him considering how they'd frown, make a little choking noise, and walk off every time he stopped to ask for directions. Rude. Understandable, sure, but rude nonetheless. It really was an absolute shame how many people lost their manners and basic human decency the second shit hit the fan those eight years ago.

He didn't really know much of what was going on, actually. All he'd been told was to meet at said place with said people. From what little he'd gathered, he assumed the basic essentials for a group would be set up there. A doctor, a guide, a hunter, a scout, the muscle, the basic roles.

Sidestepping a tent and giving a cheerful "Hola!" to the occupant emerging from it, Teddy could just about make out Sybille's place. Taking off into a jog towards the mechanic, he spotted a small form zipping in his direction.

"Jay!" Teddy announced jubilantly as Jordan grew closer. "How's it going? You've been eating right, right? Have you gotten taller? Why don't you call anymore? And why do you remind of the 80s?" Teddy went off like a spitfire, not stopping his sprint.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re more annoying than me,” Jordan managed between taking a bite of the muesli bar, but if Teddy was annoying her, she didn’t show it and instead had the usual smile plastered on her face.

“Now why did I know you were going to say that,” Jordan laughed before looking him up and down, “I dig the confused dad look, the tie-dye really pulls it together!” Jordan announced before she sped up, looking back to him with a glint in her eye, “let’s see if you can keep up, old man!” The soles of her shoes gracefully met the cement with each stride, setting a brutally fast pace.

With an indignant "I'm not even 40!", Teddy increased his speed in hopes of catching up with the girl. Rapidly approaching the meeting spot, Jordan a ways ahead of him despite his best efforts, Teddy called out a quick "Y'hello" with a simple wave to the people gathering as he focused all his efforts in a dead sprint.

 

[Vudukudu]

The Mississippi Checkpoint felt like ages ago. Concrete walls up and down the river, triple-thick security measures, the bridge all bombed to hell. St. Louis would have been the closest place to cross, but St. Louis was a problem for the Reclamation Army. They'd bombed it all to shit to secure it while putting up the River Quarantine, but that didn't mean it was just safe to walk across. Ryan's squad crossed miles north at one of DHQS' crossing points - ones they'd used earlier to send in squads to do jobs out west, and far from population dense areas. Him, the Swede, Florida, and a kill-team of some of the Reclamation's hardest bastards went west over the river. They wouldn't be sticking together long - Gunny's Little Killers, as the kill-team referred to themselves, were going on a methed-up death march towards an enclave in western Missouri that DHQS wanted to clean out. Normally they'd hit it with a drone strike, but it was sitting on top of a natural gas harvesting facility they wanted. That meant sending some of Cleveland's best across the river, and Ryan wasn't going to say no to an escort full of aggressive psychopaths doing combat drugs.

About 120 miles meant about six days by foot. They could go faster, but no one was in a hurry to wander across "Occupied Missouri" at a hard march. Satellite intel suggested a lot of Missouri was still active, and not in the good way, so they were taking their time. They had a Latent to clear stragglers - clearly practiced, judging by how comfortable he was grappling C's and putting an axe through their skull. They'd planned a route out using drone surveillance footage and spent their nights in isolated farm houses and sheds. Having the grunts keep watch was easy enough - just a little sniff of Marching Powder would keep them up, after all. The group as a whole was attended by two Dronkeys, each loaded down with as much ammunition and rations as it could reasonably carry.

On the fifth day they went their separate ways, leaving Fred, Florida, and Ryan to fend for themselves on the last leg of the trek. A new escort, buzzing through the clouds, picked up their trail. NUSA still had a few Predators in the sky, and more than a few missiles to arm them with. It couldn't stay over them long, but it could send a quiet message to the Mall. Uncle Sam is watching.

By noon on the sixth day, they've reached their agreed upon rendezvous point, an old military checkpoint built during the Crash over a highway gas station, outside city limits. Cradling his rifle across his chest, Ryan shoots a glance at Florida and Fred as they approach the old pile of sandbags, chain-link fencing, and the dilapidated gas station. "Florida, you're on point. Ell-Tee, on her back. I've got the perimeter. Lets get cozy before the hicks show up, yeah?" He says, waving the barrel of his rifle at the checkpoint.

Skeletons in weather-damaged uniforms are all that remain of the original garrison, which includes about two dozen. Some of the wounds are self-inflicted and judging by the bullet impact marks in the barriers, it looks like there was an argument about putting down the infected (a "wait and see massacre" to those who recall them.) The glass on the gas station is broken, the shelves long since looted, and an eerie silence hangs over the whole area. Rusting wrecks of cars litter the road beside it, burnt out and sitting on deflated tires.

 

[Viper Actual]

Dressed in his usual gear and with a rather large military rucksack on his back (filled with supplies and items related to his profession) Fredrik kept a close eye on the drugged-up soldiers escorting him, Ryan- the DHQS agent in charge- and Florida.
Normally any form of armed escort would have been nice to have and especially during missions leading into uncharted territory though these were anything but normal times.

Being a professional soldier, or rather, having once been a professional soldier made him greatly distrust anyone that carried weapons while using narcotics, drank alcohol or abused any other substances at the same time.
Not only was it highly unprofessional but it was also very, very dangerous. It changed the way chain of command works, how discipline functions and how the soldiers carry out their orders.

And not in a good way, Fredrik argued.

When the armed escort split-off Fred felt surprisingly relieved. Granted, he didn't really know (if that was even possible these days?) Florida or Ryan. Then again he wasn't technically DHQS.

At the end of the sixth day they finally reached the rebdezvous. Fredrik didn't mind the marching but during his previous experiences the worst things he had to worry about were wet socks and getting a hot meal- not scavengers, rabid cults or zekes of both the C- and V-types. In fact he much more preferred fighting radicalized militants in Mali simply because they weren't straight out of a horror movie.

When Ryan's order came Fred nodded and tightened the grip of his AK5C which was a rather exotic weapon in this part of the world simply because of it's country of origin.

Following Florida, Fred ditched his ruck next to the door and shouldered his rifle. He tapped Florida on the shoulder and stacked up behind her, signaling that he was ready to commence the sweep.

Despite the rather poor state of the structure Fredrik felt confident; anything looted and filled with dust and old skeletons had most likely not been touched for a very, very long time.
Immediately after that specific thought Fred shook his head slightly and gently knocked his left hand against his chestplate for good luck.

 

[Nic the Merc]

Eden “Florida” Winters; 34; F; DHQS; No Next of Kin



For years Eden Winters went over the day she and her friends agreed to join the NUSA military to act as a reclamation team. Eden’s focus on getting the Survivors to Red 27 in Utah had them play right into NUSA’s hands. She could only imagine how happy those pompous men in uniform were when they confiscated all of her gear when she joined. Eden had been told that all new agents surrendered all material goods for the sake of the mission and would “recieve compensation at the end of your service.” She was not sure if this was actually the case or if those self-important dicks stationed in Florida just took advantage of her, knowing they meant her to be front line fodder.

Eight long years she had waited for this. It is amazing how much planning and preperation go out the window when the government steps in with a fully armed military and cuts your country in two fat slices, with your secure underground bunker on the wrong side of the wall. Eden had been dreaming of the day she could make it past the River, reunite with her Survivors, with Rosalie, for far too long.

When she finally got her ship out orders, it took everything in Eden’s power not to celebrate. Instead, she traded everything she could to stock up on harder to get items (cigarettes, coke, whiskey, etc) before she left, ignoring the pale, drained faces and sunken eyes of the others around the barracks who had gotten the summons.

Despite her trading skills and large haul before shipping out, she only had one pack of cigarettes left by the time they made it to the Mississippi check point. No one batted an eye as she over-used the stale tobacco to calm her nerves. What they took for fear was merely all those years of longing and anticipation bubbling to the surface, mixed with an understanding that her true feelings might make her out as a liability.

Within a day, anyone who hadn’t known her prior was already calling her Florida. Maybe it was her critique of Gunny’s Little Killer’s meth, maybe it was when she gave them her personal recipe, maybe it was the way she seemed to envy their Latent’s role in the group, a longingness to join him burning in her eyes for anyone who was watching her long enough. Most likely, it was stories Florida told when they made camp, made believable by her fearless nature during their travels.

When the Killer’s and Bloodaxe (the loving nickname she had given to their Latent) went their own way, Florida tried not to look too disappointed. Ryan and Fredrick reminded her of pre-Crash government lackeys, and that left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn’t show it, nor did she say anything. What was the point? They had to rely on each other for survival now. Any personal feelings would only be a liability.

Instead, Florida took comfort knowing she would see more action now. No Latent to take up half the fun. Her bellini felt more like an extension of herself than the heavy hunk of metal it was. They made it to the checkpoint without notable incident and Ryan made her point to start the sweep before they could safely settle in.

The military checkpoint really felt like something out of a video game. Skeletons scattered the setting, bones left to stand guard over broken glass and layers of dust and grime. The pieces built up to a very bloody picture of a slow response to a very immediate problem.

Florida clicked her tongue every time she saw signs of those who’d had to make their Ultimate Choice here. A slave to an uncaring government with no idea what it’s even doing. Family and friends unaware of their loved one’s fate out here is the zombie wastelands. She wondered if any of the Survivors were out here like that right now.

As she led the squad on the sweep, everything seemed secure. As they reached the end, Florida stiffened as she heard something behind one of the ruined cars on the edge of the checkpoint. The rustling noise’s source of origin was unclear. Could be wind, could be a critter, could be something worse.

She signaled Fredrick to circle around the far side of the car as she rounded the other, Ryan to stay back for support. Florida licked her lips, steadying herself for if things got a bit more exciting.

 

[Vudukudu]

While the others begin to sweep the immediate area, Ryan climbs up onto the hood of an old van, getting a bit of altitude to look around from. Of course, if anyone was scoped in on them right now, he was setting himself up to eat a bullet, but if there was a sniper here he was dead anyway. The windshield cracks as he steps over it, but the sound doesn't seem to draw much attention while he gets settled standing on the roof. The thought strikes him that he should warn them about cars, but they're professionals - no doubt they knew better than to get close to a car without checking it carefully to see if it was still inhabited. Plenty of people were bit in their cars, went Vector with the seatbelt on, and never got out. He'd seen a few guys get grabbed by a Casualty rotting in the driver seat, and it was one of the more embarrassing ways to buy the farm.

When he sees Florida raise an open hand, he shoulders his rifle. He hadn't heard whatever spooked her, but it was better to be in a good position for it all the same. He drops to one knee for a stable shooting platform, then gives the area another peek. Still nothing he's seeing, but that's because the sound is a little closer to the ground.

As Fredrick and Florida pair up to carefully circle the vehicle in question, he adjusts his sunglasses to rest on his forehead. If it was a Vector, he'd know by now. If it was just a C, they could handle it.

It turns out to be the latter - the sun-bleached sedan that Fred and Florida approach, formerly a dark blue and now rusted over, is empty of occupants. The doors are all shut except for the rear left door, the side Fred is covering, which is propped open by a baby's car seat, wedged between the back seat and the door as if someone had tried to take it out and suddenly given up.

The seat is still occupied, and an infant with blackened veins gurgles weakly in the secure straps and belts of the safety seat, small fingers worn to nubs clawing at the air as it picks up the scent of warm flesh and blood. After eight years trapped in the seat, its clothes have worn to rags, but faint bloodstains remain on what's left, though no bite mark is visible. Blighted tears still streak its face like dried up riverbeds, leaving a trail of raw blackened flesh on either cheek. All it takes is a little infected blood in the eyes or mouth. Its why DHQS is a fan of helmets with visors.

Viper Actual Nic the Merc

 

[Viper Actual]

Freezing the same moment Eden does, Fred nods as she signals him to move up. Quickly rolling his neck and shoulders before re-shouldering his rifle Fred nods and advances to the origin point of the sound.
Upon closer inspection it was a faint gurgling sound with the source being a Blight-infected infant.

Looking at the sad creature from behind the safety of his Aimpoint, Fred just stared at it for a brief movement before stowing his rifle on his back. He backed half a step from the vehicle before looking at Eden. First he pointes to himself before balling two fists and making them collide. I'm entering melee range.

Once properly signaled Fred grabs the grip of the Skrama- a Finnish machete- and pulls it out of its hard composite sheath. Carefully he balances the blade and aims it at the infant before suddenly shooting forward, skewering it on the blade.
The sound ceased and the tiny rotten hands fall downwards. Satisfied with the result Fred yanks loose his blade and wipe off both sides on the moldy and moss-covered car seat furniture before sheathing it proper.

He grabs his AK5C and signal Eden (as well as Ryan) with a thumbs up.

 

[Nic the Merc]

Why shouldn’t it be a baby? An infant left behind when the carrier stuck in the door, damned to death with no release before they were ever really alive. Something like that wouldn’t have made her pause, either, but it does stick a little in the back of her mind, in a place she doesn’t go often, but a place that can never go away.

She slings her gun around her back, sitting herself down on a stack of tires. She lights a cigarette, and offers her team smokes if they wanted to take them. Precious commodity, but well deserved. They maybe be a little stiff, but they were well trained professionals.

“Christ alive, what do you think. Think it woulda been worse if it was like a grown child stuck in a seatbelt?” She shook her head, not worried if her dark humor actually landed with her audience.

“Well, now that we’ve reached our checkpoint, is it time to discuss our next orders or are we going to have an evening to rest?” She turned towards Ryan, waiting his reply. She honestly had not paid him much mind during their initial travel and wasn’t sure what to expect.

It was the same with Fredrick. She felt like he’d glowered at her and the kill squad a few times. Keeping that in mind, she would keep to cigarettes for the evening.

 

[queendilettante]

Unchanged color: Sybille
Red: Ash
Blue: Jordan
Green: Teddy
Orange: Charlie
Yellow: Lars


Sybille offered a lazy wave to welcome Ashlynn. Seeing her in person outside of her shop, Sybille realized how glad she was to have a scavenger on board for the mission. She didn’t know what to expect from the DHQS with regards to crew size, and Sybille figured the Americans had already made it to the rendezvous point. “Hey, Ash, good morning,” Sybille said, forcing a smile. “It’ll be nice to have someone of your skillset to scout ahead as we near the rendezvous,” and hopefully any warning shots will hit you instead of Kat, Sybille added in her head. She immediately felt guilty, but protecting the monstrous Founder was of higher priority than any of the other crew members on the upcoming mission.

"Just happy to help," Ashlynn dropped the cheerful facade as it obviously wasn't working. She directed her attention to the others in the group offering a nod. A kid? Her eyes fell on the approaching Jordan before darting back to Sybille. Why were they letting a kid tag along? Ashlynn knew she was young, but Jordan had to be a couple of years younger at the very least. She then shifted her gaze to Teddy and honestly, she was surprised she'd never seen him before, given his sense of style.

Sybille felt a renewed sense of uncertainty watching Jordan arrive with Teddy. She genuinely couldn’t tell if she’d be willing to let a teenager die in order to protect a Founder. “Fuck,” she mumbled under her breath. Hopefully, she would never have to make that choice. “Hey Jordan, hey Teddy,” she called out, leaning on her shotgun. “I see you two are getting along swimmingly.”

“If you count annoying the hell out of each other, then yes we are getting along swimmingly,” Jordan replied, poking her tongue out at Teddy before her face suddenly dropped, realising who she was talking to now. “But uh, I’m ready to help however I can, ma’am!” Jordan’s voice was sterner, her face trying to remain serious as her posture straightened. It was a surprise she didn’t salute Sybille. Jordan saw the woman as a role model and was trying her hardest to impress her, it seemed.

"That's the spirit!" Teddy said enthusiastically, clapping Jordan on the back as he entered.

Sybille waited a few moments as the group introduced themselves to each other. “Well,” she started, “now that almost everyone is here-”

“Almost?” Teddy interrupted with a grin.

Sybille swallowed hard and started to fidget with her right earlobe to keep herself calm. “Yes, Teddy, almost. We have a guest.”

“A guest? Are we escorting someone?” Lars asked.

Sybille glanced at Lars and took a preparatory deep breath. “Kat Roberts, Founder in charge of the Diplomatic Branch of the Security Department, is accompanying us to the rendezvous with the DHQS and requires our protection.”

“You can’t be serious,” Charlie objected. He had a personal disdain for the founders, he found their methods abhorrent. It’s exactly like how people used to joke: even at the end of the world, rich scammers would be trying to make a buck off of the poor and dying. It’d killed countless patients of his, before and after the Crash, and only motivated him to work harder now.

“I’m sorry, we’re doing what?” Ashlynn pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off an oncoming headache. She had had her doubts about joining before, but she was now certain she had made a mistake. Sure, Ash hadn’t been with the group long, a few years at most, but it didn’t take a genius to know the founders weren’t very good people.

Lars felt his excitement for the mission dwindle at the mention of a Founder. As much as he was willing to help the community of the Mall, he was sure the Founder would be… difficult to deal with. His ways weren’t something a higher-up would be familiar with, nor would they be comfortable. He didn’t want a Founder criticizing his every move. Being under their direct eye made him less joyous of the situation. However, he did find the mission itself interesting.

Sybille continued, trying to explain herself before the group mutinied completely. “I know I should have been more forthright with that but…”

“Now, what would a Founder want to discuss with DHQS?” Lars chimed in somewhat under his breath, but with no care that Sybille was stopped and the group could hear. Lars was interested in the mission solely to listen in on what the Founder intended to negotiate. Lars didn’t know a handful of the group, but he at least knew Teddy and the doctor; people he was confident honed their skills. He assumed the others were of the same standard and was therefore comforted by their presence.

The Canadian couldn't but notice the way the faces of his companions fell at the mention of the founder. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Teddy tried to rack his head around remembering what he'd heard of the woman. He came up with a blank, followed by the realization that he hadn't heard much of anything about them in the first place. His mind wandered towards the copy of the orientation form he'd used as fire kindle that he vaguely remembered reading. Wasn't it illegal to criticize them? It'd hurt their feelings, would it? Well, Teddy thought absently, that didn't bode well.

“Listen, everyone,” Sybille began, “I’m not exactly thrilled about these present circumstances either. The last person I want to be breathing down all of our necks outside of the gates is someone with no combat training but with enough authority to get all of us executed or expelled from The Mall as she sees fit.”

When it finally set in that Sybille wasn’t playing some sick joke, Charlie laid down his ground rules. “She’s not getting a milliliter of Plazma.” He held up his thumb and index finger in a pinching fashion. “And I’m not stopping if she stubs her toe through her high-heels, either.” He had much more to say, but he knew better than to let it out here. Besides, there was nothing he could say to stop this from happening. “She can walk it off.”

During their increasingly tense debate, the devil being spoken about arrived, taking Sybille off guard. “Ah, fuck, uhm,” she started, scrambled and hoping that Kat hadn’t heard what she and Charlie were just saying about her, “Hello, Ms. Roberts, we’re very glad to have you.”

Kat glared at Charlie, with whom she was acquainted due to, in her eyes, his incessant medicinal begging. She turned back to Sybille after giving a small glance to the rest of the group. “Truly.”

Sybille slipped her coat on, despite the weather, threw her backpack around her shoulders, and straightened her posture. Lifting her shotgun from its rest against her shop with her left hand, she called to the group. “Shall we get going?”

---

The group had moved without issue for an hour. Sybille thought everything was going unexpectedly well until she saw a group of humanoid figures on a hill up ahead. “Hold up,” she announced, raising her hand into a fist. She knelt down and removed her binoculars from her backpack to examine the group. Leading the group was an armed mercenary with “LATENT: DON’T SHOOT” written repeatedly on his vest. Behind him was a small caravan of who appeared to be merchants. Sybille breathed a sigh of relief as she stuffed the binoculars back into her bag. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she ushered the group to continue following behind her.

Another hour passed without incident. “We should be nearing ¾ of the way to the rendezvous now.” As the words left her lips, she heard a bang from a few dozen feet ahead of the group. In the middle of the road in which the group was walking, a crashed semi-truck blocked their path. Sybille warned the group to be cautious as they slowly approached the back of the trailer. About 20 feet from the door, the banging from inside resumed; a slow but consistent and powerful thud from the creatures inside. “Infected,” Sybille called to the group, stopping everyone behind her. “It sounds like Casualties, so I think we can handle this. Last thing we want is a group of infected sneaking up behind us down the road.” Or a group of infected swarming the Latent down the way, she thought.


“Lars, take point with me by the truck. Charlie and Jordan, pull back and guard Kat- er, Ms. Roberts.” Sybille shook her head. “Ash, stand by Teddy there.” Sybille pointed next toward the ground in the center of the road about 20 feet from the back of the doors. Sybille raised her shotgun with her left hand and grabbed one of the doors with her right hand. “Lars, on the count of three, we’re going to open the doors and back up as fast as we can with our weapons drawn.”

“Everyone ready?” She called, “One… two…”

Aeris idiot Togy Hard Boiled Solar Daddy

 

[Vudukudu]

Ryan watches Fred deliver the death-blow, mercy killing, whatever makes you feel best about dropping a machete into an infant's rotten head. The sight makes him shudder. Some things just never stopped bothering you.

“Christ alive, what do you think. Think it woulda been worse if it was like a grown child stuck in a seatbelt?” She shook her head, not worried if her dark humor actually landed with her audience.

"Nah. Babies are always the worst shit to find in the back of a car. Half the time its 'cause they got left there when mom and dad saw the Vectors coming down the road behind them. Saw some of it myself." Ryan replies, letting his rifle hang on its sling with one hand still around the grip.

"Worst shit I've seen, period, was an old folks home. Had to clear one out over in Philly a few years back. Picture having to bash granny in the head with a shovel a hundred times, 'cept she didn't turn with her dentures in so she's just.. gumming at you. Vocal chords too gone to shit to really make any sound, no teeth so you don't even get the clacking, just.. lip smacking. Half of 'em could hardly move 'cause the Vector phase literally tore them to pieces. Command upped our booze ration for a week after that." He goes on, turning back to face their Dronkey. He motions very deliberately at it, and after a few repeated attempts it squats, then sits down behind a car before climbing down from his perch. He takes his ruck off and sets it on top of a car, then digs in it long enough to produce a flare gun. He cracks the chamber open, digs in the bag, and then loads it with a single cartridge before flipping it around in his hand to hold the barrel. He gestures to Fred with it, offering it to him.

"See if you can get on the station roof and handle overwatch for the meeting. I don't expect trouble, but if they spook you, let rip. If I go down, shoot off the flare. Drone overhead'll turn the Mall to dust if it sees it. Florida, you're with me. Anybody trips your bullshit detector, let loose. Would rather not get my ass shot off by the Children of the Corn. We clear?"

Nic the Merc Viper Actual

 

[Hard Boiled]

Along the way, Charlie stayed in the middle of the file, not making much noise except to make sure everyone was drinking enough water. When they passed the gang of Latents, Charlie resisted the urge to toss them some food - a trait he’d still been working on unlearning, as nobody would do the same for him, not anymore. The devolution of human infrastructure was quick, but not necessarily human social instinct. At least, not his. For the first year or so, when supplies weren’t picked clean everywhere, some kind survivors might give you half a bottle of water, or maybe a granola bar, but now, there would be no such kindness, not for a long time, and he wouldn’t dare make the mistake of giving away valuable supplies.

Upon reaching their next stop, a truck full of Infected, Charlie put his hand on Ms. Roberts’ shoulder and guided her to the rear of the pack, behind the cover of an overturned sedan, long rusted and held in place by the divider it’d crashed into. It was only after they’d settled that, through the sunroof, he noticed the mangled remains of the driver inside, picked clean by Infected. He decided not to point it out.

“Don’t run off on us, please,” he advised Ms. Roberts, keeping his hand on the pocket of his bag containing his Springfield .40 subcompact.

 

[Viper Actual]

“Christ alive, what do you think. Think it woulda been worse if it was like a grown child stuck in a seatbelt?”

Fredrik looked at Ryan as he replied before turning towards Eden. He shrugged slightly. "Honestly? I don't get as scared by the infected as I used to." He lifted his rifle and pointed away from the checkpoint in some vague, general direction. "In my opinion the shit people still do to each other is worse. Much worse." He shook his head and muttered something in Swedish before approaching Ryan.
Taking the flare gun by the barrel Fred's stern, tired and dark eyes met with Ryan's for a brief moment. His focus shifted to the weapon in his hand and using his second hand he popped open the break-action mechanism to inspect the inside of the weapon and the cartridge itself. Looked fine, at least by post-Crash standards.

"Roger, will do." Replied Fred before tucking in the flare gun behind his plate armor. He shouldered his rifle in a low-ready stance and began to circle around the building trying to find a way up to the roof. There was a ladder nailed to the side of the building but it had definitively seen way better days as every inch of its metallic surface was covered in rust, moss and vines. Fred didn't trust that it'd be able to carry his entire weight so he placed his recollected backpack on the ground and clipped on a carbine hook to the top handle before slowly climbing up to the roof. Upon reaching the roof he wrapped a nylon rope around his right forearm and used it to pull up the rucksack up along the wall.

Once the backpack was on the roof it was placed next to the ladder for easy access if he needed to pull out. Down below Ryan was giving out orders. "Understood," said Fred nodding before getting into position, taking a knee next to a modest wall of sandbags up on the roof. From his overwatch point he could see a great deal. The terrain was moderately forested but most of the trees around this part were thin and short, offering poor options as far as concealment went. No, the real threat would be from the road. Cars, trucks and other abandoned wrecks for great hiding spots for all types of zekes, scavengers, hungry cannibals, rabid packs of dogs and ambushing ex-military psychos.

Fred's mind briefly went to one of many memories from his UN-missions abroad and as he refocused he felt a silent gratitude that at least he wasn't sitting overwatch at a market square trying to single out plain-clothed militants in a crowd of civilians. Post-Crash RoE was surprisingly simple in comparison with that.

Then, Fred's ears picked up the faint sound of voices. He pulled on his active ear defenders, turned them on and upped the volume by a few clicks. Rotating his head slowly from left to right allowed him to hear a rather precise direction of the sound which in this case turned out to be a good distance down the road. He couldn't hear what was being said but he did pick up faint banging as well. Fred held down both buttons on the side of his ear defenders to turn them off, tucking them down in one of his pouches.

While still in a huddled crouched-down stance he moved to the corner of the sandbags to peek down at Ryan and Eden. "I got multiple foot-mobiles down the road, bearing 314. No distinguishable markings or uniforms at this range." He paused and glanced at Eden. "There's several people down the main road," he said with a vaguely sarcastic tone, as if explaining something for someone non-military was one of the most annoying things to do. He refocused his attention to Ryan. "I'll keep an eye on them."

That said he slid back to his original position but not before placing his rifle down on the hard concrete roof. He looked straight up into the sky and held up two fingers towards his face, making the gesture for 'I see' and then holding up two fists next to eachother. Slowly, one of the balled fists moved away from the other and then Fred used his right hand to point in the direction he'd seen the figures, effectively signaling that he'd spotted something a great distance in the indicated direction.

Once all that was done he cracked a pair of green glowsticks and placed them on the roof to mark his and the DHQS agents positions before grabbing a rifle and scoping down the road to continue observation.

 

[Aeris]

Ashlynn remained silent as she followed the group onward towards wherever Sybille had said they were going. In truth, her mind had gone blank the moment Ms. Roberts had appeared. Her only thoughts had been wanting to turn around and go back home, even now the urge was strong. But she knew doing that was not practical, Sybille had offered her a job and she intended to see it through till the end. As they passed the latents, Ashlynn offered them a tense smile. She knew from experience how hard it was to travel, selling whatever people deemed useful in an apocalypse. It was the main reason she had decided to stay in the mall, less travel and people were always willing to buy whatever she could find that day.

Another hour passed in silence. Ashlynn had vaguely heard Sybille's update to the group, but her mind was elsewhere. Well, was elsewhere. A bang echoed from down the street, drawing Ashlynn back to reality. She cursed under her breath, pulling her compound bow from behind her. Maybe it a perfect world, she would never have had to learn to shoot. Unfortunately, the world was far from perfect.

"Sure," Ashlynn moved to stand next to Teddy, bow still aimed at the truck. She tried her best to keep her aim steady, sure, plenty of people were numb to those rotten corpses. Ashlynn wasn't though and didn't think she'd ever gain that immunity. She just prayed no one would take notice of the bows' slight shake.

 

[Nic the Merc]

“How do you think this’ll go down? You think they’re gonna have a parade for the long lost US Government finally coming to save the day?” Florida snorted, inspecting her handgun critically before the yokels showed up. Satisfied, she returned it to her holster. Better safe than sorry, even if she felt pretty confident in Fred.

“For real, though - have you actually met with any settlements on this side before? I prefer knowing what people are assuming about me before I walk in the door. I got used to the looks quarantined citizens gave me, are these gonna be the same?” Eden sighed, remembering the stupid hope in people’s eyes when she would show up with her squads in the beginning. Remembered how over the years that hope mutated into indifference until it culminated into accepting disdain. The apocalypse was far more lonely than she had planned.

Florida had never been a fan of the government herself. You can't trust a government that has lost all touch with reality. Even now, NUSA always felt like they were attempting to get things back to "normal" as if that would ever be possible. She couldn't imagine earning safety and independence in the harshness of an apocalyptic world only for the violent remnants of an old, failed government to attempt to reclaim what you fought for so they can make you follow their rules. Truth be told, Florida couldn't wait to desert her post. But it was not at all time for that yet. For now she would do her job and do it well.

Florida’s eyes watched the landscape in anticipation of their meeting, craving the heat her flask could provide her, knowing she’d need to leave it alone for now. She couldn’t wait for introductions to be over so she could do some trading and get some social interaction around the Mall. Maybe they had some liquor other than homemade. That thought made her smile and stand a little straighter.

 

[idiot]

jordan khatri.​

"You got it, ma'am," Jordan whispered, watching as Charlie guided Ms Roberts towards an overturned, rusted sedan. Charlie - or Doc as Jordan called him - was a busy man who seemed to be constantly dealing with the never-ending injuries at the Mall. He had even cared for Jordan on occasion, mostly scrapes and cuts from scaling walls or attempting to make too-wide leaps from one ledge to another. Now Ms Roberts was another story. Did Jordan like the Founders? Hell no. Did she play nice? Damn right she did. She recalled something her father, Wayne, would say: Your enemy should also be your best friend. Jordan was quite cozy with the Founders and would often do runs for them to find more personal items they wanted - fragrances, books and other memorabilia from the old world. Favours were priceless in this world. It was why she found herself in the very moment, asking one of the Founders to let her go along for this mission.

Jordan followed the pair and squatted by Ms Roberts side, "don't worry, I'll protect you," she winked with her charismatic smile plastered on her face. Deftly scaling the sedan, Jordan's hands secured her recurve bow, chipped pink paint revealing the original orange finish. Retrieving an arrow, she nocked it into place and aimed towards the rhythmic thumps from the truck. She was a decent enough shot and if they got past the main group she could pick off any stragglers that approached them.

“Everyone ready?” Sybille called, “One… two…” Jordan took a deep breath, pulling back the sturdy string.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Lars travelled with the group at the rear to make sure they had a keen eye constantly glancing behind them. He expected the journey to be long before anything exciting happened; he happily listened in on any chatter the group performed as he normally did. Eavesdropping was one of the many ways Lars entertained himself during long treks. Whispers, mutters; nothing was said without Lars' ear. His eyes remained vigilant though as he checked every corner and alley they passed.

When Lars heard the banging up ahead, he quickly pivoted and raised his rifle in a crouch, sweeping right to left in the direction the group came from. He knew the others would be occupied with wherever the noise came from up ahead, so he took the opportunity to check their flank. His Remington was suddenly much heavier in his hands as he waited for the others to mention what it was. He was ready to hop the line of barriers in the road to get distance in the event it was a sudden Casualty attack. When Sybille called out Casualties in the truck, Lars made sure to voice his thoughts. "Everyone watch your step. This could be a distraction for a more elaborate trap."

When Sybille called his name and a task for him to do, he stood back up fully and stepped to the head of the group. "Just say when," He spoke as he readied himself on the opposite side of the trailer from her. He shouldered his Remington and pulled out his sidearm for better handling this close to the supposed threat. His left hand was placed on the hatch, ready to swing it open and step back whenever Sybille was ready.

Sybille finished her countdown with a resounding "Three!" and Lars yanked the handle with as much force as he could. The rusted hinges gave way as he pulled the door open in sync with Sybille. Once the door was open wide enough to be satisfactory, Lars took large steps backwards with his sidearm raised.

 

[queendilettante]

"Three!" Sybille shouted as she and Lars yanked the handles to the back of the truck. On Sybille's side, the decaying hinges gave way under the force she pulled with. The heavy door fell into her causing her to stumble backward; the door fell mere inches from her feet, but that was enough to prevent broken bones before the meeting with the DHQS had even begun. Regaining her composure, she saw that Lars had had significantly better luck with his door; he had successfully backed up and taken aim at the group of infected that had spilled out.

Four Casualties were confined inside of the rusty tractor trailer. Sybille quickly and unfortunately realized that the group of infected were a bit too young. Fuck, they were teenagers. Her mind immediately jumped to Jordan. Sybille glanced back to make sure she was still safe with Charlie and Kat, which she appeared to be. Her momentary lapse in focus nearly ended her mission early though, as one of the Casualties, a boy that couldn't have been infected later than 16, lunged in her direction. "Shit!"

Sybille stumbled back again and took aim at the Casualty moving in her direction. Before firing, she noticed Lars was in her sights behind the zombie. "Fuck," she spat. She quickly lunged a few feet over to her left to make sure nothing but the truck was behind the walking corpse before firing with her shotgun. The blast took off the creature's left shoulder and most of its jaw, knocking it back. Cursing, Sybille took aim again at the staggered Casualty. Remembering to cover her mouth with a bandana, she locked in on the its head and fired. The infected fell down, dead, as black blood splattered over the back of the truck. Luckily, none of the poison got on Sybille.

Before she could relax, she took a deep breath and turned to the rest of the group. The three others seemed to have split and each were going after a different member of her group. Sybille aimed her shotgun at the group, but if her aim wasn't perfect, she'd end up taking a chunk of Lars, Ash, or Teddy with the infected. All she could do was watch, gun aimed in the group's direction, and hope her team could handle them.

Solar Daddy Aeris Togy

 

[Aeris]

There were two things Ashlynn did not plan on doing today.

One, escorting a founder.

Two, killing infected.

And yet, somehow, Ashlynn found herself doing exactly those things. She held her breath as Sybille and Lars pulled open the truck doors. If luck had been on her side, there would have only been one infected that either of the two could kill. Unfortunately, like most days, luck was not in Ashlynn's favor. One infected did in fact exit the truck, however, three more quickly followed suit. Ashlynn watched in horror as one of the infected broke off from the group and made its way towards her. Her grip on her bow loosened as she staggered backward.
"Not today..." The last thing she ever wanted to do whenever she left the mall was kill infected. She'd been doing so good the last three years, always managing to sneak around them or find an alternate way to go. When she did have to fight she always chose to shoot their chest, it never killed them, but it made it easier for her to dip out of the area.

Now though? She had no choice. That thing was getting closer by the second, and she couldn't even run away, not with the group around. The last thing she needed to do was ruin the reputation she had spent the last three years building up. Ashlynn reluctantly raised her gaze to meet the infected. At first glance, she could tell it had once been a young girl, a teenager to be more specific. Slowly though, the teenager's features morphed into her mother's. Ashlynn's throat tightened at the sight of what could be her mother's rotting corpse. Was it bad Ashlynn had forgotten what her mom looked like alive? She knew she was beautiful once upon a time, that memory, unfortunately, was in a place Ash couldn't reach.

And then reality came crashing back all at once. Ashlynn snapped out of her daze just as the teenage infected lunged for her. She jumped to the right, narrowly avoiding being grabbed before aiming her bow at it. Her mother's face was gone, replaced once again with whoever the young girl had once been. Of course, it wasn't her. Part of Ashlynn was relieved, no matter how many times she had played the scenario in her head she knew the day she finally found her parents was the day she would probably die.

Ashlynn directed her gaze downwards as she released an arrow. The sound of the corpse hitting the ground was all she needed to know it was dead. Ashlynn retrieved her arrow from the girl's head with a sigh and silently watched the rest of the fight.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Lars took calculated steps backwards once the threshold was open. Immedietly his previous position was occupied by the exodus of four Casualties - each ready for a new survivor to chomp down on. One had its eyes set on Lars, to which he welcomed. He had backed up with plenty of distance to breathe and grab his mask from his hip. It released from the sling easily as it always did for quick access. With one hand Lars performed a practiced maneuver to bring the gas mask down over his head and cover his face. Even without the filter, it proved valuable in protecting against contaminants and was easy to clean and reuse. His firearm never dropped from being aimed at the Casualty approaching him. Putting on his mask was something Lars needed to do when combating any infected. It was a ritual of his that began back before his time in the Ashfields.

Lars simply enjoyed being faceless. It made him feel powerful and unrecognizable. And by making himself unrecognizable, it helped him think of the Casualties he faced as less real, something he saw through a screen. Like normal, he could no longer recognize the teenager before him as a teenager turned infected; just a Casualty without a face. Lars produced his sharpened blade from its sheath in an ice pick grip in his offhand. By this point the Casualty had nearly reached him, but that was just fine by Lars; he abruptly surged forward and produced a powered kick to the Casualty's decrepit kneecap, forcing it to bend the wrong way. When it collapsed, Lars' boot came down on its chest. Then, he finished it with a swift stab through its left eye. Lars held the blade deep until the movement stopped, making sure to check his surroundings in the meantime. No other Casualties had aggro'd him, though the others seemed to have their hands full with the rest of the group. "One down," Lars called out once he pulled the blade from the brains it rested in. He stepped off the corpse and kept it in his view as he observed the others.