Futuristic The Watch

[SeanTheGrid]

The nearly bone-thin demolitionist clambers to the front of the bus, cigarette sticking through the hole a filter would normally screw into. He looks about, tapping his superior on the shoulder as he tries to climb into the front seat.

"Hey. You got any spare rounds I can steal?"

The man really doesnt seem to be too concerned about the entire situation, muscles relaxed and his tone indicating that he's.... Bored? Huh. He stretches in his seat, bundle of dynamite secured between his thighs.

 

[Croike]

Talbot sighs deeply as the man talks to him. "I can pass you a spare magazine when we stop moving. But I need to focus on the road right now. Let me know if you see anything."

He keeps his vision glued to the road ahead, scanning the perimeter as he handles the wheel. He's thinking more than anything about what they might be running blindly into. The lack of any actual intelligence about the deployment gnawing at him.

 

[TekSoda]

Green turns to McCallaster. "Will do," she shouts back. She ducks to make sure her head is below the turret, and turns her attention back to the road - partially because she was seated at the rear of the vehicle, a direction with its fair share of blind spots, and partially because there wasn't much else to look at. Focusing on staying steady was a priority, of course, her death grip still hadn't loosened - it had tightened, in fact - but she figured she could walk and chew gum at the same time.

"Thanks for the heads up," she adds, straining her voice to make sure he could hear her despite the car's engine and her facing away from him.

 

[Lorsh]

There are twelve buckshot shells inside of the scattergun bag in the armored car turret. Upon cracking it open slightly, two shells are already in the barrels.

Watchpost 7A disappears behind the convoy in a cloud of dust as the two armored vehicles make their way along the cracked asphalt road, heading into the Gloom.

The Gloom is a vast expanse of wasteland which now comprises most of the world. Twisted, dead trees and meagre shrubs stretch as far as the eye can see. Every now and then, one might see the remains of an old world vehicle or building, though most of them have been stripped bare by scavengers looking for precious materials at this point. Birds are rarely heard, only the faint buzz of small insects.

Varying degrees of mutations can be found out here. Some of them look more or less derived from old world animals, while other mutations are strange horrors that look akin to no man or beast from before the war.




<:: RESPONSE TEAM OBJECTIVE; INVESTIGATE AND REPORT. [SEE COORDINATES]

The auto-dispatch is supplemented by the voice of an officer belonging to the Watch Alert Service(1).

<:: "Police militia element [TAG: KALTOWN] responded to a hostile anomalous report near Halveston Farmstead. Note; this was not forwarded by the police commander until after the local team was already dispatched and reporting no status for 45 minutes. Response team, prep for possible encounter, and attempt to reestablish contact with local authorities. Over."

It was a common situation; one of the prideful Gloom settlements sent their local police to deal with a problem instead of calling the Watch immediately.

(1) Watch Alert Service (WAS), along with auto-dispatch, coordinates intel from Gloom settlements on mutant sightings.

WLT. THERK Therk took Thompson's suggestion and shifted up to the front, around the time she had to acknowledge the local surveillance team. "Copy that, WAS. Out," she said. She spoke into her radio to follow-up. "Make sure you're locked and loaded, keep an eye out for local police, as well as any civilians from the initial report. We're going to be closing in on Halveston shortly. At that stage of the game, we're going to wait in the vehicles for three minutes, then disembark and set up an all-round defensive position around the convoy before moving to investigate, over."

 

[Croike]

Talbot brings the bus to stop behind the APC, leaving about four feet of space between the two vehicles. He does a cursory scan of the horizon, trying to get a feel for their immediate area, and then he waits.

The waiting feels agonizing, one minute- two minutes, three minutes slowly, almost languidly making their way. At the mark of 180 seconds, he immediately disembarks from the driver's cabin, taking a knee and pointing his rifle outward toward danger. The sounds of his comrades making their own movements is a comfort amid the endless grey fog.

 

[SeanTheGrid]

The demolitionist pulls a half-dozen sticks of dynamite from his box, sliding them into custom-made sheathes for each. He ejects the magazine from his handgun, ensuring it's loaded before he makes his way out of the drivers cab, zippo open. His body is hunched halfway, as if he's got some form of extreme arthritis: But it's mostly just to look at his gear. He scans the area.

"So, this is where we're working? If I blow up the farm, am I gonna get my pay docked?"

The mans' hands fiddle with the lighter, lighting it and shutting it off: As he does so, he tugs another four sticks from his bag, tying the fuses to a central one and wrapping them in twine.

 

[bobgod]

SWA. THOMPSON As the APC arrived at the checkpoint, Thompson steadily brought the beast to a halt, clutching in, and moving the stick to neutral. He pulled up the e-brake, the ratcheting sound of the mechanism slightly echoing off the cold interior of the vehicle. He took his foot off the brake, and the vehicle slid back, then being caught by the rear drum brakes with a few rusty creaks. Thompson fidgeted with a few switches on the dashboard, before taking his hand off the steering wheel. Thompson looked over to his officer besides him, and began to speak, "Ma'am, the APC is locked down, ready to get deploy at your command," The senior watchmen leaned over to the left, reaching for his service pistol, checking the magazine for ammunition, and making sure it was good to go. He returned the piece to his holster then fidgeted around with a few more things, checking the old dialogue watch on his wrist, verifying the time with the clock in the cockpit, zipping closed any open pockets, and other obscure rituals Thompson had developed during his pre-conflict angst.

 

[Fatness]

Wayne Thickard was seated in the back of the armored bus, he wasn't quite sure how long he has been in it. Not that it bothered him, anyway.
Sitting on the edge of his seat, his elbows resting on his thighs, leaning over his reliable shotgun clasped between his two, slightly disfigured hands.

He took his time looking on the stained, grimy floor of the vehicle he was in, imagining himself in an opulent mansion, gorging himself exotic food and having his needs met by squadrons of servants. His thoughts were interrupted by the deceleration of the bus, where he lifted his head and looked around, examining his situation for the first time. There his fellow watchmen were, some looking anxiously through the numerous window slits that the bus possesses.

Thickard wasn't sure exactly why we were halted, but that's the prize for unawareness. But the waiting- the waiting was trying his anxiety.

He took up his shotgun and clutched it firmly within his hands, keeping it pointed at the floor. Ensuring it was loaded did little to fortify his unease.
It didn't take him long to finally stand up and make his way out of the vehicle.
He also saw the driver, Conrad Talbot, stepping out.

"Why are we stopping here for this damn long?", spat out Thickard towards Talbot, taking a position a few feet near him, grasping his shotgun tightly.

He only then eyed his new surroundings, a miserable locale that he would loath to spend any extended period of time at.

 

[Croike]

Talbot underhand tosses a pistol magazine to the demolitions 'expert' with a few words to follow it. "Just don't blow anything up unless someone says you should." He turns to address Thickard "We're waiting a moment to make sure nothing has followed us through the Fog. Curious mutants might have been following the lights and noise. It's a precautionary measure."

He keeps his breathing steady as he looks out into that pale greyness once more. "I understand why we're doing it. The Lieutenant wants to make sure we're not going to get attacked from behind while we're looking for those missing cops." He shakes his head softly as he mentions them. "I don't think it's very likely we're going to find any survivors."

 

[Lorsh]

Three minutes pass, and the order is given to disembark from the vehicles. The WLT gives orders for Ney to remain on the turret to provide extra firepower in case things suddenly go pear-shaped, however.

The Watchmen that left the bus would quickly find something in the ditch next to the convoy, partly obscured by dead brambles; a pile of dessicated human remains. From the scraps of clothing still clinging to the old meat, it doesn't look like a policeman, however.

WLT. THERK "Let's go, Thompson." After opening the hatch, Therk's boots hit the ashen ground, and she immediately brings her subgun up at hip-level as she surveys the wasteland and speaks to her team commander and turret gunner via radio. "McCallaster, make sure there's 360-degree security around the convoy. We're gonna see if anything comes at us now that our skins are out in the open. Ney, prepare to bring that turret to bear in any direction we call out." She takes a knee, and scans the Gloom, not noticing the goings-on at the other end of the convoy just yet.

 

[bobgod]

SWA. THOMPSON "Yes ma'am," Thompson replied, as he turned the key in the ignition, giving it a nice tug out, nestling off one of the spare keys from its little ring, and placing the other nestled between the roof of the car, and the sun visor. The senior watchmen then pulled the lever on his door, the metal instrument making a nice thunk, before using his boot to lazily kick the door open, stepping out. From behind his seat Thompson grabbed his rifle, bringing it about chest height, then using his off hand to shut the door, twisting toward the officer as he did. "Lieutenant, there's two keys, I'll have one in my left chest pocket, and the other is tucked up in the sun visor, should something happen to me." Thompson stood by awaiting command, intently scanning the horizon in front of him, keeping his back pressed up against the APC, hopefully preventing something from sneaking up from him.

 

[SeanTheGrid]

The bus-man shoulders his rucksack yet again, moving to the corpses as he gets aa scent: His filter's screwed back in to return him to his own little world, the man carefully beginning to pat them down: Seemingly just checking if they had any valuables he could take. He was trying to make it look as though he was making sure nothing dangerous laid within, however. His handgun is held in one hand. The mans fingers lace easily into boots to tug them off, checking if they're the right size by casually sliding them against his own feet.

 

[Croike]

Talbot motions a couple of Watchmen whose names he does not know over to him and exchanged a few words with them, then gestures toward the scavenging demolitions trooper. He curses softly under his breath at the rank unprofessionalism as he assists them in providing covering fire for the man.

Aware that the man is a Watchman, and not a wet behind the ears rookie, he simply seethes to himself as the errant squaddie begins helping himself to pawing over the corpses of the dead- in the middle of an active combat area! This would not pass muster in the Army, but alas- this sort of weakness is precisely why the Party had placed men like himself there.

He pulls a fresh faced recruit off of perim-sec detail, whispering harshly to the boy. "Junior Watchman." He begins. "You are to walk, not run- walk, and mind where you place your feet, to Lieutenant Therk and relay this message. There are bodies, not recent kills but less than three days old. No sign of uniform on the bodies. Do you understand? Yes? Good. Repeat it to me." He nods as the boy stutters the message in a hushed tone. "Now go!" He hisses.

 

[Lorsh]

[apparently the alert system is messed up]

Heyitsjiwon
Croike
bobgod
SeanTheGrid
TekSoda
The_split_Nation
ADarkAndStormyNight

Klein would be able to find a pair of ratty leather boots on the tangle of human remains, though the left sole had a large gash on it. It rendered the footwear unserviceable at the moment, but they could always be repaired.

WLT. THERK "Thank-you, Thompson." She keeps note of where the secondary key is located, should anything go awry. If it came down to it, she'd probably have to have another Watchman hop behind the wheel- she wasn't exactly sure about driving this thing herself. Therk is approached by one of the Watchmen, Hewitt. The young man speaks quickly and informs her of the situation over by the bus. Apparently there were already some signs of carnage. Nodding, she waves him away and begins to walk over towards the tangle of brambles near the bus, where the body can be found. As she approaches, she raises her eyebrows, then furrows them in frustration. "My god, what in blazes are you doing?" she snarls to the demolitions Watchman as she notices that the man has become preoccupied with looting the dead. She takes a knee, and inspects the corpse... she can't gather much from looking at it, but she believed Hewitt when he told her it was fresh. She spoke into her radio. "Fall in on me. We're going to form an extended line and approach the farmstead. Ney, remain on the turret and cover our advance."

 

[bobgod]

SWA. THOMPSON Thompson follows behind the LT, keeping an eye on her six as he did, stepping backwards carefully to avoid falling over. He peeked behind himself, seeing the torn apart corpse, and the watchman grabbing at the pair of old boots. Thompson let out a little sigh, seriously questioning this guys ability to serve in the watch. It didn't matter though, and before long the LT gave her command to form a line, and so Thompson fell in, helping a few of the newbies form up, taking up the left end.

 

[SeanTheGrid]

"Hey, hey-- I'm not -just- looting the dead. Look."

The man motions to the gash mark in the sole of the boot, nodding once at the indicator of the damage.

"Either something attacked them that's small as hell, this guy kicked whatever killed him on a sharp spot, or he stepped on something sharp. Either way, gives some info on how he died. Also, checking for ID."

He straightens-- Several cracks coming from his back as he does so. He shoulders his demo gear, straddling forth to reform on the line with a pair of boots about his ruck. The man doesnt seem agitated by the wringing out in the slightest, humming a light tune to himself as he forms up: He's still working on his dynamite as he does so, ensuring the fuses are the proper length and checking their moisture.

 

[Croike]

Talbot falls into line without a word, keeping his head on a swivel as he clutches his rifle. Despite his outward silence, his thoughts are roiling. While he has never had a high opinion of the majority of his fellow Watchmen, this turn of events has left him with an uncomfortable sensation that this otherwise routine operation is about to go completely pear-shaped- and that when it does it will be solely due to the overall gross incompetence of 'professional' Watchmen.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

James, while on the turret, continued to sweep the area to try and provide overwatch over the squad as they began to dismount and go on foot. He heard his radio crackle to life as the Lieutenant gave brief orders. At least she was willing to give the men some slack on how to get things done. "Affirm, Lieutenant. Requesting that one of the men remain with the APC to allow this firing platform to relocate and get a better angle if needed. Could also use an extra pair of eyes in this tin can, over."

 

[TekSoda]

On hearing the order, Green draws her revolver, hops off the armored car, and walks to fall in line with the Watch Lieutenant, stopping when she sees the body.

Oh shit. Things are about to get serious, aren't they?

She tries her best to put her concerns out of her mind, switches her revolver out for a shotgun, and lines up with her fellow soldiers.

 

[The_split_Nation]

My god Jefferson’s heart was beating as fast as a machine guns firing, it was pure excitement, there were clear signs of mutations here, he had waited his entire life to see one and get to shoot it, the misses had asked them to form a line and approach the farmstead, but if his guts were right then they were already dead in there, even better he would get to see the beasts feeding. He walked over the remains taking a good long look and stood in the line with his bolt rifle ready, he would have to be as precise as possible, as to not harm the internals of the creature.

 

[Fatness]

Wayne Thickard did not enjoy trudging his recently polished boots through the ash and muck. He was glad enough that little got on his coat.
He kept an eye on the horizon, praying that no aberrations were lurking about, so far it hasn't been particularly worrisome. He had comrades nearby if things did happen to get out of hand.

It wasn't a while before he saw a few of his watchmen-in-arms halt before a ditch 20 feet away. Thickard turned his gaze to Rogar Klein, a man he thought was slightly spectacular, leap into the ditch for whatever reason Wayne Thickard was oblivious to. He averted his gaze and continued looking forward, there were possibly more pressing matters ahead, such as mutants, and he didn't fancy encountering any...

 

[Lorsh]

WLT. THERK Therk sighed as the Watchman tried to justify his pilfering. Despite the fact she couldn't help but sneer, she still announced for everyone to be on the lookout for anything sharp on the ground. She turned and saw Thompson fall in on the left flank, before ordering Watchman Faulks to take the right. Acknowledging Ney's transmission, she assigned Watchman Merrin to remain with the armored personnel carrier in case they needed to readjust their position. Therk pressed her scarf against her chapped lips and muffled a few hacking coughs, before fully unslinging her submachine gun and glancing down the row of Watchmen. She made sure the extended line had adequate spacing, around five metres apart. She hoped the formation would allow them to approach the farmstead and cover a wide arc of fire, as well as allow them to easily encircle a hostile, if need be. She quietly spoke into her radio. "Stay in line, don't get too far head, and don't fall behind. Reference my position." With a knife-handed gesture, she waved the formation forward.

The Watch formation marches forward through the Gloom field. Boots crunch against ash and dead grass, aside from the right flank, which mostly gets to walk on a gravel road. As the Watch advances a few hundred metres, the intact structure of a barn from the farmstead could be seen up ahead.



The area ahead reveals a small massacre. Three human figures wearing the tattered remains of faded blue uniforms are seen, all badly mutilated. Various human appendages litter the area, and the ground is slick with blood.




Therk freezes and quickly orders everyone to halt.

There are already mutants at the scene (around five of them), though they don't react to the approaching Watch line just yet. The mutations are dog-sized, spindly creatures with four legs, several mouths, and a single particularly long tongue. They utilize them like straws, poking into orifices as they drink greedily from the dead lawmen. The veteran Watchmen might recognize them as 'nectarmen', and despite the grisly feeding scene, they are probably just having a lucky break from their typical diet of rotten fruit. Of course, less experienced members would be unlikely to possess this knowledge due to the rather rushed nature of Watch training.


Nectarman​

 

[Croike]

Talbot assumes a rifleman's crouch, leveling his rifle toward the disgusting creatures. He keeps his breath measured, in and out, slowly and deeply. Gently drawing up a nice, solid bead on the target. He keeps his rifle ready, finger on the trigger but he does not fire his weapon. He's obviously waiting for something.

He sighs to himself, trying to remember any details about the exact number of cops that were sent out as he continues to wait. His posture is calm, in spite of the general tension among the team at the sight of the Nectarmen.

 

[SeanTheGrid]

The veteran demolitionist sighs as he tugs a stick of dynamite from his bandolier, a zippo lighter held casually in the same hand: He slides his handgun from its' holster as he watches, and waits: If he's given the order to reduce the beasts to a fine red mulch, he's ready to do so. He's squatting next to his superior, who gets a nice whiff of the very nasty smell of TNT.

His posture is the only thing that alerts anybody to his true intentions: Fingers tapping the grip of his pistol, the twirling of the stick: He's excited for what's to come.

 

[Lorsh]

bobgod
Croike
The_split_Nation
TekSoda
SeanTheGrid
ADarkAndStormyNight

WLT. THERK Therk instinctively placed her finger on the trigger, but hesitated. She had never seen creatures like this before... sure, she had seen lower-tier mutations such as dogs with tumors and three-eyed birds, but nothing this horrifying. She almost shot them, but she remembered that these skittish creatures weren't particularly dangerous, despite their appearance and grisly treatment of the bodies. She took a deep breath before speaking into the radio. "Team, advance. Reference scavenger-class aberrations, tagged secondary priority. Do not fire. We'll find out what actually caused this." Her feet were moving again as she waved the party forwards, though she uttered a dry cough after an awkward gulp. The nectarmen's tongues slip out of the corpses, wicking up some last droplets of blood. They begin to back away as the Watch line draws closer, and soon skitter back into the Gloom with little insectoid squeals. The lieutenant speaks into the radio again. "Green, McAllaster, go open the barn doors. Thompson, Thickard and Hollows will cover you," she replies, unfortunately messing up the latter Watchman's surname. "Klein, Talbot, do a check around the perimeter." She assigned the two other grunts, Hewitt and Faulks, to do a check on the farmhouse. Therk took a knee and scanned the surrounding area, making sure the vehicles were still in a good position.