Furiosa's eyes are covered by goggles, her tattered black Imperator scarf drawn across her face, same as she would prep for a dust storm. The snow and wind aren't bad when they set out, but the faster the snowmobile moves, the more the ice will drive into her face. Her metal fingers curl around the steering wheel. It doesn't feel the same as the Rig, or one of her bikes back home, but it's solid, and its what they've got, and they trusted her with it. It's going to get back to the compound if her undead corpse has to haul it in its teeth.
When the ships appear, hovering overhead, that whole undead thing starts to look like a distinct possibility.
So that's why they were so determined to get Dia's ship, she surmises silently. They didn't want competition.
She watches the troops drop from the bellies of the ships, watches the ships remain, and while she's never faced tech like this in her own world, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that that means there are more where they came from. If not more ships (there are probably more ships) there are definitely more troops.
If it were her fleet, and she were these Fallen, she'd have more ships waiting, either hovering over the edge of the cliff behind them, invisibly, or set at the base. If this wave didn't decimate their ranks, she'd make sure the next one, coming up behind them, did.
But she's punched a single Rig through three War Parties before.
She tugs her scarf down, gunning the engine. "Kinner! I'm gonna need you to stay on like your fucking life depends on it. Do not fall off, because I can't stop for you if you do. This thing's about to become a battering ram."
Her right hand gropes the dashboard and pulls out the Glock and undoes the safety, but then her spine jolts up straight as she watches Blaze set the front ranks of the enemy--
well, ablaze. Yeah, good name choice, there. Furiosa only presses the gas harder, moving ahead and a little to the left of the epicenter of the destruction Blaze has wrought, prepared to dodge and punch through the chaos.
Azwel's barrage of red and blue light dazzle her eyes, even coming hard on the heels of Blaze's sunfire. Red, gold, blue, like a Wasteland sunset on nitrous. She laughs quietly, because it's so familiar and so completely insane at the same time.
What in V8's name is she doing here? One little human amidst these gods and demons? She's only meat and bone, with a patched-up hole in one lung and an inability to quit when there's a task in front of her.
But she's not alone.
"If they start to cling to the vehicle, you've got to get them off," she tells Kinner, and hopes he can fill the role she's used to having Max or Ace for.
And with that, she aims the snowmobile at a space where the ranks look thinner. Where a wider spread of the bigger Fallen take the place of shoulder-to-shoulder ranks of the smaller ones, and, pistol up and firing, prepares to plow straight into them.
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When the ships appear, hovering overhead, that whole undead thing starts to look like a distinct possibility.
So that's why they were so determined to get Dia's ship, she surmises silently. They didn't want competition.
She watches the troops drop from the bellies of the ships, watches the ships remain, and while she's never faced tech like this in her own world, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that that means there are more where they came from. If not more ships (there are probably more ships) there are definitely more troops.
If it were her fleet, and she were these Fallen, she'd have more ships waiting, either hovering over the edge of the cliff behind them, invisibly, or set at the base. If this wave didn't decimate their ranks, she'd make sure the next one, coming up behind them, did.
But she's punched a single Rig through three War Parties before.
She tugs her scarf down, gunning the engine. "Kinner! I'm gonna need you to stay on like your fucking life depends on it. Do not fall off, because I can't stop for you if you do. This thing's about to become a battering ram."
Her right hand gropes the dashboard and pulls out the Glock and undoes the safety, but then her spine jolts up straight as she watches Blaze set the front ranks of the enemy--
well, ablaze. Yeah, good name choice, there. Furiosa only presses the gas harder, moving ahead and a little to the left of the epicenter of the destruction Blaze has wrought, prepared to dodge and punch through the chaos.
Azwel's barrage of red and blue light dazzle her eyes, even coming hard on the heels of Blaze's sunfire. Red, gold, blue, like a Wasteland sunset on nitrous. She laughs quietly, because it's so familiar and so completely insane at the same time.
What in V8's name is she doing here? One little human amidst these gods and demons? She's only meat and bone, with a patched-up hole in one lung and an inability to quit when there's a task in front of her.
But she's not alone.
"If they start to cling to the vehicle, you've got to get them off," she tells Kinner, and hopes he can fill the role she's used to having Max or Ace for.
And with that, she aims the snowmobile at a space where the ranks look thinner. Where a wider spread of the bigger Fallen take the place of shoulder-to-shoulder ranks of the smaller ones, and, pistol up and firing, prepares to plow straight into them.