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nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
handsofwinter) wrote in nexus_crossings2019-02-02 12:56 pm
Entry tags:
Into a Rising Wind
Winter holds the Nexus in its jaws, and its teeth sink ever deeper.
A month into the storm, the snow has yet to stop falling. The number of mouths to be fed has stopped dwindling, almost. Occasionally people go missing, and those who notice hope they’ve found a way back through their portals. It’s not enough to change the maths on their food supplies - all their supplies. Nobody is getting a full meal at a time, not any more. Isidor and Lyall have begun to enforce the rationing with iron hands. Both ignore the look that crosses Captain Kirk’s face when they upbraid a volunteer cook for being too generous – the look that lingers on Runa’s face if she’s close enough to hear. They’re doing what they must. They need a tight hold on their supplies if they want to get people through this. They need supplies even to send expeditions after more.
And expeditions are a difficult prospect now. Those who ventured into the storm and returned have brought stories that spread faster than Isidor hoped. The Crossroads Cafe has become a semi-official hub for those travelling outside or keeping watch on the bounds, a safe resting place kept warm by the combined power of Pokemon and Persona. In the long dark nights, people sit around the tables and share what they've seen, what they've heard from this scout or that refugee. Whispered tales of the creatures out there hunting in packs, hounding people from rooftops, even tearing open walls to reach them…
No-one goes out alone, now. Those brave enough to take the risk go in groups and arm themselves with the best weapons they can find. Sometimes they’re a risk to themselves. Not everyone knows how to handle that black market plasma pistol they picked up two days past. Not all of their team-mates keep their nerve when a figure looms out of the snows beside them. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s run afoul of monsters, and who of their own folly. Safer, but little less brave, are the people recruited to keep watch on that shifting line of torches. Just a precaution. The creatures don’t come past it, everyone says. But quietly, everyone doubts.
There've been bright moments, too. A strange alchemist comforting a lost child. An expedition team fighting their way home, back to back. Families brought safely through the snow by soldiers and wizards, by heroes young and old and sometimes surprising. A volunteer cook stepping up to prepare, if not quite a hundred thousand meals, then something that feels close. A young man saving the life of a stranger who'd threatened him. The past weeks have seen people who may never have known one another before come together to offer a blanket, or guiding words, or a helping hand in a search. Small moments, glowing reminders of how much good the people of the Nexus have on their side. But the Winter goes on, and the winds never get less bitter, and the smiles get more strained with every day.
Slowly the line of torches close on the Plaza, a noose no-one can afford to flee. Sheltered space is at a premium. Most of those who remain are settled as close to the centre as they can be. Whether in the big public bunker or the Cafe, people find themselves crammed all together, and tempers regularly fray among residents not too cold and exhausted for fighting. The more responsible Nexus-goers find themselves trying to duck out of (or break up) fights, or spending hours stuffing drafty accommodation with any insulation they can find. There’s snow to be shoveled from doors, pipes to be defrosted, bandages to be changed. Anything’s better than dealing with the problem of working bathrooms.
At one end of the Plaza headquarters, a makeshift screen has been dragged into place to give a semblance of privacy to Isidor’s desk. It’s painfully early in the morning, though the nights are so long and the days so dim beneath the storm clouds there’s little sense of time any more. There’s no-one around yet to wonder about the meeting going on. The only people present are Isidor, Lyall and a handful of senior volunteers – those who remain. Blaze-37 crouches by a makeshift fireplace, stacking the salvaged wood just right before she punches it lightly, setting it alight with the flames that ripple over her fist. The other robot, Ghost, is hovering over the desk playing flashlight for them, shining a pale beam over the maps and reports laid out there. Light, too, is a precious resource, as batteries die and outlets are lost to encroaching Winter. It’s the only reason those here have gotten sleep. They work until they have no light to work by.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Suou?” the Guardian asks when Isidor says they can begin.
“Officer Suou won’t be coming.”
That’s part of why they’re here, Isidor explains. The torches’ march has taken them past the Grand Library. The Crossroads Café is now on the very edge of the safe zone, along with all the people sheltering there. Katsuya’s magic is the only thing that will protect it. He can’t leave. It’s a turning point that only drives home the larger problem: they’re running out of time. They’re running out of everything. Most refugees are in some kind of shelter by now; what they lack is food to keep them alive and fuel to keep them warm. Isidor’s volunteers have counted heads and counted tins and counted everything backwards and forwards and the numbers never get better. Either they do something now, while they have the strength, or the meals will run dry in two weeks. Less, if anything goes wrong.
She lets that sink in. Nobody looks surprised: she’s confirming their worst suspicions and that gets a few flinches, but they understand. They talk, instead. By the time there’s a hint of daylight outside and someone knocks on the door for the first shot at rations, they have a plan. They need an expedition, bigger than any before. They need enough arms to discourage attack, the skills to get them to any buried supplies and the numbers to haul them back in quantity. Each of them walks away from the table with a mission in mind and an air of grim determination.
They have a job to do, and they’re going to need help.
((As before, so below: the main missions/subquests for the expedition prep are listed below. Tag any of them, threadhop, or post with your own character. I suggest putting your character’s name in the subject to help keep things clear. The OOC Post can be found here! If you have any questions, feel free to message me or one of the mods!))
Threads of Note
Scouting the Expedition | A Fistful of Torches | Scrapyard Sweep | The Home Front | Medical Attention | Isidor's Expedition Call | Main Expedition: The Raid
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She does know what that thin beam of red light is and how dangerous it can be. And quickly she tackles Zandros to get him out of the way, before he is exploded into a million different pieces. "Heads down!"
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Bang. Bang bang BOOM.
-safe?
Zandros needs to get his head together, fast. One charge after another goes off in the walls of scrap around them, rapid-fire, too many and too fast to figure out where the dull shudders are emanating from. Suddenly the sway of junk above becomes a totter, a lean, rusting cars collapsing into tangled scrap and then it all begins to slide, a wave of crumpled metal and jagged tetanus-laden shards rolling down on the team. No time to think. There’s only running, finding somewhere that’s safe as the wave slams into the junk behind them and another slide begins to their left…
Eventually the thunder ebbs, and there’s only the slumped mounds of slowly settling junk behind them. By wits or strength or miracle everyone’s alive, and nobody is seriously hurt… but Harley and Zandros find themselves alone on one path, with no sign of their gnomish scientist.
And Tamminy? Who knows where she is, but it’s not the path back to the entrance. There’s just a vicious, impassable mountain of junk behind her.
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When they finally reach safety... Harley is quick to realize that Tamminy is not with them. She turns to pound on the ground by the junk that has separated them from the scientist.
"Fuck!" Not her most dignified response. She studies the area around them. Taking a moment to catch her breath and think about their situation.
She studies the junk piles, looking to see if there is perhaps away to climb to the top. And keeps her eye out for any useful material.
"We have to find her. And find a way back." She turns to face Zandros. Tilts her head slightly. "Were you injured? I didn't tackle you too hard, did I?"
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Only when Harley stops and cuts the air with her cursing does he skid to a halt and backtrack those few feet to be by her side. And that's when he realizes what she already knows.
"Oh, Doctor," he says, his breaths still shaky from his fear.
He sets to shaking his head fast, and it's a good distraction from the adrenaline coursing through his body, numbing his hands and feet and weakening his knees. "N-no, no, I... I think I hit you? I'm..." He licks his lips. Sweat begins to bead on his red face. "I'm so sorry. For you, for..." No. Now isn't the time to compromise his dignity with words.
He takes the first collected breath he's had in minutes and nods seriously at Harley. "We have to find her. Quickly, I should think. Here's hoping she's sensible enough to stay hidden in one place until we can backtrack to her."
That's when he looks around to survey their new location. Where the hell are they? Does anything stand out in this garbage heap?
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Someone must have heard that tumult.
Beyond the immediate wreckage around them, three paths open that run more-or-less parallel ahead through the junk. It's hard to be sure with the sky darkly overcast, no reference points to be seen amid the ragged landscape, but it seems like the paths go roughly in the direction they were originally aiming for. From down the one to the far left, carried on the wind, comes a quiet, harsh sound, like murmured orders…
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"Oh she is a smart cookie. I know she will take care of herself, until we can reconnect with her." Harley studies the three open paths.
"But someone set up a trap to catch intruders... and now we are caught in it." The wind carries the quiet, harsh sound to them. And Harley glances at Zandros. "Okay, that path might lead us right to the enemy."
"As much as I enjoy a good fight... I would rather that we have the advantage. So..." There is no difference between the paths, as far as she can tell. Harley does a quick 'Eeny, meeny, miny, moe' between the other two paths. And lands on the center path.
"Might as well go down this one. Whatcha think?" Zandros is still the leader of the group, so if he has a different opinion, Harley is asking for it.
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"Do you hear that?" he whispers to Harley. "Down the left. It sounds like someone's speaking. If we go that way, we're likely to meet up with them. But... Chances are, they're the ones that set the trap in the first place. They could have organized this in the hopes that we'd follow down the center and right pathways. There are bound to be traps there. If we go straight, as you've suggested, keep a keen eye."
Finally he nods in the direction she pointed and hefts his shield. "We'll go your way. I'll lead again. The shield might protect us from the next trap. Let's move carefully."
And with that, he's setting off down the center pathway.
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And then they turn a corner to find a small cadre of shapes bobbing at about chest height. Not monsters. Robots! Small robots about a foot across, with flattened, rounded off shells colored a dull purple. They have no limbs, just a couple of long fins jutting back from their underside, a pair of jets mounted at their back to keep them suspended in the air. The three of them appear to be studying the rubbish... until one of them turns toward the humans' movement. A trio of unevenly placed lights glow at its front, and beneath that is... oh dear. That definitely looks like a gun.
It gives a thin electronic trill before its energy weapon opens fire.
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She has no issues with moving through the criss-crossed web of lasers. It might be a little obvious that she has done this before.
When they turn the corner to find the robots... and she spots the gun. "Zandros! Get cover!"
She dodges and weaves away from Zandros. And with a growl at her lips, brings out her bat. There is something dangerous in her eyes, as she starts to run towards the robots. Harley uses her gymnastic abilities to continue to dodge the firing of the energy weapon. But right now her goal is to get closer to the robot with the gun... and slam her bat on the attacking robot.
Honestly, Harley is just tired of running. And needs to take a stand right now.
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Better think fast, however. There are shadows moving through the snow farther down this aisle. A guttural sound echoes from the rusted walls, like a voice, like words deep and stilted and unnatural.