Into a Rising Wind

[handsofwinter]

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

Comments

[eumenis]

Furiosa has played this sniper-on-sniper game before. She's one of the best shots the Citadel ever produced, but she knew Vuvalini that were better, hence her assertion she's not really a sniper. But she's icy calm under fire and she can hit a target at a few hundred meters in good visibility.

This is not good visibility, however, and while her shots are close enough to hopefully make the enemy sniper uncomfortable--certainly enough to keep them moving--she's not making any kills like this. She's relieved to catch Natasha and Azwel conferring out of the corner of her eye; someone's got an idea and she's already fully in support without knowing what it is.

Except she didn't really expect it would involve throwing Natasha at their enemies. She takes her finger off the trigger of her rifle to watch with mouth slightly agape as the redhead leaps and flies through the air. For a second, she's afraid to fire again lest she hit her teammate, but once Natasha lands safely, Furiosa starts laughing quietly under her breath as she resumes her barrage of distraction-shots.

"Fuckin' chrome. Wait 'till the Ace hears this one," she mutters.

Of course, when the rest of their opposition rounds the corner, she has a moment of doubt that the Ace will be hearing anything from her ever again what in Mother's Name is THAT??

She takes another round of shots at the sniper, unwilling to let his attention stray from her while Natasha could get the drop on him, but after that she can't ignore the demonic figure coming at them, and the rifle swivels. She aims low, going for parts of the legs that look the least armored, but even at that rate she's dismayed to see the shield send her shots deflected.

"Azwel, if you can slice that schlanger up, now's the time!" She'll turn her fire toward its entourage for the moment.

They can't give ground this time. There's no permanent retreat here.

[red_room]

A running start is easier said than done in all this snow but Natasha finds a clearish path to hop around and pick up speed before Azwel and his strange tingling energies send her arcing up and even clearing the edge of the roof so that she can land rather than pulling herself up undignified like. Questions about what those energies are exactly will have to wait until later. Whether it's magic or not matters little in the grand scheme of things in this moment.

She misses the entrance of more of the bastards in her crouching approach behind the sniper. Even with it crouched like it is the creature's as tall as Natasha at full height. If it stood up it would dwarf her with it's size. There's something familiar about the look and sound of the rifle it's using but in the moment the spy can't place where she's seen it before.

There is no shout to catch its attention. No demand for an honorable fight. Natasha is not a warrior or a soldier. She's a spy. She raises her handgun until it's aimed directly at the back of the creature's head.

Two gunshots ring out over the wind. A body will tumble down shortly thereafter. Its rifle is too large for Natasha to carry but she will throw herself down alongside the gun and prop it back up against the side of the rooftop to give Azwel and Furiosa cover fire from where she is.

Only now is Natasha catching sight of the reinforcements on the ground level. Her curses are stifled. It's going to take her some time to get her sights in and get used to the gun enough to lay that fire down though...

[lovesuwithknives]

That howl manages to cut through the wind and into Azwel's skull with its unearthly tone, tightening his spine despite its deep tone. He shakes his head. Focus! He backs up only a step as the massive shape comes toward them, baring its weapons.

Azwel has fought some very large individuals in his life, but the biggest was a little over seven feet and would likely be dwarfed by this... creature. It reminds him a bit of the Azure Knight with that armour, but even the Azure Knight wasn't this monstrous.

The energy shield gives him pause, but only a momentary pause--it needs tested, after all.

Palindrome flashes brilliantly in the semi-darkness. Red and blue light slices through the air, greataxes and swords, from above and the right and the left. He follows it with a dagger to the front.

[handsofwinter]

The smaller, human-sized creatures are clearly trying to work their way around cover to flank the pair on the ground. From her vantage point up high, Natasha will be able to spot a couple darting off down a side-street, planning to circle round and come at her comrades from behind. The others pop in and out of cover with their pistols – save for the one whose masked head erupts with a burst of pale, luminous gas as Furiosa’s rifle finds its mark, and a moment later she sends its neighbor to the ground with a ragged cry.

The big one is another problem.

The closer it gets, the easier it is to get the demon’s measure. Even without the winged helm it must be close to eight feet tall, a bandolier of those spiny pistols slung across its chest. Up close, the eye slits beneath its angled brow are four in number, all glowing the same eerie blue. It advances on them, closing the distance swiftly even through the snow. It is not, however, prepared for Azwel's multi-pronged attack. The light of his blades flash from all directions, aside and above, and the creature's shield flares blue on all sides beneath the hammering assault... and perhaps even then it would hold, but for that last strike to the chest. There's a burst of light as the shield fails, scattering sparks into the wind as the demon snarls in outrage-

Then another flash, a blur of blue-white light, and suddenly it's right on top of them, one lower hand grabbing at Furiosa's shield to wrench it away, the other swiping to try and backhand her into the snow. The words it roars are unintelligible- but the contemptuous rage rings through. Its blades are raised against Azwel, either to slash at him if he gets in range or to parry another assault, and all its attention is on the one responsible for taking it off-guard. Furiosa seems to be practically disregarded...

[eumenis]

Furiosa is distracted on two fronts at once; she fires at the creatures coming at her directly and is very gratified to see a couple of them die or explode or...whatever that was. On the other hand, she feels the need to keep half an eye on the sniper. If she and Azwel are still pinned down, they're proper fucked.

A quick glance at the roof, and the visibility is still terrible, but she's in time to hear the gunshots and catch a brief coppery flash of Natasha's hair. If that situation isn't under control, it's about to be, she thinks.

Azwel's hail of blades is impressive as fuck. Everything is so fast and so bright she can't be sure whether it's hurt the demonic creature or not, but she dares to hope. She makes no noise as the shield gets ripped away--for the moment it's irrelevant--but clings to the rifle, raising her metal arm to meet that flying backhand. Maybe it'll hurt them both.

She rolls and tumbles in the snow, but as many times as she's fallen from a moving rig and lived to tell about it, she'd be ashamed if that made her miss a beat. She's up on her knees a moment later. The Taurus will be better at close range; she pulls it from her hip holster and aims at the back of the demon's legs. Hard to tell if a projectile will get through the armor, but if they can bring it down, between her and Azwel, she's pretty sure they can exploit whatever weak points it has before it gets back up.

[red_room]

It's too dangerous to try and take potshots at the big guy with her teammates so close on the ground. Clint was the sniper. For as much as she's trained under and alongside Hawkeye over the years her skills there are nowhere near his. The truth won't make Natasha swear any less.

While she sweeps for a safer shot to take the pair who broke off from the main group emerge at the edge of the side street they'd darted down. They're still more than a quick dash away from Azwel and Furiosa but she's only likely to get one shot off before the other scatters or dives into the fray.

If Natasha leaves her vantage point up top though, they're more easily going to be flanked and ganged up on. Her breathing slows while she stares down the sights again. Up here's where Natasha can do the most good for her team. Her gloved hand slides over the trigger. It's a bit awkward to grip but then, this wasn't made with humans in mind. As soon as one of the pair exits cover Natasha takes the shot.

She'll try for a followup on his buddy but it's definitely a long shot. The hope is really to keep its attention away from the other two while they're otherwise engaged.

[lovesuwithknives]

He whirls to look as Furiosa is batted aside, but breathes a short huff of relief upon seeing her get right back up again. Backing up, he takes in the presence of the swords, secure in the knowledge that he doesn't need to get within their reach. Instead, he circles round the demon, then draws a hand back and throws a spear, following it with the double swords, then pivots, sending a flurry of smaller swords at it.

Under the wrappings around his face he's grinning, though his eyes remain keen and calculating. He can ignore the wind as energies hum and rush through him, as his mind spins and clicks through the now habitual mental activity needed to fight.

The quick manifestation of these weapons takes a lot less out of him than that sonic manipulation he did earlier, and he looks as though he could keep this up for a while, his feet steady on the snowy ground as he sidesteps and pivots.

[handsofwinter]

The actual plates of the demon's armor only cover the outside of its limbs; Furiosa's rapid fire is rewarded as it stumbles to one knee, pale vapor wisping out from the other. The moment leaves it open to the spear that strikes its collar and draws a roar of pain. It raises its blades to block the swords that follow- nevertheless. First blood has has been drawn, and if it bleeds...

But. Enraged, wounded and partially hobbled, the demon is still very much in the fight. It rises- but finding its right leg weakened it simply drops back to all four lower limbs and lunges for Azwel with its swords like an immense spider, heedless of the smaller blades he's throwing into it. Some miss cleanly and some graze off and some stab through the gaps in that strange armor- but still it comes, whirling a double-bladed slash at him in a wide arc. He may evade it entirely, but it's putting both opponents back in front of itself. All the better to grab at one of those pistols slung across its chest.

From above, Natasha's shots fly true despite the heavy rifle - actually, she might find the bolts curve against the wind to track their target if she gets to sight on them properly. She drops one ambusher and the other doesn't so much as cry out for its companion- but if he doesn't spot the motion, the thunk and hiss of vapor may alert Azwel of the human-sized creature springing at his back with a shock knife.

The other small ones are moving in, too, emboldened to support their pack leader, even if their fear of Natasha is keeping them at bay for now. Their fire is focused on her, though the pistols are far less accurate at that range than the rifle. Either the pack or the big demon alone would be a hard fight; the longer they duel the more little ones are going to rush them- and the demon's shields will power up again in a moment. If they can take him down fast, now's the time.

[eumenis]

This isn't a great position to be in, battle-wise, but Furiosa can't help but be heartened by the obvious signs they've injured the demon. She rises again, circling nimbly. There are three fronts to this fight, but Furiosa's eyes are on the largest and most obvious. As it takes to a four-limbed stance, she has a split second of revelation:

This isn't like fighting a person. It's like fighting a vehicle. Big, armored, fearless and powerful.

If she only had a lance...but in lieu of explosive devices, she'll take a chance on her guns and her own claws, and if the creature is focused primarily on Azwel for more than a second, she'll take the opening.

It probably will not be expecting one of its opponents to rush around and leap onto its back, sinking metal fingers into any space or dent in the armor they can find. Furiosa can hold on to a speeding rig without the prosthesis, because she made goddamn sure she learned how, but it's much much easier with all the extra traction on her left hand. Her body hunches low against the demon, knees pressing in tight to help hold on, and the pistol in her right hand searches for the space around the collar where Azwel has drawn blood. If it's vulnerable there, a couple rounds from the Taurus will probably hurt.

[red_room]

Okay, hold on. What was that?

Natasha has a pretty solid idea of what her aim and abilities are. The blue bolts that fired out of the rifle definitely seemed to arc and seek out the target she'd been aiming at. What kind of technology is this? More importantly, why have these folk not stopped it from being used on themselves if this is their weaponry? Either way, it makes a whole lot more sense just why their snipers are so accurate attacking the scouts and expedition parties.

"Works for me." It seems like all she has to do is keep her targets sighted for the shots to home in on their mark. Easier said than done with pistol fire digging into the rooftop around her. Gunfire passing just inches over her head. With a bit of a wiggle she sinks herself into the snow another inch to get a bit more cover while still being able to see down the sights of this strange rifle and holds her nerve. Takes aim at one of the smaller creatures. And fires.

Waiting is the hardest part even though it only takes a moment. When the shot finds its mark she shifts to the next one. The pistol fire is getting tighter as they zero in on her position. One by one Natasha's going to return that fire to thin the herd.

[lovesuwithknives]

The thing charges, swords slicing through the air. But it had telegraphed its moves so visibly that Azwel is able to dance out of its path. Another strike to its legs tells him that this thing needs taken down a lot faster than they've all been doing, so far. So he makes a decision. He pulls the wrapping from his face so he can be heard.

"FURIOSA! FALL BACK!"

He steps back a pace and takes a deep breath, focussing, hoping she hears him and he won't end up taking down a teammate with this.

Red and blue light trails from the shards on his hands as he closes the distance again, blades flickering through air that rings with a gathering magickal force, an unearthly sound somehow audible over the wind.

Gravity holds its breath as the demon is lifted higher and higher into the air, driven upward by each successive strike, the hard light driving and slicing into it with terrible force. Below it, Azwel squints, devoting his entire focus, hands gesturing in a series of loops and arcs, leaving light trails on the retinas, as his mind spreads into a trance, pulling and twisting and guiding reality itself. The air vibrates. Rings louder.

He lifts one hand, exultant at the energy flowing through him, opening space and time, and suddenly the air is filled with countless blades, a cloud of shining death, the same blue and red light flickering among them, merging, bathing the entire surroundings in a boiling purple glow. They turn. Rotate. Reality stills for an infinite instant.

He closes his hand into a fist, little more than a means to focus these diffused energies, to pull them into a tight central point that leaves physics keening. The blades converge, drive into the demon, hundreds upon hundreds of them, until energy and matter can no longer take the strain and explode in a concussive wave that rattles what windows are left in the buildings.

If it survives, Azwel will be duly impressed.

[handsofwinter]

The creature staggers when Furiosa hurls herself upon its back, her grip a vice on its collar as she fires straight into the weak point between collar and helm. Something ruptures, a spray of that chemical mist past her face, and the demon staggers, rears back in shock and agony both. Who even knows what anatomy lies beneath- but the Taurus shatters through it regardless, and the demon is suddenly focused on nothing but saving itself from this assassin at its back. Some of the smaller creatures cry out on spotting the light Azwel gathers, but the big one hardly notices. That is, until the first blade drives into it.

Whatever portal this demon sprung from, whatever haunted world it’s accustomed to cast its shadow across… it has never faced an assault like this. There’s a stutter of blue light as its shield comes back online and collapses again instantly. A ragged gurgle from a throat that can no longer howl in pain. It’s thrown up, and up, and up into the air and then the blades converge and everything becomes a BOOM as physics gives way at last.

Metal shards fly. Charred wisps of carbon and cloth are flung outward. A rush of that ghostly light escapes up from the chaos, a formless, luminous white mist. To Azwel, it looks briefly like a four-armed figure, head thrown back before it dissipates. There’s not going to be a lot left, save half a warped blade sticking out of a wall behind Azwel. Perhaps a few scraps of blue cloth flutter down, to be snatched away by the wind.

The silence falls quite suddenly, then. For a moment only the wind whips around them all, tugging at the cape settling over the fallen corpse. The smaller ones seem to be in shock, or debating what to do now, small chittery whispers passing among them. Then one bounds atop an abandoned car, dagger and pistol brandished- only to hesitate as another snarls behind it. It scampers back into cover after a second’s reluctance. The creatures begin to slink back into the snow, into other streets. Though the team may take another few shots at them, they’re soon lost in the storm.

Only after the team has regrouped and moved on past their battleground are they likely to find what their foe was doing here in the first place. Just around the corner of the street a chest lies abandoned in the snow, prised open by powerful hands. Though it’s definitely not where they expected to find it, the symbol on the lid is one Blaze told them to look for: one of her weapon caches. Its contents are partly scattered around it: civilian clothes, a trauma kit… but no obvious weapons, or armor, for that matter. Instead there are a handful of strange polyhedrons, tinted green or white, each about the size of a football. They look crystalline, but the first person to pick one up will find they’re not that heavy. Natasha might recognize them from things Steve or Blaze have said before. If they try to contact the other team, Ghost will be quick to advise they recover the things, at least as many as they can jam in their packs.

They must have won themselves something of a reprieve: nothing so much as tries to shoot at them as they head for the next beacon. This one was planted on a small green, in the shelter of a young oak tree. The green is long buried under snow, and as they draw near a strange, steady tapping noise is carried to them on the wind.

Through the snow they come, to find the tree lies broken, its splintered trunk jutting tragically into the air. But the beacon remains, knocked at an angle yet still functioning. Atop the sensor box perches an uncommonly large crow, pecking at the flashing green light. The wind ruffles its inky feathers without coming close to dislodging it. Tap. Tap. Tap.

It stops when it takes notice of them. Lifts its sleek head to study them across the snow. It turns a slow, beady eye on each of them in turn; each might feel its stare lingers especially long on them. Then it unfolds its wings and beats its way steadily up into the clouds, riding the churning gales as if they were there for its convenience.

Well after it’s gone they’ll hear the click of the radio announcing Ghost trying to get their attention. “Bravo to Alpha! Please respond!”

[eumenis]

Antifreeze. Motor oil. Guzzolene. She's dead-set now, taking down an enemy's Rig, and indifferent to whatever mental force is driving it. When it rears, she manages to cling, fully prepared to hang on until she can get in another shot and hoping to her Mothers that the swords in its hands can't quite reach her.

A second later Azwel yells out and she remembers how terribly efficient he is at flinging lethal force through the air, and decides to take his warning. Luckily for all concerned, she's as good at flinging herself off exploding vehicles as she is at getting up on them. She barely has time to holster the Taurus before she's leaping clear and tumbling again, metal arm held far enough away from the rest of her so she doesn't break her ribs on it.

Glory, what a beautiful explosion! In the lull of quiet afterwards, Furiosa gives a bone-chilling harpy's cry of approval, a wordless shriek into the wind. That's a Vuvalini war-cry, not a War Boy's, and probably a higher compliment. She can give Azwel more articulate congratulations later.

On her feet once more, she aims her rifle at the lingering smaller creatures. She has no interest in speechifying: "Fuck off, or die," is all she says, and even that much seems to have been superfluous as they scamper off in retreat.

The next moments are a flurry of beacon-retrieval and reaching out to Natasha via radio. Furiosa sounds breathless and like she's on an adrenaline high, but her judgment isn't compromised. She checks both teammates for injury and shock, then gets them moving against fast once the beacon is retrieved. Given they're both as eager and competent as she is, it won't be hard.

The weapon cache in the middle of the street is a surprise. Furiosa finds it strange and is wary of traps around it, but once they have the exchange with Ghost via radio, she's happy to collect as much of it as they can carry. And she makes a point of taking the trauma kit, as well as the strange crystals.

The crow strikes her as an odd sign at once, and maybe it's just the black against so much white, but a long time ago she had an exchange with crows in the Nexus. They're not what they seem, here, if her memory serves. Or, at least, they're nothing like the crows back home.

But she has no shinies or eyeballs to give this time, and while she holds up a hand to her teammates to urge they refrain from shooting at it, she only meets its stare and says nothing. If it's going to demand tribute, she'll talk to it, but it's just as well it doesn't.

She stands watch this time, asking Natasha and Azwel to remove the beacon, and when Ghost radios, she picks up right away. "Alpha here. Situation calm on our end; what do you need? Over."

[red_room]

Natasha rains down cover fire until the creatures have scampered out of her range and sights from her rooftop position. Reaches up to give a single word of confirmation when Furiosa calls her back. As tempting of a prize as the rifle she'd been using is there's no way Natasha can get off the roof with that thing in tow safely. She pulls it back and tucks it out of the wind as much as she can on the rooftop with the hope it will still be there and not broken when she can make time to come back for it.

It only takes her a moment before she's sliding down an icy fire escape and landing with a soft scattering of snow back onto the street level. A quick survey says that neither of them are injured drastically so she falls into step once more at the rear of the lineup. With Furiosa leading and Azwel in between them they'd be a force to be reckoned with even if their assailants had decided to mount a new offensive.

They don't.

Her lips are thinning with withheld opinions when she spies dumped cache full of engrams. Not so much because of what they are as much as the fact that someone was able to find one of Blaze's caches in the first place. No doubt her Ghost was the one to pick out the spot and yet it's been drug out into the middle of the street as if on display. Natasha's more than willing to add them to her pack. Blaze's things will be of use to the Exo and if not her than the people back at the base for certain.

When they spot the crow the spy halts, her gaze fixated on the corvid. She swallows once and stares it back down. Silently willing it to get out of here and quietly before it alerts any enemies to their position. The feathered fiends have been a steady source of information and irritation for her in the past. The last thing she needs is any of them harassing her or her companions right now.

She's so busy staring after the bird she nearly misses the call out on the radio.

"He sounds flustered." That's sure to bode well for them.

[lovesuwithknives]

Azwel has to, frankly, catch his breath after doing that, as the last time he did this he wasn't nearly so underfed. He startles but grins at the war cry--it's a little boost to his ego when people appreciate his pyrotechnics. He ponders taking that half-sword as some kind of trophy, but no. No carrying space. He joins the others, re-wrapping his face, as there is already ice on his mustache and beard.

When they find the cache, he notes that Furiosa has swept up the trauma kit--he almost asks for it but figures it'd be best someone else have this kind of resource as well, in case he gets taken down. Who knows if he can pull another attack like that out of the aether. He crams as many of the crystalline things into his carrying packs as he can, reminding himself to ask someone what they are the next time they can hear each other well enough for a decent conversation, which might be in a year the way his ears are ringing.

Onward they go, and when they find the beacon and its crow he stops, definitely feeling the bird's stare. Those crows--last time he'd encountered one, it had croaked a very ominous prediction at him, which has proceeded to come resoundingly true. He breathes a sigh when it flaps off into the distance without a word.

He's about to try to clear the ice off this next beacon when the radio crackles. He stops, listening keenly.

[rekindledtitan]

"We've encountered a minefield." Ghost's voice is a little more artificial-sounding through the radio's speaker. The urgency in it is still unmistakable. He talks rapidly. "We're in no immediate danger... however, we are about to make a lot of noise. My Guardian is instructing us to regroup immediately. Our position is the park approximately 400 meters south-south-east of you, be advised that we consider the entire area within the park to be extremely haz- Blaze, wait-"

The sudden static on the radio is a small sound, lost in the boom that rips through the air and echoes down the streets. 'A lot of noise' indeed.

[eumenis]

For whatever it's worth, Furiosa doesn't intend to keep the kit for herself, at least not once the the mission is done. Azwel will certainly get a crack at it once it's turned in to the infirmary.

She's too distracted with her own thoughts to note the way the crow looks at her companions, and they at him, but maybe they'll compare notes later. In the meantime the beacon is their primary concern until the radio crackles.

"A minefield??" Furiosa's incredulous tone will certainly catch her companions' attention if Ghost's hasn't already. "Noise. You--you're going to set off the--"

KABOOM! Furiosa turns toward the explosion, then moves closer to her companions abruptly, watching to see if there will be any kind of rain of debris from this. 400 meters is not quite as far away as she generally likes to be from a minefield, but no one asked her opinion, certainly not the beings that laid the fucking things down.

"...rust," she murmurs in the loud silence that follows, and hopes to V8 that was deliberate.

"I think we need to get moving. How fast can you be with the beacon? I don't know what the smeg they're doing, but Blaze wants us to regroup."

[shardofwinter]

This is a mess. Explosions and war cries, shots ringing out through the storm, people launching themselves at their enemies... It's beautiful.

A battlefield with corpses only on one side, however, is less so.

Reynard is watching. Of course he's watching. A spirit strolling through the fight, invisible to the mortal eye, bullets passing through him unhindered. A ghost's eye view. The outsiders are forced back, and the mortals rush forward towards their bounty practically untouched. Not a single death for them. It leaves a harsh tang in the air where there should be a intoxicating cocktail. In death all things are equal. Except when there isn't death for all things equally.

The only sign of the spirit's presence might be the sensation of being watched, though that could be the effect of the crows or the adrenaline. Perhaps that too might account for any movement the group sees out of the corner of their eye. Either way, it's gone and they're left alone with their victory once more.