nexus_crossings | Into a Rising Wind

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event

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Days of planning. Weeks of struggling to survive against the elements. Well over a month of searching for a sign, a key, that one shining sliver of hope that would solve their looming crisis. The source of food and supplies – perhaps even fuel – that will see them all to the end of this winter. That will keep them all alive, warriors and wizards and children and shopkeepers alike. And now they’ve found it.

They’ve located the food dump that will make the difference. They’ve scrapped and scrounged and put together a tiny cohort of vehicles: a handful of bikes for outriding scouts, and one rough-but-ready snowmobile, the pride of their engineers, now sitting hooked up to the biggest sled they dared attach. They’ve learned the name and the nature of their enemy. And they’ve chosen the volunteers. Those willing to fight and, equally important, willing to risk their lives for the good of the group have stepped forward and been selected among. The expedition members have spent the last two days preparing intensively: getting checked by the medics, eating plus-sized rations, sitting through briefing sessions with Blaze as well as the other scouts and survival experts, going over how to survive out there, what to do when they come under fire, what their contingency plans are, how to use the tools and weapons they’re bringing. It’s not much and it's too much to learn so quickly. It’s not enough. But it may be what keeps them alive.

While they’ve done that, everyone else has worked to help get them ready. Some have been putting together ration packs, or carefully laying out kits before they get packed neatly into rucksacks. Some have been checking and rechecking the vehicles, vigilant against any tampering from the cold – natural or otherwise. Some have taken up the snow-clearing duties of those leaving, or joined in on the training sessions so they’ll be ready to keep watch after the expedition leaves. Some have woven snowshoes, or dried kindling, or stitched insulation into thermal gear. They have too few people for anyone to sit idle if they have the strength to move, and there is something for everyone and anyone to do.

It’s an hour before dawn now. The vehicles are assembled with a couple of exhausted mechanics fussing over them still. Their headlights are brilliant in the darkness, illuminating the snow that swirls through the air. The expedition members are gathered outside the Café, hefting their packs, checking their weapons, tying their bootlaces more tightly. Blaze paces, looking them over with a mix of pride and anticipation and sorrow and concern… but above all relief. At last. At last they can do something.

She wishes they were going to kill the beast behind this. She wishes they could fight Reynard himself. She wishes it was just her and no-one else had to die. This is too reminiscent of other times, preparing for other missions in another life. She sees the shades of it everywhere, these past two months. She doesn’t think many of her comrades returned from those missions. In the end, she didn’t either.

At her shoulder, Ghost whispers. Everyone is here. Everyone is ready. Just to make sure, Blaze calls out to each unit to sound off. Scouts. Vanguard. Transport. Rearguard… One by one, they report. It’s time. They’ll use the remaining darkness to head for the edge of town and give themselves maximum daylight to get home in. Blaze marches to the front, helm tucked under one arm, golden mark a-flutter at her right hip, and nods to them all. Ghost floats beside her, a mote of light in the darkness, his blue-lit gaze sweeping over each of their teams in turn.

“All right, people. This is it. You know the stakes. You know what we’re up against. And you know the plan. We’re going to show Reynard and those bastard dregs we won’t let them throttle us at their leisure. We’re not going to be herded and hunted this time. We’re not going to ask for mercy. We’re going out there and taking our survival into our own damned hands. We’re going to move fast. We’re going to stay in formation. We’re going to show them what happens when the people of the Nexus fight together." Her voice lifts with every sentence, the mingled fire of faith and fury held in no more. "But most of all, no matter what- we are going to bring. Back. That. FOOD! Are you ready?”

Part of Matt feels guilty for eating so well, even in the short-term, while so many others have so little. It helps, though, to know that if they succeed in this risky gamble, there'll be more than enough to go around. When he submits himself to the medics for final clearance, they aren't very happy with the idea of sending a blind man on a raiding party, but he makes it abundantly clear that his lack of sight does very little to hold him back, and in the end he's given the all-clear to join the expedition.

He's switched out his mismatched winter gear for something he's been assured is less glaringly obvious against the snow, as well as being better insulated, though he's had to put on multiple pairs of socks to make the boots fit snugly on his feet. It's as comfortable as he's going to get, with the cold gnawing at any inch left exposed, seeping in even where he's fully covered if he stands still long enough.

All the more reason to get moving as soon as possible.

The darkness doesn't bother him one bit, standing in the midst of the rest of the expedition, as ready as he'll ever be. He feels slightly out of place among those who're armed with guns, but he's not the only one who's brought a melee weapon to a gunfight, hearing Sif nearby holding the same sword she arrived with. He gives her a tight smile and a nod when he feels her facing his way, but then Blaze is speaking, demanding all eyes and ears as applicable.

He's always thought that rousing speeches before a battle are corny as anything, something he could never take seriously in movies no matter how dramatic Foggy tried to describe them to him. But standing here, ready to take on the monsters beyond the torches and bring back enough supplies for the survival of those left stranded here by the hand of winter, and feeling the hunger that even two days of better rations hasn't entirely banished, all he feels is ready to go, and raises his voice with the others in affirmation.

It's hard to tell what Natasha thinks about all of this or if she feels anything at all. The last couple of days have seen her with the same hardened gaze as she moves between Isidor Durant's table and among the other group leaders passing along information and slipping away now and again to do what's asked of her.

The larger meals have done a lot to help though. There's less shake to her hands when she sets her gear, though her voice is a bit raw from the drills she's been helping the volunteers go through. Thankfully now she's not expected to do much talking.

Still. There's an itch burrowing its way underneath Natasha's skin. Not every problem is one punching their way through can solve. But that's why she's going, right? To make sure the job gets done. One way or another.

If they fail, no one's going to survive this.

Sleep comes easier after a few extra days of rations, rest brings better spirits, but in exchange the gnawing weight of the task is unavoidable. On the last night, an hour before the expedition team is set to depart, Natalie steps outside gear in tow. She finds a quiet spot, far away from the sleeping crowds, but just enough space to keep her within the torch barrier. A nearby stack of dead branches provide enough for a makeshift campfire and give her the tools necessary to draw an intricate design in the snow, keeping it far enough from the flames.

Taking out her pokeballs, the different colored spheres are placed around the symbol carefully, before the final part of the prayer is complete. Pulling up the sleeves of her coat, she removes a copper-toned bracelet from her wrist, staring longingly into the red diamond embedded near the middle of the bracelet. She places the piece of jewelry in the center of her symbol, imagining Tapu Lele wearing the ‘crown’ brings a smile to her face.

The pilgrimage she went on years ago, obtaining this blessing from the Island Deity… She knows they aren’t with her now, and cannot bestow any additional powers to aid her, but Natalie feels a tribute before battle is warranted. Drawing out a blanket from her pack, she lays the fabric out on the snow, sits on her knees and prays. At first, her mind is plagued with thoughts, terrors the Fallen have inflicted on her mind. Their eyes feel familiar, plaguing her mind with visions of the past. The voices of others, childing her decisions, calling her weak…

Natalie places her hands together, breathing deeply. Shake it off. Strike back like the flames.

She prays to Akala. To Tapu Lele. To Pokemon that serve the flame. And to those that have fallen.

---

Natalie is one of the first to arrive at the meetup spot, hearing Blaze’s rally speech, fully geared and ready to go back into the storm one last time. Gone are the days where she would eagerly chime in, be the ever-positive fire in a sea of sadness. This experience has hardened her, warped and changed the blade she once wielded into something different.

Once the speech is complete, she raises one balled fist to the sky. Some of Furiosa and Blaze have rubbed off onto her, as the next words out of her mouth are full of power. “We’ll burn them all to the ground!” And that’s her stance, the battle strategy she will invoke, until the very end.

"That's the spirit!"

Over there is the sound of metal-clad hands clapping. Azwel seems to have gotten his cheer back--having had a tangible enemy to fight helped a great deal, as did the extra rations, and while he's still far too lean, at least he doesn't quite look like he's going to implode any longer.

He's once again got packs and bags strapped to him, scarves wrapped around his neck, a hat and goggles on his head, his long hair completely hidden.

Unlike the others, he hasn't done much to prepare for this, other than make arrangements for others to continue searching for little Henry's parents should the unthinkable happen. He couldn't bring himself to broach the idea to a four-year-old, himself, though.

He's forcibly pushed that thought away, now, concentrating only on the immediate future, a kind of fierce and desperate energy replacing any other thoughts.

Furiosa has done her preparations. She's gone over the vehicle she's been given over and over again, learning every inch, the way the engine hums, the way the pieces hitch together. Once they leave the Plaza on this mission, it's an extension of her body until they come back with the cargo they came for.

We are War Boys!
Kami-crazy War Boys!
Fukushima Kami-crazy War Boys!

Today we're going to Gastown!
Today we're hauling AQUA-COLA!
Today we're drinking Mother's Milk!

She can hear the old supply run tattoo in her head, overlaying the pep-talk Blaze cries out for them. Back in the days before Joe's death, every supply run was both potentially fatal and completely routine. This? This is not routine, but it still feels familiar.

She's not afraid. She stands next to the modded-out snowmobile, a straight, imperturbable column of determination, and she's silent, until that final Are you ready?

She was born for this. And she answers with a shrill, ululating cry, like the scream of an eagle.

Furiosa is ready, to fight, to drive, and to Witness.

"So...our masked friends are dogs in the manger. Color me surprised."

Kinner is standing at the back, and has been for some time, though the cook is a man of few words at the moment. Kinner's rarely very talkative away from his friends, but he's observant and listens. It sounds like they're going to take the fight to the creatures, something he can approve of. And clearly the creatures aren't going to let them waltz up and take the food with them.

"Do we know Reynard and the creatures are workin' together?" It's not a hesitant question, but Kinner wants to know how deep the betrayal runs, and how angry to be at Reynard when Winter ends. He's sick of hiding and sick of the paranoia. More than that, the cook's ready to set a torch to the creatures. And Reynard,if he gets in the way. He wants to feel useful, and is charged up from the Spider-Men expedition.

He knows a bit about how big meetings like this work from Big Magnet, but this time there's no Thing involved and everybody's roughly on the same side. That's something Kinner can work with. He's armed, a revolver hidden in the pouch at his side, together with enough bullets for a long, hard fight.

"You're gonna need somebody to watch the food and guard the transport," Kinner says as he steps forward. "I can do that. Not just 'cause I'm a cook - I'm not a half bad shot, either. I wouldn't mind putting some bullets in the heads of those blackguards."

Edited 2019-03-11 04:32 (UTC)

"Y'know what, Blaze? Count me in." He turns to face the crowd, visibly angry. "I've seen these creatures. Fought them, and I'll tell you this. They can't - won't - be reasoned with. Blaze told me they're pirates. I dunno much, but violence looks like the only way here."

Palmer's finally figured out what's going on with the creatures. Well, mostly - he knows there are pirates involved, and he figures that's why they weren't willing to answer his questions. They were prey to the creatures, and Palmer's finished with being prey under any circumstances. He was prey to the Thing, and now he's prey for these creatures, and he's not having it anymore.

Palmer's lax with the law, but he obviously has lines about picking on defenseless refugees and hoarding food in a time of starvation. And especially killing. He doesn't know what the Fallen are or why they steal, but at this point it's a matter of survival, and Palmer has to live. After he helps kill the Fallen, he's going back to Outpost 31 to kill the Thing. This is partly practice for an even more dangerous enemy.

"I think I'd do best either on vanguard or rearguard duty. I've seen these things. I know what to expect some." He smirks. "Besides, I wanna see if the one I shot remembers me."

Edited 2019-03-11 07:33 (UTC)

Harley Quinn hums to herself as she weaves through the groups of people who are forming up for this very important mission. She arches on her toes for a moment, twirling in a full circle, as if she is not really listening to anyone, but the song in her head.

But the truth of the matter is that she is taking the time to assess every person who has volunteered for this mission. She is watching as they prepare. She is listening as they make solemn oaths of vengeance. And wonders how many of them are truly ready to destroy another... without it affecting their mental states.

So many of them are so angry right now. Ready for blood. And while that is a good way to start a raid... Harley knows better than most how anger can cloud judgement. She worries that those who are so angry about 'personal offenses' will fare on this mission. Will they let that anger consume themselves? Will they become the creatures that they are intending to defeat -- no matter the cost? How many of them are willing to let that piece of their humanity be sacrificed.... because they are hungry, tired and angry?

That is why she is twirling. And stretching. And yes, even taking a few seconds for yoga poses to center her emotions.

A small smirk at her lips as she hears familiar voices. Furiosa. Palmer. Azwel. She lets their anger and energy soak into her very being... and she lets it wash over her like warm waters.

Harley doesn't know what the others have faced... but can see how it affects them. How determined they all are. She is just as determined, for answers. And the only way she will see the truth is to keep her eyes open. Unclouded by anger.

She moves through the group again, looking for her place in the formation. A position where she can watch. Where she can fight. Where she can protect others, when their anger consumes them.

Harley Quinn has snapped before. She can see the fragments of mental stability pulling apart the others. And if she is the sane one in the group right now... they might all be doomed.

Delia's announcement of her arrival was simple, sure, she'd volunteered earlier after she'd caught her breath--but it might not have been initially obvious until now, "A raid, huh? Well. From the sounds of things, you could definitely use a Pirate." Former Pirate. Privateer. It's complicated. But it's also what Delia says, rifle in hand and stock against her hip so it's held up at an angle, weapon ready.

The passion is infectious, as she's grinning from behind her scarf, and it's obvious she is, given her good eye is alight with her good mood. It's about damn time they do something, and do something big, because by the gods, this was it.

She was, as they say, ready to fucking shoot something. Which was why she was heading for one of the assembled bikes, slinging the rifle over her shoulder with the strap.

Edited (I.. guess this helps? I don't know? I'm not sure?) 2019-03-13 00:14 (UTC)

There's something that feels inherently natural about standing in the midst of a group of heavily-armed people, all of them champing at the bit not only for a good fight, but to fight for a good cause.

Even though she's only just arrived in the Nexus, there was no chance that Sif would have sat out this mission. The people are in dire need, it's been made clear, and she isn't half-starved or fatigued like many of them have become thanks to the wearying winter that drags on and on; she's a warrior of Asgard, memories or no, and she will fight with every ounce of her strength to preserve even a single innocent life.

She's trained for a thousand years to fight the monsters that lurk in dark places--that is what she's been told. In her heart, she knows it to be true.

So she heeds the call and gathers with the others, shoulder to shoulder with them in the snow. Matt earns a nod in return when she sees him, and when the rallying cry is made, she lifts her sword and gives a fearsome cry. For death and glory! For Asgard!

“Kinner, you’re with the transport. Palmer, rearguard. Watch our backs and don’t get separated.” Orders give, Blaze looks over them all and nods with some satisfaction. They’re determined. They’re so brave, and she loves them for that. Thrills to hear their fierce shouts and the eerie war cry Furiosa shrills into the twilit sky. What Guardian wouldn’t be proud to fight for such people?

Only she’s not any longer the willfully naïve novice who crash-landed here those years ago. The fierce joy is tempered by instinctive knowledge. Colored with the shadows of experience that lurk in the back of her head. The machine beneath her mind still runs its pitiless calculations. Some of them are going to die. These brave people are following her into something they weren’t born or trained to fight. A few are warriors in their own right, that she knows. They’ve faced their deaths before. They already know what it is to inflict death and pain. But the others- she’s no Defender. She’s never learned to raise the Ward and shield her comrades from all harm. She's a Striker by. nature. A Sunbreaker. The only kind of protection she offers is to draw the fire upon herself. Charge into the fray and demand death face her instead. But here, today, that’s not the Guardian they need.

Some will die, and some, if she is worth anything, will merely come back altered. The machine knows. You don’t put a bullet through another's skull and remain what you were. Not unless you’re an Exo. But that’s a price that will have to be paid. She doesn’t have other Guardians to call on in their stead, and if they don’t risk this then death is a slow certainty. There’s no transmat to whisk them out of harm's way. No reliable way for her to go out and bring home that much food.

Her fault. Her duty. But here they are, about to face it for her.

Ghost is eyeing her again. He can feel the heat rolling off her armor in short, erratic waves. Blaze promises herself a Fallen commander's head once more, and forces herself to focus. Everyone’s checked in. They’re ready. She raises a hand until she has all their attention, then lowers it and begins the march. The vanguard fall into position, behind them the transport crew and the scouts, running along the edges and ready to peel off, and then at last the rearguard.

The march to the torches is a matter of minutes. It’s shocking, how small their safe circle has become since they were lit. How palpable Winter’s chokehold has become. Barely a couple of streets from the plaza the road disappears into a howling veil of wind and snow. The cleared trackway ends at a sudden drift where the shovel teams turned back. Blaze doesn’t pause her march this time. She draws her rifle from her back and shouts over her shoulder, “Eyes up! Stay sharp!”

Then it’s out, out into the hostile storm. They progress steadily through the drift-buried streets, scouts moving off to watch their flanks and check the route ahead. Around them loom abandoned shops, once-charming houses with windows dark as empty eye sockets. Some of the walls bear scorch marks. Alien symbols painted in luminous white, that Blaze pauses to take in for a few seconds. For those who’ve been safely sheltered up to now, it’s their first taste of the unsettling landscape beyond the torches, though uneasy looks are hidden beneath masks and scarves. For those who’ve been this route before, it’s a reminder of the threats they’ve already faced. The knives and claws that scuttle out from the darkness for them…

This time, at least, they are together. The low thrum of engines around them is a testament to that. Still, it’s going to be a harrowing trek to the edge of the settlement, where even the buildings drop away and the real Wilds await, a vast sea of snow broken only by the shadows of skeletal trees. The darkness is softening slowly to gloom around them, thin grey light exposing a chilly landscape. They're going to be exposed themselves out here - and not just to the elements. Scouting off to their left, the scouts spot some strange, pale lights moving through the distant trees, and the warning comes back to kill any headlights.

There's no one riding doubles with Joshua today. The only thing at his back is a rifle as he skims over the snow in a wide arc out in front of Blaze and the Expedition as one of the scouts charged with acting as their early warning system in case of an assault.

Aside from Delia he's also the only one who knows exactly where they're going. He's constantly signaling to the other scouts, other riders. Letting them know which paths to take and keeping them on target. Blaze's Ghost has the advantage of being able to track the expedition as well as the scouts and the bot no doubt has the entire topographical map Jim, Josh, and Delia made already uploaded to work off of organizing everyone.

It won't be long until the terrain gets a little bit rough, owing to the state Delia left it in the last time they came through here. Josh's side twinges with the memory of the Fallen and their gunmen.

He sure hopes everyone's up to this.

Kinner's energy is focused on keeping himself ready for combat. Kinner isn't familiar with the Fallen or their technology first-hand, though talking to Blaze and Palmer gave him some idea of what to expect. He warily keeps an eye on the lights, goggles pulled low to hide his eyes. He's ready to strike when called on, though his first priority is the food. The most important thing is bringing the food back to the shelter, even more than picking a fight.

However, he has a feeling that the Fallen - whatever they are - won't let them take the food and leave without a fight. Kinner has his revolver ready to go when the creatures appear. Those lights give him a bad feeling, and he minds them as he follows along.

In a time of need, he's angered that the creatures have hoarded more food than, presumably, they could ever eat and can't be bothered to share. If there's one thing Kinner hates more than snobbery, it's selfishness. Where did the Fallen get all that food, anyway? Crops won't grow in this weather, and there's nothing to hunt.

He grits his teeth, pushing his way through the snow.

Matt, of course, can't see the scorch marks or the symbols that adorn some of the buildings they're passing, but he easily picks up the disturbed murmuring from a good number of heartbeats in their group, and he tightens his grasp on his batons. It's times like these that sight would come in handy, he has to admit.

But then there are times when it's better not to have it, as the order comes through to douse the lights, which affects him not at all. He casts his hearing ahead, listening intently for any signs of hostiles lurking in wait, or the echoes of traps laid in their path.

Harley places her bat behind her back, both hands on an end, as she walks along with the others. While she can understand why everyone is so quiet right now -- it is sort of driving her up a wall. She is used to chattering with people during a mission. (And really, driving them up a wall, with her chattering).

But people are stressed right now, so she doesn't trust anyone enough to push her boundaries. She really doesn't need them to attack her, just because most everyone is ornery about facing the Fallen.

Blowing a bubble, she slides up beside Matt. Someone she knows. Someone that she figures won't get too upset at her, if she needs to chatter a little.

"There are scorch marks on the buildings. Maybe these Fallen got a hold of some fire power." Her tone is bubbly and friendly, but still low enough. After all, she doesn't need to speak too loudly around Matt. "And some strange marks on the building that has Blaze pausing for a second look."

"Our scouts have a nice wide arc ahead of us on the bikes. Not sure what they saw to give that order..."

"Yeah...that doesn't look good, I gotta say."

Palmer's noticed the scorch marks, too, and is looking at them with some concern. He knows from experience what the creatures can do, and is badly frightened of them. His bravado's faltering a little at the idea of actually fighting them again, especially now that he knows what they are. Pirates, apparently. When Palmer thinks of pirates, he thinks of Captain Hook or Long John Silver, not creatures armed with masks and guns.

He still has a lot of questions, too. Part of him wants to trap a Fallen for interrogation on their motives, though he's not sure that would work and it would be very dangerous to attempt. He's not going to try unless he has a chance of actually succeeding. Why are they killing people? Why attack suffering Nexus-goers who don't have much worth stealing, anyway? Palmer was never a killer, but he used to be a thief - and as a former thief, there's not much sporting about stealing from already-unhappy people who don't have anything to begin with.

"The Fallen have guns, I know that much. From the look of things they can fight hand-to-hand with people or fight with guns. Either one's bad, but I'd suggest not lettin' 'em get too close either way."

"Keep it down."

Whether anyone listens to her mutter or not isn't really the spy's call to make but Natasha bristles at the idea of unnecessary noise being made if they're already being told to douse their lights. Voices get lost easily over the wind which makes it less of a problem than their torches but still.

With lives on the line Natasha at least has to try to keep those around her focused. It could easily be her own nerves though. For as calm and cold as the spy looks her heartbeat is more rapid than it was on any of their last missions.

Maybe it's because she knows what they're going up against, maybe it's out of fear for the people here who aren't trained soldiers and killers who have signed up to put their lives on the line to bring back these supplies. Maybe it's because her preferred combat partner is currently passed out in the infirmary rather than here helping and his duplicate is cursed by who knows what. Whatever the reason or all of them, it's left Natasha very much on edge.

The food is their top priority. Everyone here who's volunteered is expendable for that goal. Natasha doesn't have to like it, though.

❅ Main Expedition - The Raid

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