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

"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.

Furiosa is alert to her surroundings--less so than the scouts, perhaps, but enough to note the scorch-marks and strange symbols. She is reminded of road gangs like the Buzzards once again, marking their territory. Maybe the writing means something more to Blaze, but she can't ask right now.

There's a lot she doesn't know. She doesn't precisely feel that secrets are being kept from her deliberately, though. Not at this point. More like they're all so focused on survival and the end goal of this mission that there hasn't been a chance to share intel that may or may not be relevant. Furiosa sure as hell has questions. But that's okay; determination to get the answers is just one more factor that will keep her alive.

The snowmobile runs shockingly quiet, and she loves that. It's nice to have a roaring double-V8 Rig under her, but for this kind of work, subtle is better. The steering is nowhere near as responsive as a Rig, though, especially considering the smaller size of this thing compared to her usual. It's the trailer, she thinks. That, and the texture of the snow. It's powdery right where she doesn't want it to be, and full of ice chunks.

She's stowed a couple extra weapons in the cab with her, because that's how she functions. She's even got a rifle, although trying to fire with it while driving is unlikely to result in any notable success. At the moment, though, most of her attention is on the vehicle, learning it fast, testing the way it handles, accelerates, and brakes. On the snow a few yards to her right she can see Kinner fighting his way through the drifts. She glances over and gives a nod, but with the both of them in scarves and goggles it's hard to exchange any kind of expression.

When the order comes to douse the lights, she obeys quietly and without question, letting the speed of the vehicle drop to compensate.

Flying just behind Furiosa is Natalie, once again mounting her Pokemon, Volcarona. It's easier to travel this way, instead of being left on the ground and susceptible to fire. However, her flight plan keep her hovering just slightly above the caravan, so if needed, she can jump back to the ground.

The mission itself is worrying, lots of questions running through her head about the Fallen and who they obey. The winter is their time: the days are dark and cold, so this party is clearly going into enemy territory with a disadvantage. But what more can they do? Sit and die? Yes, some of the people at the camp have already embraced their mortality and are willing to accept death, but she's not going to do that yet. There's so much more to live for...

The sun will rise and things will be alright. Like the others, she flies quietly and without saying a word, being mindful of their surroundings.

It's not the first time she's done so, but driving a two-wheeled motorcycle was something Delia had done before.

Looks like she owed Strix an apology at some point, given the bike in question was one of her (ridiculously many) side projects she'd acquired from an Earth antique barge.

Taking a moment to acquaint herself where everything was, it wasn't long before she was pealing off after Josh, having secured her scarf, goggles, and at some point or another cleaned off her hat.

It's light, responsive, and fast, all things that she as a pilot can likely take advantage of, even with gravity acting as her harsh mistress at the moment.

Remembering where they were? Difficult, but not impossible, particularly once they pass familiar landmarks.

Impossible to miss, this quiet mobilization of the Nexus' remaining strength. Loki has been watching, from a safe distance. He's helped a little, in his limited way. Sent food and furs to the shelter with his alternates, followed and observed some of the scouts, made enough ominous noise to chase a few strays back into safety. He could have done more, perhaps, but he's had his own problems to work with. That, and some submerged instinct tells him this is not his time and not his fight. This is, by and large, between the mortal residents here, and Reynard, and the shadow creatures.

He can't ignore this, though. For one thing, it promises tremendous drama. For another, he can sense that Harley is here, and one or two others he has some personal interest in or fondness for.

Riding the wind, he circles invisible over the expedition a few times, but when lights begin to appear in the distance, headed for the expedition, he settles, resting on the trailer behind the snowmobile, light as a leaf, unseen even by its driver.

He's certainly not seen by Azwel, whose eyes are all over the buildings and alleys, straining to peer into the distance. The markings on the buildings mean nothing to him--unless the beings who made them are lurking nearby to defend their territory it's academic.

He shifts his feet in the snow a bit nervously when they're told to kill the lights. They're plunged into darkness and he can see the approaching lights from far-off even better, but not well enough to tell what they are.

Too much to hope for another civilian expedition from some other part of the Nexus, looking for survivors or food. Immediately his mind spins in anther direction, pondering the possibility of this Winter covering a potentially infinite space and the kind of vertiginous cosmic fear that comes of thinking about infinitude. He takes a deep breath. Focus. He can let his too-fertile imagination play with the ideas later, if he survives.

He looks round at the others, then peers into the darkness, watching Blaze.

Although it's obvious that several of those in the party are anxious, Sif only finds the situation... nostalgic? The familiarity of their circumstance--scuttling along through the snow in the dark--isn't really important at the moment, merely another piece of her personal puzzle to be filed away later and sorted through in less life-threatening setting.

That doesn't mean she isn't on high alert. She extends her senses as far as they will go, peering into the dark. Now that she's not soaked and floundering, the cold doesn't bite so savagely, but the wind makes it hard to hear the things that might be lurking in the dark.

As a precautionary measure, Sif positions herself at the perimeter of the group, sword in hand. She'll act as a shield for now. Anything that comes at them will have to get through her before it can reach those closer to the center.

With their own lights down and the wind covering their engines the convoy tries to creep into the woodlands unseen. The lights far off through the trees are strange – they don’t look like vehicle headlights or torches. They’re pale, flickering like icy will o’ wisps as they glide between distant trees, and the wind now and then bears the echo of distorted voices. Blaze’s attention swivels round and she stops to watch them carefully, letting the expedition move on past her for a bit. She says something to the vanguard about- servers? It’s hard to hear over the wind. Hard to tell whether she’s worried or just fighting the desire to go chase those distant lights.

But they don’t seem to be heading for the expedition-goers, fortunately. It's a pack of shanks, floating robots about a foot across, who spot the tail of the convoy trailing through the snow. They come out of the darkness with little yellow optics aglow, five of them, sounding high electronic trills as they spot their prey and fan out with shock blasters ready to fire. Blaze is going to be annoyed she was away at the front, but she is far from the only warrior itching for something to hit on this trip...

Trying to avoid any further notice, they lead the convoy on a detour into rougher terrain. It’s hillier and rockier, but the snow has smoothed over much of their path for them. And as they move into the hilly outskirts of the wood, they find places sheltered from the worst of the storm, where the winds drop and the snow falls gentler. They cut through an orchard, and the trees lining the path bear ghostly pears and apples sculpted in glassy ice; the leaves glitter with silver frost as the gale lifts them. It’s almost quiet here, but for the engines thrumming over the soft winds. The hills around them are lined with copses of barren trees, tall and jagged, stark shadows against the grey sky. If someone looks up at the wrong time, they may glimpse one of those trees move, become a dark, hunched figure slouching out of view into the woods. That doesn’t look like any Fallen…

Another turn, and they find the Escher falls frozen in their strange interlocking courses, bound by ice where gravity has always failed. There’s a glimpse of color to their right, where the snow clouds take on a rainbow tinge and the snow seems to be falling red and purple and gold; someone mentions the origami fields. Now and then black feathers rustle in the shadowed branches, sharp eyes watching them over sharp beaks. The scouts are quick to lead them back onto the approved path, however. They don’t want to risk surprises, and even with the deeper snow this route is quicker. As the gloomy dawn finally takes hold, they’re drawing near to the enemy camp. Blaze calls back the warning to get ready. Everyone knows their own job – watch the flanks, get in and load the trailer, secure the ropes, get their cargo the hell out of there. Or draw the guards off. Blaze is heading in with the vanguard, but the scouts are circling in first. They’re going to lure the Fallen’s attention-

And it they who are first to find the ugly surprise. The camp is empty. Looted clean, but for a few grafittied shipping containers, pieces of scrap... and the hints of a trail.

Kinner tries not to look at the strange birds or hunched figures. They've got enough to worry about with the Fallen on the loose. They have to stay focused, not get lost in details, or they might get lost themselves. He pulls his coat a little closer and goes where the scouts tell him to, briefly wondering at the frozen falls. If the situation wasn't so desperate, it would almost be beautiful.

The wrecked camp, on the other hand, is not beautiful. It's disappointing.

"Well, looks like somebody was here first." Ever frank, Kinner points out the obvious. He wonders if the Fallen knew they were going to try and take the food. "Should've guessed those things wouldn't make it easy for us. Looks like we've got to follow their trail if we're going to get that food supply."

"Selfish curs, taking more food than they can eat while people are starving outside," he spits, "and, what's more, making sure we can't have any." He surveys the empty camp, visibly frustrated. The creatures are up to something, but whether there's some kind of strategy to the Fallen's antics or plain old meanness he can't tell. Either way, they're going to have to give chase. There's a trail, so they can pursue the Fallen elsewhere. They can't give up just yet.

He doesn't know why the Fallen are taking food, but obviously they have no intention of letting the starving Nexus-dwellers have any. "They must really want to stop us from eating. Are they tryin' to starve us out? 'Cause that's what it's starting to look like. We're going to have to follow them."

"Ya'know… it is likely that is a false trail." Harley notes from where she stands, surveying the situation. "If I were going to take something to somewhere else... and I was worried about people following me... I would make a false trail. A red herring. A run-around."

She is not going to add her commentary on the 'selfish curs' remark he made. There is a reason why the food is not here. And Harley believes that they are not going to find those answers by making assumptions.

"Doesn't really matter if it's a trap or not. The only way to go is forward."

They've already committed what little supplies and food the camp has left betting on this outing. They either find their quarry or something else or the lot of them may as well not come back at all. Even if they did all that would be left was a camp of starving people. Times are as desperate as they are.

The extra food all of the people here have been provided came at the cost of feeding others. A fact Natasha can't ignore knowing just how many people are back there waiting. Counting on them.

"Let's get moving."

Furiosa stands up in the snowmobile cab, craning her neck briefly to look at the scene of the abandoned camp. Her heart is suddenly racing. The planning of this mission didn't leave enough to chance for there to be a mistake. She doesn't know, but guesses, that the last time this place was checked can't have been more than 24 hours ago, because it would make sense for a last reconnaissance mission to go before the big expedition. This camp was broken fast, and everything moved far too cleanly for it to be coincidence.

The scouts said the Fallen were just throwing the food away like it was worthless to them. They'd only take it with them out of spite, or to lay a trap.

"Eyes on," she says quietly, on the off-chance anyone's close enough to hear her. Part of her anticipates a trap to snap closed at any second.

She, in her turn, hears Natasha speak, though, and nods to herself. Failure isn't an option here. "Better fang it, but we need to keep in mind how much fuel we're using. Don't want to play games any longer than we have to, or we'll be walking back to the shelters."

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