Red Skies

Arthro

Arthropod Enthusiast
Miles of silent wind and dust surround us.

Piercing the silence is a lonely armored car, whose wheels are kicking up a storm of brown dust behind itself.


The sun is setting, filling the Western skies with brilliant shades of pink and orange, fading into a solid red directly above, and ending in a foreboding blackness due East. As far as the eye can see, the landscape is barren and flat. There are no landmarks, only the dying sun.


A Russian man in a very clearly aging suit fiddles with an array of bulky, jury-rigged technology on the console of his speeding vehicle. It shows multiple seven-segment display numbers changing with each second (appearing to be orientation information). Wires are spewing out out of it, connecting to where the passenger seat should be, but is instead an old computer unlike anything you have seen before in the city, and is ultimately connected to several antennas on the roof of the car.

"About five more kilometers South." Pyotr glances left and right, then looks back to the others for a moment, both hands firmly planted on the steering wheel. "We will get there just before nightfall. Check your suits, arms, and ammo." Pyotr puts his attention back to the horizon in front of him. "The outpost's last known message was something about giant rats. Nothing we can't handle, right?" The scientist glances back to his crew for a moment, saying in a more stern voice, "If there is anything wrong, you tell me. Are we all clear?"
 
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Gold reclined lazily in the back of the truck, sprawled comfortably on the floor, gazing over his newfound comrades. His form was odd, with unexpected bulges and protrusions that a normal human frame usually wouldn't have. His radiation suit was patchwork at best, denim patches thrown over bullet holes and tears, the only thing truly intact being the sturdy boots he wore and the heavy lead vest that protected his torso. Several belts of amunition were wrapped around him and draped over his shoulder, and a heavily modified machine gun lay on his lap. Despite it all, he seemed nearly oblivious to the weight, and seemed content.

"You're absolutely clear, commander Abakumov! Transparent! Invisible! Crystal!" He proclaimed loudly, his voice buzzed through what sounded like a ham radio with a poor connection, and muffled by a mask, but even still, it seemed rather enthusiastic. "Junkers will radio you in the event of an emergency!" Gold continued, and gave a thumbs up, the bullets he was seemingly buried under rattling loudly as he did so.
 
Doc stared out into the burnt landscape, swaying with the movement of the vehicle. Nervous wasn't the right word for how she felt. Nervous would imply she was unprepared. Scared, even. Years of managing to survive had taught her that, if you had a good gun and a sense of wit, giant rats were the last thing to be scare of. No, it was more like a budding moment of anticipation to ready Doc for whatever lay in store, whether big trouble or none at all. From beneath her helmet, a small smile twitched on her face at hearing Gold's reply. If only she had such energy to spare.

She tuned to face her companions, metallic hand lightly tapping against her rifle. It was an old thing, the gun. But it was serviceable, and would be for a good long time. Her suit hulked her normally stouter frame, but it was in as good as a condition as it could be. Her medical supplies hung in pouches at her side, prepped for use. "No need to worry, Sir," Doc replied, her voice slightly muffled by her helmet. "Ready for anything."
 
Cleaning his Dragunov, Viktor felt a surge of adrenaline. It had been many years since anything worth note had happened in his life, and sitting in the bumpy truck surrounded by comrades brought him back to the war. Over the years Viktor had lost a sense of worth. His injury coupled with the loss of his place in the army had left him and empty man. Before the burning of city 6 Viktor spent all his time on the bottle, but when the flames shot up and his ears rang so loudly he couldn't hear himself breath. The old Viktor came back, the esteemed marksmen, the killer, and the bastard who would die.

The commanding voice of Pyotr snapped Viktor out of his musing, "Yes Komdiv," called Viktor in a heavy Russian accent. "Rats wont be problem." The last he said as he jammed the clip into his Dragunov. Viktor quickly checked over his equipment and slung his pack over his shoulder. "Everything ready here, Komdiv."
 

After several minutes of careful observation, Pyotr finally spots a black speck on the horizon. It soon begins to grow into a discernable structure, recognizable as an average Gaz outpost. With that confirmation, Pyotr veers the truck towards the base, and edges the car to move even faster than before, moving his hand to shift one gear up.
"We are nearing the area. Be ready."

One very long minute passes.

Slowing down the speeding vehicle, Pyotr nears very close to the base. It is large, seeming to compose of two stories, and is akin to the size of a small shopping mall. With many dust eroded holes and years of nonuse, the building is not a visually appealing sight. It appears to be made of reinforced concrete, covered by a thin layer of the iconic dark blue "Gaz alloy" that coats many of their cities. Stopping the vehicle not one foot away from the building, Pyotr pulls the emergency brake, shuts the car off, and simply commands: "We move now.".
The man moves his hand from the brake to his iconic rifle of Russian history. It has notable wear, having been used for the many decades Pyotr has been out here. He fastens a bayonet on the tip of the muzzle, opens his door, and steps out. The dust around his boots are kicked up from his weight, and the small gust of air caught in the closing door. Walking around back of the truck, he opens the two large back doors, and waits for his new friends to step out as well.
"Junkers, I want you to search for any doors that might still be able to open. Everyone else, follow Junkers, weapons ready."

OOC note: You're all doing great so far, let me clear up a few things. Our characters have known each other for about two days, and have already communicated their skills. Your characters have been traveling in the back of a truck for around 8 hours, and before that sitting in a small building where Pyotr had situated himself to broadcast his coordinates.
 
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Gold dropped heavily from the back of the truck as the doors opened, his knees buckling slightly under the weight as he fell. He took a moment to meticulously rearrange the ammunition belts that hung over him, handling them as if they were delicate jewelry. When finally satisfied, he hefted the machine gun over his shoulder, and sauntered towards the building. His companions seemed far less enthusiastic than he did, and he swung back to them, backpedaling as he paced towards the building.

"Why so sad?" He asked, in his usually uplift tone. "We get to squish some rats, it'll be fun! Fun, fun, fun." Junkers continued, practically skipping as hummed a rambling, bumbling tune loudly through his fuzzy speaker. Gold kept his focus on the big building, though, examining it for possile entrances. Some heavy, bulletproof, one way windows lined the upper floor, and the bottom had a single large double door, and a few cargo doors. The doors were bent and damaged, and had several feet of sand piled in front of them. Gold ignored them.

"Back in the days I was a small boy, I was plated with Gaz's darkened blue alloy." He sang as he moved along, making his way over to the door. He stood at the door, staring it up and down for a moment as he removed his glove. Placing his hand over the control panel, he continued humming his jaunty tune as the universal interface in his palm began its work. His tune, however, was cut short as the door gave an accepting chime, the control panel lighting up with a green light.

"Naughty little door. You let me in so easily!" He muttered disapprovingly, before turning back to the team. He gave a mock bow, and gestured to the control panel. "Whichever one of you lovely folks would be so kind as to ask Madame Door allow us entry?" Junkers said as the control panel displayed a single, large, [OPEN] button.
 
"Thank you, robot." Pyotr states, ruffling his eyebrows out of slight annoyance. Stepping forward, he looks down at the button for several seconds, then up to the large blast door. Shaking his head, not wanting to waste any time, Pyotr presses the button, and after a short delay, the steel began to rumble, with large metal gears forcing the plates to roll away from each other, but quickly getting jammed due to the warped steel. At the sound of the motors shutting down, Pyotr pressed the button again with frustration, only to have the doors close. He growled under his breath, and quickly hit the open button again with some force. The doors opened back to their previous position, the gears refusing to budge any longer.
"I guess this will do."
Peering into the darkness inside through the thin opening, it seemed to be open just enough to fit the crew if they carefully entered single-file. Sighing, Pyotr reached backwards to his large backpack, unclipped a small flashlight-like tool, and scanned the room. It appeared to be a garage, but was empty - save for dozens of tools and car parts strewn around the wet floor. Clipping the light to the shoulder strap of his kevlar vest, Pyotr sidled between the doors, and stepped down from the pile of sand into the inch-deep pool of liquid spread across the surface of the floor.
"There is a significantly lower temperature in here than out there." Pyotr noted as he returned his free hand to his rifle. "The floor appears to be coated in rat bodily fluids." Bending his knees, examining the disgusting brown slurry of feces, urine, and whatever else was there, Pyotr adds "This would have been a nightmare to clean up..."
Turning his body to shift the beam of light coming from his shoulder around the room, roaches flee from the light, some plopping into the liquid below, others squeezing into cracks along the walls. "Mild insect population... But no rats to be found. Perhaps they all died off?"
He turned around to face the others as they entered. "We'll split up. Search for anything of use, whether that be air, IV packs, ammo, or anything else you may want. You see rats, you kill rats, and radio us. Frequency is 122.4, make sure you're on it." Pyotr pauses for a moment, in thought. "Junkers, come with me." He points to Doc, then Viktor, "You two stick together."
 
"Yes Komdiv" Viktor said as he flicked on his light and set his frequency. Rifle butt pressed against his shoulder, Viktor walked to the door. As he entered he motioned Doc to follow, "We best stick together comrade. It would be tragedy to be eaten by rat." Examining the area for a moment, Viktor was disturbed. It was the perfect environment for rats, "Watch yourselves, Rats are slippery bastards," Radioed Viktor "Check behind large objects for nests, wouldn't want them to get a jump on you from behind."

Viktor knelt, rifle ready, scanning the room. "Find what you need Doc, I'll watch your back."


OOC Note: Sorry for a short post my day has been crazy, but wanted to post so we could keep things moving : )
 
"Yes Komdiv" Viktor said as he flicked on his light and set his frequency. Rifle butt pressed against his shoulder, Viktor walked to the door. As he entered he motioned Doc to follow, "We best stick together comrade. It would be tragedy to be eaten by rat." Examining the area for a moment, Viktor was disturbed. It was the perfect environment for rats, "Watch yourselves, Rats are slippery bastards," Radioed Viktor "Check behind large objects for nests, wouldn't want them to get a jump on you from behind."

Viktor knelt, rifle ready, scanning the room. "Find what you need Doc, I'll watch your back."


OOC Note: Sorry for a short post my day has been crazy, but wanted to post so we could keep things moving : )

OOC Note: No worries, man! I want everyone to try and post at least once every 4 (or so) days, so there's no pressure at all.
 
Doc recoiled as she set foot in the waste pool, a part of her thankful the stale air in her suit blocked most of the stench. She could only imagine the acridness of the smell, especially with what had died in it. Or, a disturbing thought flashed into her mind, who. With a shake of her head, Doc pushed herself to go further after her companions. She gave a small grunt of affirmation at Pyotr's command and turned towards Viktor, giving a small gesture of 'lead the way'.

As she trailed behind her companion, a mental checklist ticked off in her mind. Medical supplies were always good to have around. Bandages, IV, medication--anything to keep going. Food, of course, if it hadn't already been spoiled by the rats. Ammo, maybe? Not that she was one to deny extra bullets. Doz's mind buzzed, and for a moment she nearly didn't notice a small plop in the water. Nearly. Doc looked up sharply, pressing her rifle closer. She slowed and scanned the walls, alert for anything. A roach? Possible. But then again, anything was in a place like this. After a moment of seemingly silence, Doc uneasily turned her back and continued on walking. A moment or two passed before Doc spotted a more hopeful sight. She quickened her pace towards a pair of tanks, one leaning against the wall and the other against a scrap of metal. A quick examination lifted her hopes. "Oxygen tanks," Doc reported, a dull thunk emitting as her metallic hand tapped one of them. "Might even still be full." As she shifted one of the tanks, her hand jerking away as a darker shape darted out from behind the metal scrap. "Son of a bitch," she hissed beneath her breath, hands steadying on her firearm as she backed away from the rat. "Viktor!"
 
Viktor had been generally scanning the room when He heard Doc's call. Swinging round with lightning speed, viktor took a deep breath. As he let out half, Viktor gently squeezed the trigger on his Dragunov. A thunderous crack went through the room. The rat's head now had a gaping and bloody hole in it, blood and brains coated the wall behind it. "Bastard almost bit you comrade, I would suggest being careful in the future. We may not be so lucky next time." called out Viktor "Rats are rarely alone keep eye out for them comrades." Drumming his fingers on the side of his rifle, Viktor kept his aim close to where the first rat had showed itself. "I would check Behind those tanks Comrade Doc, There may be nest." Radioed Vikor.
 
"Oooh, if only I could smell, then I'm sure this place would be infinitely more wonderful." Junkers crackled as he slogged his way through the slur of sewage covering the ground. The machine gun dropped into his hands heavily as surveyed the room. He took a moment to remove his gas mask, hanging it along his hip. Several LED lights sprung to life, plastering his view in a harsh white light.

"Let's go, Pyotr! Into the mouth of the rat outpost! We shall brave the harsh dangers of the outpost infested by small rodents, and emerge heroes!" Gold exclaimed as he proceeded down the corridor opposite Doc and Viktor. The corridor took a sharp turn before turning into a long hallway, with several connecting rooms. Water dripped from the ceiling, the slow splash of the drops echoing in the silent halls. The walls were in disarray, peeling and covered in a black mold.

From above them arose the tiny scurrying of feet, audible only due to the near silence they were in. The robot slammed his fist against the wall hard, shaking the already loose ceiling tiles. Panicked squeaking erupted as a small black rat fell from the ceiling, and fell into the filthy water below. Junkers knelt down and examined the small rat, which swam to the closest dry object, in this case, Gold's pants. It clung on desperately, the tiny wet rat breathing fast and heavy. "What a cute little guy. Come with us, Mr. Rat! We're great adventurers, seeking to live with the princess in the highest tower!" The rat bit at Gold's gloved metal hand to little avail, and was helpless as he was shoved into an empty ballistic pouch, and trapped inside. It squirmed and squeaked and bit, but to no avail.

Just as Junkers stood up, another much larger splash was heard from one of the side rooms. A massive black rat ran through the muck, charging towards Gold and Pyotr. It was large, at least two feet long, and it's beady black eyes did nothing to conceal its plain hostility. Even as it jumped onto him, Gold was already mid kick, his boot slamming solidly into it, punting it and a considerable amount of water and muck back down he hall. The room returned to silence, the giant rat lost in the darkness and the water.

Junkers paused and listened for a while to the radio as Doc made her report. The gunshot rang out loudly shortly after, first through the radio, and then echoing through the building shortly after. "Just be sure not to shoot the tanks, you two. Pure oxygen is quite explosive, and my mechanical stomach wouldn't hold out if I had to peel you off the walls." Junkers said through the radio flatly. "We're clear here, for now, but radio if you need any help, or you find a board game we can play. I've always wanted to play a board game." Gold muttered, before ending the transmission.
 
Staring at the blackness where the rat had disappeared to, Pyotr shook his head, and began to wade down hall. "Come, we are wasting time." he says, looking into the room through the doorless doorway. It was a smaller than the garage, and full of various rusted metal scraps, tools, and massive canisters. After carefully scanning the room with his light, he enters, and immediately checks the tanks. All but one of the four were empty, the last one being about half-empty.
"This must be fuel. If so, we may be in luck." Clipping his rifle to his bag and wrapping his arms around the rusted metal canister, he flexes several of his strongest muscles to even budge the waist-high container off the ground. Failing to do so, he steps back, hands on his knees, taking in several deep breaths.
"Gold... See if you can... Move this..." He says, pointing a weak arm to it. After composing himself, he pushes both hands against his back, looking up at the ceiling. Returning to his normal posture, Pyotr stares down at the gas for a moment, then to the doorway opposing the one they had entered through. It was closed, but there was a faintly glowing identification screen. Carefully stepping through the muck at his feet, Pyotr went to examine it, and appeared to be deep in thought for a short time. After checking it out he called Gold over. "This should lead to the commissary and sleeping quarters, which would supply two very useful things, in theory." Feeling around the door for any faults, he adds "We may be able to forcefully enter the commissary, and the other two could get some rest when the time comes. I doubt any rats would have even been able to get into this room, due to the metal walls, ceiling, and floor... Along with the nearly air-tight doors. The sleeping soldiers and food got the second highest security, outside of the armory."

OOC note: Military-grade intravenous packs include stimulants that would not allow the deployed soldiers to sleep, but were able to effectively replicate sleep with a complex mixture of chemicals. Pyotr has been living off of them for many years, and suffers severe insomnia because of it. At most, he cannot manage to do anything short of dozing off. After living with him for two days, all characters would know this.
 
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"The mind is willing, but the body is weak, so let the machine do all the work. Sometimes I think you just keep me around for manual labor, Commander!" Junkers said to the commander. Nobody liked talking around here, for some reason. He made it his personal mission to lift morale around here. No more fooling around! Gold decided to make it his personal mission to bring everyone together as friends. Then maybe he'd have someone to talk to. If not, then he was sure Mr. Rat would be a good listener. Not that the rat had a choice, of course.

Grabbing the fuel drum by the rim with one hand, Junkers rolled it onto an edge, and began dragging it forward, moving towards the commissary. The fuel sloshed loudly as it was slowly pulled towards the door through the wretched swamp water underfoot. Listening to Pyotr's explanation, he stopped as he reached the door, placing his hand upon the identification screen. "But what about the vents Pyotr! What about the vents?!?" He cried.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to the door. His lens refocused, and he looked as if someone had just thrown mud at his new suit. "Listen here you prude!" Junkers yelled at the door. He set the barrel upright, and banged his free palm against the door repeatedly, making several booming metallic thuds. "I'm gonna have my way with you, one way or another, so you might as well make this easy for me! You can't possibly resist my charms and advances!" He sighed, the poor imitation of the sound buzzing though his speaker. "This might take a little bit, Brave Sir Pete. This young fair maiden-" He paused once more to slam at the door. "-won't let us into the castle! Give me some time, though, and I'm sure she'll let us in."
 
"Duly noted," Doc radioed as she stared warily at the rat corpse. "I'll see what we can find."

She gave Viktor a small nod of thanks, tucking away her rifle as her metal hand reaching for her machete. If the gunshots hadn't scared away any nearby vermin, then she had a better shot chopping furry heads off than risking a fiery death via accident. Doc slowly approached the tanks. She hesitated for a moment before, in one quick movement, she jerked a tank away from the wall. A hiss garbled through the air as two large rats scurried from the darkness, dark pelt slick with the sick waste that covered the floor. Still gripping the tank, Doc chopped downward at a rat nearing too close for comfort. The blade sank halfway through the pest, eliciting infuriated squeals of pain from the creature as it it flailed furiously. The squeaks faded with the vermin's struggles, until it fell completely limp at the end of Doc's machete.

The second rat hissed, seemingly wary and enraged with its fellow rats death. It took a few steps forward, wormlike tail whipping threateningly, before seemingly rethinking and turning away to scamper towards the exit. Doc pulled away from the corpse, slowly edging her way towards the second oxygen canister. "No board games, sorry to say." Her voice crackled with hints of nervousness as she retrieved the additional tank. "But we did find some rats. I'm not too keen on finding out if there are any more."
 
Pyotr glances around Gold's robotic face, taking in the information he was saying. "Everyone's got a use. You just happen to be the most useful. That's a compliment." Sitting down on a nearby empty fuel canister, Pyotr sighs. "To my knowledge, there are no vents in these facilities. All soldiers would we wearing personal breathing apparatus while on-duty. It's safest that way." putting his hand on where his chin would be, but instead stroking the filter of his mask, Pyotr waits for a moment to ask a question that's been on his mind since the moment he's met Gold. "Question. Why are you acting so... Peculiar, Gold? I have seen many machines before." Looking up at the ceiling, he pondered his past adventures. "Many machines indeed. None of them were ever nearly as expressive as you are." He states, turning his head to the machine once more. "In fact, I've only seen one robot that would qualify as 'sentient' in my life, and she... Well... She was quite a piece of work." He half-heartedly laughs. "Has Gaz been focusing more on AI as of recent?"

OOC note: At the end of the hallway near where Doc and Viktor are, there's a flight of stairs, along with a large elevator platform that has clearly been out of service for months. Most of the rooms along the hall are various multi-purpose rooms full of rotting junk, but may hold something of value if searched thoroughly enough. Atop the flight of stairs there is an expansive, square room resembling something like a single floor of a hospital. The ground is much drier up there, but still coated with a layer of slime that gives the smooth surface slightly unstable to stand on. There are the remains of stretchers and rolling carts, and a large desk covered with soggy papers and a broken computer. This room appears to take up a large part of the upper portion of the outpost. There are many rooms, some of which are open and can be seen harboring dozens of highly territorial rodents.
 
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"No board games at all? Perhaps a moldy deck of cards? A beat up pair of dice? C'mon, this outpost is boring as hell. What kind of military outpost has soldiers that don't gamble on anything?" Gold complained to Doc. He kicked sulkily at the floor, sending a spray of water into the wall.

He turned back to Pyotr, and nodded silently as he answered his half joking question. Hearing his question, Gold placed his free hand on his chest, and recoiled in exaggerated offense. "I'm the peculiar one? For all you know, I'm a figment of your imagination, a hallucination created by radiation exposure, a manifestation of your deepest subconscious' desires of having a whimsical robot companion with a massive machine gun!" He continued, hunkering down and grabbing his head as if he had come to some great realization. "Or maybe, just maybe, we're all part of a dream of a massive cosmic space turtle floating through time, and this entire universe will shatter as the turtle slowly opens its weary eyes to continue its everlasting journey through the stars!"

Gold stared at Pyotr's emotionless face mask for several seconds, before rubbing his toe into the ground abashedly, and giving a nervous chuckle. "I can see you don't believe me, eh? Hmm, it seems I'll have to let you in on my deepest, darkest secrets" He whispered to Pyotr. He raised a hand to his speaker and faked a cough, then began.

"What the hell is so special about this new type of robot the brass shipped us? Most of these things are either worthless, or as much as a danger to us as our enemies." A different voice crackled through the speaker, and Junkers stood as motionless as a statue. The audio was a recording, apparently.

"It's the AI, supposedly." A second voice came through. "'Radiant Artificial Intelligence,' they call it. Apparently, it's the closest they've gotten to replicating a human brain bound inside a machine this size. It's priorities are as follows, and in this order. 'Obeying orders, protecting allies, and self preservation.' Ideally, it's supposed to be capable of working within squads, taking on difficult tasks for people, as well as being a mobile computer and hacking tool. We're supposed to be testing this thing out before they begin mass production."

"No shit? A robot being useful for a change, that sure be nice. But having this thing that's nearly human following us around all the time? Creepy as hell." The first man responded.

"Well, apparently this thing is good at reacting to people, sensing emotions, and it learns over time. You can also install some personality, supposedly. Zeke's gonna have a damn field day playing around with this thing."

The message buzzed to an end, a brief buzz of static playing before Junkers returned to silence. Temporarily, of course. "And then the event happened, and broke most of my advanced systems, and corrupted a fair portion of my code." Gold said cheerfully. "And now I'm a free man! Machine! Cyborg! Thing!" He exclaimed.
 
@Arthro @Fubsy @SedentaryCobra

OOC note: I've had a crazy week in my personal life. Some pet deaths, some medical problems, and a bunch of other shit. So i am very sorry guys! I hope to have enough time and mental capacity to post Very soon! Again im sorry and I will try to respond ASAP. Thanks for understanding, or not This is a post not a cop haha.
 
Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sorry about the inactivity. I think I'm going to discontinue this roleplay, as roleplaying on a forum just doesn't seem that enjoyable to me. I prefer having instantaneous responses, and staying in character for longer periods of time, which isn't really possible in a forum thread. Sorry guys, if any other GM's would like to pick this up, feel free, just give me some credit.
With that, I'll probably be heading out of here. Thanks for joining this while it lasted, people.
 
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