ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Qwillis     Going on evening within the ruins of that city, once again sentry duty is selected from among those there! Just about everyone is wounded, so the pool is those who are the least wounded. Resulting in people being asked to stay alert and make sure the base camp doesn't get ambushed.

Off to the east, Qwillis is leaning up against a building's wall, one of the mechanic shops no doubt. That needler is held in one hand while he'd work to not itch with that metallic hand. The radroach nest was.. well. It was unpleasent. To say the least. He found at least some resources for it.. But that was not something he ever wanted to deal with again.
Aralyn Well, lets face it, she's hurt, but still, the sniper is dutiful in actually volunteering for sentry duty. To the North as the woman has found her self a wonderful crows nest! She's currently on top of the tallest building she can get onto. She has set up a bit of a shade netting setup, and is currently sitting with that giant gun of hers waiting and loaded to engage any possible attackers... She then gets on the Radio and asks "So how's everyone this fine afternoon?" curiously as she looks around, even so much as siting through her scope now and then when her eyes tell her there might be something out there.
Abe     To the South,

Abreham.

The Scribe... is feeling better than he has in weeks.

Seated atop a (hopefully) empty barrel, he sits under the awning of what was once a food stand. His heel taps gently against the hull of his barrel, tapping it for a quiet, hollow thump.

His attention is... Abreham is never the most alert or attentive. At the moment, he wonders what the chances of any of, if there is any, food being unspoiled in the food stand is.

There is no chance, none.
Apostle     Sentry duty.
    The perfect time to preach.
    Hsssssk. ... Hsssssssk.
    Apostle stares out southwardly from her position, having gotten herself up on some crumbled ruins of what once was. She's not so far from Abe -- really, unless he's been asleep in the back of another vehicle, those that had arrived in Velocity have been her wards since their departure.
    They are hers, as she has decreed.
    Hssk.
    A crackle of life, and her vocalizer allows: "Is it not strange how humans will resort to the most inhumane of actions as the first plausible solution? Why are we such a feral bloodthirsty species when we are supposedly the enlightened ones? Are we guardians... or just mindless butchers?"
    Hssk.
    "Are they even worthy of guarding?" Hssk. Hsss... hm. She seems to consider that for much longer than she should. "Am I a worthy guardian?"
    Her head tilts back to look toward the sky for a moment, those lenses giving nothing away in the terms of emotion or expression, and then her head levels again and ever so slowly turns toward Abe and the thumping of his heel to that barrel.
    Thump. ... hssk. Thump. ... hssk.
    "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."
    ....... thump.
    HSSsssskKH.
Ashur Ashur lingers in the west; the dusking sky dapples him with shadow and light through the broken advertisement sign that towers far above him, ten thousand colorful pinpricks through glass and painted billboard-- of a woman, by the way, a lovely and bikini clad girl iconic of the old world in all the right ways, laying over a beach towel and holding up some sort of soft drink-- scrawled over with some Spanish text the former Legionnaire cannot read.

A little further off is a sight that makes him marvel: an ancient stadium, high-walled and colossal, once used to host Azteca's soccer games and now used for-- well, nothing; but nature has swarmed it, reclaimed it, clouds of insects birthing in the artificial turf, the white lines faded and cracked. He can only see some of it through the looming entrance, but oh, is he curious-- another time, when the camp needn't be watched over.
Vector     Like his moral compass, Vector is Sssssssssssooooooouuuuuuuttthhh.. South.

    Standing not too far from Abe, manning the radio. And by manning it - he stares at it in an irritated manner when it makes noise. It makes noise, and voices come out of it - and nobody is asking for help in any regard. Just noise. He grunts, and stares off towards Abe and Aposlte. "We're pretty awful, Boss. But that's okay, there's more awful things out there.. And, well.. We're doing a decent thing, and we have scavenge rights." That's right, Vector. Think on the important things.
Fiona Fiona was hurting and tired, she sat facing west in her make shift watch tower. The cigar was kept down, occasion puffs interchanges with water sips to keep alert through action. She doesn't say much, but she does reply to the radio. "Up on ammo, up on water. Fiona over."
Abe     Abe generally could understand what Apostle was going on about. It took listening, care and a bit of squinting. He did so now, neck crooked back so that he could see her on her pulpit, sermonizing over their role of guardians at the southern gates...

A canny choice, Abreham though, seeing as the horde was likely North!

"I'll be happier when the rough men come to relieve us for our turn at that peaceful sleep." Maybe someone will have knocked over a liquor store by then... he could use a drink. Resting his helmet in his lap, Abreham dabs and blots at his brow with what will pass for a handkerchief. Or was it a bandana? Maybe. Either way it was hot and Abe was sweating.
Qwillis     Aralyn, Fiona and Vector all are the ones to pick it up. There's movement out in the ruins. It's quite a bit out. The echos of scurryign really that causes the first clue something is going on. Rats.. not devil rats. Just rats, they're running away from something. They get near where the people are posted up and veer off, away from the camp. But.. something.. has them running.

Scared.

Qwillis, on the other end of this, is clueless. He doesn't notice the rats, actually, he's busy looking at his needler to think of a way to maybe make it better. He'd yelp at the voices over the radio and after remembering himself pulls it out of the lab coat pocket. "Oh. Uh. I'm.. uh.. fine?" Right. "East side is ok."
Aralyn Ara squints and watches the rats activities curiously.. "Movement to the north, something's pushing the wildlife out." She anounces, then gets on the rifle, the woman now laying prone as she studies the ruins now with more scrutiny. Carefully, she flips her rifle's safety off and now slowly starts searching the northern area, the woman trying to figure out what it is that has those rats scurrying. "Everyone keep a wary eye out."
Vector     Sigh. The radio is used. "Confirm." states Vector. He turns his head to look towards Apostle and Abe, "Something making rats scared. Might be good eatin'." He declares, as he propmtly drops into a squat, then up, then down - stretching out his legs so that he might outrun Abe.
    Just incase it's a bunch of deathcclaws. All I need to do is outrun Abe. Remember that.
Abe     Sir, I will have you know that the last time Scribe Errant Abreham McDonald encountered a Deathclaw-!

He almost shat himself and then handled a pest problem for it.

The Scribe hopped off of his barrel and pulled his laser pistol from the straps on his thigh. "Well if they're on the move..." maybe it was just dogs or rad-cats. pleaseletitbedogsandradcats

He worked a finger over the laser's safety switch and chacked the charge on the battery... Not stellar but it would do.
Ashur Ashur's ponderous footfalls have taken him with an easy cadence to the outer edge of the stadium. In some ways, it reminds him of home; it appears circular, its white roof supported by dozens of marble-like columns that flare outwards, with a looming main gate that, if one can navigate the tumble of cars and bones picked bare by carrion appetite, permits ingress to what green wonders still lurk within.

The golden-skinned man pauses near one of those cars, and within it still lurks a male skeleton. It's in the width of the shoulders, the pelvis-- broken, actually, impaled by a spike of aluminum. The way the front of the car had collapsed in entirely suggests something terribly heavy rolled over it, and this fellow was, perhaps, trying to escape or hide.

He hms, turns, and his radio makes noise, a twinkling few voices that break his reverie beneath the fey and graven monument to Sport.

"There is naught west but the sleeping sun," he responds, turning away from the stadium. Who is that man in the uniform on the peeling poster kicking a ball?
Apostle     Hssk.
    "The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through."
    Apostle has something to say about everything, but not much care to witness what's going on before her unless it involves hydraulic fluid and gears, it appears. Her hand idly moves toward her weapon, hidden away in that ghillie mess of linen, cotton and what is probably burlap as Vector informs her of the state of the rats, in conjunction with the outsider's report that barely registers.
    People. Pfeh. KSH! Hssk. Hssk.
    "It was just a story about people and rats. And the difficult part of it was deciding who the people were, and who were the rats."
    Rats. Scavengers. Were they really so different?
    Much like Vector, Apostle looks at Abe as a sickly gazelle ripe for sacrifice; he is slow, chubby, and quite possibly suffering the shakes with the lack of booze. She gives him a blatant and casual once over, then looks toward her driver as he begins stretching -- it's like watching beautiful mind mathematics drift through the air, the way her thoughts just sorta broadcast them.
    She could outrun Abe. But, could she outlast Vector?
    Would... would she go back for Vector?
    These thoughts are vexing.
Fiona Fiona eases forward, snuffing her cigar as she sights in on movement. Rats, stupid rats. She would watch them cautious and curious. What she would not have done is call it in. She tosses a rock towards Ashur's post to get his attention, waving to the rats. Then she picks up the radio, "We got rats too, spooked. Wake your partners, stand by. Check in every few."
Vector     It's after doing the stretches that Vector then decides to look over his revolver. You know, the oversized hunting revolver that'd be great for shooting someone into the leg.
    Anything coming to eat them. That is. Absolutely. Don't worry. Vector is a team player. "Get ready to hurt anything that comes up to us. If its edible, claim scavenge rights. Food is going to be getting more difficult to get, the deeper we go."
Qwillis     There it is. What caused the rats to run away? That's easy.. Mutants. There seems to be 4 of them to the side. Two green, one red and one blue. South and west they're scrambling about as they look for.. something. Something to hunt? Something to eat? To the north, there are two more greens and to the east, 3 come bounding into sight. They pick up the base camp at roughly the same time and with a skittery roar, rush towards the camp!

    Qwillis frowns as the others talk about rats on the radio. He'd quit messing with his bites, just in time to spot some mutants coming towards him. With a frown, this is of course called in. "3 green mutants.. they.. uh.. seem to be coming this way."
Fiona Fiona presses the call button, "West Side: Mutants closing." Then she seeks cover trying to find some rubble to get and conceal. Alternatng scanning and counti g the large shapes approaching
8
Aralyn "Got 4 mutants north..." There's a bit of a pause... "Engaging." Before Ara takes a deep breath, the woman exhailing slowly as she gets the crosshair firs ton ole red... As she hits the bottom of her breath the woman squeezes the trigger. Suddenly throught the camp they can hear the bark of that massive .50 cal rifle of hers. Windows near the woman shake, and there's another sound of a loud thwack, or meath plop as suddenly the upper body of the first mutant is simply obliterated.. arms fly off in two random directions, and the head is no longer even visible, it's simply a bright mist. Ara then brings her rifle to bear on the second Mutie, who's evidently paused to see what just happened to the first, such is the distance that the woman is firing. She smirks "Ooh that's a mistake..." She mutters, and yes it's heard over the radio shortly before a second reverberating, bone shaking boom is heard, and a higher pitched impact is heard then as well as the head and shoulders of another mutant is rendered into a fine spray.

Ara casually starts chewing on one of her fruit-chips at this point as she searches for her third target, while informing the group. "2 mutants north now." She says, voice rather devoid of much emotion, it's simply just a day in the life of a sniper really.
Qwillis     Qwillis gets laid into even as he'd try to get that needler up to shoot one of the mutants. It didn't seem to matter as the three of them would tear into him with glowy green claws, rendering that armor useless. He'd get free long enough to yell one word into the radio. "HELP!!!"
Vector     Oh look. Here's some.. Oh look. Yep. That's awful. That's something I'm not interested in letting get near me. Vector's mind is a simple beast. Raising up his braced arm, he brings the oversized hunting revolver up and rests it on his forearm, prepping for the recoil. And recoil there is.
    The *BOOM* that echoes from the revolver comes twice, and the man manages to brace himself for it suitably - as both rounds impact into their target, causing two bursts of blood and viscera from the green ghoul as it comes charging in their direction.
    "Boss, Metal, there's trouble. Don't like it."
Ashur The rats scurry, the voices raise like warning bells; in the distance, Ashur spies the mishapen silhouettes, the tumorous ghouls that lumber through the city and pick it apart with all the discrimination of scavenger birds. "There won't be a heart left beating," he decides, and as the others take cover or wait, the brute courts Fortune and breaks into a charge.

He pounds the pavement beneath him, the rumbling of his passage shaking discarded cans, and sending into the air a small bundle of old newspapers whose tying rope was frayed to the breaking point; as the missives flare and crackle around him, he punches through them, smashing his hand against one of the mutants with savage power, the pistons launching to crush the power fist's battering ram into its chest and amplify his force.

The others might need help; there might be greater threats elsewhere. Ashur, glad to lose himself in blind rage, doesn't give a fuck.
Qwillis     The mutie ghouls are quite savage as they'd decend on those who DARE hurt them. They are the hunters and the hunted? Well, they should learn how to be prey!
Apostle     Hssk.
    Hm. There appear to be things coming this way.
    No worries, though. They seem to be coming for Vector. Her stance drops just a fraction like a spooked animal prepared to run off into the nearest underbrush when faced with danger, but though the dust kicks up and her muscles grow taught, she remains standing where she was as the brutal scene unfolds in the sepia cast of her tinted lenses in reflection.
    "...and she's thinking of rage, like an ember or a burning acid swallowing up her knotted viscera. Blindness like the kind that leads men to perpetrate horrors, animal drunkenness, the jungles of the mind." Crackle, hssk. With that, her pistol is brought up with both hands for stabilization, glaring down the ridgeless spine of her pistol as the red charges forward to take a solid go at her driver.
    She still needs him.
    Hsssssss...
    It's like she's deflating.
    "... And what is red? Red is scream, red is power, red is assertion..."
    The trigger is squeezed, and with the briefest of whining pitch in charge, her pistol discharges the first of its bolts, searing through the flesh of the mutant ghoul's chest with a raging hiss -- not just the burning of skin, but the sudden withering of the moisture therein.
    "Red is," Hssk, another squeeze of the trigger during pregnant pause, apparently setting the blood in its veins gloriously alight as it goes up in a particularly stunning display of ash and ember that is promptly caught by the wind and sent away.
    ... hssk.
    "Dead."
Abe     There is a distant, inscrutable feeling of vengence dwelling in Abreham's heart. He does not know why it boils to the surface when all of the Ghouls dog pile onto The Lady's man, Vector after he had busied himself with stretching... But It Does.

It's short lived, like a firecracker, bright, loud but temporary, a flash and then it was gone. Now, now he had to make sure the man lived... because he drove the car.

His pistol swept up and Abe all but pressed it against the monster, he was so close.

He fired, the weapon kicking gently in his hand and growing warm. He fired twice more, flirting with the insufficient cooling mechanisms of the AEP5s, feeling the weapon heat to almost painful temperatures in his hand.
Qwillis     Qwillis is basically being shredded by the ghouls on the east side. It's bloody. quite unpleasent. Vector manages to end the last Ghoul to the south and Fiona drops one of the remaining two ghouls to the west.
Vector     Bite bite, chew chew. BITE BITE. CHEW Chew.
    Vector didn't pay for this. Vector also didn't order this - and thus it sucks like hell. With deep bitewounds left on his torso, the man hunches over, attempting to defend his extremities from further damage - and then comes the blasting laserbeams that come zipping around, eliminating the majority of the ghouls that are chewing on him.. Leaving one remaining Ghoul.
    Which he then promptly and rather angrily blasts twice - one round going wide, the second taking it in the torso, sending it collapsing to the ground, dead as a do-do.
Fiona Fiona sights in her rifle, aiming at one of the swarm on Ashur. A little loose on the one shot, but the other double shot does the job. One mutant ghoul down. She holds position sighting in on ths berserker she is partnered with this evening. Then she pulls up the rifle, "West clear." She calls to thse radio. Then waits for replies to truck to that direction.
Qwillis     Pain. That's really what Qwillis' world has boiled down to. A.. whole.. lot.. of pain..

He tries desperately to shoot one of the mutants, but it doesn't do much good, he can't aim. They're tearing bloody chunks out of him and he's meeting his old friend pain once again. There are brief blips on the radio, the snarls and him yelling in pain. But that's about it.
Apostle     Apostle glances around quickly, seeing the last of their mutants go down.
    Hssk. Hssk. Hssk.
    Without words, rare as it may be, she moves hurriedly toward Vector, pulling out sterile bandages from a medical satchel on her way. When she gets there, barely any distance away, she begins wrapping the wound on his arm hurriedly. A nod, nothing else, before she's turning and hustling off in Qwillis' noted direction. Over the comms, he hears the following in a woman's voice -- soft, human, not at all the typical tin she would speak with.
    "When we have been brought very low and helped, sorely wounded and healed, cast down and raised again, have given up all hope--and been suddenly snatched from danger, and placed in safety; and when these things have been repeated to us and in us a thousand times over, we begin to learn to trust simply in the charity and character of those that have stood and been broken upon the same surly shores....."
    This is gunna go on for a while.
Ashur Cast the world in mad red shadow; whatever color the city is, in Ashur's cruel regard there are only shades of violence. He sucks in a deep breath as the mutants spit at him-- the wet squelches that announce it providing him warning enough to pivot on a heel, and drop his great bulk low, as one nuclear loogie cannonballs over his helmet and strikes a column of the stadium, hissing and oozing down its stately length. Another strikes him on the side, a faint burn like acid that he recognizes as irradiated fluids; and then they are upon him, gnawing and biting with a hunger.

One latches, with vice-like fingers, onto his left arm. "GET OFF!" Ashur roars, and with a swing of hip and shoulder he lifts it off the ground and throws it from his person, leaving it to slide over the crumpled hood of an abandoned car and smear it with traces of its glowing blood.

The other sinks teeth into his throat like some creature of myth; with cannibalistic hunger, it bites, and chews, yet to its surprise it finds the flesh of the barbarous soldier unyielding. He's tough as nails, that Ashur, and the pain is trivial; as forgotten as the others that surround him. Such is the narrowness of his focus, trimmed to one murderous point, that he doesn't even notice when car-mutant is taken down by gunfire. Instead he rips the neck-muncher off and squeezes its throat; crushes the windpipe, lifts it, kicking and screaming, into the air.

The index and middle fingers of his right hand spear through its eyes. They pop and the ghoul lets loose a hideous keening from its broken bleeding gullet. Ashur flexes the fingers, pulls-- in one joined movement, the pistons of his terrible fist punch forward and blast off the skull-cap of the ghoul, while his ripping talons pull the face and muscles downward.

Carrying his gristly, raggedy trophy, he drops the spurting monster and walks away. Voices on the radio lure the wild beast.
Aralyn Ara isn't exactl helpless in close quarters combat. As the mutants over-run her position, Ara is backing up, while swapping to her smg. Suddenly she dodges one of the incomung mutant attacks, the woman slipping the spit rather easy, then another as she finds her self tumbling away from the second, and then the mutans start swinging at the woman.

Ara tumbles under one swipe and leaps another, before circling back around at rapid pace as she brings her SMG around to bear on them. Her first birst of 5 misses narrowly one of the agile, mutants, while the second extended burst rips through the torso of the creature, bending it backward, while the knife-eared woman now has the SMG leveled on the second of the greenies, her violet eyes narrowed "OVerrun on North, one left..."
Qwillis     With most of the mutant ghouls being driven off. The rest of the group is fast to spring to help. North and East both getting backup. The unconcious form of Qwillis is breathing. If the groan of pain says anything about it. They managed to stop the mutants from passing by.. but there were certainly some serious wounds inflicted too.