Shredded Earth (Group RP - Currently Dameon/2AM_Club/Kayito-san)

[Dameon]

((OOC: The RP is currently tied between three people, but I may be willing to let in one or two more, depending on who they are, how they RP and how reliable and mature they prove themselves to be.

OOC thread - http://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=15684 ))

2998 A.D.

The planet Earth's population has widdled down from 10 billion in the year 2250 down to a few million at the doorstep of the 31st century. Approximately 500 years ago, scientists discovered what was thought to be another planet on the cusp of of our Solar System, approximately 1.5 times the size of Pluto.

An American Satellite was launched, equipped with a newly developed Solar Sail technology and arrived at the 'planet' just shy of 5 years later. Once it had made contact, all visual contact with the heavenly body was lost. All scientists were baffled, and it seemed that communication with the Satellite had become impossible. There was no explanation and it had become a headline making story for several months until finally, as with all great mysteries and tragedies, it petered out.

Aside from the occasional scientific speculation, there was little discussion about the details of that day until 2 months later. There was a rash of strange changes in the tide, across the world. Some scientists suggested that the Moon had been struck by an unseen asteroid, most likely one with an Iron core, that increased the size and weight of the orbiting satellite. But as the world soon discovered, it was something quite different.

The attack was barely registered before it hit. Every major power plant on the planet, every major city, struck all at once. America, Japan, The U.K., Germany, all the most densely populated countries, rendered powerless, both figuratively and literally. In a matter of hours, Earth was in the midst of a global black out. Any power source larger than a gas powered generator seemingly crushed, any town larger then a few hundred bombed from orbit. Not with explosives, but with biological weapons.

Xenomorphs crashed to Earth and shredded with a single minded purpose, to cripple the planet. Amidst the chaos, a massive payload was dropped from a barely visible ship above the cloud of smoke and ash. It was the size of a small mountain, but was visible for less then a minute before it tore it's way into the crust of the planet. The invasion had begun and Earth had already lost.

Hundreds of years had gone by and the planet's population had continued to thin. At first there was a resistance, surviving military and political heads trying to mass rag tag bands of soldiers and citizens to fight the invading horde, but all that did was provide an easier target for the extraterrestrial creatures. They were wiped out en mass. And so began the era of Scavengers.

Humans rarely stayed in groups larger then a dozen or so, and if they did, they were constantly on the move. Fuel was more precious then anything else on the planet, save for food and clean water. Most of the Earth's soil was arid and salted, seemingly in massive amounts, and most of the planet's wildlife had died out, either from the lack of plant life, or the swarms of deadly predators the invaders had let lose upon the surface. Pockets regions exist for those willing to fight to survive, but were either mobile, or in areas where the majority of the Aliens could not reach them.

Those areas were either Arctic, Oceanic, Air-born or, most dangerous of all, subterranean. Scavengers do nothing other than try to survive, hunting food, water, technology and, most of all, fuel. An engine in this era can run much father on a much smaller amount of diesel then ever possible in centuries passed. Fuel has become both a blessing and a curse, though, as anyone who seems to gather up too much technology, particularly technology that runs heavily on electricity or heat, attracts the attention of the invading hordes much quicker then anyone else.

Because of these, any many other factors, survival has become a tricky balancing game. Being with others often means having to share what little you have, which is something many people are not willing to do. A Scavengers life is one that is either lonely, dangerous or a mix of both. But it's the only life that's left.

 

[Dameon]

The sky was thick with dust, so much so that 500 years ago, people would think a storm was on the horizon. But rain was something this planet didn't get much of this far inland, not anymore. The sun cast a haze of light rather than beams, giving all the terrain and ruins of what were once advanced cities a harsh glow. Chips of stone and bent support beams stabbed out of the ground like the back of some deformed monster, looking like ribs, or fractured bone. The area truly was a grave site, thousands of bodies had taken their final breaths throughout the area. Some killed by the initial impacts of the invaders, those that weren't lucky enough to die quickly were torn apart by what was called, collectively, as 'The Swarm'. So many hundreds of years ago that all that was left were broken and gnawed skeletons.

Nothing living, or even moving for the most part, remained in these ruins. No birds in the sky, no insects in the earth, even the rats seemed to have moved on to greener pastures. It was the definition of the word 'dead'. Which was why the shifting of a shadow over head stood out so much. The shift in lighting was followed by the low whistling of the object high in the sky cutting through the clouds. It's almost silent power source over whelmed by the noise of 'classical rock' cutting through the silence of the ruins. The light rattling of the noises caused a few stray rocks to crumble and roll down from their perches, but aside from that, the only signs of life were from the rapidly circling craft in the air.

A few moments later, it's speed decreased enough for the lone pilot to attempt a rough landing in the savaged terrain. As it came in low to the ground, the earth in front of it began to buckle slightly from unforeseen pressure. Almost instantly, the vehicle's momentum died down to next to nothing, a type of technology created long ago for air born vehicles that needed to be able to stop on small platforms. The weight of the ship came down on the soil with loud crunches and splitting of old bones and building materials.

As the engine clicked to a sudden silence, followed just as quickly by the music, there was a shuffling in the cock pit. The only signs of non-mechanical life on the entire rig was as a hand reached out to grasp at the hand rail, pulling himself up to his feet and out of the cock pit. His boots landing on the gravely earth, his boots crunching as he found his footing. Raising one hand to his head, he plucked a cap free from his head, and ran his fingers through the dark locks, looking back and forth over the ruins. His cap was settled back into place before he reached back and pulled out a mostly empty back pack and what looked like a 'data pad'. One that he danced his fingers across, and looked at the dimly lit screen. Even in the middle of the day, in this area, a light was still needed to make out anything written.

His hand slipped to his collarbone where a set of tinted goggles rested, and he fitted them over his eyes. "Looks like we've got fuel, and possibly some water." He mumbled, to no one but himself. Talking to himself was about the best way to keep himself sane when he was walking through these massive global mausoleums, although most people had to be at least a little bit crazy to do what he did. He rested the data pad at his hip and cracked open the hitch of his shot gun, staring down the clean barrel before he loaded in the ammo cartridge and locked it closed with a satisfying crack. In this world, guns were like Condoms. Better to have it and not need it...

 

[2AM_Club]

Too big. Too small. Too isolated. Too consolidated. Too much rubble. Too pristine. Goldie Locks would have lost her mind. There was no place that would be “just right.” Of course that couldn’t be the goal when looking for shelter. The most adequate was not always synonymous with just right. The time for being picky had long past but at least there were still a variety of choices. The goal was to find a place that would offer the best protection for the longest amount of time.

Out in the open wasn’t an option. Sure, you could see the scary shit before it got to you, but what would be the point if you had nowhere to run? If you found a place too big then anything and anybody could potentially take up residence with you without your knowledge. Get a place too small and you’d trap yourself. A building by itself was akin to being out in the open; you needed to be able to run and change positions quickly. The flip side was too many buildings too close together. There would be no way to secure all the potential blind-spots. A place that was too run down wouldn’t provide acceptable cover and a place that wasn’t a complete shit-hole (as if that were the case) would immediately be a target. A sign outside saying “Come Get Me” would have been less obvious.

Then came the minor details : was there a water source nearby, could the area be scavenged, who or what was in the vicinity. A false move could lead to the end of your life. And wrong decisions were easy to make, especially if you were tired.

Fatigue bared down on Psy’s eyelids. She surveyed her options for almost an hour before succumbing to her body’s demands. She’d been walking for miles despite her best efforts to curb her need to sleep. Eventually she couldn’t continue. It was either pass out on what used to be a major highway or at least attempt to conceal herself in one of the abandoned buildings. She was tired, not stupid.

Her head rolled from being upright until her chin was tucked into her chest but didn’t awake. Then she felt the slight rumble underneath her feet and her eyes snapped open. The movement was slightly – barely noticeable but in a place she assumed was otherwise unoccupied, it felt like a herd of buffalo (if they still existed). There wasn’t just the feel of the earth tremble slightly under her feet. It was also the sound of something crashing.

Psy got to her feet quickly, pulling her knife out of her boot. She crept toward the opening in the wall across for her and peeked out. She saw the back of a figure less than a football field away and tightened her grip on the knife.

 

[Dameon]

He never let his ship get out of sight and constantly threw a glimpse back in it's direction. In situations like these, it always paid to be within sprinting distance of a way out, and to make sure there wasn't anything particularly bloodthirsty in your way. Even in an area that's had no visible signs of activity for what could be guessed as months, it wasn't uncommon for the predatory Xenomorphs to lay dormant for close to a year. They were, after all, created solely to hunt and kill.

Slipping the shotgun free from it's holster, the data pad in his free hand, he continued to circle the area around his landing sight. The device in his hand wasn't exactly the most precise detection system ever made, mostly due to the fact he'd had no real supply of parts to pick from while making it, and even less to use for repairs. It was telling him there was a source of water within about 20 yards of his position, and a mild electrical reading in the same general area. 20 yards in this wasteland might as well be 20 miles, since every minute staying in one place with any sort of technology was just asking for an unfriendly encounter.

Kneeling down beside an oddly colored pile of refuse, he lightly bumped the muzzle of his rifle against the side, causing it to tumble and collapse into various bits and pieces. A particular gleam caught his eye and he knelt down, brushing bits of rock and bone fragments away. Holding the trinket in his hand, he gave a tug and was met with some resistance. It had become snagged on something beneath the surface. With another, firmer yank, the dust broke and a tinted white object emerged, the little trinket in his hand giving a clack as the chain it was attached to snapped. In the middle of that tiny refuse pile, which he was now able to recognize as the remains of a military helmet, was a human skull. Long since eaten away, caked in dust, he looked down at the item he clutched in his hand. Dog tags.

Giving the tags a once over, he saw the name, the SSN, Blood Type and Religion. Most likely this was all that was left of this man's entire identity, and odds are, there was no one left in the world that would care, or even know, who he was. With a little snort, he moved to drop the tags onto the ground, but paused, and instead, tucked them away into his breast pocket. "Well, let's see if you've got a canteen. Maybe that's what I'm picking up." He mumbled, as much to the skeleton as to himself, and moved to begin digging. A momentary blip on the data pad as he moved to set it down caught his attention, and instantly, he whipped about, gun aimed in a vague direction. The water source had moved, and that usually only meant one thing. "Whoever's walking around, best come out. Because if I'm chasing the water in your body instead of anything I can actually drink, I'd like to know if this has all been a massive waste of my time."

 

[Kayito-san]

A little over a year passed since Moss' escape from the military base. Forced into hiding, Moss had taken refuge inside a semi-collapsed two level bridge. The river below it had long since dried. The bridge had collapsed more on one end than the other, turning it into a sort of tube, sealed off on one end. When he had first arrived, he had used the Biped as a sort of temporary wall, but as he had gathered more supplies, he had actually built a sealed, defensible barrier on the open end. It had become a bunker, of sorts, and with the addition of a small watchtower atop, his own stronghold. The watchtower was really just an old delivery van parked over a manhole. Some structural re-enforcement here and there, removed the axle and tires, and it was as good is it could get. Lately, he had been working on a sort of sonar, using salvaged parts from about a dozen broken walkie-talkies.

The biped was in the back of the shelter, in a sitting position, back propped against one wall. Over the years, he had collected a lot of equipment. It had not been active for a year, but Moss had spent his time in between excursions outfitting it with new parts and tiny upgrades. It was yet unknown whether the biped would even start again, let alone benefit from Moss' tinkering.

Moss yawned and looked over at the 'wall of clocks'. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, and dismounted his bed-couch. He then walked over to the wall of clocks and adjusted one or two, and made his way over to the 'kitchen counter'. He grabbed a handful of dried pasta, tossed it into a bowl and walked casually over to the fire pit, which had long since gone out. He tossed a few twigs and some old newspaper into the fire pit, which had been the wheel rim of a semi trailer. He lit a match, and tossed it in. It caught slowly, but soon there was a small blaze in the center. Moss hauled a broken truck grill onto the fire pit, and set down upon it a small pot of water. He anticipated one or two visitors this week, and so he was boiling some water to sanitize it.

He had several months ago turned his habitat into a kind of trading post. He didn't get visitors very regularly, but when he did, if they had anything that might be of use to him, he would invite them in, share with them a warm meal, and discuss trading possibilities. Most of the time, Moss would offer to repair something in exchange for something else of value, such as food, ammunition, or the occasional busted piece of tech; he had at one point traded four cans of beans for what seemed like an irreparably broken hunting rifle and a carton of the wrong type of ammunition. However, as sure as the days were long, he had brought it back to working order, and had overhauled it to use a different kind of ammo, to boot. Word of his aptitude didn't travel very quickly, but nevertheless, he had his fair share of encounters.

 

[2AM_Club]

She squinted as she watched the figure circle the craft gradually making larger ripples as they fanned out. Human. Male, she thought to herself, nodding at her own conclusion. Then she scoffed. Yeah. Like I can determine that kind of thing. Luckily (or unluckily) the form continued its approach. Who or what they were became more of a moot point once she saw the firearm they were carrying.

She took a glance down at her knife. “Well you’re useless,” she muttered, slipping it back into her boot. Psy was no fighter and it would have been a waste to pretend otherwise. She could land a few punches here and there but she was shit out of luck going against somebody with a gun. Defending herself had never been a real problem before. The girl could run and besides she'd been used to traveling with at least 5 other people at any given time. The old adage about safety in numbers was true enough.

Slipping back behind a piece of crumbling wall she mentally checked off what she had in her inventory that could potentially pay for her life. Half a bottle of pain meds. A handful of bills. A pack of batteries. Random other knick-knacks she doubted anybody else would appreciate. She should have still been focused on the man and ensured that her movement didn’t make any noise. Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda.

"Whoever's walking around, best come out. Because if I'm chasing the water in your body instead of anything I can actually drink, I'd like to know if this has all been a massive waste of my time."

She froze at the words. Fuck! “Massive waste of time,” she called out. “I’m afraid I’m incredibly undrinkable. Nothing to see here. Just carry on.” How far away is this guy? The only way to tell was to move and see. She sighed. “I’m gonna move alright?” It was bad enough that her visitor had a weapon, she didn’t want to make some trigger happy bloke jumpy. “It’s another 5 or so miles to that water. I think so anyway,” she said, walking out into the open with her arms in the air. “Sorry to disappoint.”

 

[Dameon]

The muzzle had been aimed in the general direction she was hidden in, but once she made herself visible, the sights narrowed in on where she stood. He cheeked his tongue, giving it a swift nip to keep himself focused on the situation, rather then the new arrival, and to keep himself from cursing out loud. Fucking waste of time. Waste of fuel, waste of energy, waste of resources, waste of everything. He could feel his hackles raise, but took a deep breath. This wasn't her fault. She was probably just some stupid Scavenger that was rummaging around for scraps, probably not even looking for water.

"Wonderful." He grimaced, and shouldered his weapon, but kept his grip to the trigger, raising his free hand to brush sand and dust from the lenses of his goggles. Human, female, dark skinned, but he hadn't detected any nearby vehicles landing recently. He pursed his lips in thought before he walked towards the nearest pile of refuse that stood more then a few inches off the ground, speaking as he began to scale it. "How long have you been skulking around here?" He asked, only half paying attention to any responses she might be giving.

As he stood at his full height atop the pile, he used his thumb to adjust the data pad in his free hand. The screen shifting, but retaining the same map like diagram. Instead of looking for Water and Electricity, he had switched it over to detect movement. "Because I really don't want to have more company coming and not know about it." He muttered. Whenever people got together, especially for more then a few minutes, there was always party crashers. Xenos had a sort of sixth sense for swarming in on any humans, or their technology, at the worst times. His data pad gave off the standard blips of local background noise, dust storms, tumbling rocks, the scrapper, and himself. Although the device did have a limited range, and the Xenos didn't.

"You got anything better than that knife for a fight?" He muttered, not sure which he'd rather get from her as a response. He wasn't too keen on sharing his guns, but on the same point, if she had her own weapon, it was less likely he'd be able to get her to co-operate.

 

[Kayito-san]

One of the digital clocks on the 'wall of clocks' began to beep. Looking up from the pot of water, Moss was at first confused. It had been a while since that particular clock had seen any relevant data. Only two of the four dozen clocks actually showed the time– the rest were data streams. Moss had modified all of the digital clocks and connected them to the Biped's data ports, making use of its military data collection systems. That way, he could easily read the unit's built in sensors without having to be inside the cockpit. The clock continued to beep. Moss stood and walked over to the wall. "Fuck, which one are you, again? I should have labeled these." he mumbled aloud. He stared at the clock: 88:88… –5:01… UA:_8… It was really going crazy. 88:88 was an alert warning, –5:01 was a distance, but… what else?

Moss scratched his head, "Fuck me. This is really baffling." It wasn't a life sign. It was something more than that. He turned his attention towards the Biped, "Leo, your data streams are really giving me hell. What are you trying to tell me? Xenomorphs? Fucking what?" Moss walked over to the Biped and climbed up to its cabin. He pulled the lever and the capsule opened, shedding some dust. He looked inside, and while it took his eyes a second to adjust, the message became blatantly clear, Unidentified Aircraft – Local Airspace: AtS Outfits Detected. Moss cursed aloud. There could be trouble coming his way. Serious trouble. He jumped down from the cockpit and grabbed his rifle. He hurdled towards the watchtower ladder, and scaled it two rungs at a time. He exited through the back of the van, and looked through the scope of the rifle, swinging it full circle. He didn't see anything, at least not in the sky. –5:01 was 5.01 Km from the stronghold.

He hadn't checked whether or not it had changed position. Maybe the craft had moved on. Or maybe it had landed. Moss scanned the horizon again. Sure enough in the distance, there was a ship. It looked almost new; probably an Airborne scout. He adjusted the scope and peered through again. There were two people on foot, one with a shotgun, the other seemingly unarmed. He grabbed two tracer rounds from his back pocket. One was a standard tracer, the other a 'Paladin' tracer, used to counteract snipers of unknown position. It was essentially a long distance flash-bang. He loaded the standard tracer and pulled back the pin, taking aim directly between the two, and then up a bit. The last thing he wanted was bloodshed on his hands. Evidently, the armed figure was had the advantage, and was probably the Airborne scout. Unaware of either of their motives, Moss observed the movement of dust around where the two were standing. They were probably after the waterhole. He might be able to prevent the Airborne pilot from killing the poor scavenger if he could get their attention. He made the shot, a bright orange flash tearing from the muzzle and passing a couple dozen feet above their heads. If he had thought this through correctly, the pilot now had more important things to worry about than picking on the locals.

 

[2AM_Club]

A second passed. Then two. No bullets were ripping her body apart. She slowly lowered her arms to rest at her side. No sense in continuing to look foolish. She’d made it abundantly clear that she was harmless. She shrugged as she watched him elevate himself above her. She wondered if he knew how much his body language was portraying his need for power – to loom over her and assume control. “Just a couple hours. That’s all.”

She sighed loudly at his comment to illustrate her slight annoyance. If you’re talking directly me talk directly to me. “What was that? I couldn’t catch that. You’ll have to speak up.” She spread her arms to motion to the open space around them and pretended to look around. “You see anybody else?” She used her head to gesture to the data pad he was holding. “That telling you that anybody else is around?” She paused, considering her statement. “Then again, maybe that isn’t all that reliable. Seeing as how you thought you could drink me and whatnot.”

How’d the fuck he know about my knife? Psy struggled to come up with a response when her attention was directed elsewhere. It had been a while since she had expressed the deafening noise and blinding flash. “I wish I had more than just this knife,” she hissed. She took a deep breath, unable to hide how startled she was. “I have a feeling that was just a warning and that we won’t be getting another,” she said, turning around and looking off into the distance. Something or somebody was out there. But how far away and would it be content staying there?

She looked back at him over her shoulder. "Well, I sure would love to keep on and chit chat, but it looks like I best be moving on. Sorry about that whole water mix-up. Like I said," she turned back to the direction the flash came from, "I think water is that way. But I don't think you'd be welcomed that way." It was actually the direction Psy was heading, but she was less inclined to go there now. Her previous wanderings at least had some direction, but she'd pick up the aimless kind if it kept her alive.

Squinting, she continued talking. "You could always take one for the team and see what the deal is up there. If you don't come back I can just take care of your ship. I'm a nice gal like that." Psy still couldn't see the source of the "warning," although she seriously didn't expect to. "While we ponder our options, I think it's best if we move out of the damn open," she said making her way back to where she was previously hidden.

 

[Dameon]

He could feel his teeth grinding at the conversation he was having with this woman, although not as badly as it had when he was talking to some of the stuck up 'upper class' folks from back home. Suddenly, all the reasons he'd spent so much time out on his own came flooding back. She was self serving, snarky, opinionated, sarcastic and oozed back stabber. He'd probably be better off just shooting her now and going home, but...

He'd managed to weasel it out of her that she'd not come armed with any projectile weapons. He had a good hunch that she wasn't wielding a gun, or else her signal for liquids or energy would have pinged off at a much higher rating, the knife crack was just a guess, since he figured no one was stupid enough to be out this far without a vehicle with at least some form of weaponry. Although a knife against the predators around here might as well be a tooth pick. But if your plan was to run and hide, not lugging around anything that'd give you a stronger 'scent' was probably the best strategy, and she didn't look like much of a fighter. But...he'd been wrong about more sure things before.

His chest heaved in a deep sigh as she started to move off for cover, for all the good it would do them. He, on the other hand, was more concerned about his ship. If it stayed out in the open, there was a good chance that it'd be the first victim of this possible, and an even better chance that she might try to steal it at the first possible chance. Rolling his thumb over the data pad, he accessed the ship's remote interface and the engines rumbled to life. It began to break ground with the pressure of it's engines as it hovered low above the surface, and then began to rise, moving straight up until it was several yards in the air and broke off at a cruising speed.

He set the data pad on a small clasp mounted to the handle of his shot gun and flicked it back to the motion detector before following the mysterious, nameless female. The ship blipped across the screen as it pulled away, and the perimeter of the area began to waver, the motion detector having a hard time picking out the difference between waves of dust and what could be a swarm of predators. Why was he sitting here, waiting? Well, there was a good reason, and he might never have a chance like this again. It was a decent sized clearing,

It wasn't every day you had a nice, unarmed piece of bait just fall into your lap.

 

[Kayito-san]

He could hear one of the alarms beeping violently. Intuition told him that whichever it was, it was bad news. He peered through the scope again. It seemed like they'd reached a cease-fire. The unarmed figure disappeared into a mess of concrete rubble, the other was either not moving very fast or not moving at all. Moss lowered his rifle. The alarm was still beeping. He clambered back into the truck, stepping over the sheet metal and canisters of rifle ammunition. Closing the doors behind him, he stepped into the hole in the floor and slid down the ladder.

The same clock from before was beeping still. 88:88… -4:38… UA:_8… it read. Moss looked at the clock in horror. Was there a third person he had missed? The aircraft was coming towards his position. The clock confirmed: 88:88… -4:19… UA:_8… Moss winced at his own anxieties. The airborne vehicle was traveling very quickly. The bridge was built thick: 4 meters of concrete and tarmac below, 3 meters above, 1 meter thick on each side. It had always been enough to mask him from the Xenos, but he had no way of telling how resolute the approaching vehicle's detection systems were. The Biped was armed with a plethora of Electronic Counter-Measures, but the bridge evidently was not.

Moss paced. If the aircraft was traveling in his direction, it would reach him in less than… 4 minutes. He scaled the ladder and pulled the cover over the manhole, then returned to the floor and ran over to the biped. He jumped into the cockpit and ejected the data feed. The wall of clocks beeped momentarily and then went blank. He descended into the pilot bay and sealed the hatch. He pressed a button on the roof and the compartment was lit with a green light. "Leo, deploy radar jamming and all non-mobile ECMs." The cabin's lighting dimmed and two screens popped up in front of him. Unidentified Aircraft – Local Airspace appeared on one screen, and on the other, Outfits Detected– Weapon Systems: AtS, AtA, Digital+Analog ECM, /!\ Multiple Unknown Outfits. Mobility Systems: /!\ Multiple Unknown Outfits. These were the most poorly-stacked odds Moss had ever been subjected to. The approaching craft was very new, exceptionally well-armed and should Moss' position be detected, it would be absolute hell taking it on head-to-head. Most, if not all, of his armaments were dependant on high stability, which meant he would have to stop moving if he wanted a clear shot. Not to mention that Leo hadn't moved in a year. Moss cursed when the close-quarters radar appeared onscreen. It was within three kilometres now. Moss eyed the radar closely, as the aircraft's movement would tell him whether he had been detected–– and whether he would have to act.

 

[2AM_Club]

The syringe was already half full with a lime green liquid. Psy remembered that much as her fingers grazed the plastic tube in her pant's pocket. It was filled with phorlunaphyl. More commonly know on the "street" as 4D. The drug was a powerful sedative. Rumors abounded that the 4D meant that a full dosage (whatever that even meant) had the strength to knock out a Xeno for four full days. Psy didn't believe that at all. Who the hell was running around drugging Xenos and then waiting for them to wake up and measuring that time-frame? More generally the sedative was marketed on the fact that high enough amounts could have a person out "for days."

Half of the amount she had left would do the trick. Just get her visitor out long enough to rummage through his pockets, figure out how to work his ship and get the hell out of Dodge. She wasn't out to kill the guy and besides, using that much of the 4D would leave her SOL the next time she needed it. It wasn't that she didn't have more, but she couldn't ask whoever was threatening to her kindly wait while she searched through her bag for the full vial and filled the syringe again. She needed to always have some at the ready. It might not have been as cool as a weapon, but it got the job done. A girl like her had to be resourceful. How else had she managed to say alive that long?

It was an easy trick - ask about a mysterious sound that didn't exist. The second the person turned around, jab the needle into their neck. Her plan depended on his curiosity, but she had the element of surprise on her side. Or so she thought. Trouble was there actually was a sound. Whatever it was, she couldn't quite make it out. Maybe it was beeping? Whirring? The sounded faded and although she strained her ears to pick it up again, it was gone. It couldn't have been his ship, right? She'd heard the engine rev up, but that had been it. I cannot be hearing things!

"You hear that? The hell is that?" she asked, making sure to keep her back against the remnants of the wall so she could see anything or anybody in front of her. She wouldn't fall for a ploy she'd been planning to execute. "Are you doing that? Is that coming from you?" She wasn't exactly hip on the newest technologies - maybe she'd just heard him press a button or start up a program. That was best case scenario. Worse case scenario? Well she would need a lot more than some 4D in her pocket.