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Wasteland Flame (PsionicCuttlefish & Xeres)

PsionicCuttlefish

PsionicCuttlefish

Supernova
Joined
Apr 10, 2012
"Crap crap crap!"

Markus fumbled desperately with the autolaser rifle in his hands, trying to slot in a fresh powercell while hunkered down behind his damaged Dunerunner. Bullets continued striking the outer plating of the three-wheeled laboratory-rover on the other side, and Markus thought bitterly about how he was down to his last few powercells -entirely- on his own weapon, given their high scarcity, while traditional weaponry was still cheap and easy to keep going.

Not daring to pop his head up, Markus raised his rifle over the top and blind-fired in the general direction of the incoming bullets. With the autoturret on the rover out of comission, he had nothing to cover him. There weren't supposed to be bandits out this far out from East Ravine! He had settled down in this area because there was hardly anyone else, yet enough hidden salvage that only he could find. There were only supposed to be mutant-dogs and shamblers our here, he could handle those! Not a team of bandits trying to kill him and steal the treasure-trove of supplies and tech in his rover!

The bullets started to come from different directions then. They were spreading out. Flanking both sides. Markus chanced leaning around one side and blasting a few lasers in the direction of one of the flankers, but he knew he was a goner. Outnumbered and outgunned. All his prodigious technical intellect, and he couldn't get himself out of this one. He had let his guard down, and now it was over for him. The only thing that could save him at this point was a miracle...
 
The relentless heat scorched the sands, sun glaring down in blinding golden beams. Such a torridness could drop any man, civilian or soldier, with little water and less shade to be found in the barren landscape. The few shadows that could act as shelter were already occupied, it seemed, by a pack brigands. No more than scrawny scavengers with barely an ounce of dignity among them, yet plenty of ammo to spare. Likely they had come across a plentiful score of ammunition from a nearby encampment. Hopefully that encampment was already abandoned, and the casualties of such a plunder were yet to occur.

The vultures and their guns seemed desperate to get at the broken-down vehicle. Either that, or they had no consideration for conserving their ammo. The firing squad seemed to hold up only when it was time to reload, or check for movement in the Dunerunner. Little did they know, their relentless shots and shouting alerted a nearby presence that had even less consideration for their well-being than they did for their quarry.

Slowly but gradually, the firing ceased from one end of the flanking spectrum to halfway across. Only one side, under cover by the rubble that remained of a small town constructed of adobe houses, had continued to fire. At last, a particular pillager called for a cease fire on the surrounding groups. Each group consisted of three or fewer, and strained their gunfire-rattled ears against the sudden, peculiar silence.

The crackling of a pre-war transmitter puncuated the silence from an enclosed hut, one of the few that remained standing, and a gruff voice speaking into the noise. "Why the fuck did you stop shooting? He's not dead yet, assholes, keep at him!"

Silence was the only response. Some of the grunts fidgeted nervously. The voice tried again, more angrily. "Hey, shitheads! I said keep firing!" There was only quiet. Just as the apparent commander pressed the intercom again, there was a loud *crack* from an adjacent hut, a dwindling scuffle, and once again, silence.

Then hell broke loose again.

Bullets barraged within the huts as a blurry figure resembling a dust devil swept between the tumbledown homes and other rubble where-ever the brigands had sheltered themselves. The explosion of yells and guns and other such disarray was silenced as soon as it erupted, until a familiar gruff voice whimpered, wavering voice babbling incoherently before there was a BANG, and it was finished.
 
Even as the spreading-out bandits got closer and closer to circumventing Markus' limited cover, he refused to give in. He knew he was going to die, but at the very least, he wanted to take at least one of the bastards down with him, make them pay for this score of salvage. He continually peeked around either end of the Dunerunner, whichever one the incoming bullets sounded closer from, and ocasionally loosed a few bursts from his autolaser, trying to slow them down. He started peeking out several times around the right end of the Dunerunner, towards a few bandits who were using the few still-standing walls of a ghost town as cover. Not heading anything closer from behind him on the left side, Markus kept trying to draw a bead on one of the bandits, but they were keeping him too well pinned down to make a clean shot without getting hit himself.

Markus suddenly realized with stomach-plummeting dread that he hadn't checked the left end for far too long, long enough to let them get around. Markus quickly tried to crane his head around that end to see just how close his death was--only to find the bandits had stopped advancing in that direction. In fact, he couldn't see any around that end anymore.

Taking a risk, Makrus leaned out a little further. Still no bandits on that side, where had they gone? Markus then suddenly realized that the bullets had stopped coming entirely; a terrifying silence hung over the battlefield. Markus leaned out even further, enough to see straight-on where the bandits had originated.

Suddenly, chaos erupted again in the buildings where the bandits were taking cover. Something was flitting between buildings, and the bandits had all turned their guns inward to deal with whatever it was. It was far too fast to be a shambler, and too tall to be a mutant-dog. Had a speed-shredder made its way out here, too? Whatever it was, Makrus didn't want to count on it buying him much time or being able to take it out himself.

He wasted no time in leaning back to the right end of his Dunerunner, where he took aim at the nearest distracted bandit. Makrus fired, and--finally--took down a bandit as the rapidly-cycling laser drilled a hole through the man's head. He then set about trying to pick off a few more while he could, as whatever it was tore through the bandit's line from the other direction...
 
The few of the bandits that were left had gone into a frenzy. Over half of their band was dispatched of, and it was all too clear that something had infiltrated their ranks. The sweat of fear began to mingle with the sweat from the heat, as they couldn't seem to pinpoint the source of whatever was eliminating their fellow brigands. There were no screams, only scuffling and muffled cries of pain. It seemed as though a dust devil had taken solid shape and was incurring vengeful wrath upon them. Soon enough, only one group remained, five trembling bodies that hid behind the cluster of their own Dunebikes. Low, wide four-paneled vehicles that could hover above the churning sands and offered little cover, but enough space for storage. Storage of bigger, better artillery.

Just as a cornered dog will resort to drastic measures, the remaining bundles of scavengers decided it was time to get serious. Their enemy was not far from sniffing out the last of them, and they scrambled to assemble their most destructive weapon in their compartments. As they slid the last parts into place, the faint outline of a khaki-cloaked figure could be seen emerging from behind the rubble, not thirty feet away. The group shouted in alarm, three supplied cover fire as the two others struggled to load the massive rifle.

The figure seemed to avert the bullets with ease, darting between whatever cover it could as it came ever-closer to its prey. Inch by inch it grew larger, drawing panicked screams from the bandits. They cursed and shrieked at the riflemen, urging them with haste. Soon enough the figure was within ten feet of them, taller than any of the members of their band. One of the men broke down into hysterics, throwing down his empty gun and shoving at his comrades. There was a bang. He dropped first. The figure grew closer still, with two massive pistols in both hands, taking out the second and third bandit in one smooth motion. The guns were then aimed at the remaining bandits, and the fourth collapsed into the sand, blood streaming from her throat.

Suddenly, the rifle was mounted on a Dunebike, there was a sharp click, and an ear-shattering BOOM.

The last remaining bandit reared back from the rifle, howling from the pain in his dislocated shoulder. He stumbled but remained on his feet long enough to catch a glimpse at his target. The figure had stopped, knees slightly bent, as though struggling to keep balance. An arm wrapped around the left side of its stomach, where a dark stain grew steadily from beneath the fabric.

The survivor's eyes widened, as did a maniacal grin. He clambered onto the Dunebike with some difficulty, but managed to himself into the seat, dislocated arm slung over himself and the other on a handle. He took one last look at the mysterious cloaked hunter, sweat streaming down his twisted face. "Burn in hell, you sick bastard!" And he kicked his vehicle to life.
 
One by one, Markus worked on picking off another trio of bandits, until only one group remained. He didn't know how many, but knew which building they were hiding behind. Particularly since the telltale cra-cra-crak of rifle fire continued to sound from that direction. Through a blown-out window, Markus saw the dark blurry shape dart into the building, with the screams of the bandits signifying how they were falling before the hostile.

Suddenly, a loud BOOM pounded across the area, so powerful Markus felt the bass thud in his chest. "What was that?! A friggin' cannon?" Markus muttered to himself. He peeked over the top of his Dunerunner rover to try and get a better view. He just barely saw one of the bandits come out from cover slightly to mount up on a Dunebike. To escape? To run over whatever was attacking them? Either way, didn't matter to Markus. He could scarcely have hoped for it, but if none of the bandits got out of this, no one could tell where this location was, and Markus could return later to salvage anything of use. He took aim once more with his autolaser, and let loose a burst. The bandit slumped and fell off the bike.

Silence ruled the scorched land. No more screams, no more gunshots, no more visible movement. Were the bandits all dead? It certainly seemed so. Was what had attacked them still alive? He had no idea, and almost didn't want to find out. The smart--or rather, wise--thing to do here was to hop back into his Dunerunner, jury-rig it to get it running again, and get out of Dodge. But Markus had an almost dangerous curiosity beyond most people and an intellect to match, but not much sense. Whatever it was that had attacked the bandits, Markus at least wantd to know what it was. Maybe he could learn something useful. If it was a speed-shredder, it was a better one than any he'd seen. That would be useful to know.

Waiting only a few moments longer to see if there were any sneaky bastards left to take a potshot at him, Markus then crouched down and ran across the empty wastes from his Dunerunner to the nearest half-demolshed building. Ignoring the cooling corpses of the bandits, he moved from wall to wall, until he was at the last building where he had seen the unknown thing enter, but not come out of. Makrus crept along the wall slowly until he reached an edge, and after taking a breath, slowly leaned his head around to get a glimpse of what was left in the building...
 
The building was one of few that stood with some retained amount of structural integrity, and one of the largest to boot, standing or no. Slats of scrap wood and straw crisscrossed over each other as a makeshift roof, and the terracotta walls were cracked, but whole. There was surprisingly little light in the hut, as there were no windows, and the entrance faced eastward. The sun had began its decline. A small gap in the slatted roof gave way for a single beam of golden sunlight, illuminating a strip within the otherwise dark building. Within the hut was guarded with as dark a shadow as daytime could provide, the lonely ray of scintillating sunlight slicing through the darkness and across the bloodstained sand.

A large, dark outline could be made out through the haze, likely made difficult by the adjustment of pure sunshine to dim shadow. It appeared to be motionless, though the steady rise and fall of its chest could be seen if one were to look carefully enough. The figure was tall. Very tall. The mass that consisted of the mysterious vigilante's body appeared to be much larger than the average person. Even seated it held impressive height. Though the apparent guardian was still hooded, its cloak laid partway open, revealing the gravity of its wounds. A dark, wet mass had seeped across the whole right side of the figure, darker than the shadows surrounding it. The seemed as though it made no move to treat the severe wound, clearly fatal if left unattended. The figure did not struggle or fidget, said no final words or curses. It simply sat in the far corner of the building, quiet and unmoving, until it realized it had company.

There was a low, alarming growl that resonated throughout the considerably spacious structure. It rumbled on for a time, pausing only for short breaths between. Past the hazy ray of sunshine the figure was cloaked in darkness, though the faint glimmer of snarling teeth could be seen from within.

The growling didn't last, however. It seemed as though the apparent guardian decided that there was no immediate threat. But then the slow rise and fall of its chest slowed even further, and the tenseness of its shoulders had instead gone limp. The figure was definitely unconscious.
 
As Markus started looking through the building with his head leaned around the corner, at first all he saw were the dead bodies of the bandits. But then his eyes caught motion in the opposite corner and he focused in that direction. Someone, a rather tall someone, was wrapped in a cloak and sitting against the corner for defense, with a discarded gun by one hand.

Markus' advanced brain quickly deduced a number of things. One, by wearing clothes and using a weapon, this person was intelligent. Intelligent meant they weren't zombie-like insane, and given how the person was specifically targeting the bandits earlier said good things about the person being relatively reasonable. It didn't rule out the person being a mutant, but it was unlikely.

There was also the fact that the person was apparently bleeding their life out where they sat. Just as Markus was about to react, a low, reverberating growl emanated from the corner, and underneath the hood, Markus caught a flash of sharp teeth and what may have been a muzzle. Okay. Likelyhood of being a mutant just went back up. Then the figure slumped slightly, apparently unconcious.

The person, whoever they were, was going to die if Markus didn't do something, fast. Despite the fact they growled at him, Markus could not in good concious just leave the individual solely responsible for him not being facedown in the dirt himself right now. Not knowing if whoever it was could still hear him, Markus waved a hand, holding it up and empty as a show of peace. "Craaaaaaap...uh, peace, I mean no harm, uh...crap, I need to go get my medical kit, don't die on me, okay! I'll be back in a minute! Hang in there!" Markus then took off, running as fast as he could back to his Dunerunner, where he pulled open a storage compartment and hauled out a medical kit and collapsible stretcher. He then ran as fast as he could again all the way back to the house, where he went to the corner he was before, stuck out an arm and waved to let whoever it was know he was there if they were still concious, then he moved out in full view himself. He still had his weapon, but it was slung over his back on a strap and not immediately accessible.

Makrus made his way over to the corner, speaking as he approached. "I'm gonna help you, stay with me, don't you go anywhere, I'm gonna try and fix you up...just need to know who you are, first..." He knelt down beside the cloaked figure, and cautiously reached out to pull the hood back and remove the cloak, so he could see just what he was dealing with and be able to treat them better...

(go ahead and describe what she looks like, Markus will be able to recognize her as a pre-WWIII "Alphasoldier"... )
 
The hood slid from the mysterious savior's head with relative ease, though required a gentle tug off a pair of soft black ears. It appeared as though the vigilante was wearing goggles before they entered the hut, as a pair dangled around a white-furred neck. The hair fell about broad shoulders in silky white strands, framing the face of the vigilante. It was the face of animalistic features and beige fur, though the vigilante was clearly humanoid. She was also female. Long black lashes fringed feline eyes, a short muzzle tipped with a petite pink nose.

Beneath the half open cloak, she was well equipped. Bits and pieces of military-grade gear covered her head to toe of her lean, muscular frame. Pockets and pouches lined her bulletproof vest and thick leather belt. Two knives were in sight, though it was highly likely there were more hidden beneath her battered cloak.

The touch barely stirred the female feline, as she appeared to be utterly out cold. Her breathing was steady, but shallow. The bleeding of the wound in her side seemed to be slowed, however it was clearly in dire need of treatment. She certainly wasn't getting any better being unconscious in the middle of the desert with a gaping hole in her side.
 
When light finally fell on the face of the individual under the cloak as the hood was pulled back, Markus sucked in a surprised breath. Not a mutant at all. An Alphasoldier! A real, live Alphasoldier! One of the more successful supersoldier-programs from before the war broke out, they were genetically engineered people spliced with animal genes, with almost all other physical aspects of themselves greatly improved: enhanced strength, mental coordination, increased stamina, faster response times, improved senses, increased healing rate, even their skin and muscle density was tough enough to turn away most blades and mitigate low-caliber bullets alone. Most of the Alphasoldiers were deployed, and subsequently KIA'd, during WWIII. Markus had never actually seen one before with his own eyes, yet here was a living, breathing Alphasoldier right before him.

Well, not living or breathing for much longer if he didn't do something right away. If it weren't for the life-or-death situation, Makrus would have thought she actually looked rather pretty, despite being a half-animal human. He gently pulled the obviously female soldier from the corner to lay her out straight on the ground so he could take a better look at her wound. It was nasty, and would certainly be fatal if untreated, but as Markus glanced over to the antimaterial rifle on the ground some distance away, he realized that it was thanks her bulletproof vest and her resilience that she wasn't dead already with a huge chunk blown out of her side. As it was now, it was just a large open wound, bleeding everywhere. Without further hesitation, Markus opened up his medical kit and pulled out several foam-sprays, starting with a light anti-infection spray to keep mutant bacteria out, before following up with a large glob of pro-coagulant spray to stem the bleeding, before he tried to tie a bandage around her waist to keep it sealed up for now. It wasn't enough though, he knew she needed actual intensive surgery, and Markus could only do that back at his lab. He just needed her to hang on for the ten minutes it would take to get there, once he got his Dunerunner working again...

"C'mon, stay with me, don't give up on me, I can't let you die after all this..." Marus muttered as he unfolded his collapsible stretcher and tried to move the female warrior onto it, oof-ing at her unexpected weight due to her muscular build. With a little bit of difficulty, he managed to get her all the way on the stretcher, at which point he affixed rollers to one end and picked up the other, and dragged her out of the building and back to his Dunerunner, speaking the whole way "You're gonna make it, you're an Alphasoldier, you just need to hold on until we get home..." He was mostly talking to himself, to keep himself reassured.

Makrus then worked to get the woman lifted up and into the rear seat of his Dunerunner, no small task, compounded by the fact he was doing his best not to agitate her wound. But he managed it, then quickly set about getting his Dunerunner back online. The damage was mostly superficial, but one of the bandit's bullets had shorn through a power conduit to one of the wheels. It was a simple matter to reroute power, and thirty-seven seconds later, the Dunerunner hummed back to life. "Alright, let's get home! Come on, stay with me, keep breathing..." Markus said as he hopped into the diver's seat and sped off into the dust.

****

Once back into the bunker that Markus had appropriated as his home, he enlisted the help of several of the robotic waldo-arms from around his lab to carefully lift the Alphasoldier from the Dunerunner and onto a bed that he could operate on. Markus then set about stripping off her vest and other accessories, in order to keep everything away from the wound while he worked. With surgial tools n hand, Markus then went about extracting every metal fragment he could get, while then proceeding to stitch her back up...

****

Marksus leaned back, sighing and pulling off the bloody gloves from his hands. He had done the best he could to repair the damage and get the soldier out of immediate danger. He had also managed to pull some of his lab equipment to distill a nutrient solution, which he then set up into a jury-rigged IV drip. Also with a cooked up makeshift heart-monitor, Markus examined the soldier's current status. Her breathing was still very shallow, but her heart was still beating with good regularity. That was all a good sign, it suggested her enhanced healing rate was beginning to kick in, keeping all her other biological functions on minimal support to focus everything on recovering. Only time would tell if it actually would work...and if it did, she'd be ravenously hungry once she woke up. Markus settled into keep a close monitor on her, the next few hours would be critical. Makrus also couldn't help noticing, now that his own heart was slowing down from all the excitement and he was really able to take stock of things...that the woman had a hell of a body, divested of most of her garments. Her biceps were twice as thick as his own scrawny arms, her abs were very well defined, and--Markus blushed a bit--she had one rather impressive rack. Markus shook his head, covered her up with a blanket, and willed himself to ignore all that. This was important, her life was at stake, he couldn't let himself be distracted by such things...

****

When the Alphasoldier finally regains her senses, she'd be able to take stock of her surroundings and situation. First, there was a lot of pressure around her sides; she was very heavily bandaged around the waist. She was also mostly wearing only undergarments, with a light blanket drawn over her body. A monitor was beeping softly next to her, and there was a needle in one of her arms that fed from a bag of clear fluid. All around her, she looked to be in some kind of laboratory, with esoteric machinery and cobbled-together technical equipment littering the room. There was a table next to her, which had all her normal clothes folded up on it--washed of blood and with holes sewn back up--along with all of her weapons and gadgets, plus a plate of food rations.

And, just beyond the table, was a man sitting in a chair. He was slumped down, with head against his chest, while he snored softly. A mop of black hair adorned his head, and a pair of rectangular glasses were set over his closed eyes. He had a round, boyish face, slightly smudged with oil, and he wore a long white labcoat, though it was slightly browned from extensive travelstains. He continued to snore.

(OOC: Wow, quite a long post! Very few of my posts should be this long, I was just running through several scenes during which there wouldn't be any real meaningful input from your character...)
 
(( No problem at all! It gives me enough to work off of. ))

It was unclear what had awoken her first; the consistent beeping or the squeezing sensation around her belly. Quick of mind as she was, the soldier's eyes snapped open upon regaining consciousness (or at least she tried to open them as quickly, though it was more of a fluttering motion than a snapping one) and she attempted to sit up. There was an intense pain as she flexed her abdominal muscles to do so, and she hissed and laid back down. As she waited for the throbbing to subside, she took the chance to absorb her surroundings.

Within seconds of taking in where she was, her heart was hammering against her chest. The familiar machinery and tubes set her instincts ablaze with panic, and she thrust herself upwards from the operating table, ignoring the spasms that threatened to consume her consciousness with pain. As her bare, pawed feet touched the floor, her legs wobbled but she remained standing, plucking the IV from her arm with a swift tug and doing a three-sixty survey of the lab. She began to tear at the bandages wrapped around her sides when she realized just how run down and makeshift the lab actually was. And then she saw him.

The immediate urge to tear his throat out with her claws was momentarily suppressed when she realized he was unconscious. She ripped the last scraps of bandaging from her body and crept on silent hind paws towards him, inspecting his young face and dirty lab coat. There were no scents of other humans in the vicinity, nor Alphasoliders such as herself. Her initial suspicion of being returned to a military laboratory for further experimentation was dimming by the moment. The premises was much too ramshackle and disorganized, too messy. It wasn't a government facility, nor was it a brigands' hideout. Brigands didn't own their own scientists.

Kneeling so she could be at face level with him, the soldier inspected the man more closely, breathing in his scents and eyeing him up and down. Peculiar for someone so... small... to be alone in the dunes. Though he couldn't be perceived as a direct threat, she could make no assumptions as to whom he was associated with or why she had been brought to the lab. So she decided to find out.

If there was anything she had learned, it was that most humans, especially braniacs and the educated, were much more intimidated by an Alphasoldier than their gun. And so she took a step back so that she towered over the sleeping whitecoat, lip curled and feral eyes narrowed. And then she roared.
 
When the soldier started shuffling around to get off the bed, the sound didn't wake the labcoat-wearing man in the chair. Neither did the flat tone that issued from the monitor when she pulled the heart-monitoring wire off wake him, thought it was probably supposed to. When she leaned in to inspect his face closely, she could see heavy bags under his eyes even as he snoozed; apparently, he had been really tired for whatever reason and needed the sleep. But as heavy as he was sleeping then, even he couldn't sleep through the sudden roar.

"JESUS!"

The man jumped half a foot up from the chair as his arms and legs shot out in surprised flailing, pitching his body back into the chair...and sending the chair overtilting and tumbling backwards, casuing the scientist to crash back into the ground in a very undignified heap.

"Ow ow ow ow.... The man clutched his heart with one hand as he rapidly gasped for breath, while the other was rubbing the back of his head where he had landed on the ground. Blearily, and with glasses askew, he blinked up at the towering Alphasoldier from the floor. "Wh...whuh thuh...what the heck was that for?" He groaned again as he clutched his head and tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain, and then gave a wide-mouthed yawn.
 
The soldier looked down upon the crumpled heap of a man with a hint of displeasure, as a lion looks down at a mewling runt. Her broad, muscular shoulders were set firmly and her posture was that of a properly trained solider, giving her an air of power with her body language. Though it was likely necessary, due to her considerable height and build (not to mention feral features), it came naturally to her as she stood over him. Her unusually blue eyes were full of disdain and suspicion, sharp black eyebrows knitted into a frown.

"I'm not going to ask any questions, because you're going to tell me everything I need to know without further prompting. If anything comes out of your mouth that isn't an explanation, you'll no longer have any semblance of a mouth when I'm through with it." Her tone was low and calm, and nothing but menacing. With each pushed syllable a faint growl emanated from deep within her throat.

A foot (or paw, as it appeared to be) slowly lifted from the ground and planted on a leg of the toppled chair. With a quick, firm push, the chair slid sharply across the floor and clattered into the distant rubble away from the scientist. He was left to stay sprawled on the floor, or, if he was so bold, stand and attempt to face the Alphasoldier at a more level height. The latter was unlikely, as she was clearly several feet taller than him even if he were to be upright on his feet.

"Start talking."
 
Markus' task of trying to dust the cobwebs from his mind was, well, rather assisted by the towering woman slowly advancing on him, making strict demands. He crawled backwards a bit as she casually kicked the chair away, leaving him with no obstacles to defend himself or hide behind.

But, in all honestly, Markus was more confused than afraid. "What?!" he blurted out, then attempted to adjust his glasses and look back up at the soldier incredulously. "I...it...that is...I-I saved your life! Cuz...you, you saved mine, I couldn't just leave you out there!" The words tumbled out of his mouth, somewhat half-formed, before he slowed his breathing and spoke a little more evenly. "Don't...you remember anything? Bandits out in the wastelands, all attacking me, and you came in and tore right through them, before, before getting a giant hole in you from a freakin' cannon..." Markus' voice then picked up speed, sliding into the rapid babble some braniacs were known for when getting into a subject. "I mean, I could see your kidneys in that hole! It's a miracle the rupture was as small as it was, even with your enhancements! And, and where are your bandages?! You still need them--" Markus then paused, and leaned his head forward and squinted at the soldier's midsection, almost completely ignoring 'her' now, or at least her inquiries. Indeed, the soldier's wound had already sealed up with a thin layer of fresh, new skin, though it was still raw and a rather unsightly scraggly patch of fur that would take a few more days to fill in. "...Them...oh...oh, I guess you don't...wow, you do heal really fast, even I didn't expect that much--" Markus spoke in slow awe, before he finally caught on to the whining heart-monitor in the backgound, at which point he launched into hyper-animation again. "Ai! How long has that thing been like that!?" He scrambled to his feet and brushed right past the supersoldier to the cobbled-together monitoring equipment by the bed, practically completely ignoring the fact that the woman was still standing right there. "I didn't--didn't wake up for this? Oh gods, your heart could have stopped and I wouldn't have....wouldn't...have...oh man! I knew I shouldn't have turned down the volume..." He babbled out again, ignoring the fact that for an Alphasoldier like herself, it was virtually unheard of for one of them to reach a stable condition, then suddenly go critical again without reason. Once stabilized, Alphasoldiers tended to stay stabilized.

Like some brainiacs the soldier might have known, this one seemed to have a bit of trouble staying focused on any one thing, and clearly was able to switch tones and emotions at the drop of a hat, if a lot of things were happening suddenly and at once. Currently, he had indeed well and truly stopped paying attention to the woman as he looked over some readouts, muttering to himself about inattentiveness and he should really be better than that...


(OOC: Heh, when I started writing this, I couldn't help but think of "Say 'what' again! Say! What! Again! I dare you, I double-dare you motherfucker!" :p I originally intended this to be shorter and Markus not actually explain as much as he has, but it flowed well enough I just kept writing. Still though, showing somewhat of how 'dense' he is at not really getting a hang of the soldier's situation and demands, and only half-explaining things... ;) Plus a hint of caring at the end, misguided though it may be... )
 
(( Bahah! I thought the exact same thing! "Does he LOOK like a BITCH?"))

The look on the soldier's face turned from suspicious to somewhat disappointed. Any inclinations she had of maiming the whitecoat dwindled and she found herself staring dubiously at the small man scrambling to arrange his medical equipment. In days long gone she may have strapped him to the operation table and interrogated him, perhaps even tortured him for information. Somehow she felt that effort would be in vain. The whitecoat clearly didn't have any allegiances to the desert brigands, and more than likely been without amiable company for longer than the average human was comfortable with. She wondered if that was what damaged his ability to communicate and concentrate, given his consistent hopping about and rambling.

With a sigh, the soldier padded over to the apparent scientist and grabbed him by the scruff of his coat. He would soon notice that he was being lifted from the ground with surprising ease, as though by a crane. His feet dangled uselessly several feet above the ground as the soldier turned him to face her, like a handler grasping the neck of a kitten to inspect them.

Assuming that got his attention, the solider looked him in the eye. "Let's try that again. Who are you?"
 
Makrus was so engrossed in reading the data-display for the makeshift medical equipment he had rigged up that he didn't notice at all that the soldier was approaching him from behind. As he started getting lifted off the ground by the scruff of his coat, he even continued to grasp and reach at the machines for a second, before the woman turned him around to force him to look at her. It seemed he could focus on one thing when he had to, because he had gone very limp and wide-eyed at the soldier.

"Um....I'm Markus?" He offered to her question. "I, uh...fix things?" After a moment of awkward silence, he seemed to realize he was being held just above eye-level with the woman's chest, covered only by her undergarments. His cheeks started turning red as he tried to turn his eyes off to the side, and pointed with a finger. "Uh by the way your clothes are all fixed up, over there on the table, maybe you'd like to get dressed?" He said in a small voice.
 
Moments passed with Markus dangling in mid-air and the soldier giving him her rather unimpressed look. This lasted longer than deemed necessary and trailed into further awkward silence. Then she closed her eyes, likely rolling them beneath their lids, and released the man. Whether or not he landed gracefully was debatable.

Without another word, the soldier turned about and padded over to her repaired equipment and began to slip into each piece with deftness from dozens of donnings of the outfit. She did so quietly and without conversation, paying little to no attention to the whitecoat as though she had lost interest entirely. Clearly, he was no threat to her.
 
Markus stumbled a bit when he was suddenly set down, but managed to remain on his feet and avoid another undignified fall. He dusted off his coat a little as the soldier went over to start donning her clothes and gear, but then he remembered a few things that she might want to know. "Oh, by the way, um, I'm sorry, but I wasn't able to grab your gun...was rather busy trying to drag your exanguinating body into my Dunerunner to get you back here...so it got left back with all the other bandit corpses, along with everything they were carrying. You've been out for two days, but since we managed to nail them all, so know one should knw about it, everything should still be there. I can take you out to get your gun back whenever you're ready, and you can take whatever you want off of them yourself."

But even as he started saying that last sentance, Markus was rethinking things to himself. The Alphasoldier's performance was incredible, even up to the end. Jackson had read nonclassified reports on them, but he never dreamed one would be as strong and skilled as what he saw. While there weren't many particularly extreme dangers out this far beyond East Ravine, Markus had detected a few caches of salvage that were unfortunately being sat on by especially dense nests of mutant beasts, far too much for him to handle alone. But if the Alphasoldier were to help...

"A-actually...I just had a thought." Markus took a few steps towards her. "You're an Alphasoldier, and the way you handled those bandits...why, they had me dead to rights! I really thought I was gonna die out there...then you came in, and just like that, you tore through half of them like it was no problem! If you wanted, you know, maybe we could help each other. I've got a good store of food and supplies here, even got a little hydroponics setup going. If you don't have anywhere safe to be, you can stay out here in my bunker. And then, maybe you could help me with clearing out some really bad clusters of mutants in the area for even more salvage and supplies?"
 
The soldier remained quiet as she dressed herself, paying more attention to her equipment (and double-checking that everything was still there and intact) than the whitecoat. She decided that he was no more than a lonely soul with too much time on his hands. Though there was a large collection of tech and other apparent medical supplies, she highly doubted that he was any sort of educated scientist or doctor. He may have convinced himself that he saved her life, but she had been in worse scraps and come out in one physical piece.

There were several silent moments after he finished speaking as the soldier slipped on her thick bulletproof vest, sewn with half a dozen pouches. With her back turned to him, it seemed as though she wasn't even listening to the scientist's babbling. She turned to him as she pushed the last buckle into place with a click.

"No."

As it turned out, the soldier was the sort that was not easily swayed, nor prone to complying to the whim of civilians. Especially civilians that could very well be mentally deranged.

The Alphasolider bent down to pick her raggedy cloak from the floor. As she stood, there was a sudden sickening sensation of her head going light, and the world tilted sideways. She stumbled back a foot, but before she could regain her balance, she fell very ungracefully against the medical table she had previously slept on. She pushed a hand against it for support, but the room was still reeling. Muffled anger rose in her chest, ready to accuse the whitecoat of this sudden problem, but then it rose from her chest to her throat, and she realized it was bile.

Repressing the urge to vomit, she leaned against the table and breathed in deeply, unwilling to meet the young man's gaze until the spell had passed. She did her best to keep alert, however, and her long tail swished menacingly, silently saying, 'Come near me and I'll tear you in half'.
 
The only piece of gear missing from the soldier's collection, true to what Markus had said, was the actual gun she had been using. Meanwhile, at the Alphasoldier's simple delcaration of 'no' to Markus' proposal, he certainly looked a little put-out as his shoulders sagged and he looked down.

"...Oh. Well, okay. If you say so. I can still take you out back to where the fighting was so you can get your gun back, whenever you're ready. I mean, I've got more than enough food and supplies here, but if you're sure you can go on your own--"

Markus then noticed that the soldier was starting to stumble and sag, though she grabbed the table she was next to and held herself up obviously through sheer force of will. Markus was already rummaging around another table for medical supplies and was about to rush over to her when she growled out to him, and looked for all the world like a cornered animal who didn't want to be approached.

Markus froze where he was, with a medical sensor in one raised hand and a medkit bag in the other, and looked on while confused and a little helpless. "Wha...come on, something's wrong! Maybe you agitated your injury or something, I'm just trying to help you, but I can't help you if you don't let me..."
 
(( I wrote that last line a little awkwardly, she didn't actually say to him "Come near me and I'll tear you in half" it was just her body language that said so. :p My bad. ))

The floor tilted beneath her feet and the solider struggled to maintain her balance. She never took her eyes off the whitecoat, however. "Did you give me drugs?" she growled at him, her eyes angry but her voice calm. "Idiot."

Though she never openly explained it to him, she was referring to the fact that Alphasoldiers' immune systems are often enough to fight off whatever bacteria or injury that might have harmed them. The amount of surgeries and chemicals and whatnot that changed their bodies so radically was more than enough to sustain them. Certain drugs could clash with their biology and otherwise compromise their wellbeing. It was likely that was what affected the solider. That, or dehydration and overexertion. Perhaps a combination of them all.

The solider uprighted herself slightly, the urge to retch slowly reducing to queasiness. She still looked rather off, though. "If you want to help me, I suggest you bring me water. Try anything funny with it, and I'm sure you don't need much of an imagination to guess what I could do to you if you attempt to drug me again."
 
(Oh! No, that's my bad, actually, I wasn't reading carefully nenough. made a small edit to my previous post to reflect that more accurately, though words and actions remain the same.)

Markus blinked and his brow furrowed in confusion at the soldier's accusations? "Huh? Drugs? I don't really have any drugs here, they take a long time to sythesize and are rare to come by...I just had the nutrient-line going into your arm, and a spray of mild antibiotic when I was cleaning out and stitching up your wound. I have supplies, but not those kinds of supplies. Not many of them at least. I was considering using something if it didn't look like you weren't going to pull through, but you did..."

He did perk up slightly when she demanded to be brought water, though with a clear warning attached. "Uh...right. That, at least, I do have." Markus put his medkit aside and walked over to another of the many unidentifiable devices and machinery that littered the lab, this one having bulbs and chambers and transparent tubes all around it, looking like some alien distillery. The scientist grabbed a decent-sized container, put it under a nozzle sticking out of the apparatus, and turned a dial, which allowed water to spray out into the container until it was full. Markus then turned it off and turned towards the soldier, and then lifted the container up to his head and carefully waterfalled some of it into his mouth in clear demonstration. "See? Nothing wrong with it." He then approached the supersoldier and held the water can up to her. "Perfectly clean. Not even irradiated."
 
The soldier took the container and sniffed it, more out of habit than disbelief. She then drained it in three smooth gulps, tilting her head back as her throat muscles moved rhythmically. She allowed herself a moment of bliss as the water eased the sickness she felt. She took the pause to take another look at the whitecoat.

Upon closer inspection, she saw that he was actually almost... cute. His young face had a look of naivety, smeared with dirt and oil much like a boy playing in the mud, but the eyes behind his glasses held knowledge beyond his years. The dark, ruffled hair suited him well, and his glasses amplified his features in a way that she couldn't really pinpoint.

"Markus." She said, though her tone wasn't so much addressing him as it was testing his name on her tongue.

There was a pause after she downed the water, her eyes trailing over his face and keeping her thoughts to herself. She then turned, recognizing the smell of food and following her nose, spotting a plate near the operation table. She realized then just how hungry she was.

Her gaze returned to him, inquisitive. "Did you make that for me?"
 
Markus stood back and watched as the supersoldier quickly downed the water, and she began to noticeably improve in posture right away. Markus had of course seen most of her when he was working on her, but now he was seeing her up and lively, moving with a careful and practiced awareness, with her fur rippling across her body as she moved. Markus was rather disappointed she had turned down his offer to stay around, she was fascinating and he could learn a lot from her. Oh well.

He then noticed she was staring back at him, seemingly taking stock of him as much as he was taking stock of her. After a moment of silence, she simply said his name aloud. A flash of confusion passed across Markus' face, like he was waiting for something else, but then mentally shrugged it off. Markus then broke the eye contact first, bowing his head slightly down to cough lightly into a hand and turn away. Whether he intended it or not, to one with pack-preadatory instincts, that was practically a textbook 'you're the alpha and I know it' gesture.

"A-anyway..." Markus started, as he waved a hand in the direction of the device he had gotten water from. "If you need more water, help yourself, just turn the dial on the nozzle. Got plenty stored up." He said as he pulled back the sleeve on his left arm and started fiddling with some kind of wrist-mounted computer-watch. At the soldier's question about the food, he blinked and looked back up to her. "Uh...yeah, I did. Sorta. Plucked some greens and fruit from that hydroponics setup, and warmed up some dried and preserved meat rations I got. Don't have many left though, going to have to go out and bag one of those mutant animals scurrying around soon, like everyone else does. Nasty stuff, but at least some of it's edible..."

Markus then tilted his head as he regarded the woman in front of him again, as a thought struck him. "...By the way, what's your name, if I can ask? I know you're not going to stick around, but I still would like to know the name of the one who saved me out there..."
 
Momentarily pausing as she looked at the food, the soldier then reached for the plate and began to consume what was on it. Her sharp teeth worked easily through the chewy meats. It was unclear whether or not she was actually listening to Markus, as she didn't respond to his question immediately. Instead, she finished the food, put the plate down and rolled her neck until it cracked. Then she returned her eyes to him.

"I don't have one. Where are we? I want to get my gun."
 
Markus simply stood and watched patiently while the soldier dug into her meal without answering him right away. She was certainly not a person you wanted to rush. Eventually she finished, and turned to answet swiftly and casually that she didn't have a name, and in the same breath asked where her gun was.

Markus blinked for a moment, caught off-guard by the suddeness of her response, before he replied himself. "Oh. No name? Really? Huh. You've gotta be called something, but...oh well." Markus shrugged, and abandoned that line of inquiry. "Anyway, as for where we are..." Markus fiddled with his wrist-computer again, and a screen on the nearest wall lit up and flashed through several images before flickering and distorting.

"Oh come on." Markus muttered as he walked over to the screen and reached behind it to mess with some of the wires. After a moment, the screen stablized clearly again. "There. Anyway..." The monitor currently showed what looked like a digital map of the surrouding region. "We are here, about eight miles due east-south-east of the ghost town where the bandits were, which was here. And, as I'm sure you probably know already if you're out this far, but in case you didn't, we're about two hundred fifty miles from East Ravine and where the populated towns start, due west from here." Markus pointed out the two spots on the map, though he didn't comment on East Ravine being west of the current location. Presumably, the locals on the other side had named it.

He then turned back to the supersoldier. "Anyway, if you're ready and feeling well enough, we can hop in my Dunerunner and go out there to pick up your gun, and anything else you want off the bandits. Then I guess I can drop you off anywhere you want between here and East Ravine. I'll put together a supply kit for you as well, if you want."
 
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