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Flight From Death; The Monoc men and women say farewell to their home.
Topic Started: Jul 3 2012, 10:25 PM (579 Views)
Gleam
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In the garage, Hannah ran greased fingers through her hair, lips bitten to the quick. Her tools soared through the air into cargo crates loaded onto the Brigand, as Rueham ran a final flight check, curiously silent for once, his eternal foul mouth silenced by the prospect.

Monoc was going to the land of dreams. Whatever couldn't be carried was about to be lost.

"Jagd said he'd be packing his seals supply upstairs." Isley calls, as she hops into the engineering lab Epsilon has claimed as his own. "Hannah and Rueham are fiddling in the garage. Siobhana's doing her paper . . . thing, and Ashley n' Michael are packing guns. I'm supposed to be helping you."

A crooked smile. "Maybe I just take up the least space, yeah?"
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.

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LornMind
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Epsilon grins back reassuringly, "Nah, that's me." He fiddles with a small humming reactor and it goes quiet. "I think they also wanted someone who wouldn't mishandle my equipment," he huffs, lifting the reactor and slowly lowering it into a box labeled frankly: ENTROPIC SHIT. DO NOT FUCK WITH. "And you've got silk fingers for this kind of stuff. Take that prototype seithr generator and stick it into a box. Oh, and disengage the seithr tank using the release valve. Hold your breath too. Seithr leaks when you remove it for a second or two."

He takes his tools and begins tossing them into his bag. "I can't imagine what it's like hopping out of this place. You guys have been here way fucking longer than I have. Can't imagine that's fun," he says sympathetically. "Feel kinda bad. I've been nomadic for most of my life. Drifted from job to job and place to place." He rubs his chin, pensive, "I'd like to stay with Monoc though. Good people. Interesting work. And my curiosity is well rewarded." He smiles and presses a button on a brightly glowing series of cylinders, arranged on a stand and all pulsing different colors, an action that is promptly met with one of the cylinders exploding and blasting him with pink smoke.

Coughing he adds, "Or maybe you guys just tolerate me."
Edited by LornMind, Jul 4 2012, 12:20 AM.
When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got.
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Gleam
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Isley shakes her head. "It isn't fun." she admits, as she follows Epsilon's instructions to the letter, carefully storing the prototype. "For me, anywhere Ashley goes is home. So I'm not bothered too much. And Rueham's always loved his baby - y'know he even sleeps in the Brigand, most of the time? The kids, though, Hannah and Ashley, they're hating it." She pauses, chewing on her lip. "Michael's taking it the hardest. He's married, y'know, got a wife and kid here in Wadatsumi. He said he got them out before he went on the mission, but shit happens to everyone. He worries."

She shrugs after a moment and uses a manila folder to wave away the smoke, unfazed by the explosion. "You're no crazier than Jagd, and he's the one that brought us all together here. I think we're sticking with you." Isley snorts. "Siobhana's always looking to add people, but the number that can tolerate the lifestyle and the amount of eccentricity we pack is very, very low. Add in the talent requirements and it's practically zero."
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.

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LornMind
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Epsilon beams, his face covered in pink soot and says, "Thanks. That means an awful lot." He wipes the soot away and tosses the apparatus unceremoniously into a box, where it emits a half dozen other colors of smoke. "What're we going to do? Start up a new Monoc HQ elsewhere under a different name? Or are we going to take care of the rather pressing NOL issue first? They're sure to hunt us down once they get situated."

He shivers and picks up a miniature entropic reactor tossing lightly in his hand, up and down. "Can't imagine what that would be like. Well..." He remembers his episode with Sector Seven. "Okay, maybe slightly." He hands the reactor to Isley and grins. "Here you go," he says gratefully, "It makes a useful battery. Figured I'd compensate you for putting away the generator so well." His face falls comically and he adds, "Frankly, I'm terrible with putting that thing away. I blasted myself with seithr so bad I had to lie down for a few hours last time I had to exchange the tanks and tinker with the inside."
When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got.
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Gleam
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Isley shakes her head. "I'm not the plans girl, but even I can tell we can't stare down that army. We need to move our assets to that blonde girl's magic wonderland whatever and hook up with the rest of their forces. Then Jagd can point us at some weak point and make a crack."

She stares down at the battery for a moment then laughs. "The hell am I supposed to -"

The lights go out. Including the morning light streaming through the window. They don't come back on.

A moment later, a flashlight clicks on in Isley's hand. She searches a second out of her flak jacket and tosses it to Epsilon. "I think we just ran out of time." she says, grim, as she draws her pistol in the gloom and cocks it.
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.

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LornMind
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Epsilon swears loudly. "For fuck's sake!" he says in anger, pulling his FN loose and taping the flashlight to it. He picks up his tool bag and a few satchels with sensitive equipment and throws them on his body. "The rest of this shit is gonna have to stay here." He looks over at Isley and adds grimly, "Let's get out of here. What's the safest way out?"
When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got.
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Gleam
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Isley turns to the corner and kicks up a maintenance panel, which she slides into soundlessly. "Down this ladder and into the engineering sublevel, and up into the garage from there." she says. "Come on. That's the fallback point."

She descends the ladder into a tight crawlspace and spiderwalks her way through it to another grate, which she quietly lifts and sets aside, revealing the level below the grated floor of the garage, slick with oil and condensation. She picks a way across a cardboard-covered path through the mess to a set of stairs, which she climbs at an agonizingly slow pace.

The garage is empty, the Brigand gone and the jeep upside down against the wall, thrown across the room.

Isley leans back down to Epsilon and murmurs quietly, "I didn't hear the Brigand take off, did you?"
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.

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LornMind
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Epsilon shakes his head. "I haven't heard shit," he says honestly, "But if we didn't hear it take off..." His eyes widen. "What the fuck happened?" He taps his chin and looks over at Isley. "Do you think maybe that Rachel girl opened a fuck-huge portal and pulled the Brigand through?" He pulls his FN to his shoulder and sweeps the flashlight across the room, looking for an explanation. "What the fuck happened..."
When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got.
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Gleam
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Isley frowns - then her eyes widen and she hauls Epsilon back down into the sublevel by his shirt. They fall prone on the oil-slick floor, as a concussive wave of air batters them both.

There's still no sound, even as a set of massive claws withdraw themselves from the wall next to where Epsilon's head had been and vanish into mist. Isley draws a flashbang grenade, pulls the pin, and hurls it up into the garage. A few seconds later it goes off, and though the flash is visible through her eyelids, the bang doesn't make a sound.

"Localized silence Ars." Isley hisses. "Epsy, you got anything that can sweep that area up top?"
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.

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LornMind
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Epsilon rummages on his person until her pulls something loose from a satchel. "Well...not exactly...but then again, yes I do," he says, smiling broadly. "This'll give them something to worry about." He tinkers quickly with a miniature seithr generator and then slaps the top of it with an entropy-imbued palm. He rises for a moment and tosses the makeshift grenade up into the garage. A second passes, and the loud yowls of a cat fills the air.

"Nothing like an explosive seithr pulse to liven shit up," he says happily. Upon hearing the cat, he frowns. "A cat? Why a cat?"
When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got.
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