New Roleplay II

[Darion McNair]

“I told you not to engage under any circumstances!” Silas roared, “I needed those men!” Mike and Gina stood before an infuriated Silas. He had seen out his window the manner of their return and was more displeased than a bull in the streets of Pamplona.

“We didn’t have any choice,” Gina replied surprisingly calm under the roaring torrent. “Your man Timms fired on us, so apparently you don’t know who’s with or against you.” There was a silence that lasted more moments that Mike wanted to suffer.

“Timms was with the Liberation Front?” it was the first time both Gina and Mike had seen Silas shocked.

“He shot Gonzales without hesitation and would have sent me down right after him if not for Eli’s quick thinking. We were immediately under fire after eliminating Timms by who I can only assume were a LF sniper team. We downed two before they retreated, I suspect their base is due southwest of here . . . Mahoney was taken captive.”

“You should evacuate, now. They’re taking prisoners and doing God knows what with them,” Gina said, her voice very insistent, “And if they can pin us down and injure Eli, who by the way is as good a shot as either one of us,” she flicked two fingers between herself and Mike, “then you have a major problem on the horizon.”

“We’re not leaving,” Silas insisted, “We’ve built a life here and have been working on it for years! No, I won’t.”

“We’re not talking about some random group of Berts or Kings of Columbia here, Silas,” Mike pressed, “These guys had high powered rifles and amazingly good night vision. If you want to stand around and watch your people get picked off in the night and then slaughtered in the morning then fine . . . but Gina, Eli, and I are not going to stick around to see it.”

[Crin Dalmeiier]

Outside, the compound appeared to be nothing more than a series of fat, squat buildings, painted an uninspiring shade of tan and trimmed in dull brown. One might have supposed that the inside was just as uninteresting.

They would have been wrong.

The north entrance, or the civilian entrance, opened up immediately into a wide, smooth bay. It was well-lit and softer than what one might expect from a military compound, well-lit from a series of "stagelights" set up all over the room. Despite the many hand-painted murals of fit men doing Olympic feats lining the wall, it was sparsely decorated, only a few chairs spread out to form a small lounge.

Devon Tremaine paused on the threshold of the door to study the room with distrust. At 5'8", he was reedy, built more like a whip than the soldiers that supposedly roamed this compound. He didn't have much on him; well-sprung jeans, the remains of a Wu Tang T-shirt from years before, a ratty watch cap. His life's claim was stored within the pitiful shreds of a carrysack that dangled from his shoulder. Only the boots on his feet seemed new. The toes and heels shone to a mirror-finish.

Unsure, he ventured farther into the room. He'd barely managed five steps before the only other door in the room opened, and a man in a white lab coat emerged. "May I help you?"

The desire to flee warred with the reality that there was nothing for him in the world he'd just exited. "Maybe," Devon said. One might have been inspired to ask what a kid with such a thick Brooklyn accent was doing in North Dakota, but the doctor showed no surprise. "I'm looking for the fighting group. The Liberation Front."

The doctor flashed pearly whites at him. A sense of mistrust immediately began to germinate in Devon's belly. "And why would you be interested in the Liberation Front, Mr...?"

"Tremaine," Devon supplied. "I got nowhere else. I hear they'll take anybody."

The doctor's gaze dropped to the shined boots. "You seem to be doing well for yourself. Tell me, are you affiliated with any of the local gangs?"

"Ex-Martyr." To prove it, Devon raised his left hand. Branded on the back of his wrist was an "M" with a large slash cut through it. He'd had it bandaged earlier that morning, but bandages suggested weakness, so he'd cut it off. "We had a falling out. I'm looking for new work."

"Aren't we all?" The doctor's voice was suspiciously dry. "Well, you've come to the right place, then. If you'll follow me?"

And like that, Devon's life changed.

He was led through another door, this one well-hidden behind a mural of a shirtless man hurling a discus. Immediately, the scenery changed; all sense of softness and light disappeared abruptly in the face of a stark grey corridor. Uncertain, Devon just chose to keep up with the doctor, though he didn't think it was his imagination that the lock clicked shut behind him.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked, and hated the fact that his mouth was suddenly dry.

"Dr. Parraval," the doctor answered, looking back over his shoulder to flash those pearly whites again. There was a feral gleam to the smile. "Come this way."

Devon was led through many identical corridors, all pipe-lined, grey, and lit by flickering halogen lamps. They passed a few soldier types in camouflage suits; Parraval nodded at them. Their eyes seemed to linger on Devon's stingy length, but the young man refused to give them the satisfaction of appearing nervous. He stared back at them, shoved at the shoulder-length brown hair in good need of a comb, and continued to walk.

The fact that he felt like a man on Death Row was completely ridiculous, right?

"In here." Parraval held open a door and Devon saw a medical examination chamber inside. He balked temporarily, and wasn't surprised to feel the doctor's steely grip on his arm because of it. Before long, he sat on the examination table, stripped down to a pair of ratty boxers while Parraval poked at him with various instruments.

"What's this? I thought you said you were a Martyr." Parraval pointed accusingly to a large red J that had been burned into Devon's left shoulder.

"Ex-Martyr. And that's the reason. Jesters caught me unawares and marked me. Martyrs wouldn't take me back." Devon rolled his eyes and flinched when Parraval poked the burn. "It's still new."

"Well," Parraval decided, looking at the whip of a young man on the table, "I suppose it's time for you to find a real home here at the Liberation Front, then."

[Darion McNair]

Why his left leg? His balance had always been better on that leg…but now Eli was just praying that he’d be able to walk again. One of only a handful of people in the Echo Base infirmary, he laid on a flat, very uncomfortable table. As hard as it was, he was trying to ignore the now severe and steady pain in his leg.

“You guys don’t have X-Ray equipment,” Eli said to one of the nearby nurse, “How can you be sure it’s a fracture?”

“We’re sure,” the nurse replied, she seemed a bit annoyed.

“Well maybe you’re wrong, I kinda want to walk again, you know?”

“You really should stop asking questions and rest,” the nurse told him. Eli frowned at her. He wasn’t in the mood for resting; he was in the mood for healing and getting back in action before those Liberation Front soldiers decide to push on and find the base.

Instead of wasting his breath protesting to deaf ears, he simply grown and threw his head back on the makeshift pillow of a folded towel. He glanced down at his wrapped, braced leg before he closed his eyes. If only he had tucked in tighter behind that mound . . .

“He’s alive!” Gina cried as she strode into the infirmary and quickly found Eli’s bed. “But not kicking, I see.”

“Ha ha,” Eli was not amused, “Where’s Mike?”

Gina rested a hand on the table, “They’ve put him in command of a squad covering the west section of the compound.”

Eli furrowed his eyebrows, “Why aren’t you with him?” he asked, a flinch contorting his features.

“I will be, I just came to gloat that I get to jump back into the fray and you’re stuck in here,” she smirked. Eli could tell she was trying, in her own strange way, to cheer him up.

“Are you alright?” he asked, “I heard you recommended that Silas evacuate.”

“Yeah,” she waved it off, “I’m fine. Those Liberation Front losers just creep me out, that’s all. Something’s not right about them and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“The Echoes don’t know that much about them,” he agreed. Gina nodded, breathing a slow sigh.

“Well I better get back out there, don’t be so down on yourself you’ll get back in there,” she tapped him on the shoulder with a mock punch. “We’ll be back to get ya, stay cool you gimp job,” her smirk changed to a smile before she turned and left.

“You better!” he called after her before closing his eyes again and trying to rest.

[Darion McNair]

He wasn’t sure how the seasoned Echo soldiers liked being under the command of someone who had only been a prisoner yesterday but Mike really didn’t care. Silas had put him in charge of a squad in the west sector of the compound. He met the group of guys and immediately ran into some unsavory attitudes. As he sat on the ground with his back resting against the wall of the Neocrop Greenhouse cleaning his gun, his men kept a watch out. The untrained eye might have thought they were watching over him while cleaned his gun, but Mike knew they were just ignoring him. He didn’t care as long as they followed orders in battle.

The veteran bunch of eight soldiers were perhaps some of the best armed troops Silas had to offer. All armed with at least either 9mm, most with M4’s or rifles. Mike finished cleaning his gun and stood again. Glancing around the area he grunted his disapproval/

“We need to establish some defensive structures. Redoubts, small bunkers, that sort of thing,” Mike told them. Only a few of the group actually looked at him. “Where can we get a hold of some shovels and planks?” he asked. There was silence and Mike frowned, trying not to get frustrated. “Look, if I’m willing to die alongside of you guys, I would at least like some respect in return,” he told them. A moment passed.

“There’s a storage shed near headquarters,” one of them offered. The others nodded.

“Good,” Mike was relieve he was finally getting some communication. “We’ll set up some defenses before the Liberation Front attack begins. I’m sure you’d all like that better than trying to fit your bulky frames behind those small trees.” Many of them nodded, some even smiling. They started of for the shed and soon got to work on several defensive structures that Mike hoped would help them in the near future.