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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Jul 28, 2014 18:44:24 GMT -5
"An entire caravan?"
Gill stared at the grizzled stalker before her, but all the man could do was shrug.
"-Gone without a trace" he said, "they left two days ago, the Rangers up at the church outpost lost radio contact with them soon after. Most people are too scared to go looking for them."
The gilled mutant shook her head disbelievingly. A group of well-armed traders or stalkers could safely cross the swamp if they followed the flags. Of course disappearances still happened, you couldn't stop a hungry shrimp from dragging a lone stalker to a watery death, but an entire group armed with assault rifles and grenades?
The small maintenance tunnel that lead to the surface was buzzing with worried activity. The station's stalkers now refused to go up top, fearful of suffering the same fate as the caravan. As Gill looked around the small, dilapidated corridor, she heard tales of monstrous creatures bigger than a railcar and capable of cutting a human in half with a swipe of their talons. She shook her head again when she heard one young stalker telling a story about the "swamp ghosts", the tormented souls of those who had drowned in the swamps' murky waters.
"All right, listen up you all!" called someone from the station end of the corridor. Gill turned to see a short fat man escorted by two well-armed gangsters. Any Venician would recognise Fat Oleg, head of one of the stations' wealthiest trading companies. The stalkers eyed Oleg and his escort warily. "The caravan that went missing is mine, and I am fucking pissed at losing all those goods. Those guys were carrying weapons, food and ammunition for the Ranger base and they represented a considerable investment for me and my associates."
Oleg hitched up his belt and looked at the stalkers with calculating eyes. "I ain't giving up any merchandise to the Swamp without a fight, which is why I'm offering three full mags of bullets, plus a small share of the caravan's cargo, to anyone willing and capable of going into the Swamp and finding it."
"-No fuckin' way, Oleg" said a stalker with a dirty hazmat suit, "I ain't goin' in that Swamp for all the money in the Metro. That damned place is cursed!"
Shouts of agreement joined the stalker's retort, and all of them began to stream out of the corridor and back towards the station. Oleg cursed and threatened them to no avail, his words doing nothing to hold back the shabby human tide. By the time the surface access corridor had emptied, there was only Gill and a few scattered men. Oleg swore and drew his guards into a heated conversation. Gill stood still for a moment, her mind blank save for visions of the Swamp. She had seen the murky waters only once and had felt irresistibly drawn to them, and now, even with unknown dangers lurking above, Gill wanted to go back there.
The gilled mutant approached Oleg with her swaying gait and cleared her throat.
"What do ya want, Fishy?" Said Oleg irritably. Gill ignored the slur and pushed on.
"-Your offer" she said, "I'm taking it."
The trader looked her up and down, his irritation washed away like mud in a rainstorm. His eyes settled on her gills and webbed hands with calculating coolness, and Gill knew he was sizing her up.
"Okay" said Oleg, "I suppose there ain't no-one better than you to go rooting around in the Swamp. The last time I heard from my caravan they were nearing the old motorway overpass, near one of the camps we use to cross the Swamp."
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Post by Opal on Jul 29, 2014 12:42:43 GMT -5
Fresh from a job, Haldjas stuck her hand in her coat pocket and wiggled her fingers through the large handful of bullets she had just received as payment. Not bad for a simple escort job from one of the nearby stations, even if her charge had been an idiot. Suddenly wanting a pet shrimp wasn’t exactly the best idea she had ever heard and had almost ended in disaster when they swarmed their small canoe. Nothing a few sticks of dynamite couldn’t fix but still… Haldjas doubted he’d be trying that again.
Her smirk was covered by the dark bandanna tied around her neck but her eyes shone with the good humor of her thoughts. Whistling a tune, she wandered the walkways of Venice and ignored the odd stare that her happy tune seemed to draw. People just needed to lighten up, she mused. But goodness where the people here particularly dour today?
With a shrug she turned a corner and walked into the market, intent on buying the supplies she would need to restock her personal supplies. The Venice market was a small but noisy place and reeked of fish. Immediately she jumped into the fray as if going to battle and began her haggling assault. Pulling down her bandanna, Haldjas smiled. Her pretty face and small stature put people off their guard and the poor merchant never had a chance.
Her bag now weighted with a fresh supply of dried meat she was moving on to her next victim when she noticed a disturbance further down the walkway. Curiosity beckoned and she complied. Easily slipping between the milling onlookers it didn’t take long before she arrived near the front of the group.
Haldjas listened with interest as the wealthy merchant explained what the job was and it was difficult to hold back a laugh at the crowd’s reaction. The swamps where never a very pleasant place to visit and even she had heard the recent rumors, but in her opinion that just made them like everywhere else in this damned place.
The stalkers interest was snagged and she remained rooted in place as most of the crowd dispersed on their muttering ways. A voice spoke up and that’s when Haldjas noticed the mutant woman a few paces away. Well that isn’t something you see everyday, she mused as she silently regarded the mutant.
Mind suddenly made up, Haldjas moved forward until she stood next to the mutant. “Nothing like a trip to the swamps to keep your immune system in check.” She said brightly and shook the merchant’s hand. “I’m Haldjas and a stalker who has found herself with some free time.” Turning slightly until she faced the other woman and smiled, “Hope you don’t mind if I join you?”
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milch
Nosalis
Age quod agis
Posts: 66
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Post by milch on Jul 30, 2014 1:32:56 GMT -5
"Now look here, boyo" said Viktor Viktorovich to one of the weapon dealers that infested Venice just like the local fishmongers "I've been tinkering with guns 'n' machines me whole life an' I know when a gun's been used. And THIS gun HAS been used A LOT. So don't go huffing and puffing 'bout how 'tis just been made some place I ne'er heard about an' delivered straight t' you for sale, cause I know where 'tis thing been - up top and down below, in the tunnels and on the stations, this gun's been used, boyo, and a lot for that matter".
The trader cursed at Viktor heatedly, shouting that he's just a moronic old man who'd lost his wits in the bloody tunnels, but Viktor had the right of it here. This trader had been known to give away worn out guns for some newly assembled death-machine. Eventually, the Hansa mechanic left the indecent trader to his dirty business and moved along the walkways to the next lot, where he'd intended on actually buying something rather than striking an argument with a not-so-honest dealer.
After stocking up some ammo for the Ashot, Lowlife and the Bastard, the old man elbowed his way through the crowded market past the fishing boats shouting out hellos to the metro-dwellers here and there who'd recognized him. Viktor Viktorovich had an adventurous life full of gunfights, imprisonment and even concentration camps, so a lot of people had cause to know him.
"Hey, Deda Vitya" called out a youngster in charge of a supply lot "you here to spend your hard earned pension?" the lad grinned at Viktor, knowing that the jolly engineer won't take no offense at the joke.
"As it happens, I am, boyo" Viktor returned the banter "now go call daddy and tell 'im mature men need t' talk". That pretty much wiped the grin of the beardless boy's face and they finally settled to haggling. It was a harsh debate with curses, deceits, tiomeouts, someone even mentioned something about the other's manhood, doubting its size, but eventually, Viktor went away stocked up with his "pension" mostly intact and the lad wondering how the hell did he just give all that away so cheap.
Viktor had a gift of being nice. Strange and useless gift some might say, but here you go, who'd just bargained the price down tenfold? The man that was nice (for the most part). People always came to Deda Vitya (Grandpa Vitya) for advice or to fix up a gun or even railcar and Viktor turned not a single person away. That's just the way he was. And regardless of his age and bushy grey beard he was nimble in movement and accurate of shot. Legacy of all those army days and adventure, which Viktor loved so much.
And just as it always happenes, fate introduced Viktor yet to another adventure, when he came to a halt in his haggling travels stuck behind a large group of men who'd been listening to what seemed to be a salvage mission proposition. Viktor's eyes lit up and glittered like fluorescent mushrooms in a side-tunnel and he immediately set out to offer his services where most younger, stronger men seemed to be too afraid to accept and left.
"Howdy there, Oleg" our hero called out "remember me? Fixed up that motorboat o' yours not long 'go. Well, a couple o' years 'tis been most likely, me memory's not so sharp nowadays, but me guns are still loud. I s'pose a good mechanic is always needed on a trip up top" Viktor said smiling at the fat man. He then turned to the ladies and said "G'd day, ladies. Me name's Viktor Viktorovich, but some call me Deda Vitya, or simply Ded. If you e'er need me t' have a look at a gun or some machine o' yours, feel free to ask" the grandad said with sweetness in his voice.
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Post by blackpapermoon on Jul 31, 2014 13:47:50 GMT -5
The trip from Polis to Venice was short and sweet as any ride could be in the Metro. After a excruciating wait at a Red controlled check point the Ranger and the stalker where finally allowed to pass into the watery tunnel after their passports weapon prmits and other such annoyances where looked over and approved by an officer . Only for the small vessel to be knocked about and nearly capsized by the ravenous Shrimps. A few shot gun shells and a box or two of dynamite later they where found themselves in a much better lit part of the tunnels. As the boat approached the massive metal door to the station one of the occupants stirred uneasily, the tall woman covered with the dark green rain poncho pulled the hood far up over her head then chewed on her bottom lip. Five years she thought to herself as she and her older companion shifted out of the ferry pulling their gear with them. For not long after they were done the raft operator began to crank back the way that they had come.
“Your first real mission? or just the Shrimps” asked the long haired stalker next to her his hazel eyes picking up on her rigid movements, “you Rangers are a tough lot, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“It’s not that Yuras,” Yana remarked sheepishly before changing to a much warmer tone, “but your vote of confidants is much appreciated.
Ferret gave an understanding nod back to the greenhorn ranger, reflecting on how hard returning to this station must be after trading in her father’s bandits. He knew what it was like to live in the shadow cast by a parent but the one cast by such a person as Yana’s father could only be descried as dark.
The door to the station soon began to open after all they were expected. On the other side a representative of Oleg Trade hastily directed them to the ownership of the company. They followed the employee past various boxes and crates as the smell of freshly caught fish wafted throughout the station. As they past a ruff looking group of vagrants the young ranger tugged on the hood of her coat but the thugs seemed more intent on their game of dice then passersby. With a heavy sigh of relief they continued on their way finally being brought before Oleg himself. The portly and stout trade master eyed the two as they neared, the whole time he blew smoke rings into the air from a prewar cigarette.
“You’re late, “Oleg muttered out bitterly in an almost snort, “I was expecting more of you as well. I had to hire other scavengers.”
“The council tends to drag its feet,” Yuras remarked, “They have their hands full with the Nazis and the Reds.”
“It’s costing me money,” Oleg remarked with a wave of his hand, “but I’d be a fool to turn away a Ranger and a Polis stalker, there is a small expedition forming near the entrance to the surface." He montoined to a small number of people growaing near the large blast door to the station. "Should be a fish freak and some short talkative stalker girl and an old guy. A few others might have joined up I'll be damned if I'm got to let some mud puddle claim my goods!"
With that the two left to meet up with the ever growing group, numbers would be of help out in the swamps, much less likely for a shrimp to take someone by surprise.
Ferret quickly spotted the two mentioned by the trader, a short wavy black haired woman seemed to be trying to start up some kind of conversation with a gilled mutant female and older man. As strange a site as the mutant was such was not uncommon in parts of the metro that did not see much of the Reich’s influence. Life was hard on such individuals so it was no surprise to find one taking on such dangerous work.
“You all must be the volunteers Oleg hired,” Yuras called over, “I’m Yuras and this is Ranger Yana, Polis sent us to aid in the salvage. Are there going to be any others joining us something really got the Shrimp piss off lately.”
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Post by dehotherguy on Aug 21, 2014 5:48:52 GMT -5
Sid was leaning against a wall nearby, smoking a cigarette. Mercenary business was slow in Riga nowadays, and Sid would often go to Venice during downtime to spend her payments. However, she was gradually getting low on funds lately, due to the lack of jobs for the mercenary group she worked for.
In the distance, Sid could hear Fat Oleg's ranting. His offer was simple: Three mags and some cargo for finding the lost caravan. Without hesitation, Sid walked over to where the merchant stood.
Apparently, a few others had already signed up. Sid noticed the mutant who had first approached Fat Oleg. Walking up to the gilled woman, the half-Korean mercenary wordlessly nodded her head.
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Aug 21, 2014 6:16:23 GMT -5
Gill blinked slowly as she took in the small group. The jovial old man who had introduced himself as Viktor seemed friendly enough, and so did Haldjas. The next two participants, however, made her ill at ease, like shadows without casters. The last one said not a word, and Gill assumed her to be a mercenary or hired gun of sorts.
"I'm Ludmila" said the gilled mutant, "but you can call me Gill. Everybody does."
She patted her shotgun with a webbed hand, unsure how to continue.
"I...suppose you've all been up to the surface before?" She asked, "I've been up there once."
Gill winced inwardly at the awkwardness of her words. Revealing her lack of experience to a group of veterans was never a good idea, especially when they were complete strangers and potential cut-throats. "Not that I can't handle myself" she added hastily, patting her shotgun again.
Don't be ashamed, the Swamp is where you belong. It is your world, not theirs.
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Post by Opal on Aug 21, 2014 13:52:23 GMT -5
Haldjas smiled and nodded as each volunteer stepped forward. She especially liked Viktor and his friendly disposition. Gill seemed shy but that was ok, Haldjas was confident that the mutant woman would warm up to her before too long. People always did, and if they didn’t… well it was their loss. The other three members she didn’t know what to make of yet but she would do as she always did. Be friendly and reserve harsh judgment until they did something to warrant the opposite.
“Yes I have,” she said happily to Gills question, “sometimes I feel like I spend more time on the surface than I do down in the tunnels. There is a lot more room to move up there.” She winked at Gill, pretending she didn’t notice the others awkwardness, and adjusted her pack to a more comfortable position on her shoulders.
Turning slightly she faced Viktor. “You think you can handle running around with all us females?” She teased and held out her hand to shake his. “It’s good to meet you. And you three as well.” Turning she gave a friendly nod to Yuras, the Ranger Yana, and the last woman who had yet to say anything.
The six of them made an interesting group to say the least.
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Post by blackpapermoon on Aug 27, 2014 11:59:40 GMT -5
“Gill it is, it’s been a year or two since I been to the swamps” the stalker remarked trailing off some as if to recall a certain date, “but I make weekly runs to the ruins.” The ranger crossed her arms as she watched a few boats caring equipment and men gently float down the river, she was reminded of the simpler time of her childhood before she understood just what her father was. As a girl she always seemed to know when he was coming back; after being gone for days or weeks at a time. She would stand on the docks for hours just to be the first of her siblings to see him. His short messy black hair, midnight black armor, and the demonic leering smile painted red on his black helm. He’d come back with the men, raft riding low in the waters weighed down with loot, and after they docked she would run up to him and he would scoop her up in his arms and carry her home on his shoulders.
“I’ve been to a few of the ranger bases near here on the surface,” Yana said softly as she continued to watch the water goers almost half expecting to see the tunnel raider himself pass by at any moment, “but it has been years since I was last in the swamps.”
She had noticed with their short conversation with Oleg that the fat man wore an engraved silver ring with a large round Onyx stone, once her fathers. His legacy and power was all but gone in Venice, her family’s items and lodging where taken divided up and sold through the station, like rats upon a corpse there was nothing left. Arakcheyev’s bandits where nothing more then ghost stories and bad memories in the mind of the metro dwellers, and with any luck would fade from memory completely. The young ranger cared little for the things lost but a passing thought nagged into her mind, how she would love to recover just one piece of her mother’s jewelry, a keepsake to remember her by. The ranger was pulled from her thought as the new comer joined the rest of the group, the woman looked to be only somewhat older then herself with are rather peculiar facial features, almond eyes that slanted down slightly and wide flat cheek bones.
“Privet, friend,” the stalker remarked as Sid approached, “trade names with us and let’s get underway, Oleg’s not a patience man.”
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Post by dehotherguy on Aug 27, 2014 14:36:23 GMT -5
Sid didn't even look at the ranger who had greeted her, only responding with "Sid." She was not here to make friends. She was here to do one of two things: make money, or die, both of which she didn't mind.
The surface was a familiar place, as Sid would often go up there during mercenary jobs. The jobs up on the surface varied, ranging from escorting caravans to attacking ranger bases. One thing was for sure: surface jobs always paid well.
Despite the ranger base jobs mentioned earlier, Sid had no bias towards any particular group. She did the jobs given to her and received pay for it, nothing more. If a crime lord hired her to slaughter an innocent child, she did it. If an angry Red Line officer hired her to murder rangers, she did it. If a Fourth Reich captain hired her to protect the Fuhrer, she did it.
"What are we waiting for?"
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Sept 3, 2014 9:12:45 GMT -5
Gill reacted swiftly to Sid's impatience. "Ah, yes. It's probably best if we leave now and don't hang around. The ladder to the surface as at the end of this corridor..."
The gilled mutant turned and set off down the corridor. As she drew closer to the old metal door that concealed the ladder, she felt her heart quicken its pace. Her mind began to fill with memories and sensations tied up with excitement and fear. She laid one webbed hand against the door's rugous surface and blinked as more visions of the surface shot through her mind's eye. She pushed the door open and entered the round, narrow manhole that lead upwards. She turned her gaze upward and saw the faint dot of surface light far, far above her. As she began her ascent the damp smell of lichen filled her nostrils and the dry tendrils of subterranean plants caressed her suit and exposed skin. It was as if the world below was trying to pull her back, but the dot of light above had a stronger pull. The soles of her boots squeaked against the damp and rusted rungs of the ladder, and her breath seemed to fill the damp darkness with tomb-like intensity.
Water suddenly dripped onto her forehead and slid softly down her smooth skin and over her eyes. Deep in her body she felt the aching need to immerse herself in her second element, to feel the cool caress of oxygenated fluid on her beating gills. The rest of her climb went past in a daze of thought and sensations, and Gill almost bumped her head into the heavy metal cover at the end of the manhole. Using her strong legs to anchor herself to the ladder, she pushed against the cover and heaved it up with uncommong strength. Sickly light flooded the humid manhole. Without a word Gill hopped out and into the surface world, her boots squelching onto mud-covered concrete.
"Coast is clear" she called down the manhole before slipping her gas mask on. A quick look around revealed their position to be an old and small maintenance building with a large half of its roof missing. Moss and deformed plants grew from the walls and floor. Gill took a step forward only to jerk back in fear and surprise. A moss-covered skull grinned at her from a corner of the room, and as Gill watched, a large centipede scuttled in and out of its empty orbits.
"Boje moi..." she muttered.
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Post by Opal on Sept 9, 2014 18:07:10 GMT -5
Haldjas raised a questioning brow at Sid’s aloof and brusque attitude, it didn’t exactly fill her with a sense of confidence or trust in her teammate. But then Sid wasn’t exactly the only one she had misgivings over. Shrugging her thoughts away for the moment she fell in line behind Gill as they finally began moving towards the surface entrance.
She could feel a sense of excitement tingle up her spine as the metal door was opened and Gill started up the ladder. If there was anything Haldjas enjoyed it was the beginnings of a new adventure, a journey with new comrades, pitting your life and ingenuity against the elements and mutants of the surface ruins. It could be argued that she was a bit crazy but whatever, like Haldjas cared.
“Coast is clear.” She heard Gills voice echo down and with a soft giggle of excitement she shimmied up the ladder as fast as she safely could manage and all but ‘popped’ out onto the surface like a ray of sunshine before donning her mask.
Placing her hands on her hips she cast her gaze around the damaged building they were in and noticed the skull that Gill was looking at. Bending for a closer look she saw the centipede, “Oh joy,” she muttered, “that’s a little disgusting.”
Turning her gaze to something a little less disturbing she looked up through the ruined roof of the old building. The sky was the dark rolling clouds it always was but she thought she felt the atmosphere becoming heavy. “We should make this quick,” she said to the group as they all gathered at the surface, “I don’t think the weather is going to hold for very long.”
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Post by blackpapermoon on Sept 29, 2014 13:51:32 GMT -5
The two Polis representatives followed suit after the small gilled mutant and the other two women. Reaching the top of the ladder they where greeted with the gloomy remains of the once thriving metropolis. The dead world was all but silent save for the wind blowing past and causing a rusty gate to sing a forlornly song. The rest of the team soon joined them, and found the bodiless skull that now housed a insect. “Oh joy,” muttered Haldjas the rather talkative scavenger, “that’s a little disgusting.”
“-Such is common on the surface, “Ferret said in melancholy with a deep sigh, “It was only us lucky few that made it down into the metro before the bombs blasted our world apart… I was so young then… back when Moscow was beautiful.”
“-Beware that not all the bones here are victims of the war,” Yana remarked as she adjusted her gas mask over her petite features, it seemed most masks had been made for strong faced men and not slender faced women like herself, “crime syndicates often drag ‘trouble makers’ to the surface to do away with them, if they are feeling merciful they might first shoot the person before leaving them up here.”
“Howlers tend to gather here because of that, but should not be present in the swamps themselves,” the Spartan continued as she brought her rifle up to her shoulder to scan the outlining area for movement, “they are wise enough not to become a meal for the shrimps.”
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Post by dehotherguy on Sept 30, 2014 5:12:40 GMT -5
Sid emerged from the manhole to the surface, putting her gas mask on and readying her Saiga. For a few moments, she stood where she was, looking around. The "Dead City." The building they stood in was one of the city's rotting organs, a puncture wound visible in the form of a gaping hole in the roof. The streets were the veins and arteries, ruptured in some places and clogged in others. Impact craters were flesh wounds. The skull on the ground was the former nucleus of a cell. With the plants and swamps, the city was a massive rotting corpse. However, to Sid, the city was always dead. It simply received a nuclear paint job.
Sid began to walk around the room, searching for anything of value.
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Nov 16, 2014 12:43:55 GMT -5
Gill only vaguely heard what Ferret said. The man sounded like an encyclopedia to her ears. Instead, she cautiously approached a nearby opening in the wall, through which crept pale light. She saw they had emerged in a ruined block of buildings overlooking the swamp. A light mist hovered over the murky water, but Gill saw a few suspicious ripples and the fleeting form of a mantis shrimp.
"I wonder what it used to look like before the war" she mused, her voice only a murmur. She didn't particularly want any of the others butting in on her quiet train of thought. The swamp seemed to call to her, and the presence of the others seemed almost like an intrusion.
"So where did the last reported contact with the caravan take place?" She asked.
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