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The Road Warriors


Asper Sarnoff

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As the enemy retreated, Jason let loose a war cry, as though screaming to the heavens. One of the scavengers - the one who Jason had hurled over his shoulder - got up to leave, but Jason chased after him. He leapt from a crate, sailed through the air, and landed on the poor bastard's back and stabbed both blades in his back. He rose from his last kill, murmuring a single phrase in Russian: "Tak prodolzhaet·syaokhotamaroder ." (So continues the hunt of the marauder.)

He turned around as Fenris left after one of the scavengers, kicking over one of the corpses - the one of the bastard he'd sheared in half - and relieved it of the Ninjato's sheath and a cleaning cloth. He sheathed the katana and the Ninjato, then marched back to his car, blood dripping from his hands, staining his clothes and covering his face. His eyes were no longer a void - for the moment, they held a look of rage and murder. He popped the trunk of his car, opened the duffel bag marked "M", and stuffed both blades inside. He then closed the bag, and opened another duffel bag, one marked "R" and stowed his Aug A3 as Fenris returned with his prisoner.

It wasn't until Jason finished stowing his gear that Fenris asked his question.

"What you think guys. What are we going to do with this creep?" He spoke out loudly, looking around at the others. The tiger and the ram was there, the fox too, covered in blood... Where the heck was the biker?

Jason didn't even cast a glance to Fenris at this query. It was his choice to kill him or not - had it been up to Jason, he would have killed him and left his mutilated body as a warning to potential troublemakers.

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"What you think guys. What are we going to do with this creep?" He spoke out loudly, looking around at the others. The tiger and the ram was there, the fox too, covered in blood... Where the heck was the biker?

At this, Malloy slung his still warm shotgun across his back, walked toward the pinned lizard and slipped his multitool out of the pouch on his belt, flicking the sharp, hardened steel knife blade out in a quick movement. Once face-to-face with him, the ram jammed the multitool's knife at the reptile's throat, and looked at him through sharp, scrutinizing eyes, watching his reaction. Folk can lie with their words, even their actions, but not their emotions, not easily anyway. He wanted to see the fear in the traitor's eyes, to know he was sincere and not something sinister...

"Never forget." he growled through gritted teeth, pressing the blade harder.

In a quick movement, Malloy whipped his arm around and slashed the lizard across the face, producing a wicked gash under his eye that leaked blood. Then he slammed his heavy horns into the reptile's head like a sledgehammer, knocking him out cold.

"That's what we do to him." the ram grumbled, tossing the limp but living body to the ground.

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Fenris eyed Malloy for a bit. The ram was definatively not stupid. He knew that a screamer was often a better deterrent to any would-be attackers than a corpse.

He opened his tighly clenched fists, noticing the sting as the fur stuck to each other by the blood was torn apart. He looked down at his arms, Some of it had dried off into his pelt, while at his fingertips, small drops were still forming, falling slowly to the ground. It was all the same, the same color, the same feeling, the same smell. Why wouldn't it just leave him alone? Why did it have to come back, again forcing memories he have sealed away back to the the forefront of his consciousness?

He managed to tear himself away, and immediatly headed for the Unimog. He could feel the others eyes in his neck as he let a handfull of water out of the tank and started washing the blood away. They didn't know, they shouldn't need to know. It had been his fault, and he would deal with it alone. After a couple minutes of persistent scrubbing, all traces of blood had been washed away, both from himself, and from his knife, which he immediatly afterwards squirted a few drops of oil on to make sure it wouldn't rust. He could feel a slight ache in his back, presumeably where a stone splinter had pierced into his skin during the shooting. He would deal with that later.

He turned back to the others again, seeing that they were also busy patching themself and their gear up. And there was still no sign of the biker. Fenris furrowed his eyebrows. Could he be? No, he seemed a capable sort, he probably wouldn't have let one of these scumbags get the better of him. Fenris started looking around the camp, searching for signs of the biker.

He found him a couple minutes later, pinned under his bike, seemingly lifeless. Fenris cursed to himself as he tipped the bike off the body and bent down to excamine closer. Pretty much all bare skin was covered up by clothing, but with some effort, Fenris managed to squeeze a finger in between the collar of the jacket and the helmet, touching the neck, feeling for his pulse.

Yes, it was there. Faint, but it was there. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had got him, an exit wound could clearly be seen trough a hole in the jacket near the waist. Someone had taken the guy from behind. Luckily, it seemed like it was so far out that it would have evaded any inner organs. He was pretty confident they'd be able to patch him up.

He started feeling for the chin strap of the helmet, unbuckling it, before he carefully grabbed hold around the helmet, and started pulling it off. He couldn't help himself opening his jaw in disbelief as he saw the real person behind that tinted visor. Well, it made a lot of sense, but still surprised him.

The other road warriors looked up as Fenris appeared from behind the tanker, carrying a seemingly lifeless body in his arms. They immediatly recognised the clothes, it was the biker.

"I need some distilled water, a medkit, and a bottle of alcohol. And fast!" Fenris growled as he marched towards them. Suddenly, the bikers head slumped down, and with it no longer obscured by Fenris body, everyone could see the face, the soft features. It was a female.

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"We... we got some of that in the mog. Hold on!" And he dove into the truck's rear compartment. "And get some pressure on that bullet wound before little spooky runs outta blood to bleed!"

He could be shocked and busy at the same time. He knew the back of his own apparently disorganized mog well enough to dig out the box of medical junk without thinking. A woman: well, that was sure as hell something. Okay, so it wasn't completely unheard of for ladies to take to the plains, but the ones that normally did were the tougher, butchier dames that seemed more like macho-men with the wrong hardware than this little spookess here...

Medicine first; gender implications later. For better or worse, Terry "the Tweak" Malloy practiced his first-aid like a jury-rig repair job: the body's broke, time to put it back together again, with duct-tape and chicken-wire if necessary. Speaking of...

"Uh... we're pretty much out of the rubbing alcohol, but there's a full bottle of real strong whiskey in the mess here that should do the trick..."

The ram emerged with a bottle of amber whiskey in one hand, and a little metal box with a faded red-cross symbol on it dangling from the other.

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"Uh... we're pretty much out of the rubbing alcohol, but there's a full bottle of real strong whiskey in the mess here that should do the trick..."

The ram emerged with a bottle of amber whiskey in one hand, and a little metal box with a faded red-cross symbol on it dangling from the other.

"Well, there goes one of my own "reserves"... for a good cause".

Even if this resolved question A, this goes all the way to question Y. But right now wasn't the time; a life was pending on a couple of strings. "You can also save some of it for an impromptu anesthetic if necessary..." told Steele to the ram. Even if Malloy was a bit dumbfounded at first, it was obvious it would work if needed. Besides, the biker didn't had any visible throat or organ trauma that would render her unable to consume.

"Fenris, put her..." it felt a bit odd to say that word, since female mercs were practically unexistent. "...on the floor slowly and if it can listen us, tell her to relax. That way, blood loss will be slowed down and we'll finish this quicker"

Also, in a small act of charity, he pulled his hair band out. "Need a torniquet? These can easily go to my thigh or my arm; It'll be easier on someone her size"

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Steele's mind was foggy, she'd lost too much blood for it to function properly. She was vaugely aware of a weight being lifted off her lower body, and a set of strong arms lifting her off the ground. She tried to push him away, but her limbs felt like lead, and she had no choice but to allow him to carry her away.

Her mind flashed between scenes of a desert, and a fractured memory. White and stainless steel, a room with a view.

"Reaglin, put me down..." she muttered weakly.

"What?" Fenris' voice hit her like a slap in the face, breaking her mind back into the present. She looked up into his eyes, which seemed to be full of concern for her. She tried to speak again, to beg him not to let anyone else see her like this, but there wasn't enough fight left in her, and as he approached the rest of the crew, she went slack in his arms.

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Carefully, he put her down on a groundsheet they had spread out over the ground. She had been mumbling something to him, things which made to sense. That in itself wasn't surprising, she had lost a lot of blood after all. Too much maybe. If only he hadn't spend so much time getting that blood of his hand! Despite not knowing anything about her, he had still taken it upon himself to get them all trough this job alive, and there was no way he was going to let the first one die before they had even started.

He started taking of her jacket, gritting his teeth as she moaned in pain over the movements. She had been extremely lucky. The bullet had gone straight trough her waist, about a hands width left off center. No ribs turned to splinters, and probably no important organs hit either. It was just a case of stopping the bleeding. He turned her over into a lateral position, so they could work on both the entry and exit wound at the same time. "Malloy! Try get some of that whiskey in her. This'll hurt like a bitch when I start stitching it together. But save some so we can sterilize the wounds." He barked as he received the medical kit and ripped it open. He grabbed a couple bandage rolls and threw them over to Steele. "Try stopping the bleeding on the exit wound up front. Just cram these into the wound with your thumb until it stops. I'll try stitching together the entry wound first. Jason, I need to you try hold her still. If she gets some consciousness back, she'll probably start trashing around."

He dove down behind the girl and tore up her shirt so he could get to the wound. It didn't look too bad. It was probably a very small caliber. But then there was the exit wound. They were always worse, as the bullet started tumbling around inside ones body, tearing trough tissue and smashing bones. Often, the exit wound were three times the width of the entry holes.

His ears flickered as she once again tried to mumble something to him. "Hang in there girl, we'll get you trough this." He answered, even if he doubted she could her him.

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Thereupon, the feline started wrapping the bandages around his hand. "Fine. I'm serious about giving her a shot if things get rowdy, though".

He then pressed the bandage on the exit wound. By the looks of it, it didn't seem he'll need to refill on bandages. It might haven't pierced any important blood vessel... or she ran out of blood to bleed... Anyway, all was a matter of time.

There was also a bit of suspicion on Fenris' OCD episode. Last time the tiger checked, he was also covered in blood, but didn't felt any immediate, compulsive need to clean. Was the lupine just a mysophobic wuss worried about catching Hepatitis? Or was there something deeper? Steele was better leaving that to time as well...

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Contrary to what the others did, Jason didn't wipe the blood from his face. Not immediately. It served as a reminder of who he was. Of what he was. His eyes once again were a void, where they had earlier been alive with rage and hate. He didn't care that the biker was actually a girl; he cared not that she'd been wounded. He seemingly stared off into space, his mind wandering to someplace... different.

Home. Home where the dragons roamed the plains and flew the mountains. Where they walked the city streets and no one attacked them. Home where Jason could finally lay his weapons aside and live in peace, unhaunted by memories of what happened to him. Could the others see his train of thought? Perhaps. But they would never understand his motives. They would never understand who and what he was, never understand why he was the way he was.

Blood dripped from his scarred face and his trembling hands, but the stains on his mind would take far longer to clean...

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"Hey, Patches!" Malloy called out, "Quit zoning-out and make yourself useful!"

The ram approached Jason with a bundle of rough scrap-cloth in one arm, and a busy look about him.

"Take some of this scrap here and cut it into long strips, about four inches wide and four feet long. It doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to hold the gauze n' guts n' stuff in; keep pressure on the wound while we travel."

Without missing a beat, he took out his multitool and flicked the knife blade out, offering Jason the handle.

In truth, the ram could've easily done this himself, but he still had very little reason to trust Jason, which is why he approached him with this task. The patchwork fox barely spoke, and didn't seem much like a wordy person in the first place, that's alright in his book. Some believe actions speak louder than words, but the choices leading to those actions or words speak volumes more. Malloy needed to see this choice: if Jason would choose, even in this minor way, to assist his comrades in a time of need, or if he would rather spend this time sulking and brooding...

The ram waited for his response.

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Jason's head snapped up to face Malloy, accepted the blade, and cut the neeed strips as he said to Malloy, "For the record, tovarishch, my name isn't 'Patches.' Jason or Marauder will suffice."

He stared right into Malloy's eyes, then added, "Anything else?"

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"Anything else?"

"YES! Come here to stop her from struggling!" yelled the tiger to the two, while trying to hold the bandages and the gril still. Most likely, it was spasms caused by pain...

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"YES! Come here to stop her from struggling!" yelled the tiger to the two, while trying to hold the bandages and the gril still...

(Uhm, its kind of hard for her to be struggling if she passed out in Fenris' arms :S )

She faded in and out of consiousness, but was too numbed by blood loss and fatigue to truly feel what was happening. She was barely aware of the hands pressing rags to her body, and didn't have the energy to do much more than wince and moan as a needle passed through her skin as malloy patched up the wound. The events didn't even move in a linear fashion, first there was the needle, then the rags, then needle again. Or were they? Maybe she was losing more blood than she thought.

Mixing in to the fabric of the world, and the blackness that protected her from it, was the chill of tile floors beneath bare feet, and harsh light spilling in through massive windows, that looked out onto a bustling city. She was shaking with excitement, a letter clenched in her hands. It was hard to tell what was real and what was only memory, and she could feel her brain losing the will to comprehend it.

There was the press of a comforting hand on her shoulder. At the same time she whirled on the tile floor, and opened her eyes to the desert, seeing a young wolf staring at her. The desert won out, a face of concern materializing, the one from the apartment faded out of her reach. She lifted her hand up to wrap it around his wrist. Not to try and force him away, by the feeling of the hands working on her, it was too late for that. this time, she wanted something to stay grounded to when the darkness consumed her again.

XxX

When she surface again, it was in a more sane manner. Slowly, painfully, and to the hum of an engine and the bumping of tires along a dirt road. She was lying in the sleeper section of the tanker, covered in a few thin blankets, and a shirt she didn't recognize. Probably because hers had been destroyed. She tried not to move her pounding head and sore shoulders too much as she carefully lifted up her blankets to inspect the damage. Several neat layers of bandages, and nothing but a red spot to show where she had been shot. Whoever had patched her up had done a good job.

She sighed and laid back down, just that tiny exploration draining her energy. The sound caused Malloy to look behind at her for a moment, than to double take when he realized she was actually awake.

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(Uhm, its kind of hard for her to be struggling if she passed out in Fenris' arms :S )

Carefully, he put her down on a groundsheet they had spread out over the ground...

...Jason, I need to you try hold her still. If she gets some consciousness back, she'll probably start trashing around."

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"You sleep well, Spooky?" the ram asked over his shoulder.

They'd been on the road for a while, and the sun was streaming into the cab. The road ahead was long, straight, and dull, with no notable features for miles around, like so many other monotonous desert roads. Some of Malloy's belongings had migrated into the cab and made themselves at home: the Springfield rifle, the Remington shotgun, a laden metal tool kit that rattled and jangled whenever a bump in the road came, and a few other odds and ends that weren't immediately identifiable. Many of these weren't tools or hardware or mechanical items at all: small trinkets of wrapped leather, colorful bead strings, as well as the occasional polished animal tooth or feather...

"So now would you like to give me your name, or should I just keep abusing the nickname I made up?"

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(Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Forgive my irritation, but WTF? I'm gone a couple of days to set up my new comp and we're already on the road? Did I miss something?)

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(It was kind of a jump indeed, but I guess nothing that would be of importance was missed anyway. It's nice to do a little progress again too.)

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(you only missed like 3 posts, there was no point spending a million years on Steele's surgery)

She smirked a little. "I dunno' I really like Spooky," she quipped. "But if you want, Steele is good too."

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"Well that's a problem, you see. We've already got a Steele in the crew, and sharing names is just going to get confusing, so I'll just be sticking with 'Spooky'." He added with a chuckle, "Besides, he gave his name first."

Malloy's tone switched to a more serious prying tone, but still with a genuine air of concern.

"Which brings me to the next point: what exactly is a little thing like you doing chasing dust-devils in the desert?" Malloy asked, "You hardly look like a fighter type, and if what I've seen of your fighting is anything to go by, I'd guess you either have rotten luck or little experience, neither of which are handy traits to have out in these parts. So what's your story here?"

The ram had a few suspicions of what her true story might've been, but he wanted to hear how she told it.

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The black Challenger thundered trough the desert, well ahead of the Unimog, as to make sure the dust cloud in his wake didn't blind them. The rough terrain made the suspension and body squeak in protest, but it was barely audible over the engines roar. Fenris keept the pace. He had driven her since he was a kid. He knew what she could take, even if she complained from time to time.

He rounded a large crag, and had to flip down the sunvisor to block the low sun from blinding him. While he was busy picking a route and keeping a lookout for anything suspicious, his mind was wandering to the female that was now a couple hundred meters behind him, in the sleeper of the tanker. This could spell problems. He knew it.

Out on the road, days from any other living soul... It could drive the most honest men into doing things they usually wouldn't have imagined in their wildest dreams. He understood why she had done such an effort to hide her identity. And now that they knew about it?

Nah, she was safe among them. He was fairly sure of that. Malloy and Steele seemed honest and restrained enough. And Jason? Well, bloodgorging was obviously what keept him going.

The landscape around them eventually flattened out somewhat, giving him a clear view of the desert for miles around them. Nothing in sight. He could just as well check in on the tanker, hear what was going on. He reached out for the CB radio and brought the mic up to his mouth. "This's the Dragon. Got a copy on me big Tweak?".

A muffled response confirmed Malloy was listening. Fenris once again depressed the send button. "How's our sleeping beauty doing?".

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Jason didn't run with his CB Radio on. Frankly, he didn't care what the others were saying to each other, and therefore didn't want to hear it. He had his mind on his surroundings, watching for the next ambush or attack. Well, part of it, anyway - truth was, the fight with the scavengers had reawakened... something that Jason didn't want known. A part of him that haunted him to...

The landscape he now found himself in was... familiar, somehow. Scarred sands, impact craters, twisted metal, made Jason feel as though he should remember this place. Had he been here befrore...?

Jason's car slowly drifted off course as something in his mind snapped.

His eyes whisked himself back to a raging battle. He ran on foot, drilling bandits and slaughtering enemies. Explosions detonated all around him, throwing him all around, but still he pressed on.

Jason's vehicle continued to drift, move away from the others, but his mind remained in the same spot. The battle. The war.

An explosion rocked nearby as Jason jumped into a dug-out trench with a pair of mercenary personnel.

"Who the hell are you?" one asked.

"Never mind that," Jason replied. "What's the situation?"

"We've been trying to advance on the entrenched bandits, but most of our comrades were wiped out!" the other replied. "I don't suppose you can help us?"

"I'll draw their fire," Jason stated, "You take out the gunners when you have a clear shot."

Without another word, Jason leapt from the trench and immediately got the attention of the gunners.

Jason's car still drifted away, headed right for an impact crater, but Jason couldn't see it; his mind seemingly thought it was in the middle of a battle.

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"Wow, this thing devours gas. I wonder how often does Malloy torture his wallet when refueling this shit"

Steele had muted, but didn't turn off his CB radio. He didn't like distractions while driving, that way he could focus on the road and enjoy the ride.

The feline thought he would never be in that position. Not in the mission per se, but he never thought he would have to bounty hunt to survive. He was on top of the world at one point. Lived on the best places, drove the best cars...

In the end, destiny wasn't on his side, he thought.

He hoped that, grabbing one large mission like this instead of various small ones would allow him to "retire" from bounty hunting sooner. Recently, small missions were only enough for rent these days. He wanted to succeed at this mission to, hopefully another day, have another shot at the good life.

Noticing an oddity on their formation, he turned on the CB radio and spoke openly to who was open at the moment "Hey, has someone seen Jason? I think he derailed..."

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Explosions rang out as Jason dashed for a fairly-fresh impact crater. Two gunners, manning separate MG42 Machine Guns, immediately opened up on him.

Jason's car still headed for an old Impact crater.

Jason dove into the crater, avoiding flying bullets as he went. Two gunshots rang out, and the MG42 guns fell silent. Jason emerged from cover, advancing on the bandits' line. They tried to man the MG42 guns, but failed as Jason drilled any that got near them.

While Jason's mind re-lived a part of his past, his car still drove right for an impact crater. Just ahead of that crater was an old, dug-out artillery trench with a totaled Flak 88, a crate of volatile ammunition, and several former-MG positions. If Jason were to hit that area, the whole spot would go up in one big boom - taking Jason and anyone and anything in the immediate vicinity with them. The convoy would be safe from the blast, but probably not from any debris that would rain down.

Jason leapt into the artillery trench, drawing his Katana. The bandits attempted to engage him in melee combat, and he slaughtered them with merciless abandon.

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^ (just so you know, contemporary ammunition is rarely volatile or unstable, for obvious reasons. crashing a car into it would simply do just that: wreck your car. And for that matter, why would there be anything, particularly along the road, that hasn't been picked clean by scavengers and the like?)

Noticing an oddity on their formation, he turned on the CB radio and spoke openly to who was open at the moment "Hey, has someone seen Jason? I think he derailed..."

Before the ram got an answer from "Spooky", he heard Steele's (the feline Steele) warning over the CB radio. Malloy checked his rear-view mirrors, and saw a cloud of dust billow up as Jason veered off the road. He snapped into action and removed the radio's mouthpiece.

"Patches!" he called out over the convoy's channel, but no response.

"Jason are you there?!" He started to get more worried, or his radio was off, or not working...

In a desperate move to get his attention, Malloy braked the truck, slowing it down, and gave a blast of the truck's powerful, almost deafening horn.

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The horn sounded and woke Jason from his flashback. He shook it off and, realizing what he was headed for, braked and came to a stop. For some reason, Jason was compelled to get out of his car, looking into the impact crater. The memory still fresh on his mind, he slowly walked into the crater, stopping just shy of the center. he looked down, and saw something - a shoulder patch, buried in the sand. He picked it up, dusting off the sand, and stared at the symbol - a symbol of a spire pointing to a star with two dragon wings curving around it inside a circle.

Upon seeing this emblem, Jason remembered his reason for taking this op. Determined to finish it, he marched back up the crater, into his car, and drove off to catch up with the formation. He kept his radio off - he didn't want to hear his "comrades" bitching and bickering about something Jason had no control over; one does not fight in wars and emerge unscathed - and they certainly didn't emerge unscathed after what Jason was forced to live through.

Just finish this mission, Jay, Jason thought to himself. Then we can go full-on run to the Entrepreneur and contact Indari.

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