AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

[agogemod]

AND THEN SOMEONE YELLED OUT "CONTACT!";

and the bloke behind me swore

THE SILENT WAR

The news of the day of the retreat spreads like wildfire through the Trenches. Leading up to the final date, all soldiers on the ground are instructed to limit their gunfire, to make it look like the usual traditions for warfare, which have determined much of human history up until this point: no one really goes to war in winter. Everyone is to maintain a verbal and physical presence, but the time to confuse the Turks has really become paramount. At times, whole sections are ordered to be perfectly quiet until the last possible second and then spring out before the Turks can get too close.

Which is just how it is supposed to be. In fact, for COST recruits, there's a real sense that this might just go according to plan.

Around this time, the Rear Guard signup starts. COST recruits are met with some surprise by Captain Lewis; he will blink in surprise at a group so new wanting to volunteer so readily, but he's glad and gives everyone who joins a big warm handshake.

Each day gets closer and the mood of the soldiers becomes more jubilant and tenser; the erratic sense of relief that they might be leaving what has become the graveyard of so many friends and, often times, family, combines with the frustration of not being able to do anything but wait. This leads to more than a few fights breaking out, often over nothing important. Just the edge of temporary relief.

Then, before dawn on Jan 7th, the evacuation begins in earnest. It's possible to see it from the top of some sections: a bustling populace until it trickles down to the ghost of the Trenches, where there is nothing left but the rear guard. It's a smooth, efficient evacuation.

The Rear Guard

This is a skeleton army, just enough to make it seem no one has left. Everyone is encouraged to come up with ways to make it seem like there are more men than there actually are.

The local soldiers have come up with a particularly sneaky one - a rope is wrapped around the trigger of a rifle, just loose enough not to pull it, and from the end of it hangs a bucket. Another container slowly drips water into the bucket until it fills and drops, pulling the rope around the trigger and firing the gun. Soldiers are tasked with emptying the water, refilling the cannister, or checking the gun if it looks like it has jammed.

Outside of that, if someone has a sneaky idea to keep up the ruse - even if it's lighting small fires or singing loudly in a chorus to give the notion of people still around - it's all encouraged.

THE THUNDER OF GUNS

Everything is going well. It's not even that worrying when a thick mist comes up, heavy and difficult to see through. But, for those with powers, it prickles oddly on bare skin, followed by a pressure that builds in the back of the mind. It seems to dull any extra powers or senses; magic and its ilk are still usable, but require more concentration to reach now.

In the stillness of the night, however, there is no breeze to move the fog on and it settles like oil through the trench.

It's 1am when the first shell drops. It falls to the east of the recruits' position at Lone Pine. It's a shell that comes down and splits apart the night air in an explosion of shrapnel, dirt and heat. Then a second, then a third, now starting from both sides.

All the soldiers' clamour out of the way and Captain Lewis can be heard shouting over the din: "Into the Tunnels!"

But not everyone can make it. The shells are coming steadily now and one step in the wrong direction is the difference between life and death in such a small space. It's chaos - some soldiers are killed outright. Others get buried under the debris and dirt. Others catch shrapnel that, if not fatal, is enough to throw them and make it hard to get up. But COST's mission is the same as it always is: save as many of these men's lives as possible.

There are four direct entries into the tunnels, all about four or five meters apart, and they're all interconnected within the tunnels themselves.

One by one, however, shells fall and destroy the entrances to the tunnels.

WARTIME ARCHEOLOGY

It takes another three hours for the bombardment to stop and, once the tunnel entrances collapse, it becomes very dark in there. Might be time to fish out a match and strike up a torch.

While Officers previously told soldiers to keep out of the tunnels and otherwise left them ignored, these tunnels are huge. Not like the ones in other sections of the coast; here, they seem to go far into No Man's Land. They're crudely constructed and only some sections are reenforced with heavy beams of wood. But once journeying into them, there are all sorts of things to be found. There are old gas lamps that can be used to light your way or hung on a secure nook or cranny. The stone has been worn smooth in some sections, and other parts have been carved with graffiti of the soldiers who cut them out.

Some locations go down a few steps, while others go up and small holes seem to have been dug through the roof of the tunnels.

It's definitely best to get away from the front of the tunnels, where the bombing is still going on. There are wounded to be seen to and secured from bleeding out, people to find to make sure everyone is still alive. Maybe you want to go farther into the interweaving tunnels to see what else can be recovered. Or maybe you're being stubbornly sensible and looking for a way to dig your way out again, once the bombs stop firing.

Either way, it's a long, exhausting wait in the dark as the ground shakes, showering dust and rocks over everyone.

INTO THE DAWN

The sun has risen when the firing stops - and it's time to search for a way out of here.

Stepping into the light reveals utter destruction. The concentrated bombing has done its work; everything is strewn or buried in dirt and rubble. Machine guns are overturned and parts of the Trench have collapsed; going over the top would be disastrous, given that the Turks have no idea what is happening and will pick off anyone who sticks their head up.

There also isn't...anyone else around. All that's left is this one segment of the rear guard, just 500 men and the COST soldiers. It isn't possible to discern if the other groups have been evacuated or killed at this point.

It's time to consolidate, count their losses, see who is alive and who isn't, and salvage what supplies are left after some digging clean up is done. Work out who needs to stand watch. For now, Captain Lewis' orders are to use the tunnels as a new base of operations.

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

They appear first as a shimmer of off-light, no more than a haze against the resettling mist. A faint shape against the grey - the long lines of a dog's face, almost Jackal-like, in a clean black uniform that gives more to the appearance of shadows - moves closer, but not too close. They could almost be a trick of the light, out of the corner of your eye. Almost intangible.

They're not moving closer, however, choosing to hang back in the rubble of the Trenches. The ANZAC soldiers don't seem to notice them at all.

Ten minutes after they're first spotted, Commander Grothia issues a priority message:

Contact. Regency soldiers. Do not engage.

If a shot does get fired that way, whether it's from Turkish or ANZAC soldiers unknowingly or from COST operatives: it's quick but, as the bullet seems to come into contact with them, the air around them shimmers blue, like it's hitting a field of light. This effect seems to be stronger when they're standing close together and, as of now, they remain unhurt.

Moving closer to them increases that feeling of mind fog on powered characters; for the unmagical, a sense of unease prickles up. It's a feeling not unlike the beginnings of the time-step, the hum of sensation that marks a transfer through time. Veteran recruits will easily recognize the buzz that dances through their bones before it stills as they move away; rookies might recall it from their initial arrival from BASE.

READ THE OOC INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

eren yeager | attack on titan

[trample]

a. why does he wear the mask

[ It's when the mist comes rolling up that he does what anyone with some sense would do - he pulls out his gas mask. The reaction, he figures, should be more than a sensible one - it should be the most sane action to take after spending so long training for and living in the shit. But he doesn't see many following in his footsteps.

Their loss.

His is placed over his face and strapped on tightly as he can manage. He's not letting a single whiff of that stuff get to him. And he's certainly not letting it get to anyone else if he can prevent it. So once he spots a fellow COST member, he's quick to hover over them and speak in muffled words through his own mask. He must seem rather imposing. ]

This is easier done with help. Allow me.

b. you're a big guy

[ At least outside in the trenches you weren't forced to bow your head. You had the option to peek over the ridge and get your head blasted off - which wasn't much of a choice, but it was something. The same can't be said now for the tunnels in which they were all stuck in. Eren, for what it's worth, was used to slouching over out of habit. It made him look shorter than he really was.

Still. He's quite obviously bothered by the dankness of it all. Which is obvious through his mask if only by his gritty tone of voice. ]

You got a light? Can't see too well through all this.

c. congratulations, you got yourself caught

That can't be good.

[ Glaring through the fog at the distant figures, who at this distance were little more than shadows, he tries to shake off the eerie feeling crawling down his back. There's something about them that rubs him the wrong way, and he's fingering his rifle as tenderly as he can while he considers the avenues he could take from here.

He turns to the nearest by soldier. ]

Optics. You got any? I need to take a closer look at... [ He waves. ] That.

d. wildcard

( try me. if you want anything specific, just let me know here or bondrewd. )

Merlin Sawall | Chronicles of Amber | OTA

[purpleandgray]

1. OMINOUS PROLOGUE

Illusion spells are easy and quick to execute. Merlin hangs several of them while he finds a quiet nook of the trenches to hole up with his back against the muddy walls, smoking too many cigarettes to mask the foul stench of rot. When there are no eyes on him, he presses a trigger on those spells, one at a time, causing erratic gunfire and muzzle flashes to appear on the top of the trenches. As if there were a whole group of soldiers firing. No one will notice a few lacking bullets in a war. But just to keep it reasonable, he sets a few actual guns on the top of the walls and occasionally fires a shot.

The waiting game doesn't seem to bother him all that much. He's learned to switch off his emergency mode and just review his situation along the years of his strange life, being trapped for months at a time has given him an ability to just wait and see what's to come. Give him five minutes to plan and he's pretty golden, give him an hour and his prospects go up exponentially, give him a day and there's very little he can't do with it.

"So, first thing you're going to do when we get out of here?" he asks from whoever happens to sit beside him at the nightfall. "I'd give my kingdom for a cup of coffee right about now." He'd give it for a lot less, to be honest.

2. FORESHADOWING FOG

Merlin is one of those people who seem unusually alarmed by the mist. He abandons completely the near careless attitude that he had tried for a size earlier. That man is gone, replaced by a someone who seems to have eyes on his back, alert, finger on the trigger and staring quietly into the rising mists.

For those with some extrasensory perception, he isn't just a new man by the change of his attitude, but there is a looming sense of power around him. It might feel like something broken, chaotic, hovering around him. A word of warning: this abyss does stare back if gazed upon too deeply.

"What do you make of the change in weather?" he asks from anyone willing to engage him in conversation.

3. IT'S TIME FOR THE ACTION SPECIAL

And just like that, the waiting game and trepidation comes to an end just as viciously as expected. Merlin is definitely not among the first to enter the tunnels. He remains back to see as many soldiers into the safety as possible.

The tunnel isn't as forgiving, though. A shell drops near the mouth of the tunnel that he's at, shrapnel and loose rocks and dust filling his prospects for a few disorienting moments. His ears are ringing from the explosion that luckily didn't hit him but got to a lot of the other soldiers. Some of them go down immediately, twisted bodies broken on the ground, but quite a few fall with less lethal injuries, broken bones, bleeding eyes. Merlin grabs a few shoulders and hauls these poor sods towards the tunnels, ignoring cries of pain as he pushes the soldiers through the entrance and shoves them further before he goes back for more.

The mouth of the tunnel seems to start coming down not much after he moves away from it. It seems to have taken a partial hit from the shell. Merlin dashes to the construct to jams his riffle into the top, pushing against it with his considerable strength. He could hold it up rather easily with a few Logrus tendrils but that wouldn't be discreet at all. Eventually he'll have to let it crumble, but for now it's still open and he yells to someone he thinks he recognises to be with the COST: "Get them inside now!"

He helps a limping man past him and into the tunnels. "Keep going. Make room. Go!"

4. HERE COMES THE SEQUEL

The calm after the storm seems unnatural. After the mad rush into the tunnels and the time spent covering under the falling dust and rocks in the rainfall of bombs, there's nothing reassuring about the quiet. Absolutely nothing.

Merlin spent the time in the tunnels to hang as many spells as possible. He didn't go looting or exploring. Instead he curled into a corner and prepared a handful of spells. He expected more fighting, which is why all his spells are geared towards shielding and causing discreet damage. But to his disappointment he didn't hang a single spell that would have had to do with investigating. A definite failure to assess the situation on his end.

He pushes through the increasing sensation of mind fog and marvels at the presence of the time-step. Cursing himself inwardly at his lack of foresight, he is already readying himself to engage the Regency soldiers - it calls him like an old addiction - when the command to stand back arrives. Merlin gives a small sigh and instead pushes forward to the front. Perhaps he should be helping the soldiers to climb out of the tunnels or help take count of the remaining resources, but instead Merlin is keeping a steady eye on the Regency.

Feel free to tell him to get back to work or start a conversation. He's unlikely to do that himself.

[ ooc: If you want something else with Merle, let me know, I'm happy to write starters. C: piipa ]

lup | the adventure zone

[tommygunned]

i. gotta get back ( foreshadowing )

[Fighting doesn't frighten her. Fighting's a breath of fresh air. The unknown doesn't frighten her. A tenuous future, that's just life. Enemies don't frighten her. She's fought worse.]

[This, though? The buzzing, prickling feeling that jolts her fingertips as mist descends? Oh, this--this is freaking her out a little bit.]

Hey, do you--

[She tries to light a fireball. It fizzles, spits, and dies. Her lips tighten.]

Do you feel that?

ii. gotta get free ( shelling )

[Shells again.]

[This time she springs into action so fast it's like she heard them before they started falling. It's burnt into her bones now, autonomic. She'll jump like this in her dreams. But for now it's for the best, because she's able to grab a couple of soldiers and push them to relative safety before everything goes entirely to shit.]

[It doesn't take long, though. And it's exhausting. Not long before she's drained, but she has to keep going just like everybody does--and when she sees someone else flagging, she grabs them by the elbow and pulls them along in her wake.]

No giving up! [Practically a scream, but somehow managing to at least pretend good nature in the midst of this hell.] That guy, help me move him, huh? Come on!

iii. be like them ( tunnels )

[Later, Lup will call this a string of bad luck and laugh about it like it happened to somebody else. Because that's what you do. Shit happens that you can't cope with, so you pretend it never did, at least until you can get through to the other side. And this is one of those situations she never, ever wanted to be in again.]

[She can't tell if the dark is worse or better than being able to see. There was a light, yeah, she found a lamp, but a particularly bad barrage knocked it out of her hand to break on the ground--and then dark. Just dark, because her magic still isn't working right. No point wasting matches, is what she thought, better save them for an emergency. Except then she can't find her way out. Or anywhere. Keeps getting turned around, running into walls, and it's so--]

[It's so fucking dark. And part of her knows: You're never going to get out of here. This is where you end.]

[After a while, directions just aren't anymore. She paws at the wall, taking a few stumbling steps forward at a time before she has to stop to suck in a ragged, panicked breath. The second she finds something warm and alive, she grabs onto it with both hands. Doesn't matter what, doesn't matter who. She needs to not be alone.]

iv. lean back & breathe ( wildcard )

[Want something else? Hit me via PM or at passiones or just tag me. Live your dreams.]

c

[tommygunned]

What, you don't think eyeballing 'em is a breach of the "do not engage" clause?

[It's sarcasm. About 300% sarcasm. Lup hauls herself up from the rock she's been sitting on and digs around in her back for binoculars. There, right. Okay. She's only lost a few marbles, not the shit that matters. She waggles them towards the other guy.]

Major heebie-jeebies. You feel it?

1

[tommygunned]

"Oh, man, you're crazy."

See, she can do this too. It's actually kind of a relief to find somebody who isn't face-first in despair or gallows humor--not that gallows humor is bad but, look, there's regular funny even in the pits of hell. Sex jokes are funny everywhere. So are poop jokes. Maturity hobbles the unhappy.

So, as she flops down onto a sandbag and yawns widely, she shakes her head.

"Long shower. Long shower. Hours of shower, gonna use up all the water on a small planet, and it'll be hot water. You remember what clean's like? I don't."

Mamoru Hijikata ✛ uddup ✛ ota

[prizeneck]

i. The badonkadonk guard

[Cpt. Lewis' had given him a once over when he stood up to volunteer for the guard, but he made no questions about the gas mask that still lingered on his face. Never mind the body odor, he hasn't blown cover yet and that's what mattered. Not like anyone here had been smelling of roses, anyway.

Still, he had been curious about a particular thing, and he subtly makes his way to one of them, silently tasking himself in refilling the container in these rifles that fired automatically.

He had studied about them, way when he still could read without braille or tech. A small mention in a history book, another later on back in Arizona in a lecture about tactics and strategies. He almost expected to find the inventors of this mechanism, but he knew it would be risky to seek them actively when the soldiers in the 7th Battalion didn't even know what they were up to until they followed orders to set the things across the trenches. Shame. It would have given him a little glimpse of whatever went on in these guys' heads. Thinkers in the midst of battlefields were always commendable.

But then again, that's curiosity that makes him a bit of a particular character in this setting. He's used to be an odd one out, comfortable at observing the drip mechanism work on his own.]

ii. Gone with the blastwave + NETWORK

[He wakes up.

The first thing he does is fasten the straps of the mask tighter behind his head, the second is setting the rifle on his shoulder, hand mechanically reaching for the blade of the bayonet and locking it in place, on the muzzle - finally - he steps out of the nook he had been sleeping in, out and into the mist.

The quiet unsettles him. Not magical by any means, Mamoru still has his ears metaphorically perked up. In his thirty-or-so years of life, he had spent twenty of them watching a calm stretch so thin it was bound to break [duels, fights, wars].

The projection in his vision seems to glitch. The wire-frame grid shifts, making him frown, set his feet better on the ground. And some reason, something, makes him look up.

He tenses with the sudden appearance of lines coming from the sky, arches high and wide, red streaking over the blackness of his sight towards the wire-frame that showed him his surroundings, the projection giving him probable trajectories of the bombs dropping.

Running and grabbing the nearest soldiers out of the way of a streak of red that tells him the second, third and fourth bombs will land in the vicinity. He knows he can't do anything about the first drop - it's too late.

Still, on the move, he only has time to send a message one second before the first bomb hits, heat flaring and the ground shaking beneath his feet, his voice rough like the shrapnel hitting whatever surface they may reach.]

@SWORDARTONLINE TO: @ALL
COVER

iii. What a nice and tight tunnel we're in

[Rushing into the tunnel for the last time with someone on his shoulder, he drops them on the floor as gently as he can, after the crumbling down of the entrance. Instead of trying to peer through, he's crouching in front of them, quietly looking over for injuries, listening for any stutter in the breath. If that person seems okay, he stands up, heads over to where the tunnel leads, needing no light because the sound of his footsteps echoing is enough to delineate the way through the soundwave projections, the back of his hand running through the wall on his right - old habits.

You could say he's securing the short of a perimeter he's allowed, or that he's checking for other soldiers in the vicinity. Maybe he finds you there. Maybe he scares the living shit out of you, as he's a sudden man in a gas mask in the darkness. He doesn't stray very far from the group of soldiers behind him catching their breath, but he needs to get a little away from the rubble.

He had still heard screams outside, locked out.]

iv. This is no time for your Harry Potter bullshit

[The soldiers are fairly discrete, but Mamoru can see [lulz] them a little better because the masks they're wearing don't really blend in with their surroundings - too sharp, too menacing. They're observing, cautious, but dangerous, and Mamoru can't help but stand his feet a little wider apart, fingers tightening around the rifle and he's already picturing swipes and gun fire and--

"Do not. engage." He heard the order, and it stalls him, teeth gritting. These guys are a whole new level, and the will the engage the fuck out of them is rolling out of his set shoulders in waves.

What will you do? Stop him? Egg him on?]

v. Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

[For all your wildcarding needs! If you have any other ideas go forth and conquer or hmu at mikefoxtrot]

[trample]

[ His initial response is to frown at her underneath his mask before realizing what little good it does him. Then after he just thanks her under his breath, doing nothing else but taking her binoculars and scoping out the horizon.

All it takes is one glance for it to settle in. ]

I'm really feeling it. [ He thrusts her scope back towards her like he's in a hurry and then points in their direction, fumbling around with his multitude of belts in doing so. ] Watch them. And don't stop watching them.

🌂 taako

[tommygunned]

[To say she touched base with her brother in the tunnels would be an astonishing line of bullshit. Once she found him, she clung to him, and he clung back. There was never a question of anything else. They stayed together down there, they came up for air together, they're together when they get the message from Commander Grothia.]

[This, now. This Lup is pretty sure she can manage. She's exhausted, frazzled, shattered, really, but having a problem to solve makes all the difference. She can keep going just a little while longer.]

Taako.

[Her voice comes soft, just soft enough for him to hear; she bumps his shoulder with hers, gently bonks their temples together.]

We should figure out a game plan for these fuckos. Yeah?

@HOTDOG (ii)

[whitehair]

[ the message comes through a second before the ground shakes beneath his feet; one second, everything is normal - the next, absolute fucking chaos as everyone makes a rush for it, the narrowness of the crumbling trenches not helping things out at all. even hardened soldiers aren't above trying to save their own skin when it down to it.

tch, heine frowns tightly, pushing himself over to one side of the wall, the dirt and the rocks showering down upon them. it's hard to gauge where the shells are coming from in this thick mist, but the sounds are pretty unmistakable. the hard part is when the shrapnel explodes everywhere -- a piece of it grazes past his upper shoulder, and Heine ducks down, pushing the other soldiers ahead, into the tunnels. ]

yeah, no shit.

[ flat and unimpressed, raspy at the edges from the smoke in the air. ]

2

[neutronium]

"Nothing good for those we're supposed to be protecting, I suspect." Hux frowns slightly, taking a long drag on his cigarette, blowing out the smoke, watching it curl into the sky. He's long stopped trying to pretend that he was smoking, instead just resorting to smoking them--it has helped him avoid hungry, and the miss of his caf (even for him, the rations have left something to be desired).

He glances over at the other man, and the frown deepens just slightly; the fog is bothering him, but not because he has powers, but he's been around Ren and Snoke long enough to know what hey feel like when they feel off. There are so many that seem...on edge, now, including this man. It's like a buzzing that settles in the back of his teeth, the hint of ozone and tension trying to cling to his skin.

Staring into the abyss has never scared him, after all. He just dares it to stare back.

"I doubt that is much we can do about it, but prepare for some negative eventuality."

2

[courtintrigue]

As if war was not a perfectly reasonable cause for one to be on edge already, this fog creeps in. The mist prickles along her skin like magic, a feeling she would quite enjoy if not for two important facts. The first is that she feels as though her mana is draining more quickly, effortless spells now requiring more focus. That would be bad enough, but the second fact is that time and time again, in Jerusalem and then France and now here, Earth has proven to have no magic.

That it suddenly feels as though it does -- and in such a way that impairs -- unsettles her. Infuriates her.

Though the man who asks the question is not a familiar face, she can sense something different about him. Being near him feels a bit like standing beside someone casting a particularly powerful spell, but whether that is real or some further trick of the mist is uncertain. It is her way to appraise everyone she meets, but he earns a closer scrutiny than most, her golden eyes studious.

"I like it not."

[purpleandgray]

"Crazy? Or addicted?" Merlin gives a small, rather mirthless chuckle. Coffee is definitely his poison of choice.

He shakes one cigarette out of his package and offers it to her. Even if the stench of burning tar and tobacco leaves is an unpleasant one, it's much better than rot and filth.

"I feel like there isn't a cure to this condition anymore. We just need to learn to shed our skins like snakes. That might make me feel clean. I'm not sure of anything less to be honest."

[purpleandgray]

"I suppose you are correct." Merlin has to agree. There have been magic in some of the Earths that he's seen but this one hasn't shown any signs of it this far. Which means the mist is a result of something else entirely.

He gives the other man a brief glance from the corner of his eye, as if he doesn't want to take his eyes off of the mist for a long period of time.

When he hung his spells, he hadn't taken into consideration magic at all. There's a distinct possibility that it's going to cost him.

With a small sigh, he fishes out his own cigarettes and lights one up. Keeping his fingers moving is a good idea after all. It gives him something to focus on.

"It's not natural." For this world at least.

He frowns and rubs his hand across his jaw thoughtfully. His shrug is almost like an afterthought to all of this. What is there to do about it?

"You were at the training camp, right?" One way of saying you're with COST, aren't you?

[purpleandgray]

It is frustrating. Just a simple sign of Logrus requires effort to hold onto. Almost as if he had just essayed Chaos for the first time and tried it on for a size. But he's no novice with the primal forces and it shouldn't require this much from him.

Reluctantly he will have to admit eventually that he can't hold onto the sign forever. Especially if he wants to cast a spell or two. He'll have to pick one or the other.

Sighing, he pulls back a little bit from the wall and glances at her, pausing as he realises that she's looking at him instead of the fog.

"Neither do I." One corner of his mouth twitches, as if trying to pull up into a smile but only manages to get there half way. "I don't think it's origins are exactly natural."

He thinks he remembers seeing her at the training camp. It seems safe to assume that she's with COST. He doesn't remember seeing any local women at the trenches.

"Merlin," he says as he offers his hand to her.

[prizeneck]

[Almost expecting a spam of people sending out warnings and information, when one unimpressed message - and it sounds very unimpressed when dictated by Siri the BCE - comes through, he's kind of relieved. His ears are already full with the chaos set out around him.

Hoisting the arm of a soldier with shrapnel in his ankle and dragging him was relatively easy, so he keeps his eyes cast to the sky.

Damn it all to hell and this machinery. He mutters what hopes is good enough information [and very distantly, wonders what Igawa would think if he knew the tech he created helped save a life or two in this situation]]

be advised bombing trajectory heading towards center of camp

midnighter | ota.

[thingpuncher]

a. THE TRENCHES | try to show me that you know me.

Midnighter things finally, a fight.

It's not the fight he was hoping for. He's quickly learning that, whatever that is, it's not coming. He's a superhero, antihero, whatever they're calling it this week. Not a soldier. Soldiers are drops in an ocean of men. He wasn't made to be part of a tide.

Midnighter finds a place to change, and dresses in his uniform. Not the one COST gave him. His uniform. He can't be Bruno Shaw anymore.

Midnighter operates in darkness. Luckily, everything's a dark and rainy mess. Pulling men out of gunfire, dragging twitching bodies to safety. Midnighter sprints through the panic and the mess, heedless of his own safety, the trenchcoat flapping behind him in the firefight, as the shells drop, as the terror unfurls. Anyone watching his location (completely public on his BCE) will find him moving up and down the line with surprising speed, in and out of the tunnels again and again.

Maybe the next person he pulls out of the mud and fire is you. A strong, leathered hand on a forearm, tugging you into darkness. "Let's get you out of here." The voice is dark and grim, but utterly confident.

c. THE TUNNELS | try to have a softer inside.

Hours later, Midnighter is in the tunnels, shirtless and covered in blood. He's superhuman, but only so much. Someone paying close attention may notice that the pants he's wearing are the COST issued ANZAC uniform. He's trying to be Bruno Shaw again.

Someone shot a lot of holes into Bruno Shaw.

Some, he's popping out like zits, others, he's picking out with bare fingers. Another, he sucks out of his own arm. The entire time, he seems heedless of any pain, unreactive. He's as bothered by the lead in his arms and torso and legs as one would be a bug bite.

He looks up when he catches someone watching. "This isn't a free show."

c. THE NETWORK | shut up boy and be a soldier.

>>@TRENTCOAT
@ALL

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are u seeing this shit
it keeps GOING

[whitehair]

shouldn't be anyone left there

[ unless they were injured from the first barrage of the shells - heine frowns, standing up to squint up towards the sky; how the hell is he seeing the trajectory or anything in this? ]

lets just get everyone in who can still move.

76 | come on over

[mylawn]

i. thunder

[76 has spent all of their time in the trenches watching and waiting for a moment like this. Despite the boredom of the day-to-day, he’s always known push would come to shove sooner rather than later, and he’s ready for it. He’s awake when the first shell hits, because of course he is, and he springs into action like it’s second nature. Like he’s been planning for this in his own head ever since they arrived. Time to put it all to good use.

This is, in many ways, what he’s built for.

It’s not exactly the Crisis, but it’s familiar enough. 76 becomes laser-focused, relying on his own (not insubstantial) strength to outright drag people into the tunnels, if he has to. Then, he makes return trips—as many as it takes.]

Move.

[If you’re able to, that is. He’s not necessarily going to be friendly about it, and though he’s already got one injured soldier slung over his shoulder with surprising ease, he won’t hesitate to make it two if anyone else looks unable to keep up.]

ii. tunnels

[He’s not necessarily a claustrophobic individual, but it’s difficult not to feel some degree of it. To say he doesn’t trust the architectural integrity might be an understatement, and when the entrances cave in, you might see him visibly flinch. There’s no time, however, to falter in the face of their new cramped, underground quarters, and it becomes quickly apparent that the safest place to go is deeper.

So he swallows it down, hauling supplies, wounded soldiers, trying to carve out the semblance of safety as the walls and ceiling shake. Upon realizing the extent of the tunnels, he takes it upon himself to slink off and explore—perhaps looking for a way out, or anything recoverable. It’s not long before he’s stopped by a half-collapsed route, and decides that the chance of something interesting on the other side is high enough that it’s worth digging out.

It’s difficult to tell whether the blood on his uniform belongs to him or someone else—he doesn’t seem bothered by it either way, barking an order, instead.]

Give me a hand with this.

[Super soldier or not, he’s only one man, after all. When he’s not delving deep into the network of tunnels, he can easily be found on the edges of the group, watching the scene intently as if he expects some other shoe (or perhaps the ceiling) to drop.

Go ahead. Approach.]

iii. something wicked

[76 would be a fairly poor excuse for a super soldier if he didn’t recognize an enemy presence. It comes with an unsettling feeling, the sensation of being watched, and it doesn’t take him long to spot the figures in the rubble. He can make an educated guess about them, sure, but then Grothia’s message confirms it.

Seeing the enemy for the first time leaves him a little breathless, and he spends a few long hours keeping watch, making sure they don’t get the idea to move in on them. He’s not sure what kind of stand COST would be able to make if they did.

He’s silent unless approached, and even then only says one thing:]

Orders are not to engage.

[You know, just in case you didn’t get the memo, or perhaps thought it was a good idea to engage anyway. 76’s attention is on the shadows in the distance, but from the gravity in his voice it’s obvious that he’s here not only to watch, but to cut off any reckless individuals at the pass.]

iv. dawn - network

FROM: @DIEDHARD
TO: @ALL

Status report. Anyone in need of assistance?

v. wildcard

[I’ll do whatever you want. Hit me up on plurk at whitticus.]

the tunnels;

[whitehair]

That's a lot of bullets - someone must have really gone to town on him. Or several someones, the details of it don't really matter much, does it?

The tunnels are a bustle of movement from people tending to the injured, securing perimetres, trying to get the cave-in cleared off the entrance... it's chaos. Heine is just trying to keep out of the way. Some people might call that slacking off, but fuck them. Heine is only really looking in the direction because he's just kind of zoning out, sitting crouched opposite Midnighter with his arms resting on his knees. His hair is plastered flat down one side of his head, matted with blood from where a shrapnel piece (or a sharp rock, whichever) took out his ear, but that's all sorted out fine and dandy now. His uniform is full of holes too, but no wound that you can visibly see.

Heine shrugs, turning his gaze up to the other's face. "What, so you'll let people watch if they pay you?"

[thingpuncher]

Midnighter responds to this the only way he can: fluttering his eyes in a mockery of coquettish invitation. Covered in blood with face like a particularly sharp shovel, it's not a pretty picture. "You couldn't afford me, babe."

[whitehair]

The flutter of lashes don't really bother him overmuch. In fact, Heine is going to cackle a short burst of laughter at that, leaning his back against the wall of the cave they've found themselves all trapped in. "Yeah, you got that right."

tunnels

[mylawn]

"Does it hurt, or are you just good at pretending it doesn't?"

He's no stranger to abilities like this--he's pulled bullets out of himself just the same, though of course it's not as clean and he can't imagine he ever looked so nonchalant when he doing it. Super soldier or no he's got no actual regeneration to speak of. Being riddled with that many bullets wouldn't kill him, sure, but it would put him down for a while. It has him wondering, again, about the varied abilities of the people he'd been conscripted with.

76 knows if he were in Midnighter's position, he certainly wouldn't take well to being asked such a question, but he's curious and mostly has no tact. There's not much else to do down here--might as well get to know each other a little better.

"I got a doc you can see if you miss one."

[thingpuncher]

Midnighter rolls his eyes, and presses his forearm to his mouth, sucking out another bullet. He spits it on the ground, and it bounces off hardened rock and damp pavement. When Midnighter looks up, blood smeared on his face like warpaint, the albino fucker is still there.

"Are you gonna help, or wait for the dance routine?"

network; un pponytail

[horsepowered]

[Chiron is taking a few seconds to be corporeal in order to check the network and if there are any notices of injuries or scattered members.

Not so much. But.]

It's consistent throughout, from what I have witnessed so far.

from now on only people with white hair can tag me.

[thingpuncher]

Midnighter, meanwhile, has learned in his time to wear everything on his sleeve. His bloody, bullet-ridden sleeve. Fuck, he must look like a murder victim come back to life.

He also remembers this guy from the BASE, so he can be honest. That's always fun.

"You go through a couple hundred surgeries without anesthetics," he says, pinching a bullet out from under his rib-cage, "this shit just makes you ticklish."

So, yes, it hurts, no, he doesn't care.