Gears of War: A.E.

[tamwyn]

Prologue:

[/b] "So where were you during E-day?”[/center]

The question, seven years later, is just starting to pick up popularity among the ranks. Where were you during Emergence Day? The day the Boogeyman came to life, bursting forth from the ground like moles, sharp teeth and ugliness combining with intelligence and modern weaponry. When twenty five percent of Sera’s population was wiped out in a blink of an eye. Where were you? Having dinner with your family or your friends, celebrating an end of war; peace we’ve never known?

Peace. Sometimes, on days when I’m not out there fighting for your survival, I think I feel peace. I feel it like a warm blanket every time I go into the Mess Hall and see my buddies and squad mates having a good time over a few drinks or cards. I feel it when I get into the locker room after a particularly hard engagement and get to laugh and trade jokes with my friends. Then I see the empty seats, empty chairs, empty lockers and my warm blanket gets splashed with cold water and shocks me into realizing peace doesn’t exist. It never existed in my lifetime, at least.

Sera hadn’t known peace in well over a hundred years. Ever since I was born, I would hear reports of nations battling over pathetic piles of fuel, land, or just be-fucking-cause. Shit that doesn’t even matter anymore, not really. Now, we just fight to see the next day, for survival; because we, the human race, are facing extinction.

It really hits you, sometimes, during the quiet moment right before the ground erupts in monsters and the shells start flying. Extinction. We’re an endangered species now; women being used to breed the next generation of soldiers. What kind of sick fucking joke would that have been ten years ago? We’re turning into animals on the streets, fighting over water and food because of the Locust Horde and those damn laser satellites they call the Hammer of Dawn.

Shit, we’re probably fucked no matter what happens from here on out. But I’ll keep fighting, because I remember where I was on E-day. I remember the cease-fire with the Indies, those states of the Coalition of Organized Governments who didn’t want to be COG citizens anymore. I remember going home to my family and just sitting on the couch, talking. Making up for lost time, you know? Then I lost even that; time, family, whatever. Everything.

I remember where I was, and I want it back. I want those god damn Locusts to regret ever coming up to my home, to the surface. I’m going to fight to shove those fuckers back underground and get back what I had; what we all had.

I remember. So I'll fight.

-Memoirs of Sergeant Joseph Nyvar

[/b][/blockquote]

[tamwyn]

Chapter 1: Out of Control

“These men are going to be severely traumatized by the end of this war, even if we survive; who knows how they’d react with no outlet for their frustration. I predict an inevitable slide into insanity we can’t control, even if we still had the pharmaceuticals we did before Emergence Day. No sane individual can watch his friends and family slaughtered, face death so many times, and get through it with their mind intact. They’ll be the lucky ones, though, if it ends the way some of the others are predicting it will. Losing one's mind would be a mercy compared to the horrors of watching humanity collapse like a house of cards.”

(Dr. Kristine Belova, on the mindset of the current generation’s soldiers.)

Crimson Crustacean, south Jacinto City;

1200 hours.

"Guess that’s the end of that, huh Sarge?”

Joseph Nyvar stared at his wife, snapping back into reality with a start. Fais? He cocked his head, confused for a moment, watching her thick, red lips reach upwards into a smile. She must have known he had been lost in thought for a few seconds, staring at him with her gorgeous green eyes as she was now.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Guess that’s the end of that conversation’,” she repeated, her mouth quirked in a half-grin, half-pout that caused his legs to feel like pudding and his heart to beat ten times faster. She’d always had that effect on him, her beauty captivating him until he couldn’t handle the feelings inside anymore. He'd finally asked her to dinner one night when they were younger, so quick to please and fumbling foolishly over his words.

“Sorry. Just a little distracted, I guess. Never really thought I’d be able to have dinner like this again, after everything,” the ex-soldier replied, waving his hands to encompass the surroundings. The Pendulum Wars had just ended, after over seventy years of fighting, it was done, just like that. He leaned back in his chair to a more comfortable position, resting his calloused hands on the table. The seats in the outdoor portion of the restaurant were infuriatingly undersized for his bulky frame.

The trees started rustling slightly, a serene sound if he had ever heard one; autumn colored leaves tumbling around in the air to alight on the cloth covered table or the surrounding flagstones, only to be once again lifted into the air for another twist or spin. The aroma of the outdoors and other customer’s food mingled together to create a mouthwatering fragrance. Kathryn’s hair fluttered in the breeze, dark red strands gently waving about her face, caught in a graceful ballet with the wandering leaves. She gave up her half-pout, morphing it into another dazzling smile that set his face aflame.

“You earned it, though,” she said tenderly, reaching across the table to take his big hands in her dainty ones, stroking them affectionately with her fingers. “Now forget about the war, love. I’ve waited patiently for a day like this ever since you left.”

“Yeah,” Nyvar said, smiling in spite of himself, forcing his body to loosen up and his mind to focus at the task at hand. It had been a long time since he’d taken his wife out to dinner with no deadline or recall a pall hanging over their heads. He changed the subject, eager to please. “How’s Jason been doing lately?”

“A little miffed,” she replied through a giggle, bringing a hand to her mouth. “He’s been missing his father as much as I have. You should talk to him after we finish here.” She rested her hand back on his, sighing and closing her eyes with a contented expression on her face.

“I will. Bet he’s grown a lot since last time I got leave.” Nyvar picked at his food with a fork, piercing a lump of some kind of beef and bringing it to his mouth. Spices and flavoring roared across taste buds accustomed to the blandness of army rations, causing him to close his eyes and savor it. “Mmm. Haven’t had anything like this in a long time.”

“You never will.” Joseph looked up quickly, staring across the table with his eyes wide open. His wife’s hair was slowly shrinking into pallid, gray hide with a wicked maw filled with jagged teeth taking the place of the luscious lips. Kathryn’s petite, slim body started bursting into a massive, sinister frame, neck thickening and eyes drawing back into their sockets like little beetles. The hands holding his twisted into claws, their black, razor sharp nails cutting into his skin as he ripped his hands away. The stomach churning smell of blood burned his nose as he looked at his wounds, already festering and mutating into a gray hide.

The wind whistled through dead boughs as leaves started flying from the tree, the flagstones cracking and falling into pits of darkness. Menacing, glowing eyes stared up out of the holes, wicked sharp hooks and claws beckoning him to join their ranks. Screaming started somewhere, shrill and panicked, and he turned around, ignoring the transformation his wife was undertaking and the horrible blackness staring at him with millions of pinprick-sized eyes. His face lost its color as he saw his son on the sidewalk, running away from a huge, slavering brute, a chain around its gigantic neck. The thing tore toward his son, overtaking him in seconds and hoisting the boy above its head with its paw-like hands, a roar shaking the loose stones around it. It's huge maw dripped saliva as it held the boy, sockets where eyes were supposed to be. It looked like someone had stretched muscle across a skull and forgot to add the rest of the pieces.

“No!” Nyvar yelled, reaching down at his waist to his pistol. His hand grabbed empty air and he stared down at his dinner clothes. Another cry abruptly cut off and he looked back up to see Jason, his boy, torn in two, entrails hanging out of his body, red blood oozing out onto the monster’s malevolently gleeful face. A crack sounded, loud and sudden, as the building above the thing came crashing down and wiped the sight from his blurry eyes.

An ache formed in his chest as explosions sounded out like drums played by some offbeat performer. The infection in his hands had made its way up to his chest, his muscles expanding under the pasty, off-white membrane. He felt something touch his mutated shoulder and whipped around, eyes blazing with hatred, wanting to tear everything apart with his bare hands after the horrible atrocity he had just been privy to.

“Hey, hey, now!” Marov said, backing up quickly to avoid his punch. “You alright?”

Joseph Nyvar looked at his friend, the man’s salt and pepper mustache the only hair on the Gear’s worried face. Joseph let his face drop down into his hands as he sank to the ground with his back up against the bullet strewn wall. It had been a dream, and only seconds had passed in the real world. He was losing all control over his sanity.

“It’s Jason,” Nyvar said simply, looking over at the body of a seventeen year old torn to pieces, a look of horror plain on the corpse’s face. Glassy, gray eyes stared up into the sky, as if wanting to escape where the Locust couldn’t get to the soul. Marov’s armored form moved in between Nyvar’s eyes and the body, squatting down and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

“No, man, that ain’t Jason,” Syval Marov said, his voice all understanding and full of grief. “It’s just some kid, alright? Jason’s back in Jacinto with the recruits at boot, remember? Calm down, man.”

Joseph leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and wishing it all went away. He wished for the dream to take him again, so he could just relive those few precious minutes with his wife again. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, the street was still in disrepair and his squad was still milling around the battlefield collecting weapons. Damn.

“Yeah. Just give me a second,” Joseph said, standing up slowly and putting a fallen Gear's cobalt colored helmet in the crook of his arm, the COG symbol visible on the top of it. The death’s head surrounded by a gear seemed suddenly more an omen for him than intimidation against the Locust. He closed his eyes again and mentally braced himself, wanting to look at the body and understand why he was still fighting. “Go help Ven and Ty. We need to salvage whatever we can.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright.” Marov moved off, heavy boots crunching across gravel and broken glass to the street where the grub bodies lay. Tyler Fais waved in greeting, eagerly showing a couple of grenades he’d picked up to Nyvar’s second in command, his face hidden the dangling incendiary devices. Marov just grinned, the waning sunlight reflecting off the goggles on top of the man’s head and dully shining dew rag under them.

The body of the boy was still lying there, broken and sightless, though the eyes were now closed thanks to Syval. There were no dog tags to take, but there was some kind of bracelet on the kid’s wrist, so he took that and put it in one of his empty ammo pockets. It wasn’t stealing, just something to remember the kid by. Maybe one of the Stranded, people left to die when the Hammer of Dawn came down and destroyed ninety percent of Sera with its pinpoint laser strikes, back at the camp would know whose it was; he’d check.

“The sun is setting, my friend,” a quiet, yet strong, voice said from behind him. Nyvar didn’t turn around, knowing it was Ven Salora; one of the South Islander Gears on his team. The man always took life as it gave, feeling anything that happened was meant to. “The Kryll will no doubt be upon us soon. I recommend making our way back to the Stranded encampment for the night.”

“Alright. Gather the others up and get them moving to the camp,” Nyvar said, blowing out a breath and letting his shoulders drop. “I have to do something, first.”

“I understand.” The clip clop of heavy combat boots sounded as the man walked away, calling to the others; Ty, Marov, and some Stranded who’d helped them out. The sounds of joking and jeering faded as they left, until Nyvar was alone with his thoughts and memories.

After a time, he squatted down next to the body, scooping the pieces into a pile and setting a few dislodged stones around it. Grabbing a metal canteen off a chain around his neck, he poured its contents onto the makeshift pyre, restoppering the flask and replacing it. Next, he reached into his back belt pouch and pulled out a small, metal lighter with his initials carved into it.

Joseph flicked the top open and clicked the flame on, watching as its light danced off the metal casing, casting shadows in the tiny scratches of J. and N. The flame was mesmerizing, dancing in apparent glee as it flickered and bobbled, then grew as he set it on the fuel-drenched body. Heat caressed his face, feeling as if his skin was tightening just from being close to it. He backed away, watching the body burn, the fire quickly consuming the clothing, skin, and blood.

He left before the bones started to crack under the heat, glad that the boy was in a better place, away from the uncontrollable hell Sera had become.


1305 hours, COG Training Grounds, Lower Jacinto, two days later.

“Alright, folks, look alive. You’ve just been conscripted into the COG army and I’m here to teach you how not to die when you look a grub in the eye,” a Drill Sergeant barked at the assembled people standing in disorganized lines, their new armor scuffed and crafted from any kind of metal there was to scavenge outside Jacinto’s perimeter. When one of the Stranded in the crowd guffawed at the rhyme, he got a face full of spittle and yelling as the drill Sergeant went off about military protocol.

“You really think these Stranded can make real Gears, Marov?” Nyvar asked as he watched the proceedings, doubt plain in his tone. Only a few of the more muscled ones in the crowd even looked like they could handle themselves in a fight against a grub, and then only because he’d been there when they did.

“I don’t know, ‘Seph. Maybe. If nothing else, they’ll be able to serve as meat shields for us real soldiers,” Syval said, his arms crossed across his off-duty fatigues, a smile showing out under his facial hair. He let his arms drop and patted his bone-hilt snub pistol resting in a holster on his right hip, which was attached to his tool-filled belt.

Grease stained the man’s dark, blue denim pants, tiny spots of black and holes here and there in the fabric. He’d just come out from the garage, fixing up a puncture a Torque Bow’s explosive arrow had torn in a Centaur’s undercarriage. It was a miracle the tank had even gotten back to base, let alone navigated its way through a busy battlefield.

“I’d rather them live. Our species is small enough as it is without losing more because they were poorly trained.”

“They’re Stranded, though; barely even human anymore.”

“Bartch’ll straighten ‘em human again,” Nyvar replied, referring to the Drill Sergeant demonstrating a Lancer’s chainsaw attachment, the buzzing noise causing those in the front to hold their hands to their ears. The smell of smoke drifted over to where he was, causing his nose to crinkle. “Besides, they helped us during that firefight a couple of days ago. Gotta count for something.”

“I don’t think even Barth can work mira-“

“Sirs,” Tyler interrupted, his youthful green eyes contrasting with the dark blue and black COG armor, “Matheison asked for you. He’s in the CIC. Now, I need to go find Ven.” The younger man ran off down toward the barracks, almost all traces of the clumsy recruit gone from him. Years of battling the same damn things they’d found in Nemaria had hardened the kid, turned him into a real Gear.

Nyvar looked over at Marov, noticing the slight furrowing of his brow. The other man nodded, confirming that he was thinking the same thing. Nemaria. One of the first times the COG had made contact with the Locust, only a couple of months before they’d exploded onto the surface, covering the world like their namesakes would a farmer’s field.

The two men started walking to the building Matheison, their taskmaster as they liked to call him, resided in. A cool breeze blew by, bringing the first hints of Frost, causing Nyvar to pull the collar of his black, leather jacket up higher on his neck. The leather rustled as he messed with it, causing the front of his jacket to open, revealing a loose brown shirt underneath. His boots clicked along with Marov’s, not quite as heavy as their combat rig, but enough to keep the cold out.

“Those Stranded are in for a lovely, cold day today, aren’t they?” Marov asked rhetorically. The man smiled again, letting his arms, covered in a long sleeve gray sweatshirt, dangle at his sides.

“Nothing they won’t have to deal with out in the field. They better get used to it,” Joseph replied, pushing open a heavy metal door to get inside. Heat instantly assailed him as he walked inside, a side effect of the building’s air conditioning going wonky again.

“Why can’t they keep this building to a reasonable temperature?” Marov groused, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt to the elbows. “Always hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Where’s Baird when you need him?” He dodged sideways as a woman with blond hair came around a corner, clad in the gray skirt and blouse of an intelligence officer.

“Out on patrol, unfortunately,” Anya said as she walked back the way they’d come. “I’ll ask him to check it out when he gets back.” The woman’s voice grew fainter as she exited the building, the door banging open with a dull clack-thud.

“She looks tired,” Marov commented as they walked down the corridor and turned left into another hallway.

“She’s been pulling twelve hour shifts, same as Matheison. I heard the other guy came down with something.”

“Yeah, a case of death. Dude was out taking a piss when some grub with a Longshot ruined his day.”

“Damn. What was a grub doing so close to Command?” The things were like rats, scurrying around broken buildings to find that perfect hidey hole. Marov shrugged in response and opened the door to organized chaos. Aides were running around carrying notes scribbled hastily on parchment or laptops closed under their arms, the lights blinking in standby mode.

Nyvar and Marov moved up to the center of the room, their boots falling soundlessly on the massive rug that suddenly took over the floor a couple of meters away from a desk. They stopped and saluted, their muscled arms not trembling a bit, close to a huge console showing images of combat engagements or patrols through the eyes of bots. A map lit up as they approached, red dots slowly pulsating to represent Locust incursions onto Jacinto Plateau. A couple of blue dots, Gears, overtook a red one and the crimson light winked off.

Matheison sat down in a wheelchair in front of one of the desks, a headset on his head, tasking at least six or seven squads of soldiers himself. A couple of assistants were on computers on a wall near him, their monitors showing much the same Matheison’s was, though the teams were split between the two.

“Gentlemen,” Matheison said, turning his chair around by grabbing the wheels and twisting them opposing directions. “Hoffman’s asked me to task Echo-Three with a mission. We’re out of Gear teams at the moment, and you’ve had a couple days rest.” He saluted them quickly, almost irritatingly, and they placed their arms behind their back and clasped them together.

“We’re ready to go, sir. Bartch was going to have us train the recruits, but we can always do that some other day. What’s the mission?”

“Prescott,” the crippled man began, lacing the man’s name with acid, “recently divulged some new information about an Imulsion plant right on the outskirts of Ephyra. Apparently, the plant has been reclaimed by a group of Gears who decided the COG wasn’t their cup of tea. They’re cranking out fuel at a steady rate and we want the facility before the Locust find out its working and overrun the place.”

The man wheeled over to the central console and tapped a button on the display. A schematic of the plant, the Lethia Imulsion Facility as it was named at the top, sprang up on the table. Matheison pointed to a place somewhere in the center of the Facility.

“This is where you’ll be headed, the control room. Your goal is to arrest the ex-soldiers who are running the place and, if worst comes to worst, defend it from any Locust incursions. Make no mistake, gentlemen, this facility is a dire need by the COG, so don’t blow anything up we might need to use later. Questions?”

“Guess we can’t take the Centaur I just fixed, then?” Marov replied, wiping his hands on his pants as if grease were still on them.

“No, take an APC. I’ll be monitoring your progress from here via your bot, Sparks. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Nyvar said, snapping off a quick salute and turning away to the door. The man in the wheelchair twisted himself around and went back to his desk as the two Gears walked out of the room. The doors clacked open and shut with a muted click as they strode into the hallway.

“I think I’d rather have the tank than an armored car if we’re going up against former Gears. Who knows what kind of weaponry they’ve managed to scrounge up,” Marov said, reaching his arms behind his back in a stretch that ended with a popping sound.

“We’ll have to make do,” Joseph replied, reaching up to his ear to turn on the radio transmitter tucked into the cavity. “Ven, Ty, meet us at the hangar. We’re going out for a ride.”

“I could definitely use a change of scenery, my friend,” came the reply, the Islander’s tones suggesting a bemused expression. “As safe as these gray walls are, they do turn one’s surroundings monotonous.”

“Roger that. See you there.” the transmission ended with a tap to Nyvar’s ear, the man turning to the other beside him. “Let’s suit up. Gotta dress up nice for the deserters.”

[ARSmith ((Wolfeh))]

I enjoyed this very much, I'll say. A real work in the making, though, something did confuse me at first. The way you switched between Nyvar and Joseph about two times in the beginning was a little hard to follow. I thought there were two people there, or something, but it semt the wife, Kathryn, was speaking to only one person. Then I learned, somewhere later on that his name is Joseph Nyvar. It's not really a critique, but it did throw me off quite a bit. Otherwise, keep up the good work! Kuudos! :]

[Meleta/Isoldaa]

Overall a great piece of work, Tam. ;D Even though it's an obvious piece of fan fiction, you did a great job of pulling in a reader (like myself) who knows next to nothing of this world at all. Great descriptions throughout, vivid and lively.

There were a few things I thought could have been polished better, like the quote from the psychiatrist at the beginning of the first chapter, and a few things that might have been phrased a bit better (for example: "She’d always had that effect on him, her beauty captivating him until he couldn’t handle the feelings inside anymore, finally asked her to dinner one night when they were younger." A bit awkward at the "couldn't handle the feelings inside anymore..." part. Still, you made up for it later with his reaction to her smile. )

But overall a serious, solid start here - very, very well done! ;D

[tamwyn]

Chapter 2: Road to Hell

“Yeah, I know how hard it is to fix those things, and yes, I know how hard it is to replace them if we break them. I’m the one that’s been doing the fixing! So, give me a little time to myself, and maybe I’ll come help you with the ‘bots. Right now, though, I’m freezing my ass off in the beginning of winter, so I’m going to get these A/C units working before my goggles start cracking. Five more minutes! That’s all I ask!”

-Damon Baird, when asked by Matheison on help with repairing some damaged COG resources.

[/center][/blockquote]

Suburban Jacinto, nearing the Outskirts of Ephyra;

1900 hours.

The APC had been moving along through the twisted and broken down portions of the city fairly well, rocking them back and forth whenever they came to a scalable slab of debris. They had all rode mostly in quiet as Nyvar drove the armored car out to the western outskirts of Ephyra, with, surprisingly, no sign of the Locust. The city was starting to be left behind, huge towers in the distance giving way to small, suburban architecture. Most of the houses were still pretty well intact, being made of stone or other hard materials, with the wooden parts caved in or charred to a blackish gray.

“This silence is making me nervous,” the rookie, Fais, said, rubbing the back of his neck and breaking the silence. The kid’s eyes had been alternating between open and closed for the past thirty minutes, his fingers drumming on the hard, metal plate covering his left knee. Its surface was pale in the little lighting provided, the Death’s Head emblem covered in a soft sheen of white light.

“Ah, but the silence is the best part. It gives one a chance to mentally prepare for whatever will come next,” Ven replied with a slight smile on his tattooed face, his eyes closed as he reclined against the bulkhead, a position he’d taken since they had left the hangar. The man’s Lancer was in his lap, one hand draped over the handle and the other in the handhold right above the chainsaw attachment. The chainsaw’s blades were ever so softly scratching across the man’s thigh plate, just below hearing range to be considered a feel rather than a sound.

“Besides, Fais, with our luck, we’ll probably be seeing some action soon. And if we don’t, we will when we get to the Facility,” said Marov, who was grimacing, both elbows resting on his knees with his hands dangling over the Lancer between his lower legs. The weapon was gently rattling against the man’s armor as the car bounced over the ashy landscape.

“How far away are we Sarge?” Tyler asked, grabbing his left shoulder with his right hand across his armored chest. The movement was awkward, with the chest plate’s bulging design, but he managed it; used to years of practice in the suits. After stretching it out by swinging it in a small arc, he set it back down, satisfied.

Instead of answering, Nyvar slowed the car down, staring out of the dinged and scratched window to the path ahead. Dusk was just beginning to set in, piles of trash and debris casting long shadows over the road and gloomy, dusty ground. As he peered through the small screen, he saw one of the shadows move, detaching itself and ghosting across the street.

“Somethin’s movin out there,” Nyvar whispered, even though there was no way anyone outside the APC could hear him. More shadows were starting to move away from the debris, pausing every now and then, practically blending in with the ground. “Ven, Marov. Go check it out. Fais, hop up on the gun and cover them.”

“Shit, let’s hope it’s just some Stranded playin’ games with us,” Marov muttered stood up and palmed the hatch button. A hydraulic hiss broke into the silence, wind gusting in tiny bits of dust on the ramp as it lowered. Ven brought his gun up, scanning from one end of his field of vision to the other, his eyes staring out into the growing darkness with a silent determination.

Nothing but the chilling moan of the wind greeted them as they disembarked from the car. Their heavy combat boots made little noise on the sand covered concrete, puffs of dust rising up with every step. They made their way around to the front of the APC after closing the hatch again, each going around opposite sides, scanning the small ditch and the surrounding suburbs. A few tall business buildings and broken down homes were the only things they saw, their forlorn forms looking lonely so far away from the main city. A few cars, rusted and crushed by who knew what crouched by the curb, their rubber wheels melted into the concrete.

Marov tapped on the APC, and Nyvar quickly switched on the heavy lights on the front of the armored car, bathing the road in front of it in bright, blue-tinged radiance. Marov and Ven moved up into view in his screen, slowly walking forward with their guns aimed directly in front of them. A creak sounded from above him as Tyler readied the main chain-gun, moving it around in a 180 degree motion. The radio crackled on, in time with Marov putting a hand against his head and activating the mic.

“Don’t see anything. You sure it wasn’t just some loose weeds or something?”

“It is clear on my side, as well, Sergeant,” Ven said, a hand up to his ear as well. They stopped ten meters away on either side of the street near some gutted houses, letting their Lancers lower to their chests, relaxed, yet ready to bring it up and fire in a moment’s notice. The two men continued walking ahead, checking in cracked windows to see if there was anything dangerous.

Another shadow, in the corner of his eye, moved across a roof; a familiar movement from years spent fighting the nightmarish Locust Horde. As soon as he looked at it, however, it disappeared into thin air. Nyvar shook his head, slapping himself slightly with his dark, gloved hand.

The motion of his hand across his face rubbed across the stubble growing on the bottom of his chin, reminding him of his need to shave again. He snorted, amused with such thoughts playing out in his head at a time like this. He raised his eyes back to the viewport and watched as Ven and Marov moved further and further out of the light’s radiance. He pushed the button to activate the radio, a red light popping up cheerfully, proclaiming the channel’s readiness.

“Alright, pack it in, guys. I need to sleep a couple hundred more hours.”

“Yeah, you and me both, man,” Marov said as he turned around, looking right and left every now and then. He cut across what could have been a well maintained yard but was now a jungle of weeds and vaulted a worn down, chain-link fence with a grunt. Ven just waltzed down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street as if nothing was wrong in the world, a slight smile on the man’s face distinguishable by the white of his teeth against the tan skin.

Clang.

Nyvar whipped around in his seat, his hand already moving toward the snub pistol at his side. What greeted his sight scared the shit out of him, but he let out a breath as Sparks’ “head” cocked a little to the right, the cameras that represented his eyes gleaming in the APC’s dim lighting. It floated above the ground high enough for the small antenna to bend slightly against the roof of the armored car.

“Damn it, you bucket of bolts, don’t do that,” he said, blowing a breath out and chuckling at himself. A burst of static cut his amusement short, hissing at him like a Wretch, the blind and dumb “hounds” of the Locust army. It wasn’t a pleasant analogy to think about.

“Sergeant,” a voice replied from the speaker on the floating robot’s front, “you need to move, now. Satellites have detected a sizable force of Locust heading your way.” The bot swiveled in the air, Matheison looking through the bot’s camera at the close back end. “Also, there’s some kind of interference where you are on the logistics map. It’s nowhere near what a Seeder would put out, but it’s enough to make me worry.” Nyvar sighed, remembering the countless times the “Seeders” had blocked communications with some sort of weird, natural jamming equipment.

“Yes, sir. Ven and Marov just went out and looked arou-“A burst of Lancer fire crackled out, stopping his sentence cold and causing him to turn about and look out through the viewport. The ‘bot was forgotten, his vision totally focused on finding both Marov and Ven.

“Contact,” Marov yelled into his mic, firing at something outside the field of light the armored car put out. “Looks like some kind of Wretch, but I can’t see it well enough to confirm!”

“Ty, shine the gun’s light on Sy’s location, now!” Gears moved with a soft clank as Tyler Fais swiveled the gun, the light passing over Ven first, and then Marov, who was firing into an alleyway from the left side of a burned down house.

“Moving to engage, Sergeant,” Ven said, sounding calm and composed at the prospect of a firefight. The man ran from the other end of the street’s sidewalk, bouncing slightly as he fell from the short curb to the street itself. A few Gnasher shots rang out, ineffective at that range, but enough to draw some attention.

The light lit up the alley near Marov, throwing up shadows on the far wall of a gray building set against two houses perpendicularly. Hunched over, little things with something strapped to their lumpy backs as they scurried around, unable to find purchase on the surrounding walls. The Wretches started gushing out sparks as the light hit them, their outlines coming into focus and their hideous maws open in a hissing, clicking sound.

“What the hell?” Nyvar heard from behind him as he turned the APC to face the area in between two houses, Fais moving the gun to keep the alley in his sights.

“Fais, open fire,” Nyvar commanded, bringing the APC to a stop right before the curb, the alleyway only eight or ten meters ahead. Marov had crouched down, putting his gun around the corner and spraying off a few shots without looking. One of the shadows fell to the ground, still, while others were punched back. The surviving ones reacted to the attack with a simultaneous hiss, suddenly focused on destroying whatever was threatening them.

“Yes sir!” Ty replied as he filled the dark alcove with seething, bright bullets. The Wretches started falling down, but a few got through and most were soundly cut down by Marov’s chainsaw bayonet and a few quick shots of Ven’s shotgun.

Something suddenly exploded in the alleyway, blowing Marov back into a trashed and looted car with a rush of fire and superheated air. The old car buckled under the impact of a Gear in full armor, wedging the man in the passenger’s seat. One of the few Wretches not already put down suddenly disappeared, its outline wavering in the light and then vanishing as it passed outside the radiance.

“Aaugh,” Marov cried out, a sound of anger and pain vying for supremacy, as something smashed into him. Fortunately, anger won out as he loosened himself from the wreckage enough to grab his gun and start the chainsaw, bringing it down in front of him where blood started spraying out from thin air. Nyvar could hear a keening wail followed by a sudden crackling sound in Marov’s earpiece through the open circuit as the Wretch once again appeared, in two bloody pieces.

Marov was covered in gore and other less savory things, putting his gun down and trying to remove his lower half from the wreckage when Ven walked over to give him a hand, grabbing onto the other man’s left shoulder.

“Arrgh! Stop!,” grated Marov’s voice through gritted teeth, clearly in pain as the South Islander let go of his arm. “I think that thing dislocated my arm!”

“Ven, pop it back in place, and hurry. Radar’s showing incoming,” Nyvar said through the radio, watching as Ven grabbed onto Marov’s arm and heaved, muscles bulging slightly. A sharp cry of pain came over the speakers before being clamped down into a hiss as the shoulder went back in its socket. Ven worked quickly, extricating Marov from the ruined car and pulling him to his feet.

“What the fuck exploded?” Marov asked as they looked down at the pieces of what was once a Wretch. Nyvar wished they’d hurry it up and get back in the vehicle. The red dots were flashing closer and closer to their location, one of them altogether too big.

“Looks like the Locust have been repurposing more than our weapons technology,” Ven said with a tranquil voice, tinged with the smallest amount of nervousness that ruined the intended effect. He stood up, turning around and facing the APC and stumbled slightly as a vibration ran through the ground. Marov looked up and over the APC’s back end at something behind the row of houses out of Nyvar’s field of vision.

“Marov, Ven, get back in the APC!” Nyvar yelled into the radio, backing up into the street and turning around to face the back end to the two men. A bellowing roar shook the surrounding area as explosions lit the sky with yellow and orange. “Brumak!”

Marov started running toward the front of the armored car and disappeared as he went around the side, Ven following close behind, his indicator lights bobbing up and down with a pale, blue light as he ran. Fais dropped down from the main gun and rushed to the back of the armored car and slammed his fist into the button that opened the back end, jumping to the side and falling into a chair as the two other men stumbled up the ramp. They instantly turned around and started firing into the street where a few Grubs were taking cover behind damaged cars.

Returning fire pinged and peppered the inside of the APC, one of the bullets flashing by both Marov and Ven and hitting Sparks’ directly in the side. Bright, yellow sparks sputtered out as the ‘bot lost altitude, crashing to the floor with a clang, its lights dying out, filling the air with the stink of melted plastic.

“Close the goddamned door!” Nyvar yelled as he moved forward slowly, the ramp dragging against the pavement with a screeching sound. “The ramp’s slowing us down! Aw, shit!” Nyvar looked up to see a Brumak looking straight at him through the viewport through a helmet that made it seem like it had a hundred tiny pinpricks of eyes. One of its scaly hands were holding onto a house, its claws crushing into the roofing with ease as it steadied itself and bowed slightly. A loud hiss sounded out as someone behind him closed the ramp, causing status lights to blink green and the APC to jump ahead, forcing Nyvar back into the chair’s cushion.

“Hold on!” Nyvar yelled back at his team as he swerved to the right, straight at the Brumak as it fired, the rockets flying directly over the viewport, rocking the armored car hard enough to make it come up on two wheels before falling back down to earth.

Curses flew behind Nyvar as he pushed his foot down on the gas; afterimages wavering in front of his face as the car rocketed forward, crushing a small, melted motorcycle. They were moving forward, fire still peppering the back end, sounding like little pings, while flashes danced every now and then from behind Nyvar, casting his shadow across the front of the viewport and panels in sharp relief.

The street ahead of him held a few Grubs hiding behind an overturned truck, but he just kept going straight, nailing the truck head on with the armored front grill, crushing the fleeing bastards underneath the weight of two vehicles. They ramped over the remains of the truck and came down again with a heavy jolt, causing more curses from behind.

The fire started getting less and less as they flew down the street, away from the Brumak and gathered Locust, one last roar from the huge beast following them as they left the neighborhood. Suburbs gave way to country quickly, only the lights of the APC letting them see the road ahead, since the sun had sunk beneath the horizon. Nyvar slowed down a little bit after a few minutes.

“Report. You guys alright back there?” Nyvar asked, his eyes still on the road, hoping to hear them say they were all okay. He blinked slowly; waiting for a response as the terrain slowly gave way to scattered bushes and dirt. Losing a member of his team would feel like losing his family all over again, not a feeling he wanted to experience again.

“I’m alright, Sarge,” Fais said, his voice a welcome sound. “Sparks is down, though. I don’t know if we’ll be able to fix him in the field.” Nyvar’s slight smile slowly transformed into a grimace at the news, knowing they needed the ‘bot for a number of things. Guess they’d have to do things the old fashioned way.

“Me and Ven,” Marov said, sounding strained, “are okay, too. Left shoulder’s a bit weak and I caught a little fire in my left side. Bruises are all I’ll get from it, though.” He sounded frustrated with himself for getting even minutely injured and clanged down into a seat.
Ven followed suit and they all fell silent as the flat landscape passed them by, catching their breath and looking over their equipment for damage. A poorly maintained Lancer could malfunction at a critical moment and cause loss of life or limb, especially these days, when they’d been active since E-Day. Time passed quickly, slowed down, and reverted to normal as their adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. Nyvar looked up at the digital clock up on the right hand side of his panel and noted forty minutes had gone by since they’d left the firefight behind.

“Alright, give me a sitrep. What was that business about the Locust stealing something…?” Nyvar asked as the APC bumped over small ruts and pieces of broken granite. The engine was starting to sound high pitched, so he slowed down even more, looking around in the field of light provided. It looked like there was a small, ruined gas station a couple miles ahead.

“They attached our ‘bot’s cloaking mechanism to these Wretches,” Ven replied, his tone showing he thought the idea was a frightening one. It was one of their most valuable assets and a terrible blow to their efforts if they learned how to attach it to anything bigger.
“Doesn’t exactly bode well for us, ‘Seph,” Marov continued, his eyes closed as Nyvar sneaked a peak behind him. The man looked tired and dirty, red blood flecked in his hair and all down the front of his armor. A few stretches of red where he’d tried to wipe the blood off of his face shown against his pale skin.

“Agreed,” Nyvar replied, slowing down to three miles per hour as he turned into the gas station’s driveway. The station’s roof extended from the store part of it to the actual pumps. It’d give them a little protection if it started razor hailing, at least. He pulled up to the front of the store, the lights shining off what was left of the broken windows and illuminating the crushed shelves and burned out register. He shut off the armored car’s engine quickly before anything inside could, hopefully, hear it.

“Alright, this is where we’re stopping for tonight. Me and Ven will scout out the inside of the store while you and Marov fix up a campsite. See if you can do anything with Sparks when you’re done,” Nyvar ordered, standing up and grabbing his gun from a nearby rack, moving to the back of the vehicle. He palmed the hatch button and moseyed down the ramp, looking side to side at the new bullet holes in the back of the APC’s chassis.

He sighed and motioned for Ven to follow him as he stalked over to the side of the store, grabbed onto the metal handle, and slowly walked in, his gun leading. His shadow stretched into the main room, dark against the pale, white light of the APC. Nothing moved or made a sound as he quietly clomped in with his heavy boots on broken up tile. He sniffed slightly, smelling the smallest hint of smoke from a day old fire pit.

“Looks like someone had the same idea we did,” Ven whispered, the noise sounding loud in the silence. The silence was broken as Marov and Ty walked down the ramp together, clanging loudly with Sparks’ “body” held in between them. Nyvar sighed, shaking his head and gave up being stealthy, checking each row carefully while the South Islander looked into the back bathroom.

Nyvar walked back around to the broken windows, watching as Marov started pouring a can of fuel onto a few desiccated pieces of wood and dried dung. He leaned against the window sill, looking further out into the night; glad the Kryll didn’t come this far out of the city much. Still, the fire would keep them away from the area, even if it gave his team’s location away for miles around.

The APC’s lights went out and a few moments later, Ty came out with a portable stool and a case full of tools. He set the stool up a few feet away from the fire that suddenly sprang to life, and dropped his armored form onto the dented metal seat. He started rummaging around in his tools as Nyvar turned away, looking back to where Ven had disappeared to.

“Ven, where you at?” Nyvar asked, curiously, unconcerned. He got an answer back quickly as he turned the corner into the bathroom, where a woman’s body hung from the ceiling, attached to a loop of metal wiring around her neck. Ven was bowing his head, muttering under his breath, his shoulders sagging. A few moments later, he reached up and sliced the wiring with his pocket knife and caught the woman on the way down in his arms. He gently laid her down in a corner, putting her hands in her lap, muttering a few more moments before standing up and turning around. He started slightly when he looked at Nyvar leaning against the doorframe, then closed his eyes and moved passed him and into the main room. Nyvar followed, closing the door behind him quietly.

Nyvar caught up to Ven outside, where he was leaning against the APC, staring up into the sky, looking at the pinpricks of light in the heavens. Nyvar looked, too, for a moment, before looking down again; the lights reminding him of the Brumak’s helmet. He patted Ven on the shoulder and just stood there with him, staring off into the night.

[Lilam]

((Just letting you know that I'm reading this. After watching the GoW 3 trailer, I'm totally hyped and this story is helping keep me sane until it comes out! Keep up the good work! Looking forward to seeing what happens when they get to the imulsion plant. And what's this about Wretches and cloaking?! *shivers* Also, this story needs more Baird quotes! <3 Baird ^_^ ))

[tamwyn]

((Heh, I'm not especially good at being Baird, so you might not get that wish, but as for the Invisible Wretches...they'll be seen again. Or rather, not seen. They have a real purpose for bring included and I hope you like it, my one reader! Hehe.

Next chapter will see them at the factory. But things won be as they seem. I'm already halfway finished, so it won't take as long to post this time, since I got distracted by other things in the middle of Chapter 2. Dum dum duuuuuuuum. ))

[Meleta/Isoldaa]

(( This is still very good, Tam. I VERY much liked

SPOILER: Click to show

the discovery of the woman who suicided at the very end.

That was a very effective, very well done touch on the desperation of the human race.

I found, at most, a handful of phrases I'd prefer to see retooled/edited. Grammar-wise, though, flawless as far as I could see. It's still a story that is probably only going to appeal to a limited audience - only a very few people enjoy certain fanfic. That, and the large amount military jargon-ing can be offputting to a whole other segment as well. Still, I love watching how much your writing is improving/has improved, with every installment. *thumbs up* ;D ))

[tamwyn]

Chapter 3: Good Intentions

“You know what? You can take this shit and shove it. If you guys aren’t going to help these people, then I will. If they do that good on their own, just think how much help a Gear would be. Shit, not like the COG thinks of anything but its own skin. So fuck you, I quit. Just try and stop me.”

-Unnamed former Gear’s journal, found a day after desertion.

Abandoned Convenience Store, Outskirts of Ephyra;

2250 hours.

The evening passed without any sign of Locusts, aside from the shrill cry of Kryll way out in the darkness. Ven had volunteered for first watch, leaning against the APC like a statue, staring off into the distance with his Lancer across his massive, armored chest, occasionally moving around the store’s perimeter to stay awake. Nyvar had stayed with him a few minutes before he made the first patrol. After the man had left, he settled down against a wall near the fire and removed his armor in preparation for sleep. Little pops and curses floated over from where Ty was tinkering with Spark’s damaged chassis, while Marov washed off the gore and blood as best he could with a rag he had found in the APC’s cargo hold.

Nyvar was just removing the last piece of his leg armor when Marov finished cleaning off and sat down next to him, his standard-issue COG plating already in a pile next to the APC’s massive wheel. Firelight reflected off the man’s face, streaked with sweat, grime, and oil from the old rag he’d used. The man’s mustache still had a bit of dried blood stuck in it, unavoidable when one used a chainsaw on a live target.

“What’re we doin’ out here, ‘Seph?” Marov said, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, wrinkles showing out in the flickering light. Marov’s mouth barely seemed to move under his facial hair, the voice sounding tired and tinged with a bitter sadness at all the horrible atrocities witnessed. “We’re getting to old for this, and even if you’re not, I certainly am. I don’t know how many more years I can take.”

“We’re only in our forties. We’ve still got about twenty years left in us,” Nyvar replied after he stretched, realizing all the aches and pains that had slowly appeared after all the hard years of fighting for his life. He yawned then, bringing his hand up to scratch his stubble-ridden chin. “Just try not to break a hip and you’ll do alright, old man.”

Marov smiled a bit, the tell tale curling up of his mustache the only evidence of the action. The man opened his eyes and looked up at the overhanging roof, glistening slightly where there wasn’t patches of rust and grime coating the light peach tile.

“Yeah.” They went silent after that, Nyvar content with the peace and silent camaraderie. He cleaned his gear, taking the chain out and making sure no bone shards or bloodspots were clogging it, even though he hadn’t used it since the day before yesterday. It always paid to make sure about the things.

Slowly, after reassembling his gun, Nyvar drifted off to sleep while laying his head back against the wall, his gun cradled in his arms. Soft, kind words filled his dreams, surrounded by the warmth of his wife’s body. Blissfully, his dreams stayed that way and gave him a respite from the usual horrors that haunted the night.

---

The next morning;

1040 hours.

“Sarge,” someone’s voice called out, quickly followed by a shake.

“Sarge, wake up.”

Groggily, Nyvar looked up to see Ty’s face contorted in a grimace – never a good sign, especially so soon after waking up. His thought processes started to kick back into gear rapidly, assessing the situation in a glance; Marov was gearing up a few yards away to the right, pulling on the massive thigh armor over his leg, buckling and strapping things with a whizzing sound. Looking to his left as he stood up and starting pulling on his armor as well, he saw Ven already dressed and ready to go, dark circles under his eyes, staring off into the east with a haunted look – a look that said he wanted to move, now.

“Report,” Nyvar snapped quickly as he buckled on the belt with his snub pistol resting in the holster, “what’s goin on?”

“Dust to the east, Sarge. Looks like a Stranded caravan,” Ty replied, starting as a Hammerburst round went off in the distance.

“Shit, looks like Locust. Serves the bastards right, runnin around on their own,” Marov gritted out, his tone icy, no hint of mercy in it. Stranded were the only thing the man hated more than the grubs – they’d killed one of his two remaining daughters a couple of years ago for food. Nyvar knew not all of the former COG citizens went as low as that, but Marov seemed not to even care.

“Save the hatred for the grubs, Marov,” Nyvar ordered, pulling on his gloves as he moved toward the APC and opened the ramp with a dull thud as his fist impacted the button. Maybe the Stranded would have some parts to fix Sparks – even if they didn’t, they were humans being attacked by monsters, a fate Nyvar wouldn’t wish on anyone. He’d seen the disgusting things the Horde did, stringing entrails across fences and mutilating the living as much as possible before their frail forms gave up on life. “Hop in, Gears. Time to go say good morning to the Locust.”

Nyvar heard a chorus of yes sir’s, Marov’s a little less than enthusiastic – that’d be a problem later, if they lived through the next few minutes. Their footsteps echoed against the heavy metal plate floor as they walked in, Ven and Ty hauling Sparks’ dead weight between them. They dropped it, Ven moving to shut the hatch and Ty moving up into the Gunner’s nest.

“Marov, you drive. You’re the most injured one out of us,” Nyvar said, sitting down across from Ven, checking his Lancer and slotting a cartridge of bullets into the waiting chamber. With a grunt for an answer, Marov kicked the engine on and they started moving, the viewport shining with the glow of the morning sun, blinding them slightly.

“Damn sun, always gotta be in the way,” Marov muttered loud enough for them all to hear. Nyvar smiled, remembering all the times the ‘sun had gotten in the way’ of a kill for the other man, even on an overcast day. His smile faded as he broke out of his reverie, looking out the viewport again and trying to get a feel for the situation.

“Looks like a couple of Bloodmounts, guys. Ty, open up as soon as we get in range, those are your first targets,” Nyvar ordered, his hand looped through a handhold near the door as he stood up, rocking back and forth as they bounced over the rough terrain.

“Yes sir,” Ty replied, pausing for a breath. “Firing.”

The loud report of the APC’s main gun boomed out, rattling everyone inside with the noise. Nyvar saw one of the Bloodmounts drop, the handler falling directly in front of the other, live animal. Blood splattered across the ashy ground as the thing turned on the fallen Locust, ripping into the corpse with gusto, the handler on top trying to gain control over the beast. Too late, the handler leaped off right into a hail of high velocity slugs, torn to shreds instantly – almost exploding into a shower of blood. The other grubs turned toward the new threat, no longer interested in tormenting the Stranded caravan – their mistake. As soon as they turned around, two of the beasties fell to the ground; both victims of a sniper round.

They pulled in, sliding around in the dirt, Nyvar hitting the button to open the hatch. He fired as soon as he had a clear shot, Lancer rounds digging deep holes in the first Locust that fell into his field of fire. Hammerburst rounds instantly filled the small space, forcing Nyvar and Ven to roll out into the open. Nyvar heard a curse from Marov and a hydraulic hiss as the hatch returned to its shut position, spraying gravel as it fishtailed and flew off to the left, ramming the only remaining Bloodmount and turning it into chunks on the way out.

A ragged chorus of cheers came from the general area of the Caravan, where a couple of burned out Junkers were being used as cover. The stuttering report of Lancer fire from somewhere on the other side of the caravan came to Nyvar’s ears, evidence that the Stranded weren’t being attacked on just one side.

“Ven, two on the left. Throwing a grenade to the right,” Nyvar said, grasping the chain on his belt and starting to swing it around in a steady circle, the spiked and heavy explosive tip whirring through the air. He let it go at just the right moment, seeing it fly directly into a group grubs and a Bolter runner firing into the caravan from behind an exploded vehicle. The detonation turned the Locust forces into bloody lumps that flew into the air, splattering Nyvar with blood and rocks as he held up a hand against the debris. Two shots from a Gnasher shotgun drew his attention back to his comrade.

When he looked over to the left, he saw Ven had taken care of the two grubs, the South Islander forced to roll to the right behind a front half of an old APC as return fire peppered his position. Somewhere behind the Caravan, Nyvar heard the armored car’s main gun still hammering out a steady tempo, even if he couldn’t see the devastation accompanying the sound. A few yards away back to his right, the ground suddenly heaved and buckled into the earth, giving way to a dark hole filled with evil, yellow pinpricks of light.

“Aw, shit,” Nyvar said, readying another grenade to throw into the hole. Only one grub managed to climb out before the explosion rocked the foundations, collapsing the tunnel and burying the rest of the Locust underneath rock and sand. Seeing as how it was too close to get his Lancer back into position for a kill shot, Nyvar yelled out as he ran toward the Locust Drone, its grotesque, white flesh surrounding disturbing, yellow eyes. He impacted the thing with his shoulder, trying to knock it back to the ground as it tried to pick itself back up. It felt like he hit a brick wall, his shoulder popping painfully as they fell in a heap.

Something impacted Nyvar’s head as he tried to get up, knocking him off the bastard and forcing his body to roll across the dirt. Coughing and spitting out the blood that was accumulating in his mouth, he rolled onto his hands and knees just in time for the grub to bring a knee right into his side, forcing him back to the ground. Pain ripped through his scalp as the thing dug its thick, meaty fingers into his hair and pulled him up until he was staring at the barrel of its Hammerburst Rifle. It growled at him with a coughing laugh, a smile forming a horrific facsimile of glee - wicked, yellow teeth drooling with anticipation at the bloodletting about to take place.

A shot rang out in the air, heat blasting over Nyvar’s shoulder. At first, he thought the grub had taken the shot and missed – but he was proven wrong when he saw the ragged hole of a pin-point sniper shot in the thing’s upper chest. It fell to the ashy dirt, its fingers releasing their hold on Nyvar’s hair. He crawled on his hands and knees over to the Lancer he’d dropped earlier, grabbing it and turning around to see the thing – not only not dead, but picking itself up, as well. This one was tough, he thought, but hopefully not tough enough to stand up against his Lancer’s melee alternative.

The injured Locust Drone picked itself up just in time to receive a chest full of chainsaw bayonet. Nyvar yelled out as blood and bone clinked against his armor, the thing’s maw opening in a great bellow that almost matched his own. Nyvar’s arms bulged as he struggled to bring the chainsaw down, shredding through the ribcage with practiced effort. The weapon skipped a few times as Nyvar brought the saw down to the left, slicing through the backbone, knowing it was overkill. The grub twitched and fell, sliding off in two pieces, its entrails and other bodily organs gushing out onto the ground.

Nyvar breathed hard, letting his Lancer drop to his side, the adrenaline wearing off as the battle neared its end on his side of the field. Pain filled his jaw and side, forcing him to hiss in pain and grab the injured areas. He spat out another wad of blood to the ground as sweat dripped down his forehead, landing in the sand and instantly evaporating next to the glob of red. A buzzing filled his ears; an after effect of the chainsaw’s obnoxious whirring – the smell hit him a few seconds later, the dead Drone’s insides smelling like rotted meat and shit. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he brought his hand to his ear, pressing down on the earpiece resting in the canal. It crackled as the channel came online.

“Marov, Ven, report. All clear over on the west side of the caravan,” Nyvar said, gasping slightly as he regained his breath.

“Situation resolved on the south end, Sergeant,” Ven’s voice said, not even out of breath.

“Got a couple of stragglers here on the north end, ‘Seph. Ty’s mowin em down, though. We’ll be good in a minu- ah, nevermind. Clear here, Sarge,” Marov replied, the booming report of the main gun finally quitting its unending rhythm.

“Roger. Stay out a ways, don’t wanna go scaring the civvies. I’ll let you know when you can come in – I’m gonna go have a talk with the Stranded.”

“Talking with the Stranded? Shit, better you than me, Sarge. Roger, will wait for further orders,” Marov’s voice came back, bitter with a tinge of anger.

“Ven, on me. Let’s go be neighborly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ven’s heavy footfalls thudded against the sand as Nyvar walked toward the Caravan, seeing a few Stranded walking out from a beat up, old Junker. They were carrying weapons, the man in the middle seeming relaxed while his two underlings had their weapons raised and ready to fire. Nyvar cleared his throat, dropping his Lancer to his side in a non-threatening motion.

“Mornin’. Looks like you guys ran into a little trouble. Need any help?” Nyvar asked, stopping three meters from the three people who moved up to meet them. The man was resting a sawed off double barreled shotgun on his shoulder, his armor scuffed, but still recognizable as Gear-issued armor, albeit a little newer than his underlings’. He was clearly the leader, while the two others – a man and a woman – kept their weapons trained on Nyvar and Ven.

The man on the left side of the leader carried an old style, Pendulum era Lancer, knife bayonet and all, its exterior shining and taken care of. He had dark, stringy, brown hair down to his shoulders covered by a beat up, straw cowboy hat. He wore some modified Gear armor with extra scrap metal screwed in on random places, giving him a patchwork appearance. Deserters then, Nyvar thought, chewing on his lip.

On the other side of the guy with the shotgun, the woman held the Longshot that had taken out the two drones at the beginning of the battle as well as the grub that had almost killed Nyvar at the end. Her face was covered by a white bandana, a stark contrast to her raven colored hair and brown skin. Rags covered the woman, a little cleaner than most Stranded but still enough dirt to mark her as one. Striking blue eyes gazed out with all the ice the color implied; Nyvar would be surprised if she even batted an eye as he lost his head in an explosion of gore, even though she’d helped him in the heat of battle. He winked at her, hoping she’d take it as thanks and not as an insult. However, the man with the patchwork armor noticed the action, too, and responded with jealousness evident in his tone.

“We don’t need no stinkin’ help from a bunch of facist assh-“

“Shut the fuck up, Riddley,” the leader admonished, instantly silencing the other man who was staring at Nyvar with utter contempt. The leader’s bald head gleamed in the morning light, a brown, scraggly beard covering his face. “Name’s Parker, Gearhead. What’ve you got? We don’t need any trouble.”

“Nah, no trouble. Just a couple spare rations and some protection on your way,” Nyvar replied, unaffected by the implied insult in the man’s tone. At least they hadn’t shot him or Ven, yet.

“Aw, shit, really, Sarge? Why do we need to work with these fucking animals?” Marov asked through the radio, anger in his tone at the thought of protecting people like those who had killed his daughter. Nyvar grimaced inwardly, forgetting that the channel was still open, ignoring Marov’s protests. He wished he could reach up and shut the channel off, but that would just destroy any chance of peaceful resolution here.

“Awful nice of ya. What’s in it for you?” Parker asked suspiciously, stroking his beard with the hand not holding the shotgun against his shoulder.

“We caught a bit of a firefight yesterday and our ‘bot got shot up. I reckon we could find some parts to fix it, if you’ve got any.”

“Parts?” The man asked, standing there, stroking his beard, his dark, bushy brows beetled over his eyes. After a moment of deliberation, Parker lowered his weapon and put his hand on the woman’s rifle, lowering that as well. The patchwork armored gear lowered his weapon, too, glaring suspiciously at the two soldiers. “You got yourself a deal, partner. Go ahead and bring your APC in line behind the others. You can soak up the bullets the Locust shoot at our asses.”

“Alright, then. Gimmie a second, I’ll radio them. That fine?”

“Sure,” Parker said, turning around and heading toward one of the Junkers near the middle of the formation, digging around in the trunk. Nyvar watched him for a second before reaching up to his ear, pretending to initiate the connection.

“You hear that, Marov?” Nyvar whispered, holding his hand up in the air and swinging it around in a circle motion. Ven nodded and went to secure the perimeter, smiling benevolently at the Stranded that looked at him with hope and anger battling in their eyes. Surprisingly, one of the children who were staring out of a viewport waved at Ven, causing the South Islander’s grin to stretch even further.

“Yeah, I got it. Just keep those animals away from me. I don’t feel like catching any diseases this week,” Marov griped, shutting off the channel and starting the engine. Nyvar heard it somewhere to his left as he walked toward where Parker was still rummaging around.

“So, where y’all headed?” Nyvar asked, looking around and noting what weapons the civilians had obtained. Lancers, for the most part with a couple of Gnashers and Hammerbursts mixed in here and there. A couple of the more adventurous Stranded were even now ranging about the battlefield, picking up Boltok Pistols and a few more Hammerburst Rifles from downed Locust.

“Small outpost half a day or so away. We’d try to make it ourselves, but that last attack you mopped up scared some of the women and children. Figured you guys’d be the lesser of two evils,” Parker said, his moderately muscled arms covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Shit, women and children? What’re y’all doin out here instead of in Jacinto? Least there you have some safety.”

“I’d keep off that topic round here if I were you. Not a lot of people here are happy with the way the COG has been treating its citizens, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Parker replied, turning around and coming up with some machinery and tools Nyvar didn’t recognize. “Here, this should fix your bot for you.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I used to build the things before I went Stranded,” Parker paused, staring at Nyvar with his beady eyes. “Don’t ask.”

“Alright, sure,” Nyvar said, not sure how to deal with the situation. Normally, he’d be obligated to arrest the man and bring him in for questioning, especially since he carried the knowledge of one of the COG’s main assets. However, it didn’t look like he’d have a chance to even get his pistol out, the way everyone was looking at him.

“I know what you’re thinking. Ain’t goin to happen, buddy. Now, why don’t you take these and go join the rest of your squad. I want you in the convoy, but I don’t necessarily want you next to me. Scoot, Gearhead.”

Nyvar sighed as he grabbed the proffered tools and parts, turning around and heading to the shiny APC at the end of the line. When he looked at his own vehicle, he noticed how minute the rust stains and bullet holes were compared to the rest of the caravan. They’d been through hell and back.

The women he could see were all covered in rags that barely concealed their almost skeletal forms, their eyes only flickering with the bare minimum of human emotions. The children that sat in their laps were not much better – no laughter rang out, no joy was screamed in their high pitched voices. It was as if they had lost any kind of the pure, wholesome childhood they deserved. Only the kid that had waved at Ven before made any show of grinning as Nyvar walked by the window – he smiled back at the boy as he passed, letting it drop as the rest just looked at him with fear or awe.

Nyvar tried to ignore their stares, shrugging up his shoulders and looking at the ashy ground; this is why he fought even after all the years of punishment and pain. Just to allow the children a decent few years like they’d had before the Locust Horde had erupted from the catacombs of Sera’s earthen prison. It reminded him of his own son, drilling and preparing to become just like his father - a Gear, a cog in the machine, probably doomed to live a horribly scarred life even if they won the war and he survived.

When he got to the APC, the door was already open and waiting, Ven leaning calmly against the frame, looking out into the ashy desert, the imprint of a box next to his feet in the soil. A few wrappers littered the area, their crimson color standing out against the kahki-gray ground.

“We’ve given all we may spare, my friend. I only wish we had more to offer them,” Ven rumbled, a sad look on his face. “The women are so thin and broken looking, they look like they’re about to fall apart. And the children. . .” he trailed off.

“I know buddy. All we can do is win this war for them, even if they don’t want our help with anything else,” Nyvar commented bitterly. He changed the subject before the mood grew even gloomier. “C’mon, let’s get in a good meal and plan out the next few days – and help me get out of this armor. ‘Caught a bit more action than I really wanted, today.”

The other man nodded, stepping into the armored car behind Nyvar, hammering the hatch button with his hand a bit harder than was necessary. Nyvar shook his head, sighing slightly and trying to put his Sergeant’s face back on. Marov was lounging in the driver’s seat, his feet propped up on one of the many troop-seats near him, a disapproving look on his face. Nyvar just shook his head again, this time as a warning for Marov to keep his mouth shut about this. Ty was sitting in one of the seats, concentrating intensely on removing one of the plates from Spark’s chassis. Nyvar smiled, glad someone was doing alright.

“Ty, I brought some presents…maybe Marov can help you put that scrap of metal back together.”

((Yeah, yeah, I'm late, and I suck at updating and I know I promised you a factory, but when I was writing, my story took a left turn at Albuquerque. Oh, and this is also an experiment with dialogue. How'd I do? Thanks for reading. I'll try to update more than once a month!))

[Lilam]

((Great update, as usual. I think you did really well with the dialogue. It flowed and didn't feel awkward or forced at all. Marov is my favorite character so far. But all the characters interact very well. Also, I like the attention to detail and descriptions too. On a side note, when will poor Sparks be fixed?! *impatient foot stamp* I expect another update soonish! Don't make me wait too long. ))

[tamwyn]

((Next update will actually be up within a week from -this- post, I promise. Also, I added in a scene for this last chapter in Word but I haven't had time to put it in here.

Sparks'll be fixed sooner or later. I have it all planned out til Chapter 8-9 right now, so it'll move quicker. Thanks for the comments, Lilam, it's always wonderful to hear how you like this.

Marov is your favorite character, huh? Any reason why? I thought his sudden transformation from the night to the day was a little disorienting myself. But, it seems like I'm the only one @.@))

[Lilam]

((No reason in particular. I suppose I just like his attitude. But I can't wait to learn more about all of 'em and see more of their unique personalities. )

[tamwyn]

((Alright, edited my post. More action is in there, and I got rid of a few inconsistencies!))

[Kaez]

SPOILER: Click to show

OKAY! So I played the original Gears of War when it was brand new, a -long- time ago. I played GoW2 -once-. In other words: I'm not incredibly familiar with the setting. So forgive me if that plays any effect on how I review. :]

I have no complaints at all about the prologue. I liked it a whole friggin' lot, in fact. It definitely caught my attention, right from the first paragraph.

Losing one's mind would be a mercy compared to the horrors of watching humanity collapse like a house of cards.”

Wow, I like that a lot. Using a quote to introduce the chapter, while not terribly original, is something I've -always- liked. Very cool.

“Hey, hey, now!” Marov said, backing up quickly to avoid his punch. “You alright?”

Very well executed dream sequences. Too often dreams are written in a very logical, straightforward manner. Yours was chaotic and abstract -- realistic.

Joseph flicked the top open and clicked the flame on

Could have been a bit more clear that the canteen contained a fuel. I assumed water, for obvious reasons.

“She’s been pulling twelve hour shifts, same as Matheison. I heard the other guy came down with something.”

“Yeah, a case of death. Dude was out taking a piss when some grub with a Longshot ruined his day.”

“Damn. What was a grub doing so close to Command?”

Very realistic dialogue.

looked arou-“A burst of Lancer fire

Kind of the unfortunate thing about quotes ending without a space to follow them, see? Can be a bit confusing. Easy fix, though.

A clanking of gears moving clanked softly

Obvious.

One of its scaly hands were holding onto a house,

Were => was

The fire started getting less and less

Dimmed, perhaps? "Less and less" is kind of an odd way to describe fire.

his tone showing he thought the idea was a frightening one.

That could be shown to the reader without just blandly telling them, I think.

three miles per hour

Do you realize just how slow 3 MPH is? It's a crawl relative to a crawl.

Nyvar looked, too, for a moment, before looking down again; the lights reminding him of the Brumak’s helmet.

The sky reminds them of helmets, not helmets reminding them of the sky. I quite like that symbolism.

-Unnamed former Gear’s journal, found a day after desertion.

I continue to approve of the quote intros.

disturbing, yellow eyes.

"Disturbing" isn't the best choice of adjective there, IMHO.

“Ven, on me. Let’s go be neighborly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dialogue remains great.

Ain’t goin to happen,

You've been pretty consistent with using apostrophes for abbreviations. I'd use one on "goin'".

“Ty, I brought some presents…maybe Marov can help you put that scrap of metal back together.”

Dude... wow.

I've not read a whole lot of your writing (Halo and Gears are exclusive fanbases, those sorts of topics are going to prevent a lot of perspective readers from reading), but I was -so- pleased with this. If you cranked out writing of this quality for topics that people read more often, thinks not set in universes so many are unfamiliar with, you'd likely be considered one of the best writers on AWR. This is really top-notch stuff, I've got so few complaints. Keep it up, man :]

[tamwyn]

((Thank you very, -very- much for reviewing this, Kaez. Any praise from you is worth a great deal, especially since you aren't too much of a fan of the universe like Lilam is. Not that I don't value Lilam's advice, though! I'm writing this pretty much for her, since no one else really reads it, lol. Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll definitely try to capture this skill during the Tournament thing in June.))