- Joined
- Oct 17, 2024
- Messages
- 17
- Reaction score
- 39
- Points
- 13
- Age
- 26
December 19, 2020.
Reyes stared off into the wooded outskirts of southern Russia, a lit cigarette providing what little light existed outside of the moon's as her car was shut off. She was a few dozen miles east of the former city of Volgograd. It was mere weeks after the exodus of Combine Civil Service staffers- Engineers and Infestation Control alike- fled her "home city" in a bid to escape the liquidations that came with their own uprising. Amidst the chaos, she was able to obtain a singular Pickup and a couple week's worth of supplies. The rest she would scavenge along the way. God forbid if she had to, she knew the edible fungus Xen provided. The kind that only took a few years off your life expectancy instead of killing you outright. Or worse. She knew what worse looked like.
It was a messy separation from her peers, but it wasn't without a plan. Head towards the Caspian, assist others in fucking over the Combine like they fucked us over. Supervisor phrased it better, but it's how she remembered the gist of it. Based on the passage of days and the periodic radio output she got, she was making good time. Time enough to afford a detour further east before heading south. Time enough to reach out to him.
She remembered his old Family Cohesion files. Names, last known cities and occupations. CID numbers. City 45 was going through its own turmoil, as waves of uprisings and instability shocked urban centers like a wave from their European nucleus. The Combine's security was nice, but it took and took until it was too much to bare. Too many homes. Too many people. Good people. It felt... Surreal to be a part of that wave after years of servitude. She could only imagine how h-
She sees the bright lights of a vehicle light her up from behind. A CCA-Rebranded UAZ 31519 was faintly visible in the darkness. It reminded her of the repurposed Jeep Cherokees the CCA used in America that would barrel through the outlands.
She'd be alarmed if she didn't arrange the meeting beforehand. It was only polite to notify the next of kin, after all.
She unlocked her truck and stepped out into the illuminated show, walking toward the tailgate. She was joined by the UAZ's occupants: Three units. An 02, an 04, and an 01. All GRID, she assumed, but she knew only for certain such designation applied to the 01. The 02 and 04 had their handguns drawn and set on her, but she made no note of it. One defector to another, she knew they were likely scared out of their minds going out on their own. She spoke.
"You Four-six-seven-five-one?"
The unit's vocoder responded, the static verbal masking failing to conceal a surprising eloquence to his speech. "You must be our contact."
She nodded and stepped to the side, letting the 01 and his company see the yellow CIC footlocker in the truck's bed. Despite being made of yellow plastic, it still showed its age through wear and years of abandonment. One of the few "non-necessities" she took from her warehouse. Even more superfluous since the contents weren't even hers. They were his. "The very same." She rapped her knuckles on the casing. "Got it right here."
The 01 raised a hand up. The others lowered their guard. They all knew, for this brief exchange, that they were safe here. The 02 and 04 remained by the UAZ as the 01 stepped towards the truck bed. He eyed the footlocker. "Forgive me." He raised his hands to his mask, breaking the seal. The vocoder would fade to a soft-spoken voice. "Need to see this face to face..."
The man removed his mask. His hair was black and slickened. His face pale and gaunt with years of Combine rule and a bloody line of CCA duty. His hazel eyes locked with Reyes'.
"Is this..?"
"What was left" She motioned for the 01 to open the footlocker. Inside were a haphazard bundle of various CIC and non-CIC items with little rhyme or reason outside of the context shared between the two souls that gazed at the contents. Shifting his gloves through the photographs and files, he rested his hand on an occupied holster. He gently removed it from the box as the sidearm within gleamed in the UAZ's headlights, the polished steel spending years away from any use or abuse. The 01 drew it, finger on the slide as a gesture of safety towards Reyes. He held it in his hands as he removed the magazine. "Ten millimeter?" He hummed a sound of contemplative approval.
"... An appropriate round." He inserted the magazine once more and stowed the firearm back in the footlocker along with the other possessions. He latched it closed. "Seventy-five, can you kindly help me with this?" He asked of his 02, who complied in lugging the yellow container back to the UAZ. Reyes assisted in setting it into the trunk as the 01 returned to the drivers seat. "I appreciate what you have done for me. It must not've been easy to have gone out of your way for this. You have my thanks, Miss..?" The man asked. Meanwhile, he resumed a cassette in the van's stereo system- likely a post-issue modification by the GRID occupants.
"He would just call me 'Liz'." Reyes responded.
"Liz'..." The 01 would commit the name to memory. "If you need anything from me, just let me know."
"Will do, 'mano. Felt it was only fair to...." She trailed off, glancing past the man and towards the UAZ's stereo, the music pulling her from immediately concluding their business. "... Is that... Phil Collins?"
"What? Not a fan of the eighties..?" The man questioned.
"No... It's just.." She sighed, reserving a grin.. "Ah, finalmente veo el parecido"
The man responds to her warmth with the slightest tinge of an upturned corner of his lips as the cut through his cold but polite demeanor. "Is that Spanish I hear?" he asks fondly. "I wish I remembered how to speak it... Instead of the litany of Russian that has plagued years of my work."
The 04, now in the back seat, gives a slight vocoded huff at that. The 01 waves their reaction off. "Anyways... It is time we continue our work, as you continue yours. I wish you luck, Liz."
"Likewise. Ahi te veo." Reyes bids them farewell as the UAZ departs into the night, yellow box in tow. She returned back to the truck to spend the night.
In the morning, she'll make off to link back up with 'Sarge.
Reyes stared off into the wooded outskirts of southern Russia, a lit cigarette providing what little light existed outside of the moon's as her car was shut off. She was a few dozen miles east of the former city of Volgograd. It was mere weeks after the exodus of Combine Civil Service staffers- Engineers and Infestation Control alike- fled her "home city" in a bid to escape the liquidations that came with their own uprising. Amidst the chaos, she was able to obtain a singular Pickup and a couple week's worth of supplies. The rest she would scavenge along the way. God forbid if she had to, she knew the edible fungus Xen provided. The kind that only took a few years off your life expectancy instead of killing you outright. Or worse. She knew what worse looked like.
It was a messy separation from her peers, but it wasn't without a plan. Head towards the Caspian, assist others in fucking over the Combine like they fucked us over. Supervisor phrased it better, but it's how she remembered the gist of it. Based on the passage of days and the periodic radio output she got, she was making good time. Time enough to afford a detour further east before heading south. Time enough to reach out to him.
She remembered his old Family Cohesion files. Names, last known cities and occupations. CID numbers. City 45 was going through its own turmoil, as waves of uprisings and instability shocked urban centers like a wave from their European nucleus. The Combine's security was nice, but it took and took until it was too much to bare. Too many homes. Too many people. Good people. It felt... Surreal to be a part of that wave after years of servitude. She could only imagine how h-
She sees the bright lights of a vehicle light her up from behind. A CCA-Rebranded UAZ 31519 was faintly visible in the darkness. It reminded her of the repurposed Jeep Cherokees the CCA used in America that would barrel through the outlands.
She'd be alarmed if she didn't arrange the meeting beforehand. It was only polite to notify the next of kin, after all.
She unlocked her truck and stepped out into the illuminated show, walking toward the tailgate. She was joined by the UAZ's occupants: Three units. An 02, an 04, and an 01. All GRID, she assumed, but she knew only for certain such designation applied to the 01. The 02 and 04 had their handguns drawn and set on her, but she made no note of it. One defector to another, she knew they were likely scared out of their minds going out on their own. She spoke.
"You Four-six-seven-five-one?"
The unit's vocoder responded, the static verbal masking failing to conceal a surprising eloquence to his speech. "You must be our contact."
She nodded and stepped to the side, letting the 01 and his company see the yellow CIC footlocker in the truck's bed. Despite being made of yellow plastic, it still showed its age through wear and years of abandonment. One of the few "non-necessities" she took from her warehouse. Even more superfluous since the contents weren't even hers. They were his. "The very same." She rapped her knuckles on the casing. "Got it right here."
The 01 raised a hand up. The others lowered their guard. They all knew, for this brief exchange, that they were safe here. The 02 and 04 remained by the UAZ as the 01 stepped towards the truck bed. He eyed the footlocker. "Forgive me." He raised his hands to his mask, breaking the seal. The vocoder would fade to a soft-spoken voice. "Need to see this face to face..."
The man removed his mask. His hair was black and slickened. His face pale and gaunt with years of Combine rule and a bloody line of CCA duty. His hazel eyes locked with Reyes'.
"Is this..?"
"What was left" She motioned for the 01 to open the footlocker. Inside were a haphazard bundle of various CIC and non-CIC items with little rhyme or reason outside of the context shared between the two souls that gazed at the contents. Shifting his gloves through the photographs and files, he rested his hand on an occupied holster. He gently removed it from the box as the sidearm within gleamed in the UAZ's headlights, the polished steel spending years away from any use or abuse. The 01 drew it, finger on the slide as a gesture of safety towards Reyes. He held it in his hands as he removed the magazine. "Ten millimeter?" He hummed a sound of contemplative approval.
"... An appropriate round." He inserted the magazine once more and stowed the firearm back in the footlocker along with the other possessions. He latched it closed. "Seventy-five, can you kindly help me with this?" He asked of his 02, who complied in lugging the yellow container back to the UAZ. Reyes assisted in setting it into the trunk as the 01 returned to the drivers seat. "I appreciate what you have done for me. It must not've been easy to have gone out of your way for this. You have my thanks, Miss..?" The man asked. Meanwhile, he resumed a cassette in the van's stereo system- likely a post-issue modification by the GRID occupants.
"He would just call me 'Liz'." Reyes responded.
"Liz'..." The 01 would commit the name to memory. "If you need anything from me, just let me know."
"Will do, 'mano. Felt it was only fair to...." She trailed off, glancing past the man and towards the UAZ's stereo, the music pulling her from immediately concluding their business. "... Is that... Phil Collins?"
"What? Not a fan of the eighties..?" The man questioned.
"No... It's just.." She sighed, reserving a grin.. "Ah, finalmente veo el parecido"
The man responds to her warmth with the slightest tinge of an upturned corner of his lips as the cut through his cold but polite demeanor. "Is that Spanish I hear?" he asks fondly. "I wish I remembered how to speak it... Instead of the litany of Russian that has plagued years of my work."
The 04, now in the back seat, gives a slight vocoded huff at that. The 01 waves their reaction off. "Anyways... It is time we continue our work, as you continue yours. I wish you luck, Liz."
"Likewise. Ahi te veo." Reyes bids them farewell as the UAZ departs into the night, yellow box in tow. She returned back to the truck to spend the night.
In the morning, she'll make off to link back up with 'Sarge.
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