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RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Mission 2.1] Hiking

As he sat, quietly sipping at his beer, Cedric heard a beeping sound from his pocket. At first, he was confused since he had his own DataJockey kept in his tent. However, he quickly remembered that he had snatched Avel's away mere moments after she had attempted to kill herself. Fishing in to his pocket with one hand, Cedric looked at the DataJockey with a brow quirked in curiousity, and hit the button to access the files that were displayed (rather prominently) on the screen. He read in silence as he looked over it all. It wasn't too much in terms of literary content, then again Avel was most likely no poet, and she didn't need to employ many words to get her message across. She had a hard life. Unfortunately she seemed to be wallowing in it. It wasn't too much of a surprise to find that she was cloned from a mass murderer, but what depressed Cedric was that she actually believed the scientists who blamed her for it.

As if she had been that prisoner.

She wasn't, though. That had been somebody else's life.

She was just making the mistake of suffering it.

Cedric went back to the first file and (while making sure nobody in the squad could see the screen, if only out of respect of privacy) he headed over to where Phaedra now sat.

"This is Avel's. You might want to read it, Sarge'." Cedric told her as he handed her the device.

After that he returned to his spot, sitting down with a sigh.

"Well, if it's stories you want: then I got a little one from my boot camp days . . ." Cedric began with a grin.

-----------------------------------------

If there was one thing that Cedric had realized in his first few days at boot camp, it was that drill sergeants never yelled at you. Instead, they had tones. High tones, fast tones, low tones, slow tones, and each of them signified varying levels of infuriation and rage. Every drill sergeant's tones were unique, like a fingerprint. However, a Marine in basic training quickly learned to recognize the differences of, and differentiate between the tones of their own drill instructors throughout the process of training. Given that it was the last week of training, everybody in Cedric's platoon had long since learned the tones of Chief Erin Carranza: the 5'4, blonde-haired, and foul-mouthed young woman who had been in charge of their platoon.

Her tone was most definitely pissed.

"Platoon!" She barked.

Everybody stood at parade rest, each Marine standing on the side of their bunk that put them in front of their own locker. Chief Carranza was marching up and down the center of the barracks, with her hands clasped behind her back, and her fiery green eyes scanning each and every one of them. She was wearing a standard Marine uniform, so from the outside nothing seemed to be too out of order. However, what couldn't be seen was that she was, in fact, not wearing a bra at that particular moment. Everybody, even those who didn't realize what was wrong, were lock-solid, and each of them were burying the fear they all felt deep inside to avoid shaking.

"It has recently come to my attention . . ." Her eyes continued to scan them all, her boots tapping against the tile floors of the barracks, ". . . that somebody has recently taken interest in my underwear!" She continued pacing, "I know for a fact that it was somebody on last night's midnight fire-watch!"

Her eyes settled on Cedric: one of only two people who had been on that fire-watch. She was shorter than him physically, but the look she gave him made him feel tiny. Even if he had done nothing wrong. He didn't dare look her in the eye, and instead watched straight ahead in a vain attempt to avoid her wrath.

"Sommerville!" She barked, nearly causing Cedric to jump, "You were on fire-watch last night. Where, might I ask, was your assigned patrol route?"

Cedric belted out his answer, without stammering, "Ma'am: this Marine was ordered to patrol the areas around the recruit barracks and the nearby mess hall, ma'am."

She quirked a brow, "Can anybody confirm you were there?"

He didn't hesitate, "Ma'am, any of the perimiter guards in that area, ma'am."

She seemed only slightly satisfied. She walked past Cedric and her two aids followed moments later. He didn't look back as he heard his matress hit the floor. This was followed moments later by the sound of his locker opening. When he saw his standard-issue tunic go flying over his head, he instantly realized that they were tearing through his things. However, they would find nothing out of the ordinary, and Cedric watched as Chief Carranza and her aids long-stepped across the barracks to a young, pale-skinned man with a cybernetic right eye who was practically shaking with the fear they all felt.

She didn't even bother to talk to him. She omved past him and slightly lifted his mattress up. Flipping it in anger, her face red with frustration, everybody could see several of her bras stuffed under his mattress, and the two aids immediatelly siezed him by the arms before he could do anything.

"Private Cuellar: in my office! Now!"

-----------------------------------------
 
Laura sedated Avel once more, wondering where this self-destructive drama could possibly go. Psychology was too difficult to grasp when the case was this complex. Listening to Cedric was more entertaining than trying to diagnose Avel.

---------------------

Bernhard, meanwhile, approached Sergeant Volkov and whispered to her, "About Avel... Laura says that she's a clone. Well, um... both of them are but Avel, specifically, has nothing on file about medical procedure. You're the unit CO so the decision about what to do defaults to you. We're not trained psychologists; the best we could do is diagnose a problem and pass it along. I'd... um... rather discuss anything further away from the squad. For Avel's privacy."

------------------------

As Cedric droned on, Laura noticed Bernhard talking to Phaedra. He was making his move already. So much for getting a break and relaxing. Laura hadn't felt any more relaxed here than she had been in the casino. What with Matteo getting sick, then Avel having her episode. Now she was supposed to talk to the Admiral, like she and Bernie had agreed on...

She rose and walked over to where Wazu and Harm sat. "Admiral, Bernie wanted me to let you know that we're working on treatment options for Avel. He doesn't know yet what exactly we can do since we're not exactly a psych ward but he's hopeful. As far as we can tell from regulations, Sergeant Volkov has final say in Avel's treatment. But we were wondering if there was... uh .. anything you had in mind."
 
Naomi was still just dinking around, just sort of being there while every Marine around her discussed Avel or told stories.

Pulling out a Kennewessian cigar from...somewhere, she pulled an impressively expensive looking lighter, the one she had bought for looks back on the casino mission, and was shortly blowing out long puffs of smoke.

"Probably needed help a long time," she said quietly, voicing what her own mind said about Avel's outburst. "You'd think maybe somebody might have seen that coming, but I guess she was good at hiding it, at least keeping a secret of how bad it really was."

Naomi blew out a big cloud of smoke as she looked down for a moment, keeping her eyes away from the others around the campfire.

"I got my own problems," she said. "I know what that feels like. I made it through, got rid of the hurt, the pain."

Looking back down at the others, she blinked, and just for a moment, a hint of darkness was in her purple eyes.

"I guess she hasn't, yet."
 
"This is Avel's. You might want to read it, Sarge'," whispered Cedric, handing Phaedra a DataJockey. She accepted it and began browsing the files, particularly a group of diary entries. As Phaedra began to read, Cedric began telling a story from his basic training. When he finished his story, Phaedra mused to herself:

"Why in the world do men want to steal a female superior's underwear?"

As Phaedra digested the information in Avel's diary, she had to admit it was rather unusual for Avel to be a clone of a dangerous criminal. Actually, it was unheard of. As she read, she noticed a definite chunk of information was missing. Perhaps Avel had simply been unable to update her diary before she died, but there was nothing written about her joining up with the NSS Acadia, nor any of the time between her joining and her death. As she continued reading, Phaedra found herself smirking when she read Avel's description of Harm.

Near the end of the entries is when the tone began to grow serious. Avel mentioned suicide more frequently, as well as more self deprecating remarks. The last entry mentioned their trip thus far, and Phaedra didn't care for Avel's remarks, calling it a "glorified camping trip."

"We are on shore leave; we are supposed to be recuperating. If she wants hard training, then that is what she will get."

Bernhard stooped nearby and whispered into her ear.

"About Avel... Laura says that she's a clone. Well, um... both of them are but Avel, specifically, has nothing on file about medical procedure. You're the unit CO so the decision about what to do defaults to you. We're not trained psychologists; the best we could do is diagnose a problem and pass it along. I'd... um... rather discuss anything further away from the squad. For Avel's privacy."

"I will speak to the Admiral about this; he may have more experience with issues like this than myself," whispered Phaedra. "I will then speak to you and Laura in private about a solution."
 
Whatever Matteo was thinking, he wasn't exactly letting on. The marine simply sat there with a neutral expression on his face after the jest fell unnoticed. The lid of the canteen he was drinking from screwed shut with a silky smoothness before being tucked away.

He just sat there, silent and inscrutable.
 
"Actually, Laura's already consulting the Admiral but since you're the direct superior, you actually get the final say and full access to our information. The Admiral could, in theory, override you but there's nothing stopping you consulting with him as well, I suppose."

Bernhard was silent for a moment, mulling over what else he needed to say or know.

"Oh. Neither Laura nor I really have any idea what's going on with Avel's past. Having that information would be critical to our treatment plans."
 
Arieg had discovered a frying pan on a shelf inside the firing range shack, something which he was now exploiting. He placed it on top of a collapsed section of the fire and tossed on a few portions of the mountain goat's thigh and waited for it to start sizzling.

"You guys ever watched a crowd of people get cut to pieces by a chaingun?" he asked out of nowhere.
 
Naomi was still sitting in her place around the fire, puffing smoke like a hot steam engine, cleaning an immaculate pistol, and waiting patiently, hoping somebody would actually tell everybody what was the problem.

"You guys ever watched a crowd of people get cut to pieces by a chaingun?"

Her eyes shifted just slightly to look at the mercenary.

'Why do some people have vocal chords?'

"Not personally, no," she said. "You ever played catch with live grenades?"

Finally deciding she was done with the pistol, she put it in her belt, then indicated the frying meat.

"You gonna' share?"
 
Arieg leaned forward slightly.

"We where running security Ops around Funky City, nothing much an APC with a modded turret. We were all on foot in soft BDUs and tactical gear, well we were patrolling a block.. shit." he jerked the frying pan back a bit as one of the portions ignited. Out of the heat it extinguished a moment later.

"When we turned a corner there was a crowd down at the next intersection, forty maybe fifty of em just standing there. Well that is before the damn vehicle commander poked his head out and shouted, they all turned toward us and just started fucking sprinting."

Setting the pan down he cut open one of the pieces, it was cooked all the way through.

"We fired a few warning shots, but it wasn't until they were about fifty meters off we saw what was wrong. They were all fucking Zs, some had the little worms hanging out of their heads or mouths." he brought his fingers up to demonstrate in a comical fashion.

Dumping the pile of slightly blackened meat onto a plate he'd also found in the shack he set it aside. "We all opened up at the same time, IBRs, MG-32s, a few 40 mike mike rounds. Blew the front row all to hell, torsos, arms, legs, guts, you name it and it was probably sent airborne. The issue was it wasn't enough, that's when the APC joined in." He paused for a moment, a smirk coming across his face. "There isn't anything more beautiful then what a 25mm gauss autocannon can do to a crowd, one sweep and the entire area was covered in hamburger. Sure we had to mop up, put down a few survivors, shoot a few worms. But damn all that gore was just awesome."

Testing a chunk with his finger he seemed satisfied and popped it into his mouth. "Anywho thats it for me." he said while chewing.
 
"Sounds like a hell of a mess to clean up to me" Sawyer said in reply as he watched the contractor start eating whatever it was he had killed. Turning to Harm he said "so what is with Miss Loopjob passed out in her bag over there? I mean hell she was okay when this whole little excursion started out and then all of a sudden as soon as we make camp she goes running off into the woods and tries to shoot her damn self in the head" as his accent just kept getting thicker and thicker.
 
Laura glared at the mercenary once his story was done. Something about it rubbed her the wrong way. "If we see any unarmed crowds, we'll leave them to you. Just leave the armed opponents to us." The stupid merc hadn't proved himself, he hadn't done anything to impress or endear himself. Bernie, even this new person Sawyer, was better. They didn't assume they were better like Cedric and this stupid merc.

----------

Bernhard kept quiet. He had lived through the Street War. The uncertainty, the terror. Dead corpses left in the streets, explosions happening at random. It was why he had become a Marine. To make sure nothing like that happened again. Why was this considered appropriate?
 
'A mercenary who enjoys killing. Shocking.'

"Most of my interesting life stories aren't really fit for public consumption."

Naomi had apparently decided to let the issue of the mercenary's goat meat slide, and was instead just sitting comfortably by the fire, looking like she was maybe not feeling quite so down in spirits as before.

"If we see any unarmed crowds, we'll leave them to you. Just leave the armed opponents to us."

Upon hearing this, Naomi's lips turned up in what could only be called a big smirk. Romero had lots of spunk. No doubt about it.

"I haven't done too much unusual, except for when I blew up all those bombs a while back, and most of you here were there to see that one."

Naomi was still chewing on the cigar, now and then pufing out smoke in long, thin whispy clouds.

Her eyes turned to the skillet Arieg was using again.

"Hey," she said. "Be careful you don't burn that."
 
"Huh, would ya look at that, a woman after my own heart. Always gotta love those who go for the big booms. 'big boobs more like it though. What do they feed these girls?' So I'm Sawyer what's your name?" he said to the new girl who was sitting there watching the Merc as well.
 
Naomi removed the still lit Kennewessian from her lips for a moment to blow out an especially large cloud of smoke before looking at Sawyer to reply.

"Naomi," she said. "Naomi Scroggins, Private 2nd Class. Nice to meet a new squadmate who wasn't hired out."

Replacing the cigar, she regarded Sawyer for a moment before speaking more.

"The incident I was referring to was a couple missions back. We'd made landfall on top of Neppies Beef Ranch, because we were told that there'd been some kind of biohazard alarm had been raised and 'something' was loose in the facility. Nice intel, huh?"

She grinned at that.

"Matteo and I," she nodded to her fellow Marine. "Volunteered to drop in by an elevator shaft while the others went in through a different road, to make sure we didn't all get caught in an ambush or something. We went in, we got shot at, the usual."

Her lips quirked in something that was almost a smile.

"I swear to Heaven that I didn't know what was in those barrels, but the bastard I was shootin' at was hidin' behind 'em, so I tried to shoot 'em a bit and thought maybe my shots would go through. They did. Problem is it turns out those barrels were full of...something explosive. Next thing a big explosion knocks us both cold and tears the place apart. Good times, really."
 
"Private third class Sawyer Aubrey at your service ma'am, pleased ta meetcha too" sawyer said with a thick drawl. "Sounds like a hell of an experience, me I prefer my explosions to be a bit more planned and controlled but hell blowing shit up is blowing shit up" he continued.
 
"Why in the world do men want to steal a female superior's underwear?" Phaedra said.

Wazu opened his mouth, only to close it again when harm pointed at him,

“Just don’t, nothing you could possibly say would improve the situation in any measurable way for anyone here.”

Wazu would then turn to Laura and Bernhard, “The IPG sealed the files, Pheadra is the only one with first hand knowledge of that. His attention was then pulled away again by his datapad, for the time being loosing touch with the world around him.


After the conversation about the various hamburger related escapades Wazu would chime in.

“They say that every missile and gun produced is a theft from those that are still hungry or need shelter, And Nepleslia has plenty of those.” Wazu said, causing Harm to cover her mouth,

“And that use of force is a tacit admission of failure.” By now Harm was chuckling softly.

“We really shouldn’t…” Harm would then cut in,

“YOU BLEW UP A STAR!”

“Well…. Yes, but that doesn’t change…”

“That you blew up a star? For all the goody-goody talk you’re still as bad as the rest of them. Do you know how expensive it is to build a gun that blows up stars?”

“Yes, but…” Wazu then got cut off again, Harm once again pointing her finger in his direction.

“Rhetorical question, the point is that it is expensive. With your base pay you could buy a shuttle and fly off into the sunset to live comfortably on some far out world but instead you choose to stay here and fight other people’s wars. With the amount of resources that nep spends on their starships you could buy an army of hookers and enough blow to last several lifetimes.”

“Your point being?”

“Er… I got a bit off topic.” Harm admitted, “… Right, that expositions are fun and that you’re in this for the same reasons as anyone.”
 
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