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RP: NSS Acadia [Mission 4.5] Claw of the Beast

Zack

Zack

Inactive Member
Last time, on NSS Acadia:

The Marines of the NSS Acadia had arrived to help out in Funky city and after fighting off several NMX power armors had commandeered a monorail to reach the senate building, hoping to arrive before what was left of Nepleslia’s government was wiped out.

And now, the thrilling conclusion:

---

The monorail that the marines had acquired was now racing through the city at top speed, zooming past the various high rise structures that made up Funky City. As they approached the senate building the sun would begin to dim. A large dark cloud in the distance was spreading over the sky, blotting out Nepleslia’s sun. The darkening of the sky was soon followed by the occasional ‘thud’ on the roof of the monorail as blocks of dirt and ash fell from the sky, beginning to cover the monorail in dirt and grime. The monorail would then break out from the buildings, passing by what once was a skyscraper, the entire structure had toppled after the blast leaving a jagged, rocky, landscape as far as the eye could see into the dark. In this place the only light was coming from the fires that lit the ground and buildings around this clearing.

Of course the senate building used to be in this clearing, it had been obliterated in the opening moments of the attack along with the Monorail station that the train was heading towards. The entire train would wobble and shake as it passed over a crumbling support. The rail continued for a good distance still, crossing over heavily damaged supports as the rail began to take them towards the center of the leveled structures. The entire system was suspended about two floors off the ground, but that would soon change as just at the edge of what was visible was the literal end of the line. There was no longer a ‘senate station’ on the circuit, just the abrupt end of the monorail line.
 
Henry saw the end of the line coming, literally and proverbially. A small bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.

"Alright soldiers, brace for a stop," He announced over the intercom with a chipper attitude as he looked for the emergency brakes, "We seem to have run out of rail."
He found some brakes the form of a button for the other carriages, and a large hand-brake for the one he was sitting in.

He slammed the button and gave the ironic hand-brake a heavy pull, and hoped that he'd at least come a few metres away from the abrupt drop.
 
The entire monorail would begin to rumble and shake as it slowed down, screeching towards the drop off ahead, the front car sliding off the end of the rail just before the monorail was able to come to a complete stop. The floor the driver’s cabin would tilt downward, twisted pieces of metal and chucks of concrete coming into view as it dangled downward, held up only by the connection to the second car which was being pulled forward by the weight of the first. In a few seconds that car would follow, the floor going vertical in the passenger car as the driver’s cabin lurched downward, quickly covering the remaining distance between itself and the ground, the windows shattering as it came to a rest leaving the remaining cars high up off the ground on the monorail tracks.

The monorails doors would then open and its robotic voice would chime in, “Now Arriving at Senate Station.”
 
"Wait." Ran looked up from the sights on his shotgun, which was currently pointed out one of the left windows by him from the middle of the cabin. Henry had said something about running out of track.

Then he said something about braking suddenly. Before the Chief had the opportunity to waste time to scream out an impotent "WHAT", the terrible screeching sound filled the cabin. Satisfied that the rest of the Marines got the idea from Henry's warning to brace for impact, the Chief immediately dove into the leg well of a seat.

Making sure that his back and hear were firmly pressed against the back of his seat and his arms were grabbing the legs on the same seat, the Chief braced for impact...

...Only to be launched forward, carried by the seat he was pressing against, only to hit another seat about 4 rows down. The only thing he could remember was an awful crashing sound, and the feeling of glass around him exploding and hitting him in the face.
 
"H-wha?!" Anselm yelped as he was dumped out of his seat, the rail line ceasing to exist under his car. Several kilgrams of HPAR gave an uncormfortable weight to the marine as he dropped several feet before trying to grab a handrail with his bionic. The weight of two people caused the hollow cylinder of aluminum alloy to bend and whine distressingly, dipping the albino several inches as he and his anti-armor rifle deccelerated from the short fall, the assortment of grenades hooked into his combat webbing clattering together at the sudden stop.

"Anybody bring a rope?" the short-statured ID-SOL asked, planting his boots firmly on another previously vertical handrail several feet below his distorted handgrip and switching to a dangling ring, one of many, over the questionable integrity of the handrail, "Never mind, the ceiling will do, anybody dead?"

Anselm slowly worked his way down the series of hanging rings meant for standing passengers, letting go of one and reaching down for the next lowest rung of the impromtu ladder before repeating the process with his other hand.
 
When the train started braking, Alex was just bandagin a wound. Sudden deceleration plummeted her as she slided on floor. "Bloody hell," she shouted and looked at chief who was preparing for impact. Car she was in stopped only for a few seconds, before the first car started dragging it down.

Alex didn't have much time so she jumped and caught ceiling handlerail. Then the car fell. Alex hit her chest as car moved from horizontal to vertical and she held on. Her cybernetic hand helped a lot. "Bugger," she said.

She looked around and saw chief still in his hiding place between the seats. She also saw a lot of blood and glass. "Oh hell," she said climbed to him, using seats as a ladder. "Chief you okay?" she asked as she started looking at him. Her chest hurt, but she didn'T have time for that now.
 
Sean looked up when Henry announced their impending braking action, unsure if the reason until he looked out of the window. "Oh, you've gotta be kid...." At which point he got to see what it was like for a hamster in a rolling ball, first getting tossed forward, the falling towards the new down direction, landing flat on his back a couple seats down. He looked around for a few seconds, his head ringing from the impact before he turned towards the others, and with great dignity and distinction, simply said "Ow."
 
The dirty air from outside would start to drift into the monorail’s cabin, coating the seats closest to the doors with a slick grime made up of dirt, bits of buildings, and what used to be the people inhabiting them.

Meanwhile, further into the large area that had been cleared out by the blast were the remaining senators who had survived the initial blast along with what remained of their security detail. They were caught out in the open, unable to outrun the cloud and stuck with numerous injuries that slowed them down.

At the same time an ambulance was driving along the monorail path, swerving around bits of rock and concrete in the road as it tried to get as far as it could towards where the senate building used to be. The ambulance had not bothered to turn on its lights or siren as it darted past the monorail, coming to a stop around 40 meters from where the monorail had crashed. The back doors of the ambulance would then swing open, allowing three men dressed in Ghillie suits that had been decked out with dirt, rebar, and bits of stone to help them blend in. They would try and stay close to the ground as they began climbing across the jagged terrain, keeping their weapons hidden close to their chests. The sounds of other vehicles could also be heard in the distance, a deep, low, rumble that filled the dead silence from before.

The NMX knew that some of the senators had survived, and now they were going to finish what they started.
 
And as the train fell from the sky, Matteo was looking over a dead body in hopes of finding more ammo. It was burned to an unrecognizable form, and the remains of a broken bottle suggested a flaming bottle filled with petrol or other flammable. As for the gun the person used? Not worth a cent.

It was definitely going to fail any moment with it's lousy plastic construction, not to mention all the rounds put through it. In fact, Matteo couldn't even remove the magazine, as it was held in place by the slightly melted frame. He tossed it away with a sigh before looking to the train. A quick glance at the ruined public transport told him all he needed to know; it lead to an elevated position, and was unlikely to house anyone.

'What idiots would ride in that deathtrap in a time like this anyways? The station's probably sandbagged and holding a machine gun nest or something. And I don't recall radio chatter about any of us being on one of them.'

The Private checked his HHG again to make sure it was good to go. If he was lucky, he might be able to salvage something and get a better view after some climbing, perhaps find out where the rest of his platoon went after the firefight. And then more trouble came his way.

As a silent ambulance came by, Matteo dived into a shot up convenience store. He carefully watched as more NMX 'More!' came pouring out. The private didn't like his chances with just three bullets, and checked the shelves for ammo, right next to the candy. Both stolen or sold. Under the counter? Nope. He glanced at the alcohol. In some twist of fate, it was still there.

With gasoline, polyurathane foam to to thicken it with, storm matches, and some zip ties, he made himself a cocktail.
 
Viktor Kingston had been sitting in the first cab when it went over. Despite his effort to cling to the vertical handrail at the end of his row of seats, he still went tumbling.

His landing was awkward and clumsy, mostly due to surprise, and he felt his ankle snap to an unhealthy position when he struck the wall that now served as a floor. As bodies are wont to do, his leg gave out at the sudden flux of pain and what little balance the P1C had managed was out the proverbial window; he lilted, arms flailing, before falling through the doorway to the engine room (or whatever you called it... Viktor didn't remember). He landed on his backside upon the viewport, but was quick enough to wrap his hands behind his head before contact. Kingston was winded, bruised, and (his ankle) broken, but not out.

The Nepleslian Marine exhaled a sigh to the effect of, "Fffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuck..." which in turn morphed into something of a groan. Then, after clearing the lump in his throat, he muttered in a curiously inquisitive tone, "Medic?"
 
Chad hovered over the wreckage, examining the onslaught, as the cloud settled over the City/hellhole. Hey then dropped straight to the ground in order to assist his obviously endangered comrades. "Switch to infrared," he ordered to his slightly beat up Storm. The heat vision helped, but the burning of the city made all the signatures sorta run together. Still it was better than not seeing at all. and it reminded him of some other trippy visions he had experienced.

But the new light on the area helped him find what he needed to find, and that was his trapped squad.

"Morris and or Chief, I'm directly East of your now downed position. What assistance do you need? I'm detecting a few more friendlies in the area, but I'm getting foggy readings of NMX under the smoke. Whats my orders?"
 
Phaedra's remaining eye flashed open and rapidly attempted to gauge her surroundings. She found herself heaped over the back of one of the monorail's seats, and she could not remember how she got there. Blood trailed down her face from a wound on the side of her head; her snow white hair rapidly changing to dark red. The sling of the GSAR was still slung over her shoulder, causing the rifle to hang just below the seat she was lying on. Her left arm hung limply and the shoulder above it was positioned at an odd angle. Through foggy vision Phaedra saw that her beret had fallen down to the front of the car (which was now the very bottom) and she saw Viktor was lying next to it.

"Hey Viktor! Toss me my beret!" yelled Phaedra through slurred speech.
 
"Shiiiiit..." Henry grumbled as he realised that he wasn't going to stop in time. He braced as best as he could by remembering to keep himself seatbelted, and breathing out deeply as the monorail took a sharp downward turn. The air that was left in his lungs was forced out with a sharp pain.

His head spun as the front car came to rest. He had to get out, without falling to an untimely death. He realised this would be trickier than he anticipated.

He was about to think of a safe way out when a Marine came crashing down, hitting the viewport and narrowly missing the back of Henry's seat. The entire front carriage shook a little as a result.

"HOLY MOTHER OF BUGGER ME SIDEWAYS!" Henry swore out loud with surprise, flailing a little before watching the dust settle around Viktor. Henry then asked, ironically and in a deadpan snark to the wounded marine, "Are you alright?"

He swore under his breath at the shoddy design, and wanted whoever was responsible for the brakes and emergency stopping punched in the face.
"Hey, Phaedra, can you throw us a rope, or something?" Henry gasped as he flailed about to make his presence known to the amazonian marine, "I'll give you your beret if you do!"

He then made a quick mental note to get the medic to treat the marines as soon as they could. As he did so, he carefully unbuckled himself and tried to hoist himself down to the legroom between the viewport and the controls.
 
With a grunt, Viktor sat up and shook his head. He felt a little woozy, but the sensation quickly passed. The beret was to his right, and he snagged. Then he stood, careful not to abuse his clearly mutilated ankle. He set it down gingerly, but even so, pain flared up the lower end of his calf. Kingston ignored it. Now he was able to take a moment and survey the scene above him. Most everyone had managed a saving grace, but Phaedra was clearly in a world of hurt, though she either was trooping through the pain or entirely unaware.

Holding up the beret, he parroted Henry. "Rope for your cap, Phaedra." Then to Henry. "Yeah, I'm okay. Snapped my ankle on the way down, but otherwise peachy keen."
 
Ambulance would soon reverse from where it was, driving back over toward the remains of one of the buildings on the edge of the area that had been flattened by the blast. It would come to a stop with its rear facing towards the blown in door. The driver and the man in the passenger seat, both hulking ID-SOL’s with bald heads and exactly similar features would jump out, one carrying three sets of missiles, four sleek metal darts held together by thick straps of cloth tied together like a bag. One set was in each hand with the third on his back. The ID-SOL would run to the back of the ambulance and hefted a large four barreled rocket launcher onto his shoulder. As he came around the side of the ambulance he would spot the power armored near the tracks and quickly run up to man carrying the rocket launcher, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing. He would then turn to face the storm armor.

Chad’s infared was picking up a lot of heat coming from the fires, from the cloud above them, and from the dirt drifting down from the sky but suddenly it would flash white-hot as an infared targeting beam from the center of the launcher about 60 meters away slide across his sensor. The launcher would then release a small puff of smoke as it shot four rockets out into the air, each one lighting up their own rocket engines, rapidly streaking towards him.
 
As Matteo finished, he heard the distinctive "crump" and following "whoosh" of several rocket propelled grenades or missiles. The lost marine picked up a shard of glass from the dirt and stuck it around the corner. He could just barely make out a pair of ID-SOLs shooting up the train with their rockets. He sighed and looked around, making sure to take in the environment before making his way closer as quickly and quietly as possible, nerves on edge.

'Hope they're thirsty.'

Assuming he got in range without being detected, Matteo was going to light the inextinguishable matches attached to the bottle and toss it like a flaming potato masher. Failing that, duck and hide.
 
All things considered, Ran was fairly comfortable. Lying down on the back of a seat, pinned slightly due to gravity. For a few seconds he didn't need to worry about anything. Not the squad. The mission. The NMX that still occupied the city. For all he cared, he could just lie there all day until either the enemy or friendlies came for him. He didn't even bother covering up his lack of response to Mayhew by pretending he was unconscious. He just kept staring up at the rear door of the train, through it's window to the sky above.

The only thing that managed to drag him out of his stupor was Chad's request for orders. What finally forced him to sit up were the sounds of rockets in the area. Sitting up and wiping a few shards of glass off his arms and face, the Chief offered a half-hearted "Morris. Call in some air." Looking next to him at one of the poles used by passengers to grab one when not seated, the Chief grabbed onto it, initially letting himself dangle before pulling himself up far enough to place two legs on the back of two seats.

Noting that he was about 2 rows of seats forward (or down from) a passenger exit, the Chief started to climb seats higher, eventually setting himself into the stairwell for the exit. "Phaedra", the Chief said without even looking up, "climb down and tie the rope to one of these poles. Everyone climb up, and make sure you've got an exit planned in case the rope or pole gives." At that, the Chief crashed his cybernetic hand through the safety glass of the passenger exit, grabbed the surface on the other side of the door and started pulling it slowly inward, so as not to somehow disturb the balance of the cab.

"We need to hurry the fuck up and get out of here." Won the Chief the Most Obvious Statement of the Week award. Noticing a severe lack of shotgun, the Chief looked down and noted it was lying further down on the back of one of the seats. "Fuck it." Was his only response, seeing that he still had his RPB.
 
Chad saw the ID-SOL's, but thought nothing of them. After all, last time he checked, ID-SOL's where supposed to be on his side. And really, the pointing, and the rocket launcher, and actual fireing of rockets, didn't really click the "these-fuckers-may-be-trouble" alarm in Chad's mind. But they did manage to throw the PA's sensor's off the fritz, and thats where Chad decided to move.

Oh fuck me up the wall! was something along the lines of what he was thinking as he was hauling ass upward. But this was one of those times that reminded he why he loved the AIR models best. Anti-missle Scalar Beams. So he turned around and fried all four missles to the best of his ability as he countinued his upward flight.
 
The Scalar beam would dud the electronics in the missiles, causing them to go dumb and explode short of their target sending shrapnel flying through the air. The series of deep ‘thuds’ could be heard inside of the train cars followed shortly by the high pitched pings of metal fragments bouncing off the exterior. The operator of the launcher would lower it slightly before uttering,

“Shit…”

The ID-SOL behind him would tap him on the shoulder and soon both moved toward the heavily damaged building that the ambulance had stopped beside as a thrown Molotov landed nearby, splashing them with flaming liquid. They would quickly run just inside the building before tossing down their rockets and launcher, quickly moving to take off the capes that they had been using to blend in. They tossed the flaming material aside as they quickly patted out the few flames on their legs. This left them both in civilian looking tattered blue pants and green shirts with belts full of grenades and extra ammunition for SMGs that were on their backs. Having wasted enough time dealing with the fire they would go back for their rockets and launcher so they could resume their mission.
 
Anselm swore as he lost his grip on the dangling rings midswing, a sharp pain in his calf demanding his immediate attention to the exclusion of all else. The marine landed awkwardly, clipping the edge of a seat and its attendant handrail before smacking inelegantly into the wall-cum-floor of the passenger car. The ten-foot fall didn't kill the hardy ID-SOL, but he did have a three inch laceration in his left calf from a lucky piece of shrapnel that had punched through a cracked window pane, a broken shin on his right leg, multiple bruises and scrapes, a cracked rib or two, and a concussion that had rendered him unconscious.
 
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