The Last of Us: The Splinter (Survival-Horror) - IC/CLOSED
Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2018 4:11 pm
OOC
Captain Emily Porter
There was something in the air that day. A pervasive filth trudging across the field, the Captain was overcome by dread. Her tongue ran over her teeth, baggy eyes scanning the bugs getting shoved around by her subordinates. The stench of blood still stung her nostrils, and a soft wind had picked up on this fine hot day in June. Her blonde hair blew around in soft strands, falling around her ears. There were nine of the prisoners, each one with their wrists handcuffed snugly behind their backs. After a particularly intense raid on what was once the town hall of Stratford, Tennessee, the few Fireflies who hadn’t taken up arms had been cuffed and shoved through the front doors.
Porter could still hear the beating rhythm of gunfire, the pumping drum of her heart, the singing screams, the dancing bodies falling to the floor. Juliett Squad had taken no casualties; not even a single fucking hit. In fact, this whole operation struck her as a grand stroke of luck. They had encountered the town hall on a whim, the squad having caught some young doe and an older fellow gathering wood just outside of the town. Their trail led back to the town hall, and Juliett Squad reported back as they were supposed to. It had all gone to plan, and even then it had been easier than they thought. Porter accompanied them on this mission as an omnipotent overseer, keeping them in apt shape. Everything was routine and not only that; they had caught the goddamn idiots with their pants down. The Fireflies had not been ready for a fight, which was made even more obvious when Porter saw the amount of bodies dropped.
Which brought her to the ammo counts. Counting her own vest, she figured she had spent only two magazines, leaving her with four. The squad leader, the lugnut leader of Fireteam 1, the radioman, that Polack Team Leader Mulnik, and the chipper Morris gal had been left with two magazines each. Porter supposed that they were itching to kill some Fireflies; something she found a little disconcerting and wasteful, but fuck if she didn’t have to deal with this shitshow of a squad. As far as she knew, the breacher still had about seventeen shells left with him, and Irons had the same mag count as herself, but hell if she hadn’t seen him going insane in their. The psychotic fuck had a grudge with the Fireflies or something; something that needed to be addressed before long. His judgement could be clouded by his demented crusade. How he managed to still be a corporal at age thirty was beyond her fucking clue, and she was going to find the highbinder that put him in this squad. The FNG teenager had spent three of her magazines, something that Porter was putting doubt into even though she saw it with her own two eyes. The girl was too new, and at the youthful age of seventeen, Porter didn’t feel she belonged on Juliett. But hell, what did she know? The Burrell girl was just an ammobearer. Then there was the combat medic and the Farmer boy; Farmer as in his last name, that is. They had only shot out one magazine from their rifles before the carnage had ended. Last but certainly least, was this dumb as a rock kid who didn’t fire a single shot the entire mission. Eric? Eric Winter or something like that? He was a PFC, and Porter wasn’t certain on how he had managed to get promoted to First Class, let alone get put on Juliett Squad. Porter didn’t bother to ask the heavy how much ammo he had left.
As the group trudged up the hill, the violent kicking of helicopter blades burst past the Captain’s pinna and into her eardrums. She frowned, the wrinkled creases at the ends of her lips tightening. These Fireflies were to be taken back in for questioning, simple as that. And FEDRA had ways of making them talk. Even if there were more loyal members among the bunch, they had nine prisoners. Holy hell if at least one of them wouldn’t spill their guts on a silver platter. The Captain shook her head as she approached, hearing the sound of music crooning, only just breaking through the whirring of the helicopter blades.
Of course, it was those idiot crew chiefs in the Chinook blasting music from some portable radio they’d found.
“Alright, get the prisoners on the Chinook! I don’t have all fucking day, so move it.” She cocked an eyebrow, giving the evil eye to the Crew Chiefs. The Chinook hovered just above the ground, and one of the crew members was standing by the door, extending an arm to help pull the soldiers and the prisoners in. Porter squinted, holding her gun up. Let’s just get this over with.
Captain Emily Porter
There was something in the air that day. A pervasive filth trudging across the field, the Captain was overcome by dread. Her tongue ran over her teeth, baggy eyes scanning the bugs getting shoved around by her subordinates. The stench of blood still stung her nostrils, and a soft wind had picked up on this fine hot day in June. Her blonde hair blew around in soft strands, falling around her ears. There were nine of the prisoners, each one with their wrists handcuffed snugly behind their backs. After a particularly intense raid on what was once the town hall of Stratford, Tennessee, the few Fireflies who hadn’t taken up arms had been cuffed and shoved through the front doors.
Porter could still hear the beating rhythm of gunfire, the pumping drum of her heart, the singing screams, the dancing bodies falling to the floor. Juliett Squad had taken no casualties; not even a single fucking hit. In fact, this whole operation struck her as a grand stroke of luck. They had encountered the town hall on a whim, the squad having caught some young doe and an older fellow gathering wood just outside of the town. Their trail led back to the town hall, and Juliett Squad reported back as they were supposed to. It had all gone to plan, and even then it had been easier than they thought. Porter accompanied them on this mission as an omnipotent overseer, keeping them in apt shape. Everything was routine and not only that; they had caught the goddamn idiots with their pants down. The Fireflies had not been ready for a fight, which was made even more obvious when Porter saw the amount of bodies dropped.
Which brought her to the ammo counts. Counting her own vest, she figured she had spent only two magazines, leaving her with four. The squad leader, the lugnut leader of Fireteam 1, the radioman, that Polack Team Leader Mulnik, and the chipper Morris gal had been left with two magazines each. Porter supposed that they were itching to kill some Fireflies; something she found a little disconcerting and wasteful, but fuck if she didn’t have to deal with this shitshow of a squad. As far as she knew, the breacher still had about seventeen shells left with him, and Irons had the same mag count as herself, but hell if she hadn’t seen him going insane in their. The psychotic fuck had a grudge with the Fireflies or something; something that needed to be addressed before long. His judgement could be clouded by his demented crusade. How he managed to still be a corporal at age thirty was beyond her fucking clue, and she was going to find the highbinder that put him in this squad. The FNG teenager had spent three of her magazines, something that Porter was putting doubt into even though she saw it with her own two eyes. The girl was too new, and at the youthful age of seventeen, Porter didn’t feel she belonged on Juliett. But hell, what did she know? The Burrell girl was just an ammobearer. Then there was the combat medic and the Farmer boy; Farmer as in his last name, that is. They had only shot out one magazine from their rifles before the carnage had ended. Last but certainly least, was this dumb as a rock kid who didn’t fire a single shot the entire mission. Eric? Eric Winter or something like that? He was a PFC, and Porter wasn’t certain on how he had managed to get promoted to First Class, let alone get put on Juliett Squad. Porter didn’t bother to ask the heavy how much ammo he had left.
As the group trudged up the hill, the violent kicking of helicopter blades burst past the Captain’s pinna and into her eardrums. She frowned, the wrinkled creases at the ends of her lips tightening. These Fireflies were to be taken back in for questioning, simple as that. And FEDRA had ways of making them talk. Even if there were more loyal members among the bunch, they had nine prisoners. Holy hell if at least one of them wouldn’t spill their guts on a silver platter. The Captain shook her head as she approached, hearing the sound of music crooning, only just breaking through the whirring of the helicopter blades.
Of course, it was those idiot crew chiefs in the Chinook blasting music from some portable radio they’d found.
“Alright, get the prisoners on the Chinook! I don’t have all fucking day, so move it.” She cocked an eyebrow, giving the evil eye to the Crew Chiefs. The Chinook hovered just above the ground, and one of the crew members was standing by the door, extending an arm to help pull the soldiers and the prisoners in. Porter squinted, holding her gun up. Let’s just get this over with.