Operation Freon IC [MT/PT/Closed]

[Atlantic Isles]

Tim stands up, reloads his rifle and carefully stows his partially-used mag on his kit before jogging ahead to catch up with the rest of the team. He slings his rifle across his chest as he starts jogging and keeps a ready grip on it, scanning the treeline for creatures, occasionally turning around and running a few steps backward to double check their 6. “Anyone badly injured?” he asks as he keeps heading for the village. “Hearts and minds now, I guess.” he says as he pops his headset off his ears, now just hanging at the ready next to his ears.

[Janpia]

"On the left!"

Yalana takes one last shot as the last of the small creatures dies away. With the smoke coming at the end of the barrel, she inspected her weapon, now with the bayonet decorated with the black blood from the creatures. Truly a weird place. For all this time she was shooting, she never thought of asking what kind of creatures they were fighting, given that it was a fight-or-die situation. After seeing the nearby town, she returns the bayonet and places the gun at her back. She also picks up her broken navigation device, hoping that the townspeople will help repair it, and maybe provide them with answers about their location. With everything prepared, she flicks the black blood off her face, playing it over her hands like jello.

"Huh, what are these things"

She's really quite curious about the blood itself. Maybe because the creatures lack hemoglobin? Maybe because they lack red blood cells? Or perhaps it's an entirely different kind of blood, one that is still unknown and not yet recorded by science? Nonetheless, she wanted to taste it, and see if its like human blood or not. She pulled away her rifle, and continued on inspecting the blood, putting some samples in an empty canteen that she has.

[Gonswanza]

Once it's all said and done, Miles pats herself down again, reloads her shotgun, then whistles for the rest to follow. She's already put her gun away, walking for the town and humming to herself, checking her watch and the sun, before tapping her helmet and taking a mental note.

"Set your clocks forwards three hours, it seems the time is a little... Off."

Well, if you ignore the clocktower that showed the true local time, of course. Even then, it was FOUR hours forwards, not that the single hour mattered much for them. The walk to the town was uneventful, with Miles deciding to take out what little money she had and count her blessings. Given the PMC was based in the states, they all had some amount of USD, though Miles herself had a few dollar coins, some silver dollars, a $20 and a $10. About $36 in total, really. Rather than head for the general store, she instead swung for the saloon, whistling and walking in to the slow tune of a piano as people gambled, smoked, and drank under a thick haze of tobacco smoke, minding their own business.

The others are free to explore the small town, given the locals are oddly friendly, or they could try to follow Miles around, as she tries to wave down the bartender with a dollar coin and a whistle, trying to ask what year it was and where were they.

[GreatOceania]

Considering the money Edward had on him were 6 USDs and quite a few Ration Credits which were specially marked metal coins useful back home completely useless in his situation could barely buy anything with them all they're good for is if you need to make a quick distraction so sitting wherever he can find outside taking the scope off his rifle and putting it back in the protective case while he went into deep thinking wondering if he will survive whatever the hell this is and make it back home not wanting to feel homesick he looked for other things to switch the subject and checked his uniform.

Everything on him belonged to the Home Guard he got sent to that unit after he fucked up good somewhere seeing its better to send someone off than kill him as it was a waste of time, and resources, and his connections led to him being a "Volunteer" he noticed that there was still some black blood from those creatures he fought early he wipes a little bit of it on his finger took a look at it no oxygen at all pure black almost like oil he look around if anybody was looking at lick some of it after consuming the black blood he went into a coughing fit due to the terrible taste.

"Jesus christ' that' shit' tastes horribl'" he said spitting whatever remains in his mouth onto the ground "never doing that again"

[Trans-Uralia]

What Sergej had thought had been a massive mistake of bringing only 5 USD had turned out to be a life saving decision when through purchasing about 50 Brass Backshot shells found out that $5 in the outside world was worth $91.41 locally. With this newfound knowledge, he would buy some more items from the weapons store.

He would buy a revolver reminiscent of what he saw in western movies as a child along with a pouch containing a few rounds.

He would then move on to the General Store where he would use a little more of what he had to buy some canned foods, a canteen, a nice wooden pipe, and a tin of Tobacco.

The final part of his spending spree would be at the saloon where he ordered drink after drink. He saw Miles at at the bar but decided to not greet her because of his resentment towards authority. Sergej eventually got himself involved in a table that was playing a game called High-low. He didn't understand what these historically dressed men were saying or what the rules of the game even were, but eventually learned. After about fifteen minutes of playing with the three other men, a shouting match ensued between Sergej and the others which was a clash between slurred Uralian and fast American English over some kind of disagreement, a disagreement over what exactly was unclear. He was eventually kicked out of the saloon, and he stumbled out of the town and into the woods where the shadow creatures had previously come from.

When he arrived decently deep into the woods, he sat against a tree, reloading his TOZ-194 with the old fashioned shotgun shells while taking swigs from the alcohol in his canteen.

[Atlantic Isles]

Tim knelt for a moment, fastening his rifle to his backpack, before standing and walking toward the general store. Before he headed inside, he pulled out his wallet, counting almost 200 USD in singles, 5s, 10s, and mostly 20s. He looked around inside, finally deciding on several pounds of Polish hunter's sausage and a few of salami, as well as a few blocks each of pecorino romano and aged gouda. He walked across the store and grabbed a few bags of dried fruit- cranberries, prunes, raisins, and pineapple- and 3 medium-sized bags of nuts- peanuts, cashews, and pecans, as well as 4 larger bags of various dried beans and peas. Tim then walked over to the produce section and gathered up a handful of herbs- rosemary, basil, and mint- and a handful of different fruits and vegetables- a few lemons, a bunch of carrots, 2 handfuls of different hot peppers, and some apples. He walked up to the counter, shook hands with the shop owner, and paid for the goods. He walked outside and sat down on a bench, rearranging his pack to accommodate his newly-purchased food. He then walked across the street to a bakery and headed inside, picking up a stack of naan and a hefty loaf of sourdough before walking to the counter. There, Tim picked up 2 small bottles of olive oil sitting in a basket on the counter and again shook hands with the owner. As he paid for the items, he asked the shop owner to wrap the oil bottles and the sourdough in paper for an additional fee. That taken care of, he walked out of the shop, once again loaded his new purchases into his pack, before heading off to the gun shop. There, he purchased a Henry lever gun and 200 rounds of .44 Henry to go with it- these obtained with a few 50s he kept stashed in the bottom of his bag. Having acquired the essentials for what was shaping up to be a longer time away from home than he'd anticipated, he began ambling around town, taking in the sights, stopping to chat with the locals here and there, and generally killing time. As the sun began to set, Tim walked toward a small rise on the edge of town, watching the sun dip below the horizon before he walked back into town, looking for the others.

[Janpia]

Packing her 2 containers away, Yalana carried her bag and marched towards the town, keeping up the pace with the rest. Knowing that the people appeared kind enough to aid them, she brought out her damaged radio nav device, hoping that someone will help her repair it. Looking at the clock, she thought she had been unconscious for a while and her watch might be broken from the crash. Nonetheless, she could adjust it later and see which clock turns 5 by the time the sun sets. With the bag and gun on her back, she followed Miles and ended up in the general store, bringing absolutely nothing but what she originally carried. No money, not even a cent.

"Hello hello! Mind if I ask a few questions?"

She enthusiastically barged in, almost out of character from the townsfolk who were just minding their business. She assumed they were re-enactors after seeing them dressed in wild west outfits and some holding old rifles. The piano isn't much to her taste, but who is she to stop them from playing? Nonetheless, she walked straight to the counter, sat on the chair, laid down the broken radio nav device, and asked some questions.

Just a favor aye? Can you repair this device for me? Also asking, where the hell are we?"

She spins around the seat, looking around the place. Though as much as she wanted to unwind and acquire some booze for a chat, she can't, given that she doesn't have any currency to begin with. So for now, she'll remain there to observe around, and watch along the locals. She also gave a quick check on her magazine pouch and planned to go to a local gun shop later, noticing that one of her magazines is empty and another is half full. Given that the locals have firearms, there must be one nearby.

[Atlantic Isles]

Bump