SLATE [IC]

[Monfrox]

Brit didn’t blink as Dar went and pulled a whole-ass plate of pastries out of her bag. She looked at the bag a bit intensely as she took one for herself.

“I see. Right, well, I’d like to know who gave you that.” She said, remembering a girl who could do the same thing with her pockets.

She looked a the pastry a bit before her stomach growled.

“Shit, I’m really hungry. Gonna need to get some eggs n something to go with this. Thanks.” She looked to Gordon. “You know, I got ideas rolling now about training. Would love to get some kill houses going. Oh! Maybe even run some confidence drills! Hehehe...” Her expression turned mischievous as she said confidence drills.

[Giovenith]

Next Day

In the wilderness

They've been here for a few years now. A blink of an eye for me, but still too long.

Every day, they take a few steps closer.

Let's make sure to saw their legs off.

It stirred in its place in the heart of soil, anxious for the rest of the day to come.

First the enforcers, then the rest of the cancer.


Somewhere

Darlene had been told to make a habit of checking in with Ms. Zale in person at least once a day to discuss the status of things. This hadn't become difficult yet with their schedules, but Dar also didn't mind. Her boss's home was always a pleasure to visit: a large property of hazy pink skies, shifting grass that threw off specks of light, and a constant aroma of flowers and cinnamon no matter where you walked. It was, in many ways, the opposite of where Dar had grown up, and although she could think of no better way to center herself for the rest of the day by visiting it, she also wasn't sure if she liked the implications of that fact.

On her way away from the boss's house and back to the spot that Dar always came and went at when visiting, she decided to stop by the fields. It had been a while since she said hello to Juliana. There, in the tall swirling grass beneath the open sky, the young survivalist knelt down to brush back the dark hair of the sleeping girl that she had rescued from the vicious city all those months ago, and whom had inadvertantly lead Dar to her new life.

They barely knew each other. The escape from the city, the rejection by mom, and the eventual spiriting away by the mysterious Ms. Zale had been the extent of their experiences together. All Dar really even knew was her name, Juliana, and the fact that the men from the city had been hurting her. Yet in a strange way, it was enough for Dar to feel a connection, and to place Juliana at the center of her currently vague life goals — Juliana had been the first person Dar rescued, and she thought, perhaps, if she could eventually find a new place for the city girl to be happy, then everything that Dar was trying here could be vindicated. Her new purpose not in vain.

It was better than nothing.

She had been kneeling there for just a few moments when she caught the sound of a shift that wasn't in line with the rest of the grass flow. For a split second she was on edge, old habits die hard, until she remembered that there was nothing to be afraid of here. Dar relaxed and called out to the grass, "I know you're there, you might as well come out."

There was a prolonged moment of silence before the two spies gave up the ruse and slowly lifted themselves up from the ground. Dar smiled at them.

"You two are supposed to be helping Ms. Zale with the girls," she said.

The young boy, no more than twelve years old, frowned at the older teenager, sad that he'd been caught. "Sorry, Darlene. We just wanted to see if you were doing anything special today."

"I might be." Dar held her arms open in order to catch a small, pink form that sprung from the boy's side and towards her. She soon found herself hugging a tiny horse foal, who nuzzled the bottom of her chin lovingly with the back of its purple-maned head.

"Are you going to bring more friends to sleep?" the foal asked with the voice of a little girl.

"Probably not," said Dar, gently setting the foal aside. "But we are going to learn how to use guns, and hopefully find a way to protect the town better."

"Like a real gun?" the boy clasped his hands together, his purplish-grey eyes widening behind the mop of black bangs that fell from his beanie. "That can kill someone?"

Dar quickly moved to wave the notion off. "Oh, it won't have to come to that, Jamie. It's just in case."

The child didn't look totally convinced, and he crossed his arms in visible discomfort. The filly, on the other hand, ran around the grass in circles excitedly.

"She means she's going to fight monsters! Rawr!" she cheered, stopping a moment to rear and pretend to swipe at bad guys.

The boy set his hands on his hips critically. "You wouldn't have to fight anything if you brought us along."

Dar resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was what Jamie always talked about whenever she arrived, of his epic and radical plan to rid the world of all meanness and violence — an ambition that simultaneously did his mother proud and drove her crazy. "It doesn't work that way, Jamie," she said, gently.

"I've been working on my song!"

And how did he hope to accomplish this goal? Why through the power of music, of course! It would work because he had seen it in movies. Darlene had spent all her life in a bunker, and even she couldn't help but shake her head at his naivety. Still, it was sweet, and there were certainly worse things for a boy his age to be focused on. The filly took her place by his side and nodded her head.

"It's true, I heard it!" she insisted. "I helped! I learned all about helping at Friendship School!"

"You can't come either, Crissy," said Dar, rising to her feet. The two protested, but she wouldn't hear it. "The outside world is very dangerous, you two. You're lucky that you have such good homes to stay in until we can make it all better."

"But I want to help make it better," Jamie insisted, his eyes growing wide again.

"You will," said Dar, nodding. "Someday, just not now. Besides, your mama would never allow it."

"Your mama didn't allow it either, though..."

This gave the survivalist pause. "That was, different."

"How?"

"Because I'm a grown up and I know how to take care of myself," she stated firmly, placing her own hands on her hips. That was barely true, but true enough. "Look guys, I promise that I'll come back tonight and bring you back a present from Slate, okay? I get that it can be hard to want to go outside, but it's just not going to happen today. Maybe some other time, okay?"

The boy and the pony exchanged looks, sighing. "Okay, Dar," said Jamie. "Sorry for bothering you, we just really wanted to see, you know?"

"I understand." Dar nodded. She really did. They were one in the same, in this way. "It'll be a good present, I promise."


Chekhov's field, late morning

A local farmer with land to spare had been kind enough to routinely offer up one of his more far off fields for firearms practice, just as Gordon had described. It was a good distance away from the dangerous parts of the land, but still wide and open enough that they wouldn't be putting anyone at risk so long as they kept their aim towards the north.

The grass was relatively tall. Not as tall as Zale's, but enough that Dar made sure to watch her step — the last thing they needed was to get tangled and wind up shooting themselves. She had taken the liberty of setting up a small table full of beverages (and first aid kits!) for the day, wanting everything to go as safely as possible. This "Jim" that Gordon had described, he was supposed to be here about an hour after the Agency members arrived, so he said. She wasn't sure. Admittedly, Dar didn't always place the most faith in, well, men, wrong as she knew it was to think that way. Her dad hadn't been an asset to her and her mom's plans, and Dar had a natural aversion to most people who were physically larger than her, so there was trepidation there.

It wasn't time for illogical hang-ups though. Everyone was coming here to spend their valuable time because of her, so she had to make sure it all worked out.

[Sylvanstreak]

With the base's common areas tidied up by now, the Barber had begun to cast about for other things to do. The others tended to cluster together and avoid it, which, if the android were capable of feeling emotion, might have secretly amused it at times. As it were, though, business was business. It had yet to speak with Gordon about getting things arranged officially down at the spaceport, but in the meantime, it could handle casual conversation just fine. Robots of Summerveil's size, shape, and design were far and few between, even in this future that had partially artificial humans, or units like itself, the Barber had noted.

Yesterday's chatter hadn't turned up anything useful, and the sun's rise meant the port's night shift was headed home from the all-night bar's after-hours special, while the morning shift came on and wouldn't be free to talk. For the sake of being thorough, the Barber did one last lap through the huge complex...no sign of the lady. In some ways, that was a good thing.

On second processing cycle, in more than some ways.

With a nod to itself, the Barber let the matter drop. It hiked on over to Chekhov's field, as the team had agreed the previous night. The sun was high in the sky by the time it arrived at the edge of the sea of grass. Dar stood alone by a filled table.

Deciding against joining her, yet, the android sat, half-disappearing into the grass. It turned one of its arms into a pole, as a marker, so no one would walk into it, and began quietly collecting samples of the scents around the field.

[Monfrox]

Much of the basics had already been present in the unofficial training area, but Brit still took time to make the fine tweaks. She had arrived a couple hours early since most of the firearms were all tended to, and she was only bringing a few AKMs anyway. Real, genuine, Soviet AKMs. She was jealous, but her own pride and joy was a Colt M16A1 that she had found some parts to enhance it, one of which being exchanging the original "pencil" barrel with a barrel that was thicker under the handguards. It would keep the same hardware, but also prevent the grouping shift after sustained fire like the old barrels would. Most everything else but the internals were still Colt vintage though, and she loved it. She was already calling the rifle "Melody" and had brought it to the range with everything else.

With the creation of a backstop, a lot of time had already been spent. By the time Dar had arrived, a formidable construction of dead wood and dirt had taken form. Well, it would still need to be kept up, but it'd survive a day of shooting. That was the goal for now, along with getting everyone trained up. Of course, firearms safety would be a first and foremost before she let anyone touch a gun, even with prior experience. She took a few ammo cans out of the small, beat up truck she found at the HQ and put them down near where she would have the shooters stand. Much of everything else was still on the truckbed; her impromptu display table. Three recently cleaned AKMs and her M16 all laid across it with a few spare mags and more ammo cans. The other essentials, like ear and eye protection, were also present.

Brit yawned, rubbed her eyes, and threw Melody over her shoulder. She was wearing an old ALICE harness with some twenty round magazines in her pouches. She was about to start some reloading drills when she saw the Barber. She figured it must be time when they would all meander over, so she kept her rifle on her back for now.

"You guys ready for today?" She asked.

[Highfort]

Charlie Dome, Early Morning

"Christ, this place reeks - you could've told me that before I came here in my formal, you know," Gordon's face scrunched in displeasure as he pinched his nostrils shut, observing the fetid sight of rotting, blood-deprived bovines. The cicadas had hit another herd - far more intense than the last attack, and so sudden after weeks of minimal activity. The team bureaucrat figured he'd come out to take notes and offer what little help he himself could provide; at the very least he'd get to size up Jim further before they went out for training.

The residents of Charlie Dome counted themselves lucky that they'd been letting the herd graze unattended at dawn; nobody wanted to have to clean up human remains.

"I asked if you could lend a hand, what'd you think I meant?" Jim replied, seemingly unimpressed by the swarm's handiwork. He squatted over one of the more intact corpses, inspecting it as he motioned for his fellow field hands to help him drag it to a waiting truck. He turned back to the bureaucrat, "Your team getting set up at Chekhov's?"

Gordon nodded, "Dar went ahead with supplies and I'm sure Brit's already unpacking the guns and setting up the training course as we speak. Any chance we can get there on time?"

"Well, seeing as you didn't show up ready to move bodies I think we're gonna be a little late," Jim huffed, grabbing the dead cow by its buttocks as two more men took positions at its head and forelegs.

Gordon sighed in response, fishing a grey jumpsuit from the pack he'd brought for training. He carefully dressed himself for the disgusting task ahead, replacing his loafers with sturdy work boots, "Just warning you, I don't have anything else to change into the at the muster field."

"Pfft, we'll hose you down before we head out," one of the field hands chuckled. Gordon rolled his eyes and moved into position to help steady the carcass.

---

Chekhov's Field, Late Morning

Gordon had just finished wringing his jumpsuit's pant legs dry as the convoy of militiamen converged on Chekhov's Field. A relieved smile played across his face as he spotted Dar, Brit, and the Barber already ready to get a head start on the day's activities. Jim nodded at him in satisfaction as he pulled the truck into a small clearing opposite the supply and weapons' tables, "I'm sorry I kept your folks waiting, they look ready."

A ragtag but confident-looking group of farmers and miners - no more than sixty, though given how sparsely-populated Slate was that was hardly a surprise - emerged from the fleet of trucks and cars. They were irregulars and dressed the part - many were simply wearing their usual work attire, with a blue kerchief masquerading as a regimental armband. Several bore blue trucker's caps or field caps in varying shades, though they tended toward navy blue. A few dozen had the characters SCM written or emblazoned on their kerchiefs - Slate Colonial Militia, as Jim had so proudly pointed out. His own kerchief had a gold-thread trim indicating his status as Captain.

The militia split off into six squads to do gear checks - many of them exchanging combat harnesses, magazines, and medical bags to fill out each person's kit - as Gordon and Jim walked over to meet the Gesellschaft team.

"Captain Jim Pagliazzo, Slate Colonial Militia," the broad-shouldered ex-miner offered a smile and a slight bow at each of the three. He paused for a second, rocking back and forth on his feet before realizing he had something to give them. As he turned to pull some blue kerchiefs from his pack, Gordon briefed the team.

"The men and women you see before you are this month's rotation of SCM volunteers," he skimmed his dataslate notes, haphazardly scribbled down on the drive over, "According to the Captain, everyone on Slate over the age of ten is nominally a member, though there's only around two-hundred regularly active, split into twenty squads. Most of the rest aren't assigned to squads and have only undergone basic firearm's training and maintenance as well as minimal combat training. The younger members also have foraging and camping experience courtesy of the Scout's program, also funded and operated by SCM-"

"Funded and operated?" Jim chuckled, "Gordon, we're folks protecting our homes. We ain't got a fancy sponsor or incorporation or whatever. The head of the Scouts is Miss Teague, and that's only 'cause she's got wilderness experience from before she shipped out."

He turned to Dar, "Gordon said you were the team survivalist; you should go talk to Miss Teague when you have the chance, I'm sure she'd be delighted to learn we've got another expert."

Offering a kerchief to each of them, Jim explained, "We usually do platoon musters but I tapped two more squads on account of y'all just getting here and all; figured it would be good for all of us to get to know each other and train a bit. Gordon's right, I got about two-hundred I trust not to fuck up if shit goes south - the rest are all reserves."

"I assume you're Brit - do you have a preferred name? Or rank? - on account of the guns and getup," he sized up the team's gunsmith, "Hope we can all learn a lot from you today."

"And you..." he went silent for a moment as he cocked his head, seemingly unsure of the Barber, "Gordon didn't mention you."

"He's our private investigator, the Barber," Gordon hastily added, "Quite skilled, from what I was told by my employer."

[Talchyon]

Charlie Dome, late afternoon
Dr. Jesse Turnbull (aka 'Doc Sawbones')

The meeting the other day hadn't given him a lot of confidence that they would even be looking for a spare reactor. Even though he had tried to explain nuclear surgery - e.g., how the surgery itself wasn't radioactive, how you only needed the power from a core in continuous operative use, and why nuclear surgery was very helpful such as for spawning extra organs, if one's kidneys had been shredded, say - still, it was like speaking to 4th graders. Jesse had been frustrated through it all. Well, he just hoped they wouldn't need it. But it didn't cheer him up.

This day, however, was a day for weaponry practice. That and moving some carcasses of dead cattle that he had been "obliged" (grudgingly) to help out with. The weapons, however, were standard. Jesse had had some experience with using them. Even though he wasn't an expert marksman by any sense of the word, Jesse could still hit the target most times. Seeing the weapons Brit had supplied for them, Jesse nodded. She seemed like a very good person to have on your side. "Thanks, Brit. It's been awhile, but I'm sure it'll come back in no time."

When the State Colonial Militia arrived, Jesse looked upon them with more than passing interest. Scanning them with his robotic eye for potential health issues, he was not surprised to see a lack of certain vitamins and the effects of malnourishment in some. Poor vision in others, back problems in that one. It was only a matter of time before Jesse became the village doctor as well, or at least be asked to help out with cases when the normal physicians here were swamped. He had a duty to his team first, though. That point would have to be made clear.

Captain Jim Pagliazzo was gruff, competent, foul-mouthed, and took no slack from anyone. Jesse liked him immediately. He spoke up to the officer in charge. "I'm the medic here. Dr. Jesse Turnbull. Whatever assistance I can give, besides brushing up on my target shooting, I'm happy to do so."

---

Seamus

The demon-drink had finally cleared, and the little leprechaun had a clear head for the first time in days. Whatever that stuff was, that wasn't quite whisky? Seamus was going to have to try that again!

Most of what had been discussed at the meeting the day before had been a blur. Seamus remembered the flower, and people talkin' 'bout bugs again, as if they had never seen a fly or an ant! He shook his head. If this was the way to get home, then he'd bear up with it.

As the captain passed out blue armbands and tried to explain the situation, Seamus was getting twitchy. It was HARD to pay attention for that long! So he tuned him out and tried to figure out what these "gahns" were on the table that Brit had spoken about. Jumping up a few times to get a better view (during the middle of the captain's speech, no less), Seamus saw that there were some black metallic pipes with some black - looked like carved tree trunks or somethin'. Those pipes would give way for some epic smoke rings if one could use them to smoke. But you'd have to detach them from the - carved tree trunks - to do that, and it didn't seem possible to his eyes. These "gahns" had been spoken of as though they were weapons. Seamus s'posed they could do well to beat someone over the head with. Didn't see what the big deal about them was, though.

After Seamus fidgeted some more during the rest of the captain's speech, that one finally said,

"I assume you're Brit - do you have a preferred name? Or rank? - on account of the guns and getup," he sized up the team's gunsmith, "Hope we can all learn a lot from you today."

"And you..." he went silent for a moment as he cocked his head, seemingly unsure of the Barber, "Gordon didn't mention you."

"He's our private investigator, the Barber," Gordon hastily added, "Quite skilled, from what I was told by my employer."

Seamus piped up. "An' Ah'm Seamus! Ah'm a leprechaun, and don't ye ferget it! They got me doin' the cobbler bit, an' iff'n Ah can help find the flahr!"

He had no idea what the afternoon's weapons training was going to be like. A stranger in a stranger world, Seamus was completely out of his element. But it was going to be more so than he had already been.

[Sylvanstreak]

The Barber stayed silent, neither confirming or denying anything, but merely extended its hand to shake this Jim's, and sample the man, and accept the kerchief from him. In truth, Summerveil handled most of the "actual" investigation work; the Barber mainly just stood there and looked pretty...or ugly...or completely unnoticeable, according to what she needed, when looking into people. But rarely the former, since she was so characteristically distracting by herself. She'd been designed that way, after all. It occasionally came in handy when dealing with cases of embezzling or fraud. Those suspects tended to pick up on her construction, and it was a surprisingly common first sign of who to home in on. After that, it was just a matter of learning more about them. Brit, at least, it had answered: "Ready enough, including for confidence drills." At that point, its own expression had gone just as mischievous as Brit's own, but with an underlying, subtle edge to it; something around the eyes.

With its scent samples safely stored away, it looked over the SCM members. Generally attentive, mostly looking to Brit now, after their captain's words. The android didn't bother with the hand on the shoulder routine - that was, paradoxically, Summerveil's realm rather than its own - but it did comment in passing to Brit, "Break a leg, then," the familiar performer's saying sounding hilarious in its normal intonation. Lacking anything else to do for the moment, it continued glancing around the militia, searching for others about its size. Only two, one male, one female. They would do.

[Holy Lykos]

Jormungand had spent most of the last day wrapping up some basic maintenance projects in the basements. Once he was done, the aircon hummed happier than a cat laying on a warm terminal on a Mojave afternoon and quieter than a stealthed-up raider. It'd been clunking something fierce when they'd arrived, and apparently someone had improperly attached the fans and filters, leaving them to wobble and hit each other. Whomever maintained this building last certainly had a slapdash manner about them. Jor did appreciate the work, at least. Kept his life busy and interesting, at least.

Though so did hornets nests, and no one liked those either. And just like a hornets nest, fixing the aircon would likely be unnoticed by everyone else, especially as Jor finally finished up with that and went back to his personal projects late in the night, perhaps even after midnight.

By morning, Jor was snoring away in his cot, in a proper bed this time albeit one tucked away in the garage. Jor figured he could use a bed near where he worked, since the odd hours he'd be keeping. The snake-coyote had also put up a poster, notifying the rest of the team to approach him with maintenance requests should they have anything crop up, on a bulletin board he'd found behind a desk in the lobby of the building.

A busy night, all told, and this lead into Jor ambling into the agreed upon meeting place late, with a sleepy look about him even as he performed some basic cleaning for his own revolver as he walked.

"I'm here, Ma'am. I apologize for my tardiness, maintenance kept me up late." He gave a deep nod towards Brit, before turning to look over the assembled Militiamen. "Though, huh, I somehow expected fewer. Pleasure to meet you, Captain. I'm their resident Mechanic." The mechanic this time tipped his had towards them, before squatting himself down and slipping his gun back in his holster as he let out a long, fang-bearing yawn.

"Hell's bells, I need an alarm to remind me to sleep as much as I need one to wake me up. I'm ready whenever y'all are."

[Monfrox]

"Well I uh..." Brit paused as she tried to gather a bit of a train of thought while her cheeks went red, modest as ever. "I used to be part of a paramilitary outfit back home. Was a Second Lieutenant, which is why I don't get weird about people calling me "ma'am" all the time. But it was mostly drill and ceremonies. Everything else is self-taught from years of reading." She looked over to rest of the group. "Glad everyone could make it. You guys all take a seat."

She walked over to the truck and grabbed one of the AKMs, checking to ensure it was unloaded, and sets of safety glasses and ear muffs. She put on her own range classes and a set of Peltors she was trying to familiarize herself with. She also tied the blue neckerchief around her right arm and came back.

"Well uh....Captain. I look forward to the rest of today, but first things first: I gotta take care of these guys. Some of 'em never even touched a firearm before, so I'll have to go over some things and then see how well they do. I took the liberty of putting up a backstop so we don't fill the fields full of copper and lead. Hope you don't mind, but I'm sure your guys don't need to be told which end of the gun the bullet comes out of." Brit said to Jim with a small smile before heading off with the AK towards the rest of the group.

What Comes Back
The walk wasn't long but it felt like it as soon as she left the presence of Jim and headed out. Her mind dredged up old memories and filled her head with doubts. Could she really do this? Minerva had placed her on the team and so she had thought so, but running this training was weighing. She was psyching herself out, and she remembered painful things from her past. Her expression, though shadowed by the bill of her hat, was tense and anxious for a second before she crushed those thoughts. No, she knew what she was doing. She knew how to teach. There would be no accidents today. She forced herself to believe it, and sighed when she picked her head back up and let the distress pass. Now was not the time for it. The time to give the group the know-how to use the tools at hand was the only thing she would worry about now. Incidentally, she stood and stared when she reached them. The look in her eyes was harder than usual.

"Alright, listen up!" She belted loudly with a perfect command voice. "Gather round and pay attention. We all got things to do and we don't wanna be here all day, so I'll keep this as brief as possible. First of all: Firearms safety rules. Rule number one, never point your weapon at something you do not intend to destroy! That means yourself, your buddies, and other important things. Do not flag me with your muzzle on the range or I will take your rifle from you! Rule number two, always treat your gun like it's loaded! Even if it isn't, and I hand you the firearm, double-check to make sure. This is key to learning how to respect your firearm and be safer with it. Rule number three, always be sure of your target and what's behind it! Bullets can over-penetrate materials and people, and no one wants to cause a problem. You own that bullet! Wherever it goes when it leaves the muzzle, you own it! And finally rule number four, keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire! Negligent discharges happen, but with proper trigger discipline, you can avoid a vast majority of them."

Brit took the AKM up and held it out at the side.

"With that done, I will now be talking about your primary firearm: The Soviet modernizírovanny Avtomát Kaláshnikova! OR, the A K M! This is an assault rifle. It was invented in 1959 as an upgrade to the earlier patterned AK-47. This modernization includes a bunch of things that I will spare telling you because it has no real impact on how you operate it. This is point and shoot! Children use these same weapons in some parts of the world back home where I'm from, and if they can use it, everyone else can too! This weapon has a magazine that holds thirty cartridges of seven point six two by thirty-nine millimeter ammunition! All magazines will be issued out by me and only me. To disengage your magazine once it is empty, push the lever here in front of the trigger guard and pivot the mag out. Then you take out your new mag, notch the front part into the magwell like so, and rock it back until the mag release catch is engaged with a soft click."

As Brit went on, she made sure to slowly go through the motion to avoid anyone missing any steps.

"Next, you need to pull the bolt back so chamber the new round. Take hold of the charging handle on the right, pull it back all the way, and then let it go forward. Do not force or try to slow the operation of the bolt moving forward, or your rifle will not respect you in the morning. As we go, I can teach more advanced reloading techniques if you want but for now, worry about the basics. Now onto the safety! The safety lever here has three positions: Safe, full-auto, and semi-auto. Safe prevents your trigger from being operated and also prevents your bolt from being pulled back all the way to chamber a round. The next position down is fully automatic mode, labeled "AB" or "AV" here. Do not use fully automatic mode. Ever. Unless you have a good reason, I don't want to see people spraying bullets all over the place. To that end, the next position notch for the safety is labeled "OD" and is semi-automatic mode. Fully-automatic means your gun keeps firing as long as the trigger is pulled to the rear until the magazine is empty. Semi-automatic means you fire one bullet when you pull the trigger, and you must take your finger off to let it reset to be able to fire again. This mode is the standard mode I want everyone to use."

She paused again to take a canteen off her belt and grab a quick drink to ease her dry throat from all the talking as she cradled the rifle in her other arm.

"Before I go on to how to shoot and what to do in the event of a jam, does anyone have any questions, comments, or concerns?"

[Talchyon]

Teams training meeting
Seamus

The good captain having left their group at Brit's insistence, now it was time to get down to things. Only, whatever it was Brit was saying made absolutely no sense to the shortest member of their team.

"Well I uh..." Brit paused as she tried to gather a bit of a train of thought while her cheeks went red, modest as ever. "I used to be part of a paramilitary outfit back home. Was a Second Lieutenant, which is why I don't get weird about people calling me "ma'am" all the time. But it was mostly drill and ceremonies. Everything else is self-taught from years of reading." She looked over to rest of the group. "Glad everyone could make it. You guys all take a seat."

She walked over to the truck and grabbed one of the AKMs, checking to ensure it was unloaded, and sets of safety glasses and ear muffs. She put on her own range classes and a set of Peltors she was trying to familiarize herself with. She also tied the blue neckerchief around her right arm and came back.

"Well uh....Captain. I look forward to the rest of today, but first things first: I gotta take care of these guys. Some of 'em never even touched a firearm before, so I'll have to go over some things and then see how well they do. I took the liberty of putting up a backstop so we don't fill the fields full of copper and lead. Hope you don't mind, but I'm sure your guys don't need to be told which end of the gun the bullet comes out of." Brit said to Jim with a small smile before heading off with the AK towards the rest of the group.

What Comes Back
The walk wasn't long but it felt like it as soon as she left the presence of Jim and headed out. Her mind dredged up old memories and filled her head with doubts. Could she really do this? Minerva had placed her on the team and so she had thought so, but running this training was weighing. She was psyching herself out, and she remembered painful things from her past. Her expression, though shadowed by the bill of her hat, was tense and anxious for a second before she crushed those thoughts. No, she knew what she was doing. She knew how to teach. There would be no accidents today. She forced herself to believe it, and sighed when she picked her head back up and let the distress pass. Now was not the time for it. The time to give the group the know-how to use the tools at hand was the only thing she would worry about now. Incidentally, she stood and stared when she reached them. The look in her eyes was harder than usual.

"Alright, listen up!" She belted loudly with a perfect command voice. "Gather round and pay attention. We all got things to do and we don't wanna be here all day, so I'll keep this as brief as possible. First of all: Firearms safety rules. Rule number one, never point your weapon at something you do not intend to destroy! That means yourself, your buddies, and other important things. Do not flag me with your muzzle on the range or I will take your rifle from you! Rule number two, always treat your gun like it's loaded! Even if it isn't, and I hand you the firearm, double-check to make sure. This is key to learning how to respect your firearm and be safer with it. Rule number three, always be sure of your target and what's behind it! Bullets can over-penetrate materials and people, and no one wants to cause a problem. You own that bullet! Wherever it goes when it leaves the muzzle, you own it! And finally rule number four, keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire! Negligent discharges happen, but with proper trigger discipline, you can avoid a vast majority of them."

Brit took the AKM up and held it out at the side.

"With that done, I will now be talking about your primary firearm: The Soviet modernizírovanny Avtomát Kaláshnikova! OR, the A K M! This is an assault rifle. It was invented in 1959 as an upgrade to the earlier patterned AK-47. This modernization includes a bunch of things that I will spare telling you because it has no real impact on how you operate it. This is point and shoot! Children use these same weapons in some parts of the world back home where I'm from, and if they can use it, everyone else can too! This weapon has a magazine that holds thirty cartridges of seven point six two by thirty-nine millimeter ammunition! All magazines will be issued out by me and only me. To disengage your magazine once it is empty, push the lever here in front of the trigger guard and pivot the mag out. Then you take out your new mag, notch the front part into the magwell like so, and rock it back until the mag release catch is engaged with a soft click."

As Brit went on, she made sure to slowly go through the motion to avoid anyone missing any steps.

"Next, you need to pull the bolt back so chamber the new round. Take hold of the charging handle on the right, pull it back all the way, and then let it go forward. Do not force or try to slow the operation of the bolt moving forward, or your rifle will not respect you in the morning. As we go, I can teach more advanced reloading techniques if you want but for now, worry about the basics. Now onto the safety! The safety lever here has three positions: Safe, full-auto, and semi-auto. Safe prevents your trigger from being operated and also prevents your bolt from being pulled back all the way to chamber a round. The next position down is fully automatic mode, labeled "AB" or "AV" here. Do not use fully automatic mode. Ever. Unless you have a good reason, I don't want to see people spraying bullets all over the place. To that end, the next position notch for the safety is labeled "OD" and is semi-automatic mode. Fully-automatic means your gun keeps firing as long as the trigger is pulled to the rear until the magazine is empty. Semi-automatic means you fire one bullet when you pull the trigger, and you must take your finger off to let it reset to be able to fire again. This mode is the standard mode I want everyone to use."

She paused again to take a canteen off her belt and grab a quick drink to ease her dry throat from all the talking as she cradled the rifle in her other arm.

"Before I go on to how to shoot and what to do in the event of a jam, does anyone have any questions, comments, or concerns?"

The whole discussion went over his head. Not that was hard to do, both since he was quite short and also because he had never seen a firearm before. But the whole amount 'a words Brit said confused the poor leprechaun to no end. Bolts? So he was going to own a bolt after it left? And why discuss muzzles? He looked around for horses that wouldn't be feeding any time soon due to the contraption placed over them, but didn't see any. And the 'gahn' (or the 'fired harmed' as Brit call'd it, whatever that meant) also came with a whole buncha numbers that made no sense at all and he surely didn't remember a one 'o them. An' then? 'Point and shoot'? Seamus' face was wracked, trying to figure out why pointing his finger at somethin' would then create a little shoot, a tender plant er tree er somethin' like it growin' in its younger years.

With his face in the strangest possible contortion it had ever made, Seamus raised his high voice, "Wha' in the blue blazes ar ye talkin' bout, lass? Ye say shoots, but nothin' 'bout plants at all. 'N bolts, an' I'm s'posed to own it, only, I dohn't gaht any bolts! 'N muzzles, but no hahrses? Wha' in the bloody hayl are ye meanin'? Ye make no sense, lass!"

[Giovenith]

Dar kept her hands folded politely in front of her as she listened to Brit's lesson, occasionally raising an eyebrow at this odd term or that, but understanding the gist of what was meant.

She smiled and knelt down to Seamus. "Well Seamus, basically, you've got to always pretend like the gun is ready to shoot, or you might hurt someone. So you only point it at things you want to shoot, even if it doesn't have any bullets in it, and you don't touch the button if you're not shooting..."

Did the leprechaun actually know what guns were though? Dar considered this, looking around, and brightened when she found something that could help demonstrate.

"See this rock?" she offered, picking up a small stone. "If I threw it at you, that would hurt, and not be very nice. If I was even stronger than I was, and threw it harder, it would hurt even more. A gun is kind of like... like a magic wand that throws special little rocks as hard as you possibly can, so that it hurts as much as it possibly can. Humans like me use them to fight things because we're not as smart or magical as leprechauns are. We've got to make sure not to throw rocks at our friends, so we always treat the wand very carefully and never point it at things that we don't want to hurt. Does that make sense?"

Unnoticed by the young woman, there was a small, dark shape at the opposite end of the field. It stood there, a sharp contrast to the rest of the sunny green plain. It watched them.

[Highfort]

Jim greeted the other latecomers with a smile and a handshake as he did everyone else, offering them their own kerchiefs. Everyone seemed pretty on-the-level, though the presence of a self-declared leprechaun and a strange-looking furry lad did give him pause. He held his tongue of any of the crude comments he might make at the bar; now was not the time to be making poor first impressions - doubly so because these folks were on official business from Agency.

He did make it a point to shake Jesse's hand, replying, "Thanks again for the help with the cows this morning; I know the stench is hard to get out but we had to move 'em in case they attracted any more trouble. I'm sure everyone will be happy we've got a doc with us; we've got a few field medics but nobody's licensed and besides stabilizing folks for transport and applying bandages and tourniquets you'll find most of the militia's pretty out of their depth. We usually just go to Doc Barnaby's in town if anybody gets hurt while out on patrol."

He eyed Seamus curiously, "A cobbler, eh? Well, we don't have much in the way of fresh supplies, so if you could help fix up our boots that'd be much appreciated I'm sure."

The Barber's lack of reply left the Captain concerned, though he nevertheless offered a smile and a nod at the strange man. Gordon did mention that the Barber was an investigator, so maybe this was just one of his quirks that made him such a good detective.

He offered a tip of his field cap at the Night Stalker, "Pleasure to meet ya as well, Mr. Jor. You won't be wanting for stuff to fix while you're in town - and I know that while not everybody can pay for your services with money, they'd be happy to reimburse ya in other ways."

A militiaman who'd been observing the odd-looking fellow piped up in agreement, "Yeah! My wife makes a mean empanada! She'd be happy to sling a few your way if ya found time to fix our tractor."

Upon hearing that Brit was starting, Jim told the squads - now formed up and with loaded rifles at rest, their packs slung on their backs with all the standard supplies - to give her some room to present firearms basics to the Agency's new members, "The floor's all yours, ma'am."

He nodded at her rundown; it was basic enough and she was taking good care to show all the parts she was naming. Gordon nodded along, and mentioned to Jim, "I'll be sure to print some cheat-sheets and whatnot so the folks having trouble with all the vocabulary can brush up and make sure they understand how their guns operate."

The rest of the militia stayed quiet and polite, for their part. Some laughs and smirks broke out at Seamus' complaints about guns, a few of the members in total disbelief that they were training alongside someone who didn't seem to understand the concept of firearms at all. Then again, he was a leprechaun - or at the very least a dwarf, for many of these folks had never heard of leprechauns before - so today was full of surprises.

Jormungand also earned himself some strange looks, though folks were more afraid of him than they were curious. His first impression was disarming, but his predatory appearance nevertheless reminded them of a wolf or other wild hunter. Even the man who had offered up his wife's cooking earlier was taking a second, closer look at the Night Stalker and thinking twice.

Upon hearing Seamus' outbreak, Gordon quickly rushed over to quiet the leprechaun. He projected friendly scents of a floral and alcoholic nature - hopefully the reminder of future booze might calm the little man, "I understand you're not familiar with firearms, we can discuss in further detail over a beer tonight or tomorrow, perhaps?"

He nodded at Dar's explanation, adding what he hoped was a helpful analogy, "Guns are just really powerful mechanical slingshots, and cartridges are like the rocks, except they have special chemicals inside of them that create a small explosion to propel the rock forward."

While Gordon busied himself with making sure the resident mischief maker didn't get anyone in trouble, Jim raised a helpful hand at Brit's query for questions and comments, "Yeah, I just have one thing to add. As long as you serve with SCM you will observe a fifth firearm safety rule. And that rule is that you will not handle a firearm - or any weapon of any kind, for that matter - while you are drunk, high, or mentally fucked-up. Even if you are just feeling under the weather, you should give up your firearm to your squad leader or whoever fills that role and inform them about your inability to safely operate your weapon. We're all here to protect each other and you're not doing your fellow militiamen any favors by getting yourself in trouble because you didn't know your limits."

[Holy Lykos]

Jormungand looked just a bit confused by the mention of money for his work(in fact, Jor was used to being 'paid' by people sharing gear or supplies or food or living with more communal folk who just helped where they could), and while he'd been about to respond to Jim, Brit started the lesson and that was forgotten for now. The night stalker sat himself down in the grass, all eyes on Brit as she ran down firearm basics. His tail waved slowly through the grass, the cool dew feeling nice against his scales and eliciting a relaxed hissing-sigh.

"Not a bad fifth rule. I know many-a frontiersman who's more danger to themselves than wildlife they hunt by getting drunk before a hunt. There's a place for fun, but work ain't it." Jorm nodded slowly. "I got no questions, though the safety rules are a lot more formal than I'm used to. Then again, I also come from a place where people dressed up in sports gear are more happy to shoot me than give me the time of day, not even mentioning people who dislike mutants."

The hybrid sniffed, eyes wandering over the field as questions were asked and comments made. He noted some dark shape on the far end of the field but assumed it some kid or wanderer from the colony rather than anything to raise a stink over. So he didn't, electing to busy himself with listening to questions as he really had none.

[Sylvanstreak]

A flashing alert, gray with yellow text, drew the Barber's attention to its heads-up display. Its eyes shifted direction in the classic "seeing something no one else can" stare, then dismissed the message with a blink. Only a routine "novel scent detected - investigate" notice. There would be time enough for that later; besides, Jormungand the Nightstalker appeared to have noticed it as well. The android added that to its to-do list alongside "Locate partner" and "Work with Gordon", and moved on.

It folded the kerchief and tucked it into a pocket, then grew one itself. One of the militia who was rather more distractible turned to gape at it, but it merely smiled, touched the man's arm and gestured subtly back toward Brit. For the moment, its teammate and the Captain had things well in hand. It parsed the fifth rule for several cycles, trying to see how it might be unsafe in the way the Captain described. Then it decided the whole point rather irrelevant, as the chance it would ever run rampant was rather low. As for the next point of Brit's discussion, that too was not a priority. It would be content enough with using the weapons until they malfunctioned, then going back to its default combat protocols.

And so it set its sensors to full sensitivity, centering them on Brit; recording continued. The faint whisper of something creeping through the grass some distance away met its "ears", but the Barber ignored it, muting the unusual noise on its recording.

[Monfrox]

Brit stared rather blankly at Seamus. She thought she was prepared for almost every eventual question, but often times she forgot that no one else had really immersed herself in such a subject as her. Still, she didn't expect him to be completely clueless. Luckily the others were eager to help straighten things out.

"Seamus, if you're still confused about it then you can come see me at the shop when we get done here today. I'll give you the basic rundown." She looked to Gordon and nodded. "And yes, I believe that goes without saying that you shouldn't be drinking while operating a firearm. If you're inebriated and in possession of one of my rifles and I hear about, which I will, I'll have your ass."

Brit took the rifle back up and held it out again.

"Alright now, we're going to have some target practice but I want everyone to pay attention because this is the important things. Malfunction drills! You guys are new and because of that I want you to know how to properly work your rifle in the event of a malfunction. There are four main types and they get trickier as they go. The first is a Type 1 malfunction: "failure to feed" or "failure to fire". This happens when you pull the trigger and nothing happens. When you look at your rifle, the bolt will be all the way forward. This can be remedied by a three-step process. One, tap the bottom of the magazine to ensure that it is seated properly. Two, rack the bolt back. Three, pull the trigger. Tap, rack, bang. Easy as that."

As with before, Brit made sure to carefully show each step in full view as she manipulated the firearm.

"Next, the Type 2 malfunction: "Failure to eject". One most notable example is like this," Brit took a spent casing of 7.62x39 out of her pocket, pulled the bolt back, and let the bolt close on it. "This is called a "stovepipe". You will see the spent casing lodged in the side of the ejection port like so, but luckily the remedial action is the same as a type 1. Just tap, rack, bang. Now it gets tricky. Type 3 malfunctions are "failure to extract" or "double-feeds" and also "failure to feed". Unlike the type 1 failure to feed, the round will have been attempted to be seated into the chamber. The rifle's bolt will be open and you will see either a round caught between the magazine and the bolt, or two rounds stuck trying to feed into the chamber at the same time. To solve this, bring the rifle in close. Take the magazine out, though you may have to pull it out due to pressure being applied in weird areas. Next, tilt the rifle to the right and rack the bolt over and over, at least three times, until the rounds have been cleared. After that, put a new magazine, rack it, and pull the trigger. If you continue to have any problems with your rifle after performing the remedial actions, do not continue to operate the firearm and instead take it to me immediately. Please separate any magazines that cause type 3 malfunctions from the others and give them to me as well. And now, we will begin target practice."

Brit led the group over to the backstop where she put up targets five across.

"Captain, your men can share the range alongside us. I'll tell them when to shoot and when to stop shooting." She said to Jim before loading up a few mags for the rifles. Ten rounds each should be a good start. "Alright, everyone. Let's see what you've learned. Aim at the target and squeeze off. Take your time, you got ten shots."

[Giovenith]

Dar nodded and stood up to continue with the lesson, looking out ahead to where the bullets would fly. It was then, however, that she noticed the short mass out on the edge of the field.

"Wait, wait!" she exclaimed, motioning for everyone not to fire yet. "I think there's someone standing there."

She pointed. The figure was hard to make from this distance, but due to their height, Dar assumed they must have been a child (she didn't think it would too presumptuous to assume that Seamus was the only leprechaun here).

"Hey!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Can you come over here, please? We're doing target practice, we don't want to hit you."

The figure didn't respond, and for a moment, remained still. Then to Dar's relief, they started to walk forward. As they got closer, that relief started to turn into an ever escalating sense of confusion and anxiety.

The figure did indeed seem to be a child, a little boy, but no kind of child any of them had ever seen. His skin was black, true black like shadow or tar, which matched the tightly bundled wraps around him that seemed to form his clothes. As Dar looked closer, she found that she couldn't tell where his clothes ended and his hair began, all possessing that same bumpy texture and appearance. His eyes were sharp shades of glowing green, all parts of them, from the 'whites' to the pupils.

"Having a fun day, are we?" the boy asked, calmly. His voice didn't have a human pitch. Rather, it sounded as if someone had taken various sounds of rustling, crunching, and blowing and strung them together to form words.

[Sylvanstreak]

Brass gleamed in the sunlight from the rounds at the top as the Barber set down its rifle and magazine without a word. A clink and hollow thunk resounded as the weapon and accessory met the folding plastic table/bench in its temporary lane. The bullet counter, bold 010 in green against the blackness of its heads-up display, winked out, no longer needed.

The android turned toward the figure, beginning to scan the unusual boy's physical measurements and appearance, splitting the data and doing a search on all of it. No match on anything there. It cocked its "head" and re-activated its recording function, but remained where it was. Despite Summerveil's flashy appearance and its own innate combat capability, it had never really needed to call on those skills for anything more than a tap on the head to put the odd overly covetous suit-and-tie on the cops' hanger, back where it came from. By habit of PI-ing, it was now more curious than anything, and it stepped to the other side of its station, ignoring the others behind it still in their lanes with their own rifles. Not like it could be seriously hurt by those, after all.

Wordlessly, it circled around behind the boy to get a glance of his back, to complete the 360* scan.

[Holy Lykos]

"Well that just ain't right," Jor mumbled, ears flicking in displeasure from the sound of how this thing spoke. He hazarded to call this a person, despite the fact they were talking. The shadowy nature of the figure convinced the night stalker that they certainly weren't a normal resident. He brought a hand to his holster, standing himself up and eyes focused on the figure. He tried to play off the pose as casual, but it was a bit hard to disguise a shooting stance when a potential adversary leaned into one.

"What'd y'all need, mysterious shadowy figure?"

[Highfort]

Jim nodded at Brit's explanation of common firearms malfunctions before motioning for the various squads to start lining up to take turns at the range. As there was only room for around 20 folks total on the range, he had a squad set up along the firing line with its sergeant accompanying him as range officer. The rest formed a line - really more a queue of different groups milling about than anything single-file - well behind the setup and continued to chat among themselves and inspect their rifles.

Rifles went up facing down-range as each of the troopers at the firing line prepared to fire their first shots. Gordon, for his part, took a position closer to the end of the line where the rest of the Gesellschaft members stood at the ready. He weighed the AKM in his hands, taking up an Olympic position he was familiar with from uncountable weekends spent at the local range in North County blowing off steam.

It all felt... off, somehow, and not just because he was far more comfortable with his CZ than an AK. Something was... off in the distance.

Gordon's eyes flicked over and he glanced at the Barber. The man wasn't any more tense than usual but he was focused on something. As soon as the Barber moved to get a closer look at Dar called out, Gordon lowered his rifle.

"Range is cold! Lower your weapons!" Jim's voice now boomed with the steady confidence more fitting an officer, "Got somebody down-range."

The troopers lowered their rifles one by one, though Gordon noted they were a bit cavalier for being the only armed force on Slate. Maybe they just needed a few drills. Any thought of making a note of it was wiped from his mind, however, as the curious figure approached the firing line.

The voice conjured memories of childhood, of his father telling him stories as he tucked him into bed. They were always terrible people in those stories - apparitions and monsters and forgotten gods. And the worst of all were the ones who had that voice.

The shadow-child's voice, the tar-mummy's voice - the voice his father could never do but only describe. It was as if they were so terrible that even the decency of having a comprehensible voice - not even human, but just organic, throaty, performed with a rush of blood and a vibration of muscle - was beyond them.

Gordon stood there, aghast at what he was seeing - even more aghast that Jor had decided to address it with a kind of friendly familiarity. Just what the Hell had that mutant seen at Big Mountain?

Jim seemed to shake for a moment, his voice dying in his throat, though he found it again with a shake of his head, "Boy, what are you doing out here? Chekhov's Field ain't safe, you could get hurt in a place like this. And, uh, what's all that stuff on ya?"

The squads that had been milling around behind him all stared at the newcomer, increasingly unnerved and concerned they were about to watch an execution rather than a firearm's demonstration. Shuffling and mumbling rang out as their sergeants one-by-one ordered them to move back toward the collection of vehicles, rifles still lowered. Fingers flexed across fore-grips; sweat broke out along brows.

It was then that Gordon somehow found his presence-of-mind and addressed the boy's question, "A day for training; I suppose it is nice to be out in the country. I haven't shot in a while."

Trying to keep his voice steady at the strange figure, he asked, "So... what about you? What are you doing out here?"

[Monfrox]

Most of it was going well. A few got some shots in and Brit noticed that the groupings were all about what she expected for trained militia fighters. Not bad, not good, somewhere in the middle. She was watching one of them when Jim called for a ceasefire. She took a bit to look over the targets before she saw why it was closed. Someone was walking up to them, but the closer they got the more anxious she became. The beating of her heart, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, the slight fear-induced adrenaline. And then it started to talk.

Brit didn't know what was happening at first. She didn't know when she unholstered her sidearm but she did and her grip was making her knuckles white. Her eyes supremely fixed on the mysterious form in front of them. Different than what she had seen before, and yet somehow all too familiar. She remembered the Umbrum, and all the mind-fucking trauma that went with them. She wasn't about to go through that again. When movement tracked into her peripherals, she realized she'd been holding her breath. She took a second to wipe her sleeve across her eyes and exhale.

"Get away from it." She said, hoping that the Barber, Jor, and Dar would heed the warning.

[Holy Lykos]

"Don't have to tell me twice," Jor mumbled in response to Brit. Keeping his hand on his gun, but the weapon in its holster, the snake-coyote backed up without turning his face from the shadow-critter.

In truth, Jor had seen plenty in Big Mountain. And plenty more outside that. The odd monster wasnt much in the wasteland, including the occasional never-before-seen one. Losing ones head when encountering the potentially dangerous was a sure way to get dead fast.

So the hybrid shot a look towards Gordon and the human militia, trying to urge them to calm their nerves without words, only firm looks and the the downward waving of a hand. But it was hard to miss the hybrids rattle shaking with determination of a rattlesnake wanting to be left alone when confronted by a predator. This critter likely was one, anyway. And Jor's stance remained combat ready, even if his gun was still holstered.

[Giovenith]

For those scanning, the results of the boy would have been strange indeed: There was practically nothing there, despite what regular vision may have told them. All sensors would have indicated nothing more than a breeze and maybe a few leafs dancing within it.

The long grass wrapped around the Barber's ankles, snaring him. In a violent lash, it grew, twisted up, and tossed the android back towards the rest of the group, Dar scattering and attempting to help Seamus do the same to avoid getting clobbered.

Dar grit her teeth in a panic and gasped as she looked down, realizing that the grass was now tangling itself around her own boots. Panicked, she stumbled backwards and attempted to sit atop the table to avoid it. The grass continued to grow and snatch at the limbs of the Agency members, leaving harsh friction burns where they may have pulled away from it.

It managed to take hold of several of Jim's men and either fling them aside or suck them downwards into itself, quickly consuming them in even more layers of grass. Seeing this, Darlene flew into action, carefully standing atop the table in order to launch herself towards those who had gone under and begin to try cutting them free with a knife she produced from a pocket.

The boy smiled with an angled look.

"Let's get straight to the point, huh?" he said, the grass still not relenting around him. "I've tolerated your presence here long enough. You and all your kind have thirty days to leave. If you're not gone by then, I will consume your settlement from the inside out."

"Who are you?!" Dar demanded, struggling to keep up with the grass as it continued to grow twice as fast as she could cut and slash.

The boy didn't answer.

[Talchyon]

Target practice
'Doc Sawbones' (aka Dr. Jesse Turnbull)

It was all coming back to him. While he hadn't shot an automatic rifle in years, his hands embraced the weapon as if it was an old love. They just fit. Years might have passed between times when he had shot one of these, but it was all coming back to him. The target practice was a welcome addition to their training, when all of a sudden... a mysterious dark stranger!

Curious at what they were dealing with, Jesse zoomed in his robotic eye to do a scan of the normal biosigns (temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, lung capacity, any known illnesses). And that was the odd thing. As the creature was there, speaking in front of them, Jesse's eye only came back with the notice, "Incomplete data." He was puzzled. This time, he tried a different scan - this one looking for the amount of iron in the creature's bloodstream. But the same notice came back. Either the planet was causing his eye to malfunction, which was entirely possible. Or, this creature wasn't actually a creature. It literally had no bloodstream. And it wasn't as if it could be some gestalt entity of some kind. The most his robotic eye scans could pick up was a slight elevation in air speed, as if a gentle breeze was contained in the body of this being.

That's why, when Brit gave her warning, Jesse was glad to do so.

"Get away from it." She said, hoping that the Barber, Jor, and Dar would heed the warning.

And then the creature (?) gave its ultimatum. And the plant life started attacking!

The grass continued to grow and snatch at the limbs of the Agency members, leaving harsh friction burns where they may have pulled away from it.

It managed to take hold of several of Jim's men and either fling them aside or suck them downwards into itself, quickly consuming them in even more layers of grass. Seeing this, Darlene flew into action, carefully standing atop the table in order to launch herself towards those who had gone under and begin to try cutting them free with a knife she produced from a pocket.

The boy smiled with an angled look.

"Let's get straight to the point, huh?" he said, the grass still not relenting around him. "I've tolerated your presence here long enough. You and all your kind have thirty days to leave. If you're not gone by then, I will consume your settlement from the inside out."

"Who are you?!" Dar demanded, struggling to keep up with the grass as it continued to grow twice as fast as she could cut and slash.

The boy didn't answer.

As Dar demanded to know who he was, Jesse responded, "Whoever he is, he's not biological. He registers no heartbeat, no blood system, no lung capacity, no brainwaves, nothing of that kind at all." He stared at the grass, that had pulled the militia into it, and was slowly trying to do the same to him. Grabbing a knife he had, he also started sawing away.

---

Seamus

They tried to explain it better. 'Gahns' were like, magic, only, a magic that anyone could use. And it was a magic like nothing he had known. Wands? The leprechaun had heard of the concept, but all of the magic users he had known or even heard of had never used anything like a magic wand. Magic was an energy that flowed through one's being. Or it was a charm that granted a certain effect. Sometimes words were used with them, incantations Seamus no doubt was not privy to. But wands? The concept was a foreign one.

Figuring out the 'gahns' were a challenge for him. First, his arms were too small to hold them correctly. As he watched the others do it with ease, Seamus could never quite hold the 'gahns' that were supposed to fling those tiny rocks fast. And they roared, with an grating sound in his ears. He did manage to get it to roar by pulling the trigger, as the 'gahn' shot the ground a few feet in front of him. Out of frustration, he had just thrown the 'gahn' down on the ground, as it made a soft dull thump and an impression in the dirt.

The visitor, now. That was a curiosity if he'd ever seen 'un. Seamus knew right away it was a magical creature he was looking at. That much 'as clear. When the Barber attempted to approach it, the grass around the Barber's feet grew up, picked the lad up, and threw him. "Nice trick, that," Seamus thought, as Dar helped him try to dodge it. Not that he needed her to help, though. He merely teleported about eight feet to the left easily missing the flying companion.

As the magical being warned them to get away in thirty days, the grass snipped at his feet and started to drag Seamus down as well. "It'll take mahr than thaht to slow me, laddie," the leprechaun called out, simultaneously teleporting to another spot. The grass there also began to try to grab him, so he teleported again. And again. And again. Around 8 to 10 feet in a different direction each time, dodging the grass any time it started to get feisty, which was pretty much all the time.

"An' anyway, laddie. Yer a magical being. Ah know the type. An' Ah'd love nothin' mahr than to leave and go bahck home. Ah just don't think ah cann." He looked sad as he thought of his home, far away in what some of the humans called "another dimension."

[Sylvanstreak]

Nothing there out of the ordinary, only the same kind of blackness on the other side of the boy's rough, uneven surface. All very interesting, and unlike its own smooth silver -

"Get away from it."

The gunsmith's warning flashed through the Barber's hearing, but even it reacted too slowly, caught off guard. The android looked down at the ground in emotionless 'surprise', and then it was flying back toward the team and the range. Seeing the other members of the team scatter and dodge, it hit the ground awkwardly at first in its humanoid form, but reshaped itself into a spiked ball, slowing itself down like with cleats on a shoe. As it rolled to a stop, it thinned out and grew upward to look like itself again.

Schrrrringk. Schrrringk. Its arms twisted out in a disgustingly bone-breaking-looking way for a human, then reshaped and colored back over from bare silver metal to the Agency uniform, and suddenly it held a pair of scythes - also in Agency colors. Left stroke, right stroke, left stroke, and grass flew as the Barber worked its way back toward Dar, Jesse, and the trapped militia. Absorbing the long pole-mounted blades back into itself as it got closer, it turned its forearms into shorter straight blades instead and joined in the cutting as well.

[Monfrox]

The boy talked about...well, whatever it was. Brit was not in her right state of mine to be paying attention, to what he was saying. She did, however, send a 45 caliber slug at him when the grass started coming up. Her mind snapped to when it went right through him like he wasn't even there. Longer blades, like whips, lashed out and pulled her arm down. They wrapped around her legs and yanked them out from under her. She watched the ground sail across her vision as she was tossed out into the field like a cheap discarded cigarette butt. It's worth mentioning that Brit did not have a fear of heights, specifically. Rather, she had a fear of falling. She didn't scream, but when she hit the ground her immediate response was to curl up and wait here until her heart rate settled down from the astronomically high level it currently was at. Her 1911 lay some odd feet away in the dirt, and she made no effort to retrieve it.