Haunted Echoes [Complete]

[Croswynd]

Credit for banner goes to TheRealBigBoss

WARNING and DISCLAIMER

Please note that this is a fanfic and that I do not preside over the existing characters that are implied in this story, nor the Gears of War elements and its franchise. Any details, titles, names that may be similar to that of other fiction or fanfiction, (unless cited) is strictly coincidental. This story is Rated M for Violence, Crude Language, and Adult Situations.

Act I - Journey
Memoir I: "So Where Were You on E-Day?"
Chapter 1: Out of Control
Chapter 2: Road to Hell
Chapter 3: Good Intentions
Chapter 4: Downside Up
Chapter 5: Tactical Sacrifice
Chapter 6: I Flew Too Close to the Sun
Chapter 7: Frostbitten
Chapter 8: Rising Son
Chapter 9: As Quiet as a Whirlwind
Chapter 10: Covert Exposure

Act II - Rescue
Memoir II: "So Who Are You Fighting For?"
Chapter 11: Oscar Mike
Chapter 12: Grave
Chapter 13: Keep All Extremities Inside the Light
Haunted Echo I
Chapter 14: Back on Track
Chapter 16: Into the Fire
Chapter 18: Opening Salvo
Chapter 19: Simple is Relative
Chapter 20: Fading Echoes
Epilogue

Memoir I: "So Where Were You on E-day?”

The question, seven years later, is just starting to pick up popularity among the ranks. Where were you during Emergence Day? The day the Boogeyman came to life, bursting forth from the ground like moles, sharp teeth and ugliness combining with intelligence and modern weaponry. When twenty five percent of Sera’s population was wiped out in a blink of an eye. Where were you? Having dinner with your family or your friends, celebrating an end of war; peace we’ve never known?

Peace. Sometimes, on days when I’m not out there fighting for your survival, I think I feel peace. I feel it like a warm blanket every time I go into the Mess Hall and see my buddies and squad mates having a good time over a few drinks or cards. I feel it when I get into the locker room after a particularly hard engagement and get to laugh and trade jokes with my friends. Then I see the empty seats, empty chairs, empty lockers and my warm blanket gets splashed with cold water and shocks me into realizing peace doesn’t exist. It never existed in my lifetime, at least.

Sera hasn’t known peace in well over a hundred years. Ever since I was born, I would hear reports of nations battling over pathetic piles of fuel, land, or just be-f*cking-cause. Sh*t that doesn’t even matter anymore, not really. Now, we just fight to see the next day, for survival; because we, the human race, are facing extinction.

It really hits you, sometimes, during the quiet moment right before the ground erupts in monsters and the shells start flying. Extinction. We’re an endangered species now; women being used to breed the next generation of soldiers. What kind of sick f*cking joke would that have been ten years ago? We’re turning into animals on the streets, fighting over water and food because of the Locust Horde and those damn laser satellites they call the Hammer of Dawn.

Sh*t, we’re probably f*cked no matter what happens from here on out. But I’ll keep fighting, because I remember where I was on E-day. I remember the cease-fire with the Indies, those states of the Coalition of Organized Governments who didn’t want to be COG citizens anymore. I remember going home to my family and just sitting on the couch, talking. Making up for lost time, you know? Then I lost even that; time, family, whatever. Everything.

I remember where I was, and I want it back. I want those damn Locusts to regret ever coming up to my home, to the surface. I’m going to fight to shove those f*ckers back underground and get back what I had; what we all had.

I remember. So I'll fight.

-Memoirs of Sergeant Joseph Nyvar

Chapter 1 >>>

Commentary: This is the crown jewel of Haunted Echoes, I think. The idea sprang from this simple, little letter. The emotion I tried to pack in here is something even I can feel, a real look into how sad this world is from the perspective from a soldier who's lost almost everything. I was a little younger, and more prone to cursing, as can be seen, but I felt it added some more bitterness to the character. It also set the tone pretty well for the first few chapters, though the dialogue eventually became "funny" with Marov taking a more active part later. People liked Marov, for some reason.

[Croswynd]

Chapter 1: Out of Control(12*)

“These men are going to be severely traumatized by the end of this war, even if we survive; who knows how they’d react with no outlet for their frustration. I predict an inevitable slide into insanity we can’t control, even if we still had the pharmaceuticals we did before Emergence Day. No sane individual can watch his friends and family slaughtered, face death so many times, and get through it with their mind intact. They’ll be the lucky ones, though, if it ends the way some of the others are predicting it will. Losing one's mind would be a mercy compared to the horrors of watching humanity collapse like a house of cards.”

(Dr. Kristine Belova, on the mindset of the current generation’s soldiers.) (1*)

Crimson Crustacean(2*), south Jacinto City, Emergence Day;

1200 hours.

"Guess that’s the end of that, huh Sarge?”(3*)

Joseph Nyvar stared at his wife, snapping back into reality with a start. Ty?(3*) He cocked his head, confused for a moment after hearing his friend's voice. Watching her thick, red lips reach upwards into a smile, he shook his head in consternation. She must have known he had been lost in thought for a few seconds, staring at him with her gorgeous, green eyes as she was now.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Guess that’s the end of that conversation’,” she repeated, her mouth quirked in a half-grin, half-pout that caused his legs to feel like pudding and his heart to beat ten times faster. She’d always had that effect on him, her beauty captivating him until he couldn’t handle the feelings inside anymore. He'd finally asked her to dinner one night when they were younger, so quick to please and fumbling foolishly over his words. The thought made him smile.

“Sorry. Just a little distracted, I guess. Never really thought I’d be able to have dinner like this again, after everything,” the ex-soldier replied, waving his hands to encompass the surroundings, his smile settling into a bemused expression. The Pendulum Wars had just ended, after over seventy years of fighting. It was done, just like that. He leaned back in his chair to a more comfortable position, resting his calloused hands on the table. The seats in the outdoor portion of the restaurant were infuriatingly undersized for his bulky frame.

The trees started rustling slightly, a serene sound if he had ever heard one. Autumn colored leaves tumbled around in the air to alight on the cloth covered table or the surrounding flagstones, only to be once again lifted into the air for another twist or spin. The aroma of the outdoors and other customer’s food mingled together to create a mouthwatering fragrance. Kathryn’s(4*) hair fluttered in the breeze, dark red strands gently waving about her face, caught in a graceful ballet with the wandering leaves. She gave up her half-pout, morphing it into another dazzling smile that set his face aflame.

“You earned it, though,” she said tenderly, reaching across the table to take his big hands in her dainty ones, stroking them affectionately with her fingers. “Now forget about the war, love. I’ve waited for a day like this ever since you left.”

“Yeah,” Nyvar said, smiling in spite of himself, forcing his body to loosen up and his mind to focus at the task at hand. It had been a long time since he’d taken his wife out to dinner with no deadline or recall a pall hanging over their heads. He changed the subject, eager to please. “How’s Jason been doing lately?”

“A little miffed(5*),” she replied through a giggle, bringing a hand to her mouth. “He’s been missing his father as much as I have. You should talk to him after we finish here.” She rested her hand back on his, sighing and closing her eyes with a contented expression on her face. The scar on her cheek stretched slightly, the one he had kissed so many times, even though she hated it.

“I will. Bet he’s grown a lot since last time I got leave.” Nyvar picked at his food with a fork, piercing a lump of some kind of beef and bringing it to his mouth. Spices and flavoring roared across taste buds accustomed to the blandness of army rations. He closed his eyes and savored it. “Mmm. Haven’t had anything like this in a long time.”

“You never will.”

Joseph looked up quickly, staring across the table with his eyes wide open. His wife’s hair was slowly shrinking into pallid, gray hide, the scar on her cheek elongating and becoming a weeping wound of pus and blood.(4*) A wicked maw filled with jagged teeth took the place of the luscious lips. Kathryn’s petite, slim body started bursting into a massive, sinister frame, neck thickening and eyes drawing back into their sockets like little beetles. The hands holding his twisted into claws, their black, razor sharp nails cutting into his skin as he ripped his hands away. The stomach churning smell of blood burned his nose as he looked at his wounds, already festering and mutating into a gray hide.

The wind whistled through dead boughs as leaves started flying from the tree, the flagstones cracking and falling into pits of darkness.(6*) Menacing, glowing eyes stared up out of the holes, wicked sharp hooks and claws beckoning him to join their ranks. Screaming started somewhere, shrill and panicked, and he turned around, ignoring the transformation his wife was undertaking and the horrible blackness staring at him with millions of pinprick-sized eyes. His face lost its color as he saw his son on the sidewalk, running away from a huge, slavering brute, a chain around its gigantic neck. The thing tore toward his son, overtaking him in seconds and hoisting the boy above its head with its paw-like hands, a roar shaking the loose stones around it. It's huge maw dripped saliva as it held the boy, sockets where eyes were supposed to be. It looked like someone had stretched muscle across a skull and forgot to add the rest of the pieces.

“No!” Nyvar yelled, reaching down at his waist to his pistol. His hand grabbed empty air and he stared down at his dinner clothes. Another cry abruptly cut off and he looked back up to see Jason, his boy, torn in two, entrails hanging out of his body, red blood oozing out onto the monster’s malevolently gleeful face. A crack sounded, loud and sudden, as the building above the thing came crashing down and wiped the sight from his blurry eyes.

An ache formed in his chest as explosions sounded out like drums played by some offbeat performer. The infection in his hands had made its way up to his chest, his muscles expanding under the pasty, off-white membrane. He felt something touch his mutated shoulder and whipped around, eyes blazing with hatred, wanting to tear everything apart with his bare hands after the horrible atrocity he had just been privy to.(7*)

“Hey, hey, now!” Marov said, backing up quickly to avoid his punch. “You alright?”(8*)

Joseph Nyvar looked at his friend, the man’s salt and pepper mustache the only hair on the Gear’s worried face. Nyvar let his face drop down into his hands as he sank to the ground with his back up against the bullet strewn wall. It had been a dream, and only seconds had passed in the real world. He was losing all control over his sanity. The dream had been haunting him for the last seven years since E-Day.(9*)

“It’s Jason,” Nyvar said simply, looking over at the body of a seventeen year old torn to pieces, a look of horror plain on the corpse’s face. Glassy, gray eyes stared up into the sky, as if wanting to escape where the Locust couldn’t get to the soul. Marov’s armored form moved in between Nyvar’s eyes and the body, squatting down and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

“No, man, that ain’t Jason,” Syval Marov said, his voice all understanding and full of grief. “It’s just some kid, alright? Jason’s back in Jacinto with the recruits at Boot, remember? Calm down, man.”

Joseph leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and wishing it all went away. He wished for the dream to take him again, so he could just relive those few precious minutes with his wife again. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, the street was still in disrepair and his squad was still milling around the battlefield collecting weapons. Damn, he thought bitterly.

“Yeah. Just give me a second,” Nyvar said, standing up slowly and putting his cobalt colored helmet(10*) in the crook of his arm, the COG symbol visible on the top of it. The death’s head surrounded by a gear seemed suddenly more an omen for him than intimidation against the Locust. He closed his eyes again and mentally braced himself, wanting to look at the body and understand why he was still fighting. “Go help Ven and Ty. We need to salvage whatever we can.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright.”

Marov moved off, heavy boots crunching across gravel and broken glass to the street where the grub bodies lay. Tyler Fais waved in greeting, eagerly showing a couple of grenades he’d picked up to Nyvar’s second in command, his face hidden by a standard issue helmet(10*). Marov just grinned, the waning sunlight reflecting off the goggles on top of the man’s head and dully shining doo-rag under them.

The body of the boy was still lying there, broken and sightless, though the eyes were now closed thanks to Marov. There were no dog tags to take, but there was some kind of bracelet on the kid’s wrist, so he took that and put it in one of his empty ammo pockets. It wasn’t stealing, just something to remember the kid by. Maybe one of the Stranded, people left to die when the Hammer of Dawn came down and destroyed ninety percent of Sera with its pinpoint laser strikes, back at the camp would know whose it was. He’d check.

“The sun is setting, my friend,” a quiet, yet strong, voice said from behind him. Nyvar didn’t turn around, knowing it was Ven Salora; one of the South Islander Gears on his team. The man always took life as it gave, feeling anything that happened was meant to. “The Kryll will no doubt be upon us soon. I recommend making our way back to the Stranded encampment for the night.”

“Alright. Gather the others up and get them moving to the camp,” Nyvar said, blowing out a breath and letting his shoulders drop. “I have to do something, first.”

“I understand.”

The clip clop of heavy combat boots sounded as the man walked away, calling to the others; Ty, Marov, and some Stranded who’d helped them out. The sounds of joking and jeering faded as they left, until Nyvar was alone with his thoughts and memories.

After a time, he squatted down next to the body, scooping the pieces into a pile and setting a few dislodged stones around it. Grabbing a metal container(11*) off a chain around his neck, he poured its contents onto the makeshift pyre, re-stoppering the flask and replacing it. Next, he reached into his back belt pouch and pulled out a small, metal lighter with his initials carved into it.

Joseph flicked the top open and clicked the flame on, watching as its light danced off the metal casing, casting shadows in the tiny scratches of J. and N. The flame was mesmerizing, dancing in apparent glee as it flickered and bobbled, then grew as he set it on the fuel-drenched body. Heat caressed his face, the skin feeling as though it was tightening just from being close to it. He backed away, watching the body burn, the fire quickly consuming the clothing, skin, and blood.

He left before the bones started to crack under the heat, glad that the boy was in a better place, away from the uncontrollable hell Sera had become.


COG Training Grounds, Lower Jacinto, two days later;

1305 hours.

“Alright, folks, look alive. You’ve just been conscripted into the COG army and I’m here to teach you how not to die when you look a grub in the eye(13*),” a drill Sergeant barked at the assembled people standing in disorganized lines, their new armor scuffed and crafted from any kind of metal there was to scavenge outside Jacinto’s perimeter. When one of the Stranded in the crowd guffawed at the rhyme, he got a face full of spittle and yelling as the drill Sergeant went off about military protocol.

“You really think these Stranded can make real Gears, Sy'?” Nyvar asked as he watched the proceedings, doubt plain in his tone. Only a few of the more muscled ones in the crowd even looked like they could handle themselves in a fight against a grub, and then only because he’d been there when they did.

“I don’t know, ‘Seph. Maybe. If nothing else, they’ll be able to serve as meat shields for us real soldiers,” Marov said, his arms crossed across his off-duty fatigues, a frown showing out under his facial hair. He let his arms drop and patted his bone-hilt snub pistol resting in a holster on his right hip, which was attached to his tool-filled belt. Nyvar didn't know whether he did it because he was proving he was a real soldier or because he was itching to shoot the Stranded. Marov didn't like the Stranded all that much.(14*)

Grease stained the man’s dark, blue denim pants, tiny spots of black and holes here and there in the fabric. He’d just come out from the garage, fixing up a puncture a Torque Bow’s explosive arrow had torn in a Centaur’s undercarriage. It was a miracle the tank had even gotten back to base, let alone navigated its way through a busy battlefield. A testament to COG technology, Nyvar idly thought.

“I’d rather them live. Our species is small enough as it is without losing more because they were poorly trained.”

“They’re Stranded, though; barely even human anymore.”

“Bartch’ll straighten ‘em human again,” Nyvar replied, referring to the Drill Sergeant demonstrating a Lancer’s chainsaw attachment, the buzzing noise causing those in the front to hold their hands to their ears. The smell of smoke drifted over to where he was, causing his nose to crinkle. “Besides, they helped us during that firefight a couple of days ago. Gotta count for something.”

“I don’t think even Bartch can work mira-“

“Sirs,” Tyler interrupted, his youthful green eyes contrasting with the dark blue and black COG armor, “Matheison(15*) asked for you. He’s in the CIC. Now, I need to go find Ven.”

The younger man ran off down toward the barracks, almost all traces of the clumsy recruit gone from him. Years of battling the same damn things they’d found in Nemaria had hardened the kid, turned him into a real Gear.

Nyvar looked over at Marov, noticing the slight furrowing of his brow. The other man nodded, confirming that he was thinking the same thing. Nemaria.(3*) One of the first times the COG had made contact with the Locust, only a couple of months before they’d exploded onto the surface, covering the world like their namesakes would a farmer’s field. It had been declared an isolated incident by the top brass. There had been enough red tape on that case to warrant an execution should any of his team breach confidentiality over it. Nyvar sometimes wondered if they could have stopped E-Day had the military gone public. Not that that mattered, now. He shook the thought off and looked up at the overcast sky for a moment before a tremor brought his gaze right back down to earth. It always came back to the grubs.

The two men started walking to the building Matheison, their taskmaster as they liked to call him, resided in. A cool breeze blew by, bringing the first hints of Frost.(16*) Nyvar pulled the collar of his black, leather jacket up higher on his neck as a ward against the chill. The leather rustled as he messed with it, causing the front of his jacket to open, revealing a loose brown shirt underneath. His boots clicked along with Marov’s, not quite as heavy as their combat rig, but enough to keep the cold out.

“Those Stranded are in for a lovely, cold day today, aren’t they?” Marov asked rhetorically. The man smiled again, letting his arms, covered in a long sleeve gray sweatshirt, dangle at his sides.

“Nothing they won’t have to deal with out in the field. They better get used to it,” Nyvar replied, pushing open a heavy metal door to get inside. Heat instantly assailed him as he walked inside, a side effect of the building’s air conditioning going wonky again. It was too early in the season for it to be this hot, even with the wind.

“Why can’t they keep this building to a reasonable temperature?” Marov groused, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt to the elbows. “Always hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Where’s Baird when you need him?” He dodged sideways as a woman with blond hair came around a corner, clad in the gray skirt and blouse of an intelligence officer.

“Out on patrol, unfortunately,” Anya(17*) said as she walked back the way they’d come. “I’ll ask him to check it out when he gets back.” The woman’s voice grew fainter as she exited the building, the door banging open with a dull clack-thud.

“She looks tired,” Marov commented as they walked down the corridor and turned left into another hallway.

“She’s been pulling twelve hour shifts, same as Matheison. I heard the other guy came down with something.”

“Yeah, a case of death. Guy was out taking a piss when some grub with a Longshot ruined his day.”

“Damn. What was a grub doing so close to Command?” The things were like rats, scurrying around broken buildings to find that perfect hidey hole. Marov shrugged in response and opened a door to organized chaos. Aides were running around carrying notes scribbled hastily on parchment or laptops closed under their arms, the lights blinking in standby mode.

Nyvar and Marov moved up to the center of the room, their boots falling soundlessly on the massive rug that suddenly took over the floor a couple of meters away from a desk. They stopped and saluted, their muscled arms not trembling a bit, close to a huge console showing images of combat engagements or patrols through the eyes of bots. A map lit up as they approached, red dots slowly pulsating to represent Locust incursions onto Jacinto Plateau. A couple of blue dots, Gears, overtook a red one and the crimson light winked off.

Matheison was sitting in a wheelchair in front of one of the desks, a headset on his head, tasking at least six or seven squads of soldiers himself. A couple of assistants were on computers on a wall near him, their monitors showing much the same as Matheison’s, though the teams were split between the two.

“Gentlemen,” Matheison said without preamble, turning his chair around by grabbing the wheels and twisting them opposing directions. “Hoffman’s asked me to task your squad with a mission. We’re out of Gear teams at the moment, and you’ve had a couple days rest.” He saluted them quickly, almost irritatingly, and they placed their arms behind their back and clasped them together.

“We’re ready to go, sir. Bartch was going to have us train the recruits, but we can always do that some other day. What’s the mission?”

“Prescott(18*),” the crippled man began, lacing the man’s name with acid, “recently divulged some new information about an Imulsion plant right on the outskirts of Ephyra. Apparently, the plant has been reclaimed by a group of Gears who decided the COG wasn’t their cup of tea. They’re cranking out fuel at a steady rate and we want the facility before the Locust find out its working and overrun the place.”

The man wheeled over to the central console and tapped a button on the display. A schematic of the plant, the Lethia(19*) Imulsion Facility as it was named at the top, sprang up on the table. Matheison pointed to a place somewhere vaguely in the center of the Facility

“This is where you’ll be headed. Your goal is to arrest the ex-soldiers who are running the place and, if worst comes to worst, defend it from any Locust incursions. Make no mistake, gentlemen, this facility is a dire need by the COG, so don’t blow anything up we might need to use later. Questions?”

“Guess we can’t take the Centaur(20*) I just fixed, then?” Marov replied, wiping his hands on his pants as if grease were still on them.

“No, take an APC. I’ll be monitoring your progress from here via your bot, Sparks(21*). Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Nyvar said, snapping off a quick salute and turning away to the door. The man in the wheelchair twisted himself around and went back to his desk as the two Gears walked out of the room. The doors clacked open and shut with a muted click as they strode into the hallway.

“Think I’d rather have the tank than an armored car if we’re going up against former Gears. Who knows what kind of weaponry they’ve managed to scrounge up,” Marov grumbled, reaching his arms behind his back in a stretch that ended with a popping sound.

“We’ll have to make do,” Nyvar replied in a resigned voice, reaching up to his ear to turn on the radio transmitter tucked into the cavity. “Ven, Ty, meet us at the hangar. We’re going out for a ride.”(23*)

“I could definitely use a change of scenery, my friend(22*),” came the reply, the Islander’s tones suggesting a bemused expression. “As safe as these gray walls are, they do turn one’s surroundings monotonous.”

“Roger that. See you there.” the transmission ended with a tap to Nyvar’s ear, the man turning to the other beside him. “Let’s suit up. Gotta dress up nice for the deserters.”

<<< Memoir I

Next Chapter >>>

Chapter 1 Commentary

You know, I actually wrote this for a competition on another site. The first half, at any rate. It scored bad marks, so I went back and overhauled it to the nth degree, hoping to flex my literary skills. I believe I did that, though it may seem a little flowery.

(1) That doctor is a mixture of my mom and dad, if you want to know where I got the name. A little shout out to my parents, even though I hope they never read this (they aren't too keen on cursing). The quote was actually rewritten a few times, thanks to some input on another forum. It was originally just the bare minimum of information, "medicine" replacing "pharmaceuticals" and the like. Another flex of literary muscles. :P

(2) Crimson Crustacean. I wonder if anyone gets the reference. Heh.

(3) That opening line right there is actually the last line of another fic I did right before this one. It starred this team's venture in Nemaria, which interestingly enough ended in them all dead when I first wrote it, all horror-like. Poor Ty. He had the worst death, dying like some Carmine in the middle of a street, crushed by masonry. Figuring I'd like to continue with these characters, I rewrote it into something a little better than your average fan fiction (read: it sucked). From there, I started this novel! Also, I had initially followed up the first line with "Fais?", the last name of Tyler, one of the gears in the squad, but removed it due to confusion.

(4) Kathryn, Nyvar's wife, is based on a girlfriend I had at the time, though she didn't have green eyes or red hair. I just liked the colors, even if they're very, very cliche. It's funny, now that I look back, how she turned into a monster in the dream sequence. She turned into a ***** later in my life, too. :P

(5) "Miffed". I wonder if that's too British and unwieldy in the mainly American minded dialogue throughout the story. Still, with Karen writing the Gears books, maybe it's not so far fetched.

(6) Dead leaves and wind, pierced by a shrill scream. Uh, oh, things are turning for the worst. This is one of my favorite images. Looking back, actually, this chapter has the best imagery in the novel. Of course, that's probably because I overhauled it using three days of work (not solidly, though. Maybe like 4 hours total).

(7) The dream sequence is actually a confusing piece to newcomers. That's partially my fault, since I originally had titled this story "Gears of War: A.E. (After E-Day)", intent on telling the story from E-day. It changed halfway through into what I think was a damn good opener. "Too often dreams are written in a very logical, straightforward manner. Yours was chaotic and abstract -- realistic." - Kaez, from A Writer's Recluse.

(8) Introduction of Marov, everyone's favorite smart ass, comforting his friend. He has feelings, you know, even with his gruff exterior.

(9) The end of the dream sequence leads me into thinking that I started this off in a rather psychological direction. It doesn't hold true throughout the story, if you've read it, but I kept a few instances of the effects this war has had on these people in some places. One regret I have is not making more references to it, though.

(10) Sgt. Grub k1ller later mentions in a comment around chapter 3-4 that he thought Nyvar had a helmet. The fact is, he did. It may be confusing if you don't read every line in the story. I'll point it out later when I come across it. Ty also has a helmet here, though he also doesn't take it with him on the adventure. If there was any plot hole you want to point out, Grub, you should have looked at that one. :P

(11) Why does Nyvar carry fuel in a container? I don't really mention it again, but the reasoning behind it was their mission was to find some missing Stranded (the ones they're interacting with in this chapter). A few of their women and children died, and it's better to burn the bodies than bury them in the Gears universe, for obvious reasons.

(12) The competition topic this piece was originally entered in was something like "Out of Control", hence the title. Neat trivia, there.

(13) I didn't actually mean to make that first sentence in the second part of the chapter rhyme, but I rather like that it does. Bartch is such a poet, deep down. Way deep down.

(14) Ooh, character development. Marov doesn't like Stranded, for good reason as you'll find out later. First impression of his rough exterior here. Nyvar is also seen to be concerned about humanity as a species, rather than just the COG. He's a nice guy, if a bit naive sometimes.

(15) Matheison was a character from the fiction I liked from the get-go. At the time I wrote this, not much was know about him aside from being paralyzed, so I made him my CIC controller. If you want more information on him, I have an entry in the DITL series here that ties in neatly with Haunted Echoes.

(16) The season here is depicted as the very beginnings of Frost, but I may have taken a few liberties with it later. Also, the building is hot on a rather hot day, hence the comment about the AC being stupid, despite the windy chill.

(17) Anya makes a cameo. I don't like having major lore characters in my stories because I was taught not to, but I figured this little bit would be okay. Baird and Dom also come up in some quotes later, as well as Gettner, but nothing huge.

(18) Prescott's an asshole, no matter what fic he's in. Trust me.

(19) Lethia is the name of the Imulsion facility you go through in Gears 1. As this is set 7 years before that happens, I thought I'd give a reason for there to be scientists there. You'll find out why, later.

(20) You should have taken the Centaur anyway, Marov.

(21) Sparks is a robot like JACK in the Gears games. Only 7 years after E-day, there's more than a few still working. Will this one survive the mission?

(22) Ven's based heavily on Tai, which may be unfortunate. That said, Marov is kind of based on Baird and Dom, with Nyvar trying to be Marcus. Ty's something else, though. Original, as much as he can be.

(23) The last line is a personal dip into the cliche pool, but I wanted to get the ball rolling and quotes like that help. Silly Nyvar, for making me write that.

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

Alright then. Will read later when I get a chance.
btw did you ever check out my FF. A review would be nice. Can never have to much criticism.

[SKORGE]

Hey this is great, I can see you've improved a hell of a lot since that last one. I love the set up and organization. I'm taking notes from you brah! Though you might want to fix the censored words..... Not a biggie but it's easier if you censor the third or so letter instead of the second. (Not a biggie, just easier on the eye in my opinion).

Will be looking to read some more.

Hell, it would be much appreciated if you looked over my work!

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

Third letter, eh? Alright, sounds good, I'll do that. Thanks

And I'll get to yall's fiction in a bit. Gotta do some editing on my next few chapters, get rid of some inconsistencies, then I'll be right on top of that!

Just read the prolog and I am liking what ive read so far. As for cursing I usually censor the vowell. sh*t, f*ck, b*tch and so forth. That basically gets yout point across.

[Croswynd]

All I see are Skorge's stuff. Where's your FF, Grub?

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

http://forums.epicgames.com/showthread.php?t=727251
Here. It was on the front page in this forum area

[SKORGE]

All I see are Skorge's stuff. Where's your FF, Grub?

My stuff? I have stuff posted on the front page? (Unless you mean you checked out my threads.)

Anyway, again liking the story so far, keep them coming.

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

Really great story. I loved the dream sequence. It really set the mood for that character. Great additions of canon characters aswell. Couldnt really find anything wrong with it. I am looking forward to more chapters.

[SKORGE]

I checked out like 5 or so pages into history and found Warriors, Journey, and Redemption for you, Skorge. I completely missed Grub's, somehow, but I got that reviewed up. Starting on yours now, gonna necro a few threads!

As for muh story, I have two more chapters written down completely, with the next one halfway done...but I wanna wait til I get a little more feedback on this one before I start unloading junk in "teh" thread!

Go with Warriors, as that is the latest. The other one (Redemption) you can skip out on. (That's what I did)

Yeah that's true. You should wait until Boss and the others get some more feedback to ya'. Though don't expect too much, as most people these days don't really like actual fiction... well want to comment is what I mean.

This place was very, very active back in the day, now it's sort of dead. But it'll be back up in no time as more Gears 3 information is released.

[Croswynd]

Perhaps some new blood will get the gears and cogs greased enough for the place to become a little livelier. In the future, I'm going to be working closely with another amazing (read: better than I) writer on a Gears co-op storyline. So I might even ask around on AWR if they wanna come see and maybe write a few things here.

Oh, speaking of AWR (A Writer's Recluse), if any of you guys wanna check it out, it's an awesome sight for any kind of writing, be it Gears, Non-Fiction, or anything in between. Awritersrecluse.proboards.com if you wanna check it out. Sorry for the little adverstisement. >.>

Anyways, I'll post Chapter 2 tomorrow and perhaps chapter 3 as well. We'll see how it goes. And I'm glad you enjoyed it so far, Mr. Grub

@The reviews of yours Skorge, I kinda sorta already did one on Journey. >.>

[RaKais]

Wow. I must say that with no offence to any other writer here, that this is the best stuff I've seen so far. ( I haven't read many fan fics... but thats not the point lol...)

Unlike the prologue, I really get a feel of the characters and it was an excellent touch for him to have flashback/hallucinations to his past life. At first, I couldn't tell whether he was with his wife, thinking back to his squad or the other way round. Very nicely done.

Oh by the way? There is another "Dew-rag" instead of "Doo-rag" but that doesn't take anything away from your writing. Everyone makes mistakes...

I actually have no critisms either, strangely. Usually you can find something wrong in everyones (Hell, I could rip apart my own piece) but this was a pleasant surprise. Maybe it's because it's half 2 AM here where I am... I'll re-read it tomorrow and get back to you.

[RaKais]

Also, how do you link your thread in your sig? Thanks

[Croswynd]

Aw, damnit, I did it again, did I? >< I changed it. You never saw it!

@sig link, the same way you have "Fan Fic Writers Support Group" in your sig, except you replace the link to that thread with your own and replace the words "Fan Fic Writers Support Group" with your title! :P

Edit: And I hope you don't find anything, because I've had it reviewed by people already on my other forum. XD

[RaKais]

Thanks... I'll take a look at how to change it... i just copied and pasted the thing into my sig... didn't really pay attention to what was in it! lol

[SKORGE]

Also, how do you link your thread in your sig? Thanks

Go to your fiction thread, put that in a link and copy and paste it into the signature area from Quick Links.

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

Go to your fiction thread, put that in a link and copy and paste it into the signature area from Quick Links.

This^
Come to think about it, I need to add mine to my sig. R.I.P. Sig#1 Your in a better place now.

[RaKais]

Okay, thats alot better. Thank's guys

[SKORGE]

This^
Come to think about it, I need to add mine to my sig. R.I.P. Sig#1 Your in a better place now.

Until you lose nine more - your in a world where the opportunities are limitless.

And how in the hell did two people Ninja me...... At once!?

Edit: Oh come on RaKais, no need to show off and do it a third time.

[RaKais]

It's okay SKORGE. It's okay.

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

Both of you do know you can get rid of the [] if front of the Title of your FF right? Unless you want it like that.

[RaKais]

I kinda like it like that

[Jonesybites]

The dream sequence is a nice touch at the beginning, although I wasn't quite sure of the time frame...is it seven years after E-day, similar to that in the letter, or does this take place later than that?

[Croswynd]

Hmm, no one's ever brought that up. I edited it to fit my intentions. It was meant to be a flashback of E-day which then morphs into a nightmare. Thanks for letting me know about that.

[Jonesybites]

Np...it's not a major big deal, I was just trying to envision the timeframe since you mentioned it in your "prequal."

[Croswynd]

Chapter 2: Road to Hell(1*, 15*)



“Yeah, I know how hard it is to fix these things, and yes, I know how hard it is to replace them if we break them. I’m the one that’s been doing the fixing! So, give me a little time to myself, and maybe I’ll come help you with the ‘bots. Right now, though, I’m freezing my ass off in the beginning of winter, so I’m going to get these A/C units working before my goggles start cracking. Five more minutes! That’s all I ask!” – Damon Baird, when asked by Matheison on help with repairing some damaged COG material.(2*)

Outskirts of Jacinto;

2030 hours.(3*)


The Armadillo APC had been moving along through the twisted and broken down portions of the city fairly well, rocking them back and forth whenever they came to a scalable slab of debris. They had all rode mostly in quiet as Nyvar drove the armored car out to the western outskirts of Ephyra(4*), with, surprisingly, no sign of the Locust. The city was starting to be left behind, huge towers in the distance giving way to small, suburban architecture. Most of the houses were still pretty well intact, being made of stone or other hard materials, with the wooden parts caved in or charred to a blackish gray.(5*)

“This silence is making me nervous,” Ty said, interrupting Nyvar's reverie with his strained voice. Nyvar looked back to see the kid rubbing the back of his neck and breaking the silence. The kid’s eyes had been alternating between open and closed for the past thirty minutes, his fingers drumming on the hard, metal plate covering his left knee. Its surface was pale in the little lighting provided, the Death’s Head emblem covered in a soft sheen of white light.

“Ah, but the silence is the best part. It gives one a chance to mentally prepare for whatever will come next,” Ven replied with a slight smile on his tattooed face. The big man's eyes were closed, reclining against the bulkhead in a position he’d taken since they had left the hangar. The Islander’s Lancer Assault Rifle(6*) was in his lap, one hand draped over the handle and the other in the handhold right above the chainsaw attachment. The chainsaw’s blades were ever so softly scratching across the man’s thigh plate, just below hearing range to be considered a feel rather than a sound. His Gnasher Shotgun was clipped to his back, the man's favorite weapon. It was decorated with tribal swirls and patterns, against regulation(7*). Not that anyone cared anymore, Nyvar thought as he maneuvered around a bump.

“Besides, Fais, with our luck, we’ll probably be seeing some action soon. And if we don’t, we will when we get to the Facility,” Marov grumbled. Nyvar took a peek over his shoulder, seeing the man's customary grimace. Both elbows were resting on his knees with his hands dangling over the Lancer between his lower legs. The weapon was gently rattling against the man’s armor as the car bounced over the ashy landscape.

“How far away are we, Sarge?” Tyler asked, grabbing his left shoulder with his right hand across his armored chest. The movement was awkward, with the chest plate’s bulging design, but he managed it; used to years of practice in the suits. After stretching it out by swinging it in a small arc, he set it back down, satisfied. (8*)

Instead of answering, Nyvar slowed the car down, staring out of the dinged and scratched window to the path ahead. Dusk was just beginning to set in, piles of trash and debris casting long shadows over the road and gloomy, dusty ground. As he peered through the small screen, he saw one of the shadows move, detaching itself and ghosting across the street.

“Somethin’s movin out there,” Nyvar whispered, even though there was no way anyone outside the ‘Dill could hear him. More shadows were starting to move away from the debris, pausing every now and then, practically blending in with the ground. “Ven, Marov. Go check it out. Ty, hop up on the gun and cover them.”

“Sh*t, let’s hope it’s just some Stranded playin’ games with us,” Marov muttered stood up and palmed the hatch button. A hydraulic hiss broke into the silence, wind gusting in tiny bits of dust on the ramp as it lowered. Ven brought his gun up, scanning from one end of his field of vision to the other, his eyes staring out into the growing darkness with a silent determination.

Nothing but the chilling moan of the wind greeted them as they disembarked from the car. Their heavy combat boots made little noise on the sand covered concrete, puffs of dust rising up with every step. They made their way around to the front of the APC after closing the hatch again, each going around opposite sides, scanning the small ditch and the surrounding suburbs. A few tall business buildings and broken down homes were the only things around, their forlorn forms looking lonely so far away from the main city of Jacinto. A few cars, rusted and crushed by who knew what, crouched by the curb. Their rubber wheels were melted into the concrete from the intense heat of the Hammer strikes.

Marov tapped on the ‘Dill’s chassis and Nyvar quickly switched on the heavy lights on the front of the armored car, bathing the road in front of it in bright, blue-tinged radiance. Marov and Ven moved up into view in his screen, slowly walking forward with their guns aimed directly in front of them. A creak sounded from above him as Tyler readied the main chain-gun, moving it around in a 180 degree motion. The radio crackled on, in time with Marov putting a hand against his head and activating the mic.

“Don’t see anything. You sure it wasn’t just some loose weeds or something?”

“It is clear on my side, as well, Sergeant,” Ven's voice, tinny through the radio, crackled out, a hand up to his ear as well. They stopped ten meters away on either side of the street near some gutted houses, letting their Lancers lower to their chests, relaxed, yet ready to bring it up and fire in a moment’s notice. The two men continued walking ahead, checking in cracked windows to see if there was anything dangerous.

Another shadow moved in the corner of his eye, across a roof; a familiar movement from years spent fighting the nightmarish Locust Horde. As soon as he looked at it, however, it disappeared into thin air. Nyvar shook his head, slapping himself slightly with his heavy, gloved hand.

The motion of his hand across his face rubbed across the stubble growing on the bottom of his chin, reminding him of his need to shave again. He snorted, amused with such thoughts playing out in his head at a time like this. He raised his eyes back to the viewport and watched as Ven and Marov moved further and further out of the light’s radiance. He pushed the button to activate the radio, a red light popping up cheerfully(9*), proclaiming the channel’s readiness.

“Alright, pack it in, guys. I need to sleep a couple hundred more hours.”

“Yeah, you and me both, man,” Marov sighed as he turned around, looking right and left every now and then. He cut across what could have been a well maintained yard but was now a jungle of weeds and vaulted a worn down, chain-link fence with a grunt. Ven just waltzed down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street as if nothing was wrong in the world, a slight smile on the man’s face distinguishable by the white of his teeth against the tan skin.

Clang.

Nyvar whipped around in his seat, his hand already moving toward the snub pistol at his side. What greeted his sight scared the hell out of him, but he let out a breath as Sparks’ “head” cocked a little to the right, the cameras that represented his eyes gleaming in the APC’s dim lighting. The bot floated above the ground high enough for the small antenna to bend slightly against the roof of the armored car.

“Damn it, you bucket of bolts, don’t do that,” Nyvar growled, blowing a breath out and chuckling at himself. A burst of static cut his amusement short, hissing at him like a Wretch(10*), the blind and dumb “hounds” of the Locust army. It wasn’t a pleasant analogy to think about.

“Sergeant,” a voice replied from the speaker on the floating robot’s front, “you need to move, now. Satellites have detected a sizable force of Locust heading your way.” The bot swiveled in the air, Matheison was looking through the bot’s camera at the closed back end of the APC. “Also, there’s some kind of interference where you are on the logistics map. It’s nowhere near what a Seeder would put out, but it’s enough to make me worry.(11*)” Nyvar sighed, remembering the countless times the “Seeders” had blocked communications with some sort of weird, natural jamming equipment.

“Yes, sir. Ven and Marov just went out and looked arou-,"A burst of Lancer fire crackled out, stopping his sentence cold and causing him to turn about and look out through the viewport. The bot was forgotten, his vision totally focused on finding both Marov and Ven.

“Contact,” Marov yelled into his mic, firing at something outside the field of light the armored car put out. “Looks like some kind of Wretch, but I can’t see it well enough to confirm!”

“Ty, shine the gun’s light on Sy’s location, now!” The gears clanked softly as the kid swiveled the gun, the light passing over Ven first, and then Marov, who was firing into an alleyway from the left side of a burned down house.

“Moving to engage, Sergeant,” Ven said, sounding calm and composed at the prospect of a firefight. The man ran from the other end of the street’s sidewalk, bouncing slightly as he fell from the short curb to the street itself. A few Gnasher shots rang out, ineffective at that range, but theoretically enough to draw some attention away from Marov.

The light lit up the alley near Marov, throwing up shadows on the far wall of a gray building set against two houses perpendicularly. Hunched over little things with something strapped to their lumpy backs appeared. They scurried around, unable to find purchase on the surrounding walls. The Wretches(12*) started gushing out sparks as the light hit them, their outlines coming into focus and their hideous maws open in a hissing, clicking sound.

“What the hell?” Nyvar heard from behind him as he turned the 'Dill to face the area in between two houses, Ty moving the gun to keep the alley in his sights.

“Ty, open fire,” Nyvar commanded, bringing the armored car to a stop right before the curb, the alleyway only eight or ten meters ahead. Marov had crouched down, putting his gun around the corner and spraying off a few shots without looking. One of the shadows fell to the ground, still, while others were punched back. The surviving ones reacted to the attack with a simultaneous hiss, suddenly focused on destroying whatever was threatening them.

“Yes sir!” Ty replied as he filled the dark alcove with seething, bright bullets. The Wretches started falling down, but a few got through and most were soundly cut down by Marov’s chainsaw bayonet and a few quick shots of Ven’s shotgun.

Something suddenly exploded in the alleyway, blowing Marov back into a trashed and looted car with a rush of fire and superheated air.(13*) The old car buckled under the impact of a Gear in full armor, wedging the man in the passenger’s seat. One of the few Wretches not already put down suddenly disappeared, its outline wavering in the light and then vanishing as it passed outside the radiance.

“Aaugh,” Marov cried out, a sound of anger and pain vying for supremacy, as something smashed into him. Fortunately, anger won out as he loosened himself from the wreckage enough to grab his gun and start the chainsaw, bringing it down in front of him where blood started spraying out from thin air. Nyvar could hear a keening wail even through the metal walls of the APC, followed by a sudden crackling sound in Marov’s earpiece through the open circuit as the Wretch once again appeared, in two bloody pieces.

Marov was covered in gore and other less savory things, putting his gun down and trying to remove his lower half from the wreckage when Ven walked over to give him a hand, grabbing onto the other man’s left shoulder.

“Arrgh! Stop!,” grated Marov’s voice through gritted teeth, clearly in pain as the South Islander let go of his arm. “I think that thing dislocated my shoulder!”(14*)

“Ven, pop it back in place, and hurry. Radar’s showing incoming,” Nyvar said through the radio, watching as Ven grabbed onto Marov’s arm and heaved, muscles bulging slightly. A sharp cry of pain came over the speakers before being clamped down into a hiss as the shoulder went back in its socket. Ven worked quickly, extricating Marov from the ruined car and pulling him to his feet.

“What the f*ck exploded?” Marov gritted out as they looked down at the pieces of what was once a Wretch. Nyvar wished they’d hurry it up and get back in the vehicle. The red dots were flashing closer and closer to their location, one of them altogether too big. More static washed over the display as it moved toward the center of the radar. That wasn't good.

“Looks like the Locust have been repurposing more than our weapons technology,” Ven said with a tranquil voice, tinged with the smallest amount of nervousness that ruined the intended effect. He stood up, turning around and facing the APC and stumbled slightly as a vibration ran through the ground. Marov looked up and over the APC’s front end at something behind the row of houses out of Nyvar’s field of vision.

“Marov, Ven, get back in the APC!” Nyvar yelled into the radio, backing up into the street and turning around to face the back end to the two men. A bellowing roar shook the surrounding area as explosions lit the sky with yellow and orange. “Brumak!”(15*)

Marov ran toward the back of the armored car, Ven following close behind, his indicator lights bobbing up and down with a pale, blue light as he ran. Fais dropped down from the main gun and rushed to the back of the armored car and slammed his fist into the button that opened the back end, jumping to the side and falling into a chair as the two other men stumbled up the ramp. They instantly turned around and started firing around the corner of the APC, into the street where a few Grubs were taking cover behind damaged cars, their pale, leathery hides visible in the small amount of sunlight left. Nyvar stepped on the gas, trying to get them out of there, getting back on the road.

Returning fire pinged and peppered the inside of the APC, one of the bullets flashing by both Marov and Ven and hitting Sparks’ directly in the side. Bright, yellow sparks sputtered out as the bot lost altitude, crashing to the floor with a clang, its lights dying out. Small bits of smoke started filling the air with the stink of melted plastic.(16*)

“Close the goddamned door!” Nyvar yelled as he moved forward slowly, the ramp dragging against the pavement with a screeching sound. “The ramp’s slowing us down! Aw, sh*t!” Nyvar looked up to see a Brumak looking straight at him through the viewport through a helmet that made it seem like it had a hundred tiny pinpricks of eyes. One of its scaly hands was holding onto a house, its claws crushing into the roofing with ease as it steadied itself and bowed slightly. A loud hiss sounded out as someone behind him closed the ramp, causing status lights to blink green and the APC to jump ahead, forcing Nyvar back into the chair’s cushion.

“Hold on!” Nyvar yelled back at his team as he swerved to the right, straight at the Brumak as it fired, the rockets flying directly over the viewport, rocking the armored car hard enough to make it come up on two wheels before falling back down to earth.

Curses flew behind Nyvar as he pushed his foot down on the gas; afterimages wavering in front of his face as the car rocketed forward, crushing a small, melted motorcycle. They were moving forward, fire still peppering the back end, sounding like little pings, while flashes danced every now and then from behind Nyvar, casting his shadow across the front of the viewport and panels in sharp relief.

The street ahead of him held a few Grubs and some normal Wretches, hiding behind an overturned truck, but he just kept going straight, nailing the truck head on with the armored front grill, crushing the fleeing bastards underneath the weight of two vehicles. They ramped over the remains of the truck and came down again with a heavy jolt, causing more curses from behind.

The incoming fire started lessening as they flew down the street, away from the Brumak and gathered Locust, one last roar from the huge beast following them as they left the neighborhood. Suburbs gave way to country quickly, only the lights of the APC letting them see the road ahead, since the sun had sunk beneath the horizon. Nyvar slowed down a little bit after a few minutes.

“Report. You guys alright back there?” Nyvar asked, his eyes still on the road, hoping to hear them say they were all okay. He blinked slowly; waiting for a response as the terrain slowly gave way to scattered bushes and dirt. Losing a member of his team would feel like losing his family all over again; not a feeling he wanted to experience again.

“I’m alright, Sarge,” Tyler said, his voice a welcome sound. “Sparks is down, though. I don’t know if we’ll be able to fix him in the field.”(17*) Nyvar’s slight smile slowly transformed into a grimace at the news, knowing they needed the bot for a number of things. Guess they’d have to do things the old fashioned way.

“Me and Ven,” Marov said, sounding strained, “are okay, too. Left shoulder’s a bit weak and I caught a little fire in my left side. Bruises are all I’ll get from it, though.” He sounded frustrated with himself for getting even minutely injured and clanged down into a seat.

Ven followed suit and they all fell silent as the flat landscape passed them by, catching their breath and looking over their equipment for damage. A poorly maintained Lancer could malfunction at a critical moment and cause loss of life or limb, especially these days, when they’d been active since before E-Day. Time passed quickly, slowed down, and reverted to normal as their adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. Nyvar looked up at the digital clock up on the right hand side of his panel and noted forty minutes had gone by since they’d left the firefight behind.(18*)

“Alright, give me a sitrep. What was that business about the Locust stealing something…?” Nyvar asked as the APC bumped over small ruts and pieces of broken granite. The engine was starting to sound high pitched, so he slowed down even more, looking around in the field of light provided. It looked like there was a small, ruined gas station a couple miles ahead.

“They attached a bot’s cloaking mechanism to those Wretches(19*),” Ven replied, his tone one of worry. The cloaking generators were one of their most valuable assets and a terrible blow to their efforts if the Locust learned how to attach it to anything bigger.

“Doesn’t exactly bode well for us, ‘Seph,” Marov continued, his eyes closed as Nyvar sneaked a peek behind him. The man looked tired and dirty, red blood flecked in his hair and all down the front of his armor. A few stretches of red where he’d tried to wipe the blood off of his face shown against his pale skin.

“Agreed,” Nyvar replied, slowing down as he turned into the gas station’s driveway. The station’s roof extended from the store part of it to the actual pumps. It’d give them a little protection if it started razor hailing, at least. He pulled up to the front of the store, the lights shining off what was left of the broken windows and illuminating the crushed shelves and burned out register. He shut off the armored car quickly, killing the growl of the Armadillo’s engine, leaving the interior quiet except for the minute sound of breathing and the armored car pinging as it cooled down. As Nyvar turned around, an acrid stench wafted across his nose, no doubt from the bits of flesh and gore coating Marov’s body.

“Alright, this is where we’re stopping for tonight. Me and Ven will scout out the inside of the store while you and Marov fix up a campsite. See if you can do anything with Sparks when you’re done,” Nyvar ordered, standing up and grabbing his gun from a nearby rack, moving to the back of the vehicle. He palmed the hatch button and moseyed down the ramp, looking side to side at the new bullet holes in the back of the APC’s chassis.(20*)

He sighed and motioned for Ven to follow him as he stalked over to the side of the store, grabbed onto the metal handle. Nyvar slowly walked in, his gun leading as he looked inside. Nothing moved or made a sound as he quietly clomped in with his heavy boots on broken up tile. He sniffed slightly, smelling the smallest hint of smoke from a day old fire pit as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Looks like someone had the same idea we did,” Ven whispered, the noise sounding loud in the dark silence.(21*) The quiet was broken as Marov and Ty walked down the ramp of the 'Dill together, clanging loudly with Sparks’ “body” held in between them. Nyvar sighed, shaking his head and gave up being stealthy, checking each row carefully while the South Islander looked into the back bathroom.

Nyvar walked back around to the broken windows, watching as Marov started pouring a can of fuel onto a few desiccated pieces of wood and dried dung. He leaned against the window sill, looking further out into the night; glad the Kryll(22*) didn’t come this far out of the city much. Still, the fire would keep them away from the area, even if it gave his team’s location away for miles around.

A few moments later, Ty came out with a portable stool and a case full of tools. He set the stool up a few feet away from the fire that suddenly sprang to life, and dropped his armored form onto the dented metal seat, Marov rummaging around in the tools Ty brought(23*) as Nyvar turned away, looking back to where Ven had disappeared to.

“Ven, where you at?” Nyvar asked, curiously, unconcerned. He got an answer back quickly as he turned the corner into the bathroom, where a woman’s body hung from the ceiling, attached to a loop of metal wiring around her neck.(24*) The firelight was faint in the room, the woman's face shadowed.

Ven was bowing his head, muttering under his breath, his shoulders sagging.(25*) A few moments later, he reached up and sliced the wiring with his pocket knife and caught the woman on the way down in his arms. He gently laid her down in a corner, putting her hands in her lap, muttering a few more moments before standing up and turning around. He started slightly when he looked at Nyvar leaning against the door frame, then closed his eyes and moved passed him and into the main room. Nyvar followed, closing the door behind him quietly.

Nyvar caught up to Ven outside, where he was leaning against the APC, staring up into the sky, looking at the pinpricks of light in the heavens. Nyvar looked, too, for a moment, before looking down again; the lights reminding him of the Brumak’s helmet.(26*) He patted Ven on the shoulder and just stood there with him, staring off into the night.

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Chapter 2 Commentary:

Ah, this chapter. My first foray into real, Gears action in an honest-to-god novel. This brings back memories.

(1) This title is spoilerish for the rest of the chapter, just to show you something's coming to break up all the character building. Can't have a good story without some action, I suppose. :P

(2) First Baird quote of the novel. I went with something that would showcase his finest quality and tie it in to the comment from the last chapter Anya uttered. Matheison ended up talking to him, though, much to his displeasure.

(3) You've no doubt noticed I use military time. That's because Karen's novels do. Though I never actually used 2400-2659, even though Sera has 26 hours in a day. Funny how that worked out.

(4) Not sure if this is technically correct. Ephyra and Jacinto are such vague ideas in my mind. I hope I got this right. Still, no one's pointed it out as being wrong, so who knows.

(5) Those Hammer strikes really heated up the place..

(6) Even though this is fan fiction, I try to add in elements to describe what things are to newcomers. It's been pointed out repeatedly to me by people I've asked to review that have never played a Gears game in their lives. Some people actually don't know what a Lancer is! Can you believe that?

(7) Custom weapons are something I like to imagine give more personality to the characters, similiar to Tai's modified armor in Gears 2. Marov's bone hilted snub is a modified weapon, as well. See if you can find anymore as you go through the story.

(8) Nyvar, why are you looking backwards when you're driving? You're going to crash!

(9) Be cheerful while you can, red light. Such a useful tool, injecting a bit of relief that nothing's happening, just before something does. Suspense is rising!

(10) Sad that Nyvar's starting to relate sounds to creatures in the Locust army. Shows a bit of psychological trauma, there.

(11) A new enemy ability? That's just plain nasty, and a useful way to knock out contact with Control before...

(12) ...that happens. Yep. Invisible Wretches with tiny jammers. Ain't that a wonderful combination? A creative liberty with the storyline, maybe. We'll see, won't we?

(13) That explosion is actually the result of one of the jammer/cloaking devices getting hit by a machine gun. Can't really mention it in the story, since Nyvar wouldn't know that.

(14) That's the first wound, but it definitely will not be the last. My characters go through hell. I don't pull punches. No one gets out unscathed in real life. Why should they in fiction?

(15) "A Brumak. Pulling out the big guns mighty early, aren't you, Cros?" you might be thinking. Well, yes, I am, but depending on the situation, a Brumak isn't the worst thing that can happen, as you'll see later. This monster of a problem propels these soldiers the hell out of dodge. See what I did there?

(16) Ah, hell, Sparks is out of commission. There goes the only link to Control. I operate on the philosophy that, without something in the area to bounce a signal off of, soldiers can't really contact their HQ. Sparks happened to be that thing, the Invisible Wretches just adding to Echo's problems.

(17) Bots are expensive. Their parts are, too. Plus, with tech on Sera slowly dwindling into the Dark Ages, where are they going to find new parts? Sparks may just be down for the count, and so early, too.

(18) Adrenaline does weird things to time. I repeat this adage frequently in this story. Slow motion scenes are something I love and I replicate them as best I can in prose. It seems to work, from what people have said.

(19) Oh, wow. Where the hell are Locust getting parts for stealth generators when the COG is having difficulty finding any left? There's only one answer, and SKORGE hates that answer with a passion. More on that, later. :P

(20) "I wish, just once, we could go out into the field without having new bullet holes in our vehicles. What happened to the days when a guy could just go for a drive to see the (burned and destroyed) sights? Honestly."

(21) Another human, out here? Stranded do hang out in the wastes. Hopefully this one won't be a threat.

(22) Kryll. I hated those things in the first game. I can't even imagine how bad it must be to be around them. Oh, wait. I actually can imagine. Hee hee. Spoilers.

(23) Originally, Ty was the medic and Marov was the only mechanic. However, that changed in the process of the story, leaving Ty as an assistant mechanic and Ven getting the pleasure of medic duty. Weird how things change from initial ideas.

(24) Remember that psychological tone I mentioned before? This is one of the parts where I slow things down and really show you a look into how I imagine Sera is. This poor woman hung herself, rather than deal with the constant fear and agony of living in a world gone mad. Or maybe she was hung by someone else, some Stranded serial killer. Either way, this really shows how bitter a place the Gears universe is. At least, I hope that's how it felt when you read it.

(25) Despite his optimism, Ven's a troubled guy. I never really go into detail with him, unfortunately, but he's definitely suffering in this world. This, and certain other factors, are reasons for what happens later in the story. He's tired and sad. That eats away at a person after awhile. Another regret is not fleshing him out more.

(26) Damn, it's a screwed up world when one of the more beautiful things in life, a night sky, remind you of something horrible. I ended this chapter on a somber mood to counteract the action in the middle of it.

[RaKais]

Wow, some more awesome writing. Right now, I'm a little too tired to give you much feedback but I promise I'll have a proper read over tomorrow.

The action was quite exciting yet not big and over the top. It's nice to see you didn't just chuck everything at them straight away, we were eased into this stories conflict nicely.

I also liked the fact that the gears were comparing sounds and sights to the Locust... like the Bot's hissing to a wretch and the stars to a Brumak helmet, it's adds character and shows how affected everyone is...

As I said, tomorrow, you will get a more coherent answer out of me. In the meantime, read my latest chapter. It's not terribly exciting but I need to build up to the action.

[SKORGE]

Both of you do know you can get rid of the [] if front of the Title of your FF right? Unless you want it like that.

I actually wanted this.... And I would have found out sooner or later, I mean you get to know how signatures work after ten kills.

Anyway, nice work on the new chapter man. It's looking good, the description is great, the flow is smooth and you've got me warmed up to the plot line. Let's see where this goes.

[Croswynd]

Hrm. I'm debating whether I should just post the next chapter or wait for more criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what Jonesybites has to say. She(?) seems like she's -very- experienced with writing, from what I can judge by her Snowblind FF.

What to do, what to do...

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

I'd wait for a little more reviews. Speacking of which I will review this in a little bit.

[Easy-Seven]

Hrm. I'm debating whether I should just post the next chapter or wait for more criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what Jonesybites has to say. She(?) seems like she's -very- experienced with writing, from what I can judge by her Snowblind FF.

What to do, what to do...

Yup good ole Jonesy is a female.

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

Great chapter. Very interesting read and I want to know what happens next. One question though. Are you planning to kill off any of the main characters?

[Jonesybites]

Lol, you actually read that behemoth?

Anyhoot, you don't have to post daily; if anything, you may want to space out your chapters to give the readers' some time to read it leisurely instead of forcing it, especially when there are other stories that are updated regularly…but this is just a suggestion.

I used to post once a week, and I got little, if any, feedback for the first two months, but this was during a dry period on the forums, and I just persevered anyway…the activity has picked up here for the time being, probably as a result of the GoW 3 trailer, getting the fans hyped up and returning to the forums, so hopefully, you’ll get some more feedback, outside of the regulars who normally read and review.

Otherwise, your descriptions move fluently, drawing the reader to the overall atmosphere of the scene…as far as plot is concerned, it’s only the second chapter, so I can’t really give a reasonable review until I have general feel for the plot…and that may take a few more chapters to do so.

[Croswynd]

Thanks for the compliments, darlin'. Much appreciated from someone as superior as yourself. Hope ye like what I do with this over the coming months. As to the rest of y'all, just point me in the right direction and I'll see about gettin some reviews of yer own work.

Night, y'all.

[Croswynd]

Figured I'd put my last complete chapter up just because I feel the need to live on the edge without a buffer for just this once.

Chapter 3: Good Intentions

“You know what? You can take this sh*t and shove it. If you guys aren’t going to help these people, then I will. If they do that good on their own, just think how much help a Gear would be. Sh*t, not like the COG thinks of anything but its own skin. So f*ck you, I quit. Just try and stop me.”

-Unnamed former Gear’s journal, found a day after desertion.

Abandoned Gas Station, Outskirts of Ephyra;

2250 hours.

The evening passed without any sign of Locusts, aside from the shrill cry of Kryll way out in the darkness. Ven had volunteered for first watch, leaning against the APC like a statue. The man was staring off into the distance with his Lancer across his massive, armored chest, occasionally moving around the store’s perimeter to stay awake. Nyvar had stood with him a few minutes before the Islander made the first patrol. After Ven had left, Nyvar settled down against a wall near the fire and removed his armor in preparation for sleep. Little pops and curses floated over from where Ty was tinkering with Spark’s damaged chassis. Marov washed off the gore and blood from earlier as best he could with a rag he had found in the APC’s cargo hold. It didn't seem to help all that much.

Nyvar was just removing the last piece of his leg armor when Marov finished cleaning off and sat down next to him. His friend's standard-issue COG plating was already stacked in a neat pile next to the APC’s massive wheel. Firelight reflected off the man’s face, streaked with sweat, grime, and oil from the old rag he’d used. The man’s mustache still had a bit of dried blood stuck in it, unavoidable when one used a chainsaw on a live target.

“What’re we doin’ out here, ‘Seph?” Marov began, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. Wrinkles showed out in the flickering light, making the man seem older than he was. Marov’s mouth barely seemed to move under his facial hair, the voice sounding tired and tinged with a bitter sadness at all the horrible atrocities witnessed. “We’re getting to old for this, and even if you’re not, I certainly am. I don’t know how many more years I can take.”

“We’re only in our forties. We’ve still got about twenty years left in us,” Nyvar replied after he stretched, realizing all the aches and pains that had slowly appeared after all the hard years of fighting for his life. He yawned then, bringing his hand up to scratch his stubble-ridden chin. “Just try not to break a hip and you’ll do alright, old man.”

Marov smiled a bit, the tell tale curling up of his mustache the only evidence of the action. The man opened his eyes and looked up at the overhanging roof, glistening slightly where there weren’t patches of rust or grime coating the light peach tile.

“Yeah.”

They went quiet after that, Nyvar content with the peace and silent camaraderie. He cleaned his gear, taking the chain out and making sure no bone shards or blood spots were clogging it, even though he hadn’t used it since the day before yesterday. It always paid to make sure about the things.

Slowly, after reassembling his gun, Nyvar drifted off to sleep with his head laying back against the wall, his gun cradled in his arms. Soft, kind words filled his dreams, surrounded by the warmth of his wife’s body. Blissfully, his dreams remained that way and gave him a respite from the usual horrors that haunted the night.



The next morning;

1040 hours.

“Sarge,” someone’s voice called out, quickly followed by a shake.

“Sarge, wake up.”

Groggily, Nyvar looked up to see Ty’s face contorted in a grimace – never a good sign, especially so soon after waking up. His thought processes started to kick back into gear rapidly, assessing the situation in a glance. Marov was gearing up a few yards away to the right, pulling on the massive thigh armor over his leg, buckling and strapping things with a whizzing sound. Looking to his left as he stood up and starting pulling on his armor as well, he saw Ven already dressed and ready to go, dark circles under his eyes, staring off into the east with a haunted look – a look that said he wanted to move, now. He wondered if the man had slept at all.

“Report,” Nyvar snapped quickly as he buckled on the belt with his snub pistol resting in the holster, “what’s goin' on?”

“Dust to the east, Sarge. Looks like a Stranded caravan,” Ty replied, holding a pair of binoculars. The kid started as a Hammerburst round went off in the distance, lending credence to his claims.

“Sh*t, looks like Locust. Serves the bastards right, runnin' around on their own,” Marov gritted out, his tone icy, no hint of pity in it. Stranded were the only thing the man hated more than the grubs – they’d killed one of his two remaining daughters a couple of years ago for food. Nyvar knew not all of the former COG citizens went as low as that, but Marov seemed not to even care.

“Save the hatred for the grubs, Marov,” Nyvar ordered, pulling on his gloves as he moved toward the APC. He opened the ramp with a dull thud as his fist impacted the button. Maybe the Stranded would have some parts to fix Sparks, Nyvar thought as he chewed on his lip. Even if they didn’t, they were humans being attacked by monsters without mercy. That was a fate Nyvar wouldn’t wish on anyone. He’d seen the disgusting things the Horde did, stringing entrails across fences and mutilating the living as much as possible before their frail forms gave up on life. “Hop in, Gears. Time to go say good morning to the Locust.”

Nyvar heard a chorus of 'yes sir’s', Marov’s a little less than enthusiastic. That’d be a problem later, if they lived through the next few minutes. Their footsteps echoed against the heavy metal plate floor as they walked in, Ven and Ty hauling Sparks’ dead weight between them. They dropped it with a clang, Ven moving to shut the hatch and Ty moving up to take over the machine gun on top.

“Marov, you drive,” Nyvar said, sitting down across from Ven, checking his Lancer and slotting a cartridge of bullets into the waiting chamber. He hoped Marov wouldn't take the command as Nyvar's way of giving him a rest after the injuries he'd sustained yesterday, because that's exactly what it was. With a grunt for an answer, Marov kicked the engine on and they started moving. The viewport was shining with the glow of the morning sun, blinding them slightly.

“Damn sun, always gotta be in the way,” Marov muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. Nyvar smiled, remembering all the times the ‘sun had gotten in the way’ of a kill for the other man, even on an overcast day. His smile faded as he broke out of his reverie, looking out the viewport again to try and get a feel for the situation.

“Looks like a couple of Bloodmounts, guys. Ty, open up as soon as we get in range. Those are your first targets,” Nyvar ordered, his hand looped through a handhold near the door as he stood up, rocking back and forth as they bounced over the rough terrain.

“Yes sir,” Ty replied, pausing for a breath. “Firing.”

The loud report of the APC’s main gun boomed out, rattling everyone inside with the noise. Nyvar saw one of the Bloodmounts drop, the handler falling directly in front of the other, live animal. Blood splattered across the ashy ground as the thing turned on the fallen Locust, ripping into the corpse with gusto, the handler on top trying to gain control over the beast. Too late, the handler leaped off right into a hail of high velocity slugs, torn to shreds instantly and almost exploding into a shower of blood. The other grubs turned toward the new threat, no longer interested in tormenting the Stranded caravan - their mistake. As soon as they turned around, two of the beasts fell to the ground, both victims of a sniper round. Nyvar nodded in respect at that, hoping the sniper would hold their fire against COG forces.

They pulled in, sliding around in the dirt, Nyvar hitting the button to open the hatch. He fired as soon as he had a clear shot, Lancer rounds digging deep holes in the first Locust that fell into his field of fire. Hammerburst rounds instantly filled the small space, forcing Nyvar and Ven to roll out into the open. One ricocheted off of his shoulder pauldron, digging a gouge in the material. Nyvar heard a curse from Marov and a hydraulic hiss as the hatch returned to its shut position, spraying gravel as it flew off to the left, ramming the only remaining Bloodmount and turning it into chunks on the way out.

A ragged chorus of cheers came from the general area of the Caravan, where a couple of burned out Junkers were being used as cover. The stuttering report of Lancer fire from somewhere on the other side of the caravan came to Nyvar’s ears, evidence that the Stranded weren’t being attacked on just one side.

“Ven, two on the left. Throwing a grenade to the right,” Nyvar said, grasping the chain on his belt and starting to swing it around in a steady circle, the spiked and heavy explosive tip whirring through the air. He let it go at just the right moment, seeing it fly directly into a group grubs. A grub with a Boltok was firing into the caravan from behind an exploded vehicle next to them. The detonation turned the Locust forces into bloody lumps. The viscera flew into the air, splattering Nyvar with blood and rocks as he held up a hand against the debris, feeling a small amount of regret at eschewing the traditional COG helmet. Two shots from a Gnasher shotgun drew his attention back to his comrade.

When he looked over to the left, he saw Ven had taken care of the two grubs, the South Islander forced to roll to the right behind the front half of an old APC as return fire peppered his position. Somewhere behind the Caravan, Nyvar heard the armored car’s main gun still hammering out a steady tempo, even if he couldn’t see the devastation accompanying the sound. A few yards away back to his right, the ground suddenly heaved and buckled into the earth, giving way to a dark hole filled with evil, yellow pinpricks of light.

“Aw, hell,” Nyvar grunted, readying another grenade to throw into the hole. He threw it, watching it fly and fall to the ground a few inches from the edge. The large hand of a grub happened to come out and try to pull itself up, grasping the grenade and falling back down. Lucky, Nyvar thought.

Only one grub managed to climb out before the explosion rocked the foundations, collapsing the tunnel and burying the rest of the Locust underneath rock and sand. Seeing as how it was too close to get his Lancer back into position for a kill shot, Nyvar yelled out as he ran toward the Locust Drone, its grotesque, white flesh surrounding evil, yellow eyes. He impacted the thing with his shoulder, trying to knock it back to the ground. It felt like hitting a brick wall, his shoulder popping painfully as they fell in a heap.

Something impacted Nyvar’s head as he tried to return to his feet, knocking him off the bastard and forcing his body to roll across the dirt. Coughing and spitting out the blood that was accumulating in his mouth, he rolled onto his hands and knees just in time for the grub to bring a heavy boot right into his side, forcing him back to the ground. Pain ripped through his scalp as the thing dug its thick, meaty fingers into his hair and pulled him up until he was staring at the barrel of its Hammerburst Rifle. It growled at him with a coughing laugh, a smile forming a horrific facsimile of glee. Wicked, yellow teeth drooled with anticipation at the bloodletting about to take place.

A shot rang out in the air, heat blasting over Nyvar’s shoulder. At first, he thought the grub had taken the shot and missed. He was proven wrong a moment later when he saw the ragged hole of a pin-point sniper shot in the thing’s upper chest. It fell to the ashy dirt, its fingers releasing their hold on Nyvar’s hair. He crawled on his hands and knees over to the Lancer he’d dropped earlier, grabbing it and turning around to see the thing not only not dead, but picking itself up, as well. This one is tough, he thought grimly, but hopefully not tough enough to stand up against this.

The injured Locust Drone picked itself up just in time to receive a chest full of chainsaw bayonet. Nyvar yelled out as blood and bone clinked against his armor, the thing’s maw opening in a great bellow that almost matched his own. Nyvar’s arms bulged as he struggled to bring the chainsaw down, shredding through the ribcage with practiced effort. The weapon skipped a few times as Nyvar brought the saw down to the left, slicing through the backbone, knowing it was overkill. The grub twitched and fell, sliding off in two pieces, its entrails and other bodily organs gushing out onto the ground.

Nyvar breathed hard, letting his Lancer drop to his side. The adrenaline was wearing off as the battle neared its end on his side of the field. Nerves started firing normally again, pain filling his jaw and side, forcing him to hiss and grab the injured areas. He spat out another wad of blood as sweat dripped down his forehead. It landed in the sand and instantly evaporated next to the glob of red. Even this close to Frost, it was hot as hell.

A buzzing filled his ears as he recovered, an after effect of the chainsaw’s obnoxious whirring. The smell hit him a few seconds later, the dead Drone’s insides reeking of rotted meat and waste. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he brought his hand to his ear, pressing down on the earpiece resting in the canal. It crackled as the channel came online.

“Marov, Ven, report. All clear over on the west side of the caravan,” Nyvar said, gasping slightly as he regained his breath.

“Situation resolved on the south end, Sergeant,” Ven’s voice returned, not even out of breath.

“Got a couple of stragglers here on the north end, ‘Seph. Ty’s mowin em down, though. We’ll be good in a minu- ah, nevermind. Clear here, Sarge,” Marov replied, the booming report of the main gun finally stopping its unending rhythm.

“Roger. Stay out a ways. Don’t wanna go scaring the civvies more than they already are. I’ll let you know when you can come in. Gonna go have a talk with the Stranded.”

“Talking with the Stranded? Sh*t, better you than me, 'Seph. Roger that, will wait for further orders,” Marov’s voice came back bitterly.

“Ven, on me. Let’s go be neighborly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ven’s heavy footfalls thudded against the sand as Nyvar walked toward the Caravan, seeing a few Stranded walking out from a beat up, old Junker. They were carrying weapons, the man in the middle seeming relaxed while his two underlings had their weapons raised and ready to fire. Nyvar cleared his throat, dropping his Lancer to his side in a non-threatening motion.

“Mornin’. Looks like you guys ran into a little trouble. Need any help?” Nyvar asked, stopping a few meters from the three people who moved up to meet them. The man in the center was resting a sawed off, double barreled shotgun on his shoulder. His armor was scuffed, but still recognizable as Gear-issued. He was clearly the leader, while the two others – a man and a woman – kept their weapons trained on Nyvar and Ven.

The man on the left side of the leader carried an old style, Pendulum era Lancer, knife bayonet and all. Its exterior was shining and taken care of, a sharp contrast to the man himself. He had stringy, brown hair down to his shoulders covered by a beat up, straw cowboy hat. Some modified Gear armor with extra scrap metal screwed in on random places completed the ensemble, giving him a patchwork appearance. Deserters then, Nyvar thought, chewing on his lip. Are they with the ones at Lethia or is it just a coincidence?

On the other side of the guy with the shotgun, the woman stood, holding the Longshot that had taken out the two drones at the beginning of the battle as well as, Nyvar guessed, the grub that had almost killed him at the end. Her face was covered by a white bandanna, a stark contrast to her raven colored hair and brown skin. Rags covered the woman, a little cleaner than most Stranded but still enough dirt to mark her as one. Striking blue eyes gazed out with all the ice the color implied. Nyvar would be surprised if she even batted an eye as he lost his head in an explosion of gore, even though she’d helped him in the heat of battle. He winked at her, hoping she’d take it as thanks and not as an insult. However, the man with the patchwork armor noticed the action, too, and responded with jealousy evident in his tone.

“We don’t need no stinkin’ help from a bunch of facist assh-“

“Shut the f*ck up, Riddley,” the leader admonished, instantly silencing the man. Riddely was staring at Nyvar with utter contempt, mouthing obscenities. The leader’s bald head gleamed in the morning light, a brown, scraggly beard covering his face. “Name’s Parker, Gearhead. What’ve you got? We don’t need any trouble.”

“Nah, no trouble. Just a couple spare rations and some protection on your way,” Nyvar replied, unaffected by the implied insult in the man’s tone. At least they hadn’t shot him or Ven, yet.

“Aw, sh*t, really, Sarge? Why do we need to work with these f*cking animals?” Marov asked through the radio, anger in his tone at the thought of protecting people like those who had killed his daughter. Nyvar grimaced inwardly, forgetting that the channel was still open, ignoring Marov’s protests. He wished he could reach up and shut the channel off, but that would just destroy any chance of peaceful resolution here.

“Awful nice of ya. What’s in it for you?” Parker asked suspiciously, stroking his beard with the hand not holding the shotgun against his shoulder. His eyes went from Nyvar to the Islander and back again, looking worried.

“We caught a bit of a firefight yesterday and our bot got shot up. I reckon we could find some parts to fix it, if you’ve got any.”

“Parts?” The man asked, standing there, stroking his beard, his dark, bushy brows beetled over his eyes. After a moment of deliberation, Parker lowered his weapon and put his hand on the woman’s rifle, lowering that as well. The patchwork armored gear lowered his weapon, too, glaring suspiciously at the two soldiers. “You got yourself a deal, partner. Go ahead and bring your APC in line behind the others. You can soak up the bullets the Locust shoot at our asses.”

“Alright, then. Gimmie a second, I’ll radio them. That fine?”

“Sure,” Parker shrugged, turning around and heading toward one of the Junkers near the middle of the formation. The man started digging around in the trunk, sending glances over at them every now and then. Nyvar watched him for a second before reaching up to his ear, pretending to initiate the connection.

“You hear that, Marov?” Nyvar whispered, holding his hand up in the air and swinging it around in a circle motion. Ven nodded and went to secure the perimeter, smiling benevolently at the Stranded that looked at him with hope and anger battling in their eyes. Surprisingly, one of the children who were staring out of a viewport waved at Ven, causing the South Islander’s grin to stretch even further.

“Yeah, I got it. Just keep those animals away from me. I don’t feel like catching any diseases this week,” Marov griped, shutting off the channel and starting the engine. Nyvar heard it somewhere to his left as he walked toward where Parker was still rummaging around.

“So, where y’all headed?” Nyvar asked, looking around and noting what weapons the civilians had obtained. Lancers for the most part, with a couple of Gnashers and Hammerburst Rifles mixed in here and there. A couple of the more adventurous Stranded were even now ranging about the battlefield, picking up Boltok pistols and a few more rifles from downed Locust.

“Small outpost half a day or so away. We’d try to make it ourselves, but that last attack you mopped up scared some of the women and children. Figured you guys’d be the lesser of two evils,” Parker replied with a sigh, his moderately muscled arms covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Sh*t, women and children? What’re y’all doin' out here instead of in Jacinto? Least there you have some safety.”

“I’d keep off that topic round here if I were you. Not a lot of people here are happy with the way the COG has been treating its citizens, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Parker said sharply, turning around and coming up with some machinery and tools Nyvar didn’t recognize. “Here, this should fix your bot for you.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I used to build the things before I went Stranded,” Parker paused, staring at Nyvar with his beady eyes, the look of worry returning. “Don’t ask.”

“Alright, sure,” Nyvar said, not sure how to deal with the situation. Normally, he’d be obligated to arrest the man and bring him in for questioning, especially since he carried the knowledge of one of the COG’s main assets. However, it didn’t look like he’d have a chance to even get his pistol out, the way everyone was looking at him.

“I know what you’re thinking. Ain’t goin to happen, buddy. Now, why don’t you take these and go join the rest of your squad. I want you in the convoy, but I don’t necessarily want you next to me. Scoot, Gearhead.”

Nyvar sighed as he grabbed the proffered tools and parts, turning around and heading to the shiny APC at the end of the line. When he looked at his own vehicle, he noticed how minute the rust stains and bullet holes were compared to the rest of the caravan. They had been through hell and back.

The women he could see were all covered in rags that barely concealed their almost skeletal forms, eyes flickering with the bare minimum of human emotions. The children that sat in their laps were not much better. No laughter rang out, no joy being yelled out in their high pitched voices. It was as if they had lost any kind of the pure, wholesome childhood they deserved. Only the kid that had waved at Ven before made any show of grinning as Nyvar walked by the window. He smiled back at the boy as he passed, letting the expression drop as the rest just looked at him with fear or awe.

Nyvar tried to ignore their stares, shrugging up his shoulders and looking at the ashy ground. This is why he fought even after all the years of punishment and pain. Just to allow the children a decent few years like they’d had before the Locust Horde had erupted from the catacombs of Sera’s earthen prison. It reminded him of his own son, drilling and preparing to become just like his father. A Gear, a cog in the machine, probably doomed to live a horribly scarred life even if they won the war and he survived.

When he got to the APC, the door was already open and waiting, Ven leaning calmly against the frame, looking out into the ashy desert, the imprint of a box next to his feet in the soil. A few wrappers littered the area, their crimson color standing out against the kahki-gray ground.

“We’ve given all we may spare, my friend. I only wish we had more to offer them,” Ven rumbled, a sad look on his face. “The women are so thin and broken looking. They look like they’re about to fall apart. And the children. . .” he trailed off.

“I know buddy. All we can do is win this war for them, even if they don’t want our help with anything else,” Nyvar commented bitterly, patting the Islander on the shoulder pad in false cheer. He changed the subject before the mood grew even gloomier. “C’mon, let’s get in a good meal and plan out the next few days. And help me get out of this armor. ‘Caught a bit more action than I really wanted, today.”

The other man nodded, stepping into the armored car behind Nyvar, hammering the hatch button with his hand a bit harder than was necessary. Nyvar shook his head, sighing slightly and trying to put his Sergeant’s face back on. Marov was lounging in the driver’s seat, his feet propped up on one of the many troop-seats near him, a disapproving look on his face. Nyvar just shook his head again, this time as a warning for Marov to keep his mouth shut about the situation. Ty was sitting in one of the seats, concentrating intensely on removing one of the plates from Spark’s chassis. Nyvar smiled, glad someone was doing alright.

“Ty, I brought some presents…maybe Marov can help you put that scrap of metal back together.”

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Hope that didn't throw your liking of the plot off too much, but I felt this was the best way to proceed, given the circumstances. Regardless, you won't get another chapter til next week. Will be busy for awhile.

[Sgt. Grub k1ller]

Figured you guys’d be the lesser of two evils

???????Reference or blind coincidence?lol

Anyway really good chapter. The pace was nice. Liked the detail you put intp the Stranded.
One thing though, I know this is only Ch3 but I've noticed that Ty hasnt had much character devolopment. I know in the prolog he was the "noob" of the team. Since the time skip,not much info on him. Something you might want to address in coming chapters.

[SKORGE]

Will be reading this 'marrow. Need my beauty sleep.

[Jonesybites]

The circumstances are feasible, considering whom we're dealing with and how to deal with them, literally. Stranded are kind of a hit and miss...they'll either avoid the Gears like the plague to avoid cooperation, or they'll be willing to assist, depending on what they can barter in return...and then there are those whom are traumatized, vagabonds, marauding around like feral horses.

Remind me, where are they going again? I've read so many different fanfics, I sometimes forget which plot is what.

[Croswynd]

Heh, Grub; This chapter was written before I even posted my first Fic here, so unfortunately, it's just coincidence. As to your concerns about Ty, well, you're completely right, but I've got plans for him. He'll be revealed more as a character than a red shirt in the next chapter, as you said.

@Jonesy, they are heading to one of the many Stranded camps put around the border, nowhere specific. Unless you're taking about Nyvar and his team; in which case they need to retake an Immulsion factory in the hands of deserters. I'm sure you see a connection, if you read closely.

[Jonesybites]

Heh, Grub; This chapter was written before I even posted my first Fic here, so unfortunately, it's just coincidence. As to your concerns about Ty, well, you're completely right, but I've got plans for him. He'll be revealed more as a character than a red shirt in the next chapter, as you said.

@Jonesy, they are heading to one of the many Stranded camps put around the border, nowhere specific. Unless you're taking about Nyvar and his team; in which case they need to retake an Immulsion factory in the hands of deserters. I'm sure you see a connection, if you read closely.

Ok...I was trying to remember what Nyvar's original mission was...der de der.