After settling down, Storm held his MP-18–The Reaper— close, holding it like a lifeline.
AM sat beside him, hands cuffed, looking over he shot Storm a sypathetic look from his helmet."Look, I know we're enemies, but... you looked pretty shaken when that explosion went off."
"I'm fine—"
"No, listen, I had a friend that died too, She was my everything... We lived together as nomads before the Golden Empire picked us up and we enlisted.. We.. Were in the same unit till one day.." His voice was somber, looking at his cuffed hands.
He looked over, eyes sad. "A Soldat zipped her on a friendly fire incident, her lamp was shot out so she didn't get identified. I watched it go down but I was too late."
"..Heh, makes two for two then," Storm muttered, glancing at AM. "Why are you resonating with me right now?"
"Not like I got a choice," AM said, chuckling. "You'll get past it. You're young, right?"
"Yeah. Twenty-five."
"Heh. Twenty-seven." AM smirked.
Radio approached, her Carbine on a sling on her chest. "Storm.. you might want to look at this.." She said, eyes wide.
"What is it?" Storm stood up, lifting 'The Reaper' and checking the mag.
"Rune, where Flame blew up."
"Rune? What rune? GE rune or..?"
"No, you idiot! Like, ancient egyptian runes!" She held her flare gun, protectively. "Look!"
"The fuck are you talking abou—" Storm stopped mid-sentence as he followed her pointing finger.
Just beside the charred, crumpled remains of Flame, something etched into the rock glowed a faint blue.
"You shouldn't touch that," Bulwark muttered, his voice lower than usual. He wasn't leaning on the weapon rack anymore—he was gripping it.
"Why not...?" Storm asked.
"Chaplain Corps gave a high-order," Bulwark said, adjusting his helmet like the weight of it suddenly mattered. "If you see a rune, you steer the fuck away." He exhaled. "Said demons live in 'em."
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"Well we're not Empire so fuck your chaplain corps." Storm said, holding his SMG tight.
"Guys!" AM shouted.
"What?!" Radio turned quickly.
"More runes, everywhere! Let me have my AT goddamnit!" He screamed, grabbing his rifle by the barrel, hand restrained and running towards them.
"Holy shit..." Bulwark looked around, walking towards them, MG dragged on by his binded hands.
Radio looked around as the walls slowly became filled with runes. "By the name of the kings.." She looked around before springing into action, unrestraining both of them and drawing her gun.
"We team or we die." She repeated, Pointing to the runes with her Carbine.
Everyone backed up to the centre, to not get murdered by some ancient evil, before a..
Searing light. Bright.
Radio felt as if she was somewhere she faintly recognized.
The air was warm. The wind carried the scent of fresh grass.
Blue skies. Green fields. She remembered her mother always took her out, always distracting herself when her father was off to war... but this wasn't a dream.
AM's cough shattered the illusion, she grabbed her Carbine, sitting up weakly, as well as she could with a radio on her back.
"Agh.. where am I...?" Storm looked around, his MP-18 on his lap. "Where.. are we?"
"The surface." Bulwark spoke.
"W-What?! This place is uninhabitable—I..." Radio's voice wavered. Her fingers clenched the neck of her jacket, yanking it up instinctively, bracing for the burn of Pox poison.
But nothing came. No gas. Just... air.
AM ran a hand across the grass, fingers digging into the dirt. It felt real, It smelled real.
"Are we in heaven...?" he muttered, checking his rifle out of habit. "No, I don't think so, The Queen wouldn't let us take her prized weapons up." Bulwark spoke, checking the drum of his Lewis gun.
"Everyone! Listen up." Radio adjusted her sling, voice steady. "I'm calling it now—we need a truce. We're stranded, no backup, no supplies. Fighting each other is suicide."
AM and Bulwark took a glance and nodded. "I think that's reasonable, yes."
Storm's head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring. The wind had changed.
"Something's wrong. I smell a fight."
He flipped open his compass, Turning East.
"I trust him." Bulwark turns to AM, who's shaking his head. "Yeah, well I don't trust Nationers."
"Not like we have a choice, besides, it looks like they're really trying to help." Bulwark says, his British accent soft.
Bulwark turns around, and starts following the two Nationers, AM scoffed. "What do you know? You're a forty-year-old man in a full suit of armor."
"I'm Thirty-Four," Bulwark deadpanned.
AM smirked under his helmet. "Yeah, right. Say that to the Queen."
Bulwark exhaled sharply. "I really wish you got shot with your rifle right now."
Cut to the two Nationers.
"What are these tracks?" Radio muttered, tightening her grip on her carbine.
They weren't normal. Too wide. Too deep. Like something twice the size of a Mark I with legs had passed through here—but its gait was all wrong.
"I swear to God," she muttered, unease creeping into her voice. "If this is some monster from the caves the Jaegers keep talking about—"
Storm heard something and tensed. There it was again. A shift in the underbrush.
An arm was put infront of Radio, forcibly making her stop. "..what...?"
"Left side," he whispered. "Tell the others. I'll take security."
storm trooper (mp-18) or bulwark (lewis gun)
