Author Topic: Winds of memories (Cata RP Character background stories)  (Read 2519 times)

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Re: Winds of memories (Cata RP Character background stories)
« on: October 01, 2017, 02:07:31 pm »
Timeline: Roughly two years after the cataclysm, during the events of The Shifting.

People involved: Nathaniel

A main battle tank rumbled across an old bridge, winding its way to the edge of the wetlands that surrounded the small area of open field. It passed a weathered old sign warning of the area up ahead being government property, and warning would-be trespassers of automated defense systems.

The structure itself was rather plain and unassuming, a small fortified bunker surrounded by a razor-wire fence, two positions for guard stations built into the fence perimeter. Those guards had long-since either deserted or succumbed to the horrors that now made up their daily life.

The tank halted at the end of the road, a hatch at the rear opening as a woman stepped out, making her way to the sliding fence gate. It was chained up and locked in its hasty abandonment, making use of a scavenged acetylene torch she cut away the chain, soon sliding the gate open. A man, looking out of the commander's hatch, said something into his headset that was drowned out by the idling engine, and the tank pulled forward to park in the relative safety of the fence.

Soon all four of them stood by the entrance, the tank's commander fumbling with a keycard. It identified him as Corporal Samuel Erik, with no other unit information other than 2nd Company, SPD XIV. Once they were just one of 15 entire divisions, in theory the first line of defense in case of threats that few knew of back then. In practice, little more than guinea pigs for testing experimental weapons, composed largely of soldiers on the verge of washing out of basic training and whoever else seemed easily manipulated into joining, existing only for a futile attempt to sweep a growing problem under the rug.

Soon the driver stepped up, giving a nod to Samuel, before the tank commander spoke. "Alright. Reyes, Daniels, you two keep an eye on things." he said, addressing the woman from earlier and a nervous-looking young man. Sophia Reyes and Conner Daniels. He then looked to the driver. "Pvt. Alexander, you're with me." he added.

Jonathan Alexander readied his M4 and waited, the other two taking positions behind the tank. None of them stood directly in front of the armored shutter as Sam slid his ID card through the slot, expecting the defense systems within to be just as haywire as the robots and turrets that turned on him long ago. That fateful day just over 2 years ago, when the world ended and their last, desperate attempt to control the situation ended in their own unmanned weapons reducing an armored company to just two fleeing vehicles.

Since then they were on their own, and in dire need of supplies. Not to mention parts for the surviving light tank, whose crew was waiting for them on the north side of a town to their east. The door slid open and several alcoves closed up, deactivating military-grade turrets that would've fired on any living target, no longer heeding old IFF protocols.

With a sigh of relief Jonathan went in first, flashlight illuminating the darkened stairs as the corporal followed close behind. It was just when they descended into the storage level of the bunker, that they felt a faint tremor in the ground, giving them only a moment until an abrupt shock knocked them off their feet, the walls of the structure creaking and straining as though being torn in half.

A chunk of the structure, including the stairs, was suddenly swallowed up by stone, as though engulfed and consumed by solid rock, only for the outer face of it to explode outward from the stress, dust filling the air. Before Jonathan even became fully aware of what happened, Samuel was completely crushed and buried in rubble. "Corporal? Corporal!" he shouted, sent into a coughing fit from the dust as he knelt by the shattered stones, frantically trying to feel around with only his mounted light to see by. There were no sounds of agony or frantic cries for help. The man had been killed instantly, and buried under rubble he couldn't easily move.

The gravity of the situation started to sink in. He was trapped, with no means to dig his way out, and the keycard was lost under rubble. He realized the only way he'd get out alive was if Sophia and Conner were to dig him out. Until then he sat down, trying to conserve air, and took out an old notepad. He had nothing better to do, and he let his mind wander.

Above him however, the bunker was gone, taking the two remaining crewmen with it. An old farm now lingered in its place, drawn forth from a world that was being torn asunder. The foundation of the farmhouse settled the slightest bit, going unnoticed by the survivors gathered there.

Elsewhere, Nathaniel waited outside the old light tank, examining his supplies and gear, before looking back to the machine once nicknamed Tomcat 1. Ammo was completely out, fuel was running low, and the engine was wearing down. And now the batteries were dead from their attempts to get in contact with the other tank on radio. It'd been two weeks since they last heard from the crew of Bobcat 4. Their gunner had been lost to the old city during a supply run, and now the weather made it unbearable to shelter in the stricken vehicle.

Just yesterday the two survivors, the driver and commander, had an argument over what to do. The chain of command no longer mattered to them. Nathaniel, the tank's commander, wanted to fall back into the woods, skirt around the city, make sporadic raids on it and eventually continue south, considering the others a lost cause. The driver wanted to make a beeline through town and reach the site of the bunker as soon as possible.

The two parted ways, Nathaniel holstering an old Glock scavenged from a shambling monster in the guise of a half-eaten police officer. He'd given his old service pistol to the main battle tank's commander, after his was damaged during heavy fighting a few months after they deserted. He gathered the supplies they divided up, slinging an old leather jacket over his shoulder, the weather too warm to bother wearing it. It wasn't even in his size, an old friend's "lucky jacket" that was given to him about 6 months before the cataclysm started...
« Last Edit: November 11, 2017, 04:38:02 pm by Chaosvolt »