(Innokha 1)

It’s the perfect time for an ambush, was the first thought that ran through Cricket's mind when she saw the caravan crawling toward the setting sun Westbound along the old lakeside road, likely avoiding highway 91 like anyone sensible would given it was an obstructed river of twisted vehicles. From where she was crouching on the rubble-strewn hill near her counterparts, she glanced up to Blister to see if he noticed as well. Naturally, he had. Blister was standing near her, eye focusing through the scope of his rifle -- the gun that despite looking like any other tattered refurbished piece of a junk firearm, he loved more than he could any one woman. He was evaluating what he could see with the magnified view, brow scrunched in concentration. 

“Yeah Bitch, what tha fuck ya need any this for anyhow!” Meat Hook shouted from behind them. Cricket glanced over her shoulder to watch the woman, who was clenching a lit cigarette with the few teeth she had while sporting a grungy studded leather jacket, rummage through Shadow’s bag of spoils from the looting they just finished up within that new settlement up North. They were headed back to base when Crick and Blister noticed the caravan. 

“Give it back you dumb cunt!” Shadow hissed, trying to reach around Meat Hook to get a grip on the stained sack that contained her few new items, but the other woman kept her back to her, turning and keeping it away like a kid bullying one younger. 

“A stimpack. Hey I needed this.”

Shadow drew a switchblade from her side pocket. “FUCK YOU I’LL KI-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Blister’s deep voice resonated. He didn’t look up from his scope, but only lifted a hand into the air. The women stopped. 

“A truck!” Shadow stated in her squeaky voice, this time in a lowered tone, attention now on what Blister and Cricket had noticed first. “Are we going for it Baby?”

Blister didn’t reply, instead he casually handed his rifle down to Cricket so she could look through the scope too. A small gesture signifying he trusted her judgement and wanted her to evaluate the situation as well. Propping her elbows on her knees while she crouched, she closed an eye and looked through, finding the road first with the scope then tracing it up to locate her target. Even with a small crack in the lens she could see well enough and the first thing she noticed was what attracted her attention to the caravan in the first place – orange dust billowing up behind the truck as it moved, giving away its location. But the thing wasn’t driving like she first thought it was, which explained why it was moving at a snail pace. It was being pulled by four brahmin, the tumor-laden animals shuffling along in two rows having been fitted with a rather impressive custom harness. This converted the old rusted pickup into an anomalous carriage of sorts. Cricket counted the five armed guards walking on foot who seemed oblivious to the small band of raiders watching them from high on this adjacent hill. She noted the heat they were packing; nothing too extraordinary. And there was a man wearing a white cowboy hat sitting at the driver seat of the truck, arm hanging out of the window, drinking lackadaisically. He was feeling comfortable with his escort.. perhaps too comfortable.

Cricket tried to gauge what they were transporting, certainly the man alone wasn’t worth a militia of guards and an extravagant carriage. But the bed of the truck wasn’t stacked with cargo. There weren’t sacks of food, or pallets of supplies, or things people normally would make an effort to export into different settlements. What Cricket did see in the bed of the truck piqued her interest even more than all of that usual shit… There was a single large metal box.

What made this rather massive box special was how clean, new and shiny the metal looked. This wasn’t some pre-war scrap material hammered together into a shipping container, this was sleek and possibly even high tech – if the various tubes and bundles of wires jacked into the side were any indication. If the box alone appeared valuable on the surface, what the hell was inside of it?... Energy weapons? Power armor parts? High-end ammunition? 

Regardless… It probably would sell for more than a handful of caps, and even if the box didn’t indicate that, the armed guard certainly did. 

Cricket lowered the rifle from her eye and stood up, handing it back over to her gang leader. The sigh that escaped her was stifled by the half particle mask she wore, but even then she replied to Blister’s questioning look with a subtle nod. A hit on this, by her estimation, would be worth it. 

Blister turned, “Where’s The Leech.” He said, but quickly found him. The gangly guy with greasy long hair as leaning on the butt of his long rifle, staring off into the hazy orange smog of the sunset – probably fantasizing about how much skin he would peel off his latest captive when they got back to base. Blister pointed to the hill across from theirs, ahead of the caravan, “Get over there, take some shots, distract em, drop who you can. We’ll come in from behind and clean em up. Got it?”

While The Leech jogged around and took up a tactical position, the rest of the gang went on the prowl. With the others, Cricket stalked in closer to the caravan, staying low and sticking to the long shadows cast by the setting sun. The position of the sun wasn’t in their favor but the dimming visibility was, and they were careful to not position themselves straight within the firing line from where The Leech would be shooting, instead offsetting a little and getting within a good firing range themselves. Cricket had her back to a charred and brittle tree stump, sitting on her heels and was checking the chamber of her 12 gauge when she heard the first shot echo through the valley. She peeked out from her position and saw one of the guards on the road. The Leech hit home, what do you know. A second shot sounded, this time no hit, but now all the guards were turning and lifting their rifles looking for their assailant. They were quickly realizing the shots were fired from up the hill, their backs turning now to the gang in wait. 

Cricket broke the line first, rolling herself to her feet as she jumped out from her hiding spot and sprinted in to a closer range more ideal for her shotgun, but she heard Blister’s familiar rifle going off within a moment, and soon Shadow’s handgun.

By the time Cricket lifted her shotgun to her shoulder, pulled the trigger, and blasted a man’s torso into chunks all over the pavement; he was he was the last one standing. Briefly anyway. But she didn’t waste a moment, being the one in closest to the caravan, and she went straight to the door of the truck and tried to jerk it open. The metal handle was hot from a day in the heat and probably would have burned her fingers had she not been pumping with adrenaline. It was locked, but the window was down so she reached in to unlock it, pointing her gun at the man inside as she did so. He was laying flat on the floor of the truck, hands over his face, white cowboy hat now lost and dislodged from his head. It was sitting halfway under the passenger seat.

“Move your hands and you’ll never see them again.” Cricket said as she pulled the little nub by the window to unlock the door then opened it. She felt Blister’s hand on her shoulder, and he was moving her aside gently. She didn’t lower her weapon but stepped back, letting Blister grab the man by the ankles and yank him onto the pavement. There was a loud thud as Meat Hook jumped onto the hood of truck, her boots denting it slightly.

“Wooo! We’re eating steak tonight boys!” Meat Hook howled before cleaving at the ropes that tied the brahmin to the truck and were weaved through the open windows and tied together inside the cab.

With Blister now frisking the man with the hat, preparing to kill the guy himself, Shadow looting the fallen guards, and Meat Hook gathering the cattle… Cricket lowered her weapon and made her way to the back of the truck. She was most curious about that odd box above all else and wanted to take a first look. The young raider pulled herself into the bed by her shotgun, stepping on the tire. The box was large, it came to the height of her navel and she inspected the metal segmented tubes coming off the side of it. They were actively whirring and buzzing, linked up with a generator somewhere that was probably on the underside the truck or even under its hood replacing the engine. She set down her gun and ran her hands along the lid of the box. The metal was smooth and warm, soft even, and she found the front latch, unclipping the mechanism that held it shut. With both her palms against the lip of the lid, Cricket pushed it open.

(Ser Kex 2)

Blue skies. Beautiful, baby blues skies. Those were the first thoughts that ran through his mind as he opened his eyes. The piercing clear light made him squint slightly and he grimaced at a searing pain that was now pulsating from his forehead. He had been unconscious for god knows how long, unaware of where he was, barely even sure of who he was.

His eyes dropped towards the floor. His hands were bound and chafed, digging deep into his wrists, leaving red raw markings on his dirty pale skin. The ground on which he was slouched was made of stone. An old type of stone it seemed, cracked and tanned by countless days in the sun with splatters of blood, presumably his own, across the surfaces.

He swung his head to the right with what little energy remained in his weak body. No living man had any right to feel this weak, this exposed. The body of a woman lay on the ground, her stiff eyes, frozen in terror, staring back at him, bloodshot and watery. He recognized those sweet brown eyes. They had belonged to his girl. His one true love, Annalise. Fragments of memories fought to come back to him, but they were like shattered glass… incomplete and irreparable for the time being.

He let his eyes wander ever so slightly. Annalise lay motionless, lifeless. Her head was cracked open and spilled out across the floor like an egg cooking in the heat of the day. Parts of her grey brain matter reeked and festered and made him gag slightly as they sprawled out across the cracked, tanned floor. Her face was nearly unrecognisable, she had clearly taken one hell of a beating before they smashed her little skull in. She always was too tough for her own good. Little bluebottle flies lingered on her rosebud lips, no doubt seeping up the trickles of blood that had long since dried. She too had her hands bound… not that it mattered much anymore… perhaps soon he would join her.

“Anna.” he croaked, holding back his tears, “Fuck, babe. What did they do to you?”

Behind the lifeless corpse of his once loving relation stood a spiralling ivory tower that crawled far into the skies, far enough to touch those swirling clouds that floated high above. He felt like he should know where he was, but perhaps those memories had been beaten out of him.

He shook the lingering feeling that he was experiencing deja vu from his mind, despite the throbbing sensation that was now filling his head. Swinging his head over to the left, he saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Perhaps that was down to seeing the battered and bruised head of his beloved Anne just moments before, perhaps not. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he gazed down from what seemed to be a large landing atop a high tower. The sight below was full of winding streets and gardens aplenty. There was no chance of seeing people from up here, they would be but mere ants at the bottom of the greatest ant hill that he, and likely anyone else, had ever seen.

Nearby there were large clay vases full of blooming flame lilies, cream orchids and sprawling jade vines.

Where the fuck am I? If I’m dead and this is some sort of afterlife, why do I feel so shit? And Anne…

His trail of thought was cut off abruptly by a huge booming sound that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. A familiar yet frightening sound that would never cease to stand him to attention. Something akin to a gunshot.

“Ahh - you’re awake. Good.” 

The voice made him spin his head back around to the center and his vision was filled with a large man with robes of multiclours and textures that exuded luxury and precision. He raised his eyes higher and higher until finally they rested upon the face of the man who donned the robes. His head was bald, shaved most likely, yet with the silkiest, tan skin he had ever seen in his life. His dark grey eyes were emphasized by the black makeup that delicately surrounded them. Multiple rings of shining gold adorned his nose and he sported a large, pearly white grin.

“I had feared the worst for some time. That bump to the head must have really knocked your equilibrium off, hmm?” he said, his voice deep yet smooth, “I am sorry about your companion here. Just know that she didn’t give up easily. Elinore here says she lasted longer than the others.”

The man moved his glittering, ring-filled hand to the right, bringing a towering husk of a woman into view. She was nothing like the highly decorative man that stood in front of him. Infact, it was to the contrary. She was dirty, rough, full of your typical raider gear. A large, silver six shooter was on her ship and a bloody, grey metal bat in her hands.

“You fuckers!” he said, spitting at the sandaled feet of the large man, “If you’re gonna kill me, hurry up and get it over with! I ain’t got time for this shit!”

A booming laugh erupted from the ornate tanned man as he pressed his hands into a triangle shape.

“Oh no, we don’t want to kill you. Far from it. We want to empower you.”

The confusion in his eyes was evident. Here he sat beside his dead girlfriend, his rock, and these weirdos were talking about empowering him?

As he tried to speak he felt himself freeze and time with it. The colour from the surrounding stone and bushes seeped away, reverting to a stale black and white with the weirdest orange tint to it.

What the fuck?

A hissing sound now replaced the sweet chirping of birds and drifting wind. The pain he had once felt in his head was much preferably to the one that now encompassed him. The very breath was being sucked from lungs until there was only light.

Sound fizzed back into reality as he felt a coarse warmth encompass his back. His mouth jerked open, inhaling a breath that felt as though it had been vacant for a very long time. His eyes shot open once more. No longer was the sky a beautiful baby blue, it was now overcast with a dim orange and grey. He lay on his back, clawing at the sand that had replaced those old, tan stones. He was barely able to raise his head, like some new born baby that hadn’t yet conquered full control of his motor functions.

What he could see though, was a large vat like object, it’s metal gleaming and new, reflecting the harsh rays of sun in all directions. A crystal coloured liquid oozed out of the empty vat, pooling in the sands around him. He looked down slightly and saw his little cock and dark pubic hair, covered in the exact same crystal ooze. He knew straight away that he must be totally exposed. No matter how hard he tried to cover himself, his body seemed to refuse to cooperate. That’s when he felt a cool liquid shooting up from the pits of his stomach and out his mouth, mingling with the rest that was still slowly flowing out of the empty vat.

He tried to speak, cry, wail… anything, but nothing came out… only pathetic little whimpers like that of a child.

His dirty blonde hair was slicked and messed by the liquid that had pooled around him. Had he been inside that thing? Wasn’t he just beside his dearest Anne? The confusion was worse than the inability to do anything… His eyes rolled around into the back of his skull as he tried to control himself. He could try all he wanted to… it would all be in vain.

Somehow he managed to tilt his head slightly to the left, finding a large leather boot, attached a leg that travelled too high for him to see in the sand beside him. To whom it belonged to though, was a different story all together.

(Innokha 3)

At first, Cricket thought the lid to the container was jammed stuck as she strained against it, abdomen tensed and fingertips pressed white. So, she stepped a leg closer and tried again, this time pushing with power from her hip and thigh, and she finally managed to force it open. A crackling sound ran along the rim of the lid as she pushed it upward on its hinges -- the sound of the dried substance that glued the lid shut cracking apart. And the stench of this stuff slapped her immediately; a thick, hot rubbery odor that wafted an unsettling warmth across her face and down her throat.

“Ack, fuck!” She blurted, voice muffled slightly by her mask which did nothing to filter smells. She turned her head, crinkling her nose and burying her face in her upper arm, but she didn’t drop the lid even after noticing the small stalactites of bluish ooze dribbling from the underside. Her curiosity wasn’t thwarted. If anything, it was stoked even further. Centering herself to get passed the surprising odor, she looked back toward the interior of the box, lips pursed beneath her mask as if to keep a tight seal lest some of that gelatinous yet crystalline goop could somehow splash onto her face. The sparkling blue color of the substance that she realized filled the entire box was dazzling when the sunlight hit it, refracting in an array of directions not normal for a typical liquid like water, but in patterns more geometric as if it really were a crystal. The peculiarity of it all was the perfection; the flawless untainted substance housed in an ideal container that stood as an utter contrast to everything else she’s ever seen in her life… objects of disarray, contamination, imperfection and dull discoloration.

Cricket saw movement.

She craned over the box, brow furrowed, staring at the white shape she noticed beneath the surface of the turbid blue substance. The white shape moved again, a twitch more like, and she realized she was looking at the silhouette of a human shoulder. She could see a forearm and even deeper – too far into the thick goo for her to make out totally, she knew there was a human hand. 

Her heart raced. Adrenaline found its comfortable place pumping through her limbs again, and perhaps in that moment most people would have jumped back in shock, yelped in fear and surprise. But Cricket wasn’t like most people; when hit with fight or flight, her body almost always reacted with fight. So she stood frozen, tensed, mind immediately entering the spatial information for how quickly she could pick up her shotgun, how many seconds she would need.

“What the fuck is this shit?” It was Shadow. Crick tilted her head to look at the woman who apparently got into the truck while she was distracted. She was good at sneaking around.. she’d give her that. Even if her bright orange hair wasn’t very conductive for it. Well, it was supposed to be blonde but Shadow was balls at bleaching it, just like she was at everything else basically. “Seriously, what the fuck Cricket.” Shadow gaped, her chestnut eyes wide and her sore-covered hand moved to cover her mouth as she noticed what Crick did – there was a person in there. 

“There’s someone in there, I think. I thought there would just be weapons in here or something.” Crick said, shaking her head. The petite girl shoved the lid open wider, so it would swing totally open and she no longer had to hold it up. Once she did that, Shadow dared to come in closer, craning over the edge of the box beside Cricket.

“Really? Nothing of value at all?” Blister said, he came up to the side of the truck but couldn’t see inside of the box from where he stood, despite standing on his toes and trying. Nobody replied. “Well fuck that, let’s dump it. Maybe there is somethin’ in there worth somethin’.”

“I don’t know Bliss, I- I don’t think we should.” Crick turned to face him, she was rubbing of her neck. 

“Fuck no, we wasted bullets over this fucking cargo, we’re going through it.”

She glanced at the tub of ooze then back to her leader again, “There might be a living synth in there! He could be worth more if we keep him alive inside his thing. It has all these life support tubes n shit.”

“Too much work. I’d rather just dismantle him and sell his parts if that’s the case. We’re dumping it.”

“Well Dare would have-“

“Well he’s not here Cricket! And stop bringing him up!” Blister swung his rifle toward her as if to smack her across the face with the butt of it, but she lifted her arms and it slammed against her forearms instead in a burst of pain. The force still sent her stumbling back a bit, almost knocking into Shadow. Pissed; Crick picked up her shotgun and huffed off, leaping out of the truck and flipping Blister the bird behind her as she stormed off up the road toward the front of the truck where Meat Hook was.

Once everyone – except for Cricket because she refused to participate – managed to help Blister back the truck up to the edge of the road so the tailgate hung over the desert sand and dislodge the box so it sat precariously on the edge of the bed, Crick finally crept up closer to watch what happened next. Her arms were crossed in defiance of the whole thing. The Leech and Blister both stood in the truck, then slammed the back of the box with their shoulders in sync together. Sometimes things that aren’t mundane behave in mundane ways, and it’s oddly surreal. That’s sort of how the box fell. It just tipped and plunked into the orange dirt – totally typical and ordinary. But after a second, the strangeness found its place as the pressure from all the liquid inside pushed open the lid that was now sideways and all the contents inside the box spilled out in a flood. Blue liquid smearing across orange sand, and within it all a tangle of white limbs. 

Cricket found herself moving closer in awe, following the progress of the body as it slipped free of its casket, the steps of her boots staying just on the fringe of the river of crystalline goop. Everyone stood in silence as they watched the porcelain white man suck in a dramatic breath, pulling life into himself. Almost more shocking was when his eyes shot open, gleaming a green that was bright in comparison to his pale skin, and then he was struggling, clawing for something, vomiting blue liquid over his chest in helplessness.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Meat Hook murmured from beside Crick. Everyone was frozen, watching the man, or maybe even synth, struggle with himself. Was he dying? Would he gag and gasp and roll over then putter out right before them? 

Cricket made the first move. She stepped in closer, her boots sinking slightly in the liquid-soaked earth as she entered it and she stood beside his head, looking down at his pained face. He was lost. Possibly seizing. She crouched down and held her hand out behind her back toward Meat Hook. “Jacket.” She said, clicking her fingers once. Meat Hook, a god damned angel of a friend, didn’t argue, as Crick felt the rough leather of her jacket in her hand nearly immediately. She draped the jacket over the guy’s torso best she could, careful to make sure the studs were pointed up and not against him. 

“Hey. Hey!” She spoke to him, then poked at his cheek to see if he would notice her at all or if he would keep seizing or whatever.

(Ser Kex 4)

The heat was sweltering and all encompassing, not just from the throbbing orange coloured sky above him, but also from the seemingly endless sea of course, hot sand that he lay in. Thin snaking wisps of white clouds were scattered all across the skies above. All around him was the contents of whatever vat he had just fallen out of. The thick, liquid had oozed out of the container and seeped into the surrounding sands, dyeing it a murky brown and making it thick like clay. Every little grain of sand that he lay on felt as though it was a jagged rock, digging into his skin and pressing up against his bones. At first he had thought he was dead, and he had awoken in some kind of hellish reality. The heat that was now baking him alive certainly seemed to indicate that and perhaps that old leather boot would belong to his new overseer.

What the fuck? He thought to himself, trying to recount just where he had been before this, but the more he tried, the more vague the memories became, as though it had been but a fleeting dream, full of dark shadows and estranged voices.

He could barely keep his eyes open long enough to make any sense of just where he was. The light was like nothing he had ever seen before, totally blinding and unforgiving.

The rough, cool sensation that now covered his torso was enough to make him gasp and jerk slightly. He strained to peel his eyes open once more, but couldn’t get as far to make any other noises but those of grunts and grumbles. It felt as though he was a passenger in another man’s body. His mind was his own, but his body refused to cooperate. A dark leather jacket had been draped over his bare, slimy torso, shielding him from the harsh light that was beaming down from the skies above.

“Hey. Hey!” came a voice, soft in a way, but still rough around the edges.

It was accompanied by a sharp poke into his cheek, one that stung more than it had any right to. The feeling made him grimace and close his bright green eyes once more. His teeth were perfectly white and shaped in every way. Something that most people would find as odd out in the desolate world that he had found himself being thrusted into. Every instinct in his being was telling him to trash around. To find the source of whatever had just prodded him.

Stay calm. Stay calm. Just breathe dammit.

Each breath of hot air that pulled in through his mouth filled his lungs felt slightly better than the last, as though he had waited all his life to inflate himself. His mouth was dry and his head pounding. The things he would do for a drink of water right now would best be left unsaid, not that he had any choice in that matter.

His whole body was trembling and weak. He felt exhausted and on the brink of passing out completely. With the remainder of his strength, his fumbling hand dragged itself through the hot sands, coming to a stop on the dry leather boot beside him.

His eyes opened one last time, locking onto a pair of pretty blue eyes staring back. For a moment he was lost in those eyes, like a single drop of water in a wide and immeasurable ocean. The sort of eyes that had a story to tell all on their own. The kind of eyes that brought back the memories of those blue skies he had seen before being thrown into the dry sea of sands that he now cooked in. But those blue skies couldn’t even compare to the circles in that masked face. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. If this was hell, it wasn’t all that bad.

They would be the last things that he would see before his face fell into the sand below. His vision faded to black and his senses now gone. Unconscious and enduring.

(Innokha 5)