Until You See the Whites of Their Eyes [Nix, Nephebro!]

[Lion]

The pulses were getting stronger.

The reading on the hud of his helmet indicated this was the direction the signals were coming from. There was no indication as to it's source, what it was, but the signal seemed to be getting somewhat stronger the further they went into these forbidden Wastes. Forbidden to everyone else save Pilots.  Two winged shadows glided over the sands, the dirt, the dust, piercing clouds of toxic air.

“300 clicks to the West. Hmm, Southwest,” Banning thought aloud to his second that flew in beside him. For a mere investigation of an anomaly, Banning figured he could have easily gone in on his own. He had no problem with back up. And after what happened with that other Pilot only a year ago, “No” wasn't exactly an answer that was going to be listened to.

Hyperion swooped and evaded another cloud of gas that permeated the air. Banning's helmet covered the whole of his head, and had a hose protruding from the base of it at the rear and into the filtration system at the back. Everything tucked neatly in that black armored flight suit, he kept his guns with him in holsters on his thighs. No need to use them on a simple reconnaissance mission like this.

“Recalibrating coordinates. The pulses are stronger now. Still intermittent,” Banning breathed heavily, projecting that through telepathy.

It was a given that this could also be a complete waste of time. Fuck, would he be pissed. He had a perfectly decent night of getting plastered ahead of him when he had gotten the call to duty. In fact he was splayed out on his bed, the clock nearly noon when his com went off like crazy. Banning answered it without reservation, and Hyperion was waiting for him the moment they were ready to leave.

It was probably nothing mostly likely, and in fact a sensation in his gut hoped that it was exactly that. There was nothing out here but the skeletons of ages past, a husk of a world that couldn't go on living. Only Aedolis was strong enough to stand, and still it did.  Banning frowned from inside his helmet. Frowned at their newfound setting, frowned at the pity that resonated inside him.

An odd signal that could just likely be some creature stepping on an old radio, accidentally setting it off. 

The hud resounded and Banning blinked and tilted his head to look down at the ground beneath them. “Looks like we're right on top of it,” he projected. Hyperion swooped down and with a thud, made the ground shake and dust clouds coil up. Banning slipped from his back and reached outward, closing his eyes and forcing himself to sense the pulses that clearly were coming from his area. Everything wavered in his mind's eye, like ripples in water, and he could feel the energy as he took a cautious step forward.

Hiss. And between the boulders ahead of him a turret swiveled in his direction. Banning threw himself from the path of the bullets that struck the rocks and dirt around them. He scrambled off to a boulder for cover and when the turret momentarily stopped, Banning rolled out and stuck his hand out. The clips were automatically changing and he accelerated the heat that was already smoking from the turret until the temperature made the rounds explode and the gun flew to pieces, raining down shrapnel and stray bullets.

“Look out for traps, Kiers! This whole place is rigged!”

[nephero]

Dust trailed in a conga line of little devils below, the last vestiges of what had once been living, breathing earth. Now, there was nothing, nothing but poison and desolation, a great malevolent death god that beat on the doors of Aedolis and was beaten right back.

There was nothing quite like a trip into the Wastes to make you appreciate the sanctuary of home. Not only was the land itself soured and hateful, but the things that lived on it were even more so, twisted by long periods of exposure to toxic fumes and latent radiation. If Haviah was heaven, then the Wasteland was hell, separated but for the grace of their draconic guardians.

Anhur rumbled beneath him, a rolling growl that was lost to the cutting winds. But Chance felt it all the same, much as he felt the chatter in the base of his skull. Banning was just a little ways ahead of him, seeking out their path through the desolation, and Chance shifted in his saddle to adjust Anhur's trajectory to match.

It hadn't taken much convincing to get him out here; the orders had come down for an escort mission of sorts-- no one flew alone in the Wastes anymore, and so his squadron saw most of their action acting as seconds, flying close and keeping an eye out for any hostiles that might be lurking otherwise unseen. It was good work, and so Chance had been more than eager to volunteer; more to the point, he had been anxious and antsy to get out and about and do something. Anything was better than stewing in his rooms and staring at the ceiling, and there was only so many hours he could spend training at the ATC before someone started asking uncomfortable questions.

"Affirmative," Chance pushed the thought back, tapping into the faint psychic line that was their telepathic connection. His eyes flicked over his own helmet's display, checking readings and clicking through the results. "Horizon still clear. No movement."

Chance circled back in a wide sweep as Banning landed, before he and Anhur followed suit. The black drake huffed, his serpentine neck swivelling back and forth as if daring anything to pop out and challenge him. Which certainly made two of them, as Chance followed suit and slid down out of his saddle--

only to immediately tense at the tell-tale whoosh and click of mechanical movement, followed by the staccato popopop of bullets cracking through the poisonous air. He slung his rifle around, brought it up to aim at the source of the firing, only for the turret to explode in a blaze of fragmented metal by way of Banning's psychic influence.

Turret traps. Shit.

Something flashed just along his periphery, and Chance whirled just as another turret locked into place. He skirted to the side, avoiding the initial stream of fire and supplying the turret with a wave of his own, catching it along a critical point and snapping it clean in half. It clicked, feebly and uselessly, trying to reach the gun that was no longer attached to the rest of it. Anhur moved with him as they retreated to the boulders after their superiors, hissing steam and heat in an open threat as more turrets caught onto their movement and rained lead in their direction. Chance waited for the telltale silence of an automatic reloading procedure, before peeking up and over his boulder and leveling another string of bullets at another and snapping the main chassis in half.

"On your ten!" Chance called out, spotting a spray of rocks and dust as a turret attempted to lock on but was blocked by a nearby outcropping. Blocked for the moment, anyway, and rapidly making short work of the barrier that separated them.

[Nix]

Shit. Shit. Holy. Fuckng. Shit.

This was not fucking happening. There were not two PILOTS with DRAGONS on his property. Why were there two Pilots with DRAGONS on his property?

Goggles had been alerted to trespassers by a silent flashing red light on the main floor of his little shack. He had been messing with some new parts he got in a barter not to long ago, traded for a refurbished car battery, when the alarm was tripped. He immediately stopped what he was doing and high tailed it to the cellar of the small hut, bolting the steel door in the floor from the inside. The cellar housed all the equipment for his system, defensive and surveillance. It was from down there that he saw who was making the fuss outside. He had been expecting raiders- but not this.

Subconsciously he scratched at the scar on his wrist from where his chip had been pulled out a long time ago. His memories were addled but that didn't mean he had forgotten where he came from. Why were there Pilots out here? Coming down on his shit? He winced as they took out another turret. Shit. Well there was always plans B and C right? Though they were more for raider attacks... still. He entered a code, pressed a few buttons and activated the mines he'd buried in the bleak dusty soil.

He pulled his jacket sleeve over his wrist and sat there trying not to panic. Trying to deal with this like any other trespasser. But these were not ordinary trespassers. Shit. Should he open the com line like he would with raiders stupid enough to try this? The difference was most raiders in these parts knew he was in there already; knew who he was. These Pilots... the dragons. That was a different story. Then again they were psychics. How long did he think he could stay unknown? There was one other benefit to trying to talk with them...

The turrets he had left were put on standby, ready to be active again at the press of a button.

"What do you want Pilots?" Came a voice from a speaker mounted near the entrance of the small shack. The sound boomed and echoed off the rocks and nearby cliffs. "This is my property you don't have rights to be here!" He said trying to sound level but not succeeding. Waiting for a response was gut wrenching. Why were they here?!

He adjusted his goggles on his face, staring at the monitors, willing them to leave.

[Lion]

With bullets flying everywhere, Banning kept himself low to the ground and crouched behind that rocky outcropping. These dusty badlands were filled with all sorts of nooks and crannies to hide in, red rocks that chipped and withered away by air clouds that could melt the flesh from your bones. Banning had no idea how anyone or anything could survive out here. He’d heard horror stories of the nightmares that wandered these wastes.

And the sooner he and Kiers made it out of here alive, the better. These turrets weren’t a match for either of them, and frankly he didn’t want to give a chance for anything else to rear its ugly head.

He heeded Chance’s warning, ducking his head when he was about to come up and aim his own rifle. The rocks and dirt blown away by the bullets dashed across the visor of his helmet. When the moment was prime, he drew his rifle up and fired just as the turret powered down. One less gun for them to wrangle with if whoever lived here didn’t wise up soon enough. Hyperion gave a low throated growl.

“This place is surrounded by a mine field,” Hyperion warned, he’d heard the hissing of the field activating around them. “Don’t get any closer unless you absolutely have to.”

Noted. Banning clicked his rifle onto standby and he shuffled around the boulders they were covering behind and quietly motioned chance to watch his back. He shifted closer and to the naked eye the ground looked completely flat and empty. Banning could sense the energy of those mines beneath the ground however, in hollowed out spaces. What kind they were didn’t exactly matter. You’d either be missing a leg, an arm, or your whole body would turn to mush.

Banning reached his senses out further and feeling his head begin to pound inside that helmet as he sought to reach out to whoever – whatever – holed up inside that hole in the rock. The cliff’s shook when that voice echoed over that intercom. Oh, so now they wanted to talk. Better late than never, he supposed.

Still, he refused to answer just yet until he could feel that person. They gave off an odd vibe, something psionic but the readings were hazy. No doubt interference from the elements in the rocks surrounding them in that dusty canyon. Far to the horizon rose a towering cliff wall. And the echo still from that com call bounced off and out into the rest of the wastes.

“You wanna talk? Okay. Let’s talk.” Banning called out through the mic on his helmet. “Let’s start with a howdy hello to you!” Banning kept himself pressed to the rocks, only letting the hud on his visor reflect anything that might be around the corner. Still the guns were down. For now.

“If you’re trying to kill us, you’re going to have a bad time.” Clearly this mine field meant business, and he wasn’t going to have to drag Chance back to Aedolis in a meat sack. Or vice versa. But for now, he’d pretend they had the upper hand. “So we’ll stay as long as we like, understand. I kinda like it out here! I might even make myself a little patio to go with that mine field you have set up. Make a porch. Have some whiskey and biscuits. It’ll be fucking grand! Disable that field. Now.”

Banning didn’t want to wait frankly, and he carefully turned to Chase. “What d’ya say Kiers? Shall we ask our host if he has some whiskey and biscuits for us?” Which basically meant for that rat bastard holed up inside to shut down that fucking mine field and let them in. Or this was going to get ugly. “Hey if we can't talk him out, can you disable that mine field?”

[nephero]

So much for a leisurely stroll through hell. Chance cussed under his breath at the report of there being a minefield on top of everything else. Of course there was a minefield. What kind of awful place would this be without a friggin' minefield? This was genuinely just not turning out to be his week. He shifted at Banning's signal, rifle ready as the Pilot Royal moved over the rocks to get a better "look" at things.

At the very least, it seemed like they were thoroughly alone out here. The turret system must have done a good job of keeping any of the other Wasteland nasties at bay; the last thing they needed was some hideous mutated thing getting the drop on them while they were huddled amongst pitted boulders.

Chance snorted a bit as... whoever lived here (who the fuck would ever live here) shouted at them through a speaker. No rights to be there his lily-white ass. Still, the phrasing was certainly interesting. He had expected something a bit more... what was the word? Hostile. Full of bravado. Full of the whole 'I'm gonna tear you apart and string your guts from the cliffs, assholes!' kind of deal.

Not this 'this is my property' crap.

"I'm thinking of building a little bungalow myself, sir!" Chance called back from his position, hud still scanning for further movement and coming up thankfully empty. "The whole works-- porch and a couple of rocking chairs to watch the storms roll on by-- and a big-ass fucking windchime out of any bones that just so happen to be lying around when we're done."

It was one hell of a bluff, all things considered. He switched his mic off, then, instead relying on the far more private telepathic communication line.

"From here? No. I'm thinking our 'friend' here isn't the sort to set ones with any delays either. I'm fast, but I'm not that fast, and then we've got ten meters of fuck-off in our faces." He tongued at his canine in thought, and shuffled to get a better look at the field in question. "Hang on. Got an idea. Cover me."

Chance shimmied his way along a boulder, giving himself a better view while not exposing too much of himself to any further nastiness. He unhooked his pack and dug into the contents a bit before pulling out his canteen and unscrewing the lid. It was a long-shot, but he had a sneaking suspicion these mines weren't set for heavy weights; if it had been him out here in the Wastes, he'd want them to be able to give a mouse a bad day.

The water in his canteen rose, sinuous and curving, condensing into a tight ball before flying off over the field in wide circles. The water pulled up then, paused for half of a moment, before Chance brought it down with all the force he could muster, the tiny bit of water jettisoning down and--

"Fire in the hole," Chance quipped.

Boom. The mine triggered, erupting up and outwards in a hailstorm of dust and dirt and metal shards, those shooting out and over the otherwise unmarked field, a few smaller bits bouncing against the boulders. All that was left was a harmless pit, and Chance switched back to his mic.

"We'll be able to plant an orchard at this rate!"

[Lion]

Of course disabling them from where they were was a long shot at best. So Chance was right in that assessment. Banning too flipped off his mic and nodded to Kiers as he shuffled off to the side. “I’ve got your six,” he thought back to him and threw his rifle up onto his shoulder, aiming it steadily at anything that might suddenly give movement.

Thankfully the only thing that was moving was that clever little water ball that Kiers made. Banning would have opted for wasting a grenade, but this was a much better use of their resources. And without a hitch Banning ducked when the mine exploded and a sliver of shrapnel buried itself in the dirt not but two inches from his right foot.

“Nice one! He seems like a real chicken shit. Hopefully this spooked him enough,” Banning thought to Chance. Because he wasn’t buying that son of a bitch’s act for a second. Banning kept his gun raised and steadily crawled back to his initial position. One mine down, and a dozen more to go. Maybe more. He’d give the little shit  one more chance to comply. If he didn’t it’d be all guns blazing.

A flick of the mic and he hollered, “You hear that, Biscuits?! We can do that again if you don’t disable that field immediately and let us speak face to face! This is your final warning.”

[Nix]

Shit. Shit! Goggles was panicking. His whole defense system was designed to intimidate and take out beasts and the hasty brawn with no brains type that the Wastelands was littered with. Think! What could- oh.

Oh that might actually work.

"Ok. I'm disabling the mines." He said as he pulled out some parts he'd been messing with earlier. He didn't need the Pilots taking them all out. If he managed to get through this encounter he would still need those defenses for other things.

Of course now anyone in the area was aware their were Pilots baring down on him which had its upsides and down sides. "I'm not letting you in till you state your purpose here." He could easily reactivate the field if they refused to comply. There was also the matter of stalling for time. He already realized that keeping them out entirely was impossible.

He could do this. He just had to stay calm.

[Lion]

The speaker bellowed with a fading interference after he replied confirming that they were clear of the threat of that mine field. For the time being anyway. Banning was pretty sure that wasn't going to last. Just as soon as they got up to go in Biscuits could just as easily set him off. It wasn't like the little scamp inside wasn't completely justified in having all these defenses set up. Other than making the mistake of calling the Wastelands home, it was clear he was used to dealing with nasties on a regular basis.

Such preparation could be complimented at any other time.
Banning just didn't want to get blasted to fuck-all any time soon.

Which brought them full circle back to their current issue. Telling this guy why they were here and just how much of it ought to be the truth. Banning glanced up to Hyperion and Anhur, then to Kiers. The guy didn't need any more bullshit. The sooner they got in there the better. "We're here on reconnaissance, Biscuits," he hollered back through the mic. "Strange signal out here in the wastes. And our scanners indicated it coming from here. We didn't come here to fight, but I'm not going to let you kill either of us."

He scooted up to his knees, peering just around to the front of the doorway of that hovel. "That's the truth of it, Biscuits. Whatcha say? Let us in and talk?" Banning glanced back to Chance, and he pulled the rifle from his head, holding it by the strap. Boots scraped against the soil as he got to his feet and held both arms raised. No doubt the cameras out here would spot him.

"Look, as a show of good faith, huh?"

"Banning!" Hyperion growled. What a fucking idiot! Hyperion stepped forward before his Pilot turned on him, shaking his head as if to say 'Don't'.

Hyperion's throat rumbled low and his head lifted lightly to see the horizon. And the dust clouds that seemed to be billowing up from there. It couldn't have been a storm. Could it?

[nephero]

What the ever loving fuck was Lockhart doing? Chance tensed as the Pilot Royal stood, his rifle hanging loosely by its strap from raised hands. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a pressing weight on his mind, the overwhelming presence of his draconic partner steadying him from doing anything too brash like running out and dragging his officer right on back into the rocks.

"Wait," the voice that was both not his own and yet all his own said, and Chance glanced out of the corner of his eye to look in the direction Anhur's head had turned, spines raised and bristling black against the copper-red rocks. At first, all Chance saw was distant dust storms-- nothing out of the ordinary for this festering pit. But that wasn't quite right, was it? The movement seemed off, his hud readings showing that the present wind conditions should be blowing in another direction entirely. So why did that look like it was getting closer?

Well, fucking shit. Chance flicked the safety and shouldered his own rifle, jerking his head at the jagged outcropping of rocks.

"Ambush formation," Chance thought back to the scaled beast, and Anhur's lips pulled back to expose metallic fangs in an altogether unpleasant imitation of a smile. Anhur pulled his port-pocked wings close to his body, and slithered along the spires of crumbling rock, letting the dust coat his patchwork black and metal scales to better match him to the surrounding environment. Between his spines, the dirt, and the angular shadows the rocky spires created, when Anhur settled in it was near impossible to tell he was even there. Which, of course, was the general idea.

Chance glanced up at Hyperion for the barest moment, before turning back towards Banning, his own hands raised up and clasped against the back of his helmet as he made his way out after his commanding officer. He half expected the earth to explode out from beneath him, but he supposed it was a good sign that it didn't.

Still, that was the exact opposite of how he wanted to go out, and being right on top of it all was making him shrivel right up into his core.

"We really just walking in naked, sir?" he inquired, his thoughts muted as if he wanted to whisper even those. Not that he really had much choice; Pilot Lockhart was in charge, after all, and orders were orders. They were here for a reason, and Chance supposed diplomacy worked as well as anything else. Didn't mean he had to like it one bit, though.

[Nix]

His scanners were picking up that dust cloud in the distance, it was the sort of movement his system was designed to detect, he usually didn't have to worry about anything flying in on him. Raiders. Couldn't be sure whose people they were but this presented two options.

He could leave the Pilots out there, rearm his system, and let them take care of each other. No doubt the Raiders were coming on account of him calling attention to the fact that it was Pilots attacking him. That was only a few moments ago though. Which meant someone was still watching him if they were rolling out this fast.

It was a good option. He wasn't sure he trusted that this Pilot just wanted to talk, and even if he did there was a lot at stake for a defector. However, the Pilots would likely survive the encounter and one side would be forced to retreat. If the raiders retreated he doubted the Pilots would continue to extend a diplomatic approach to the situation. And if the Pilot's retreated they would no doubt return with back up.. plus he was sure whichever raiders were on the horizon would feel Goggles 'owed' them for their assistance. It was a pretty lose lose situation. But one was definitely worse.

Besides, he had a contingency plan that might work on two Pilots, but probably not more than that.

Fuck. Goggles pressed a button and a large metal box sprung up from the ground and dust. His voice came out of the speaker again as the Pilots stood there. "All yer weapons in the box. You can have em back when we are done."

It was his standard practice for people out here who wanted something from him. No one was coming in to his place hot.

[Lion]

Yeah it was definitely a lose-lose situation for just about everyone involved. And as Banning stood out there in the middle of that mine field - thankfully deactivated - even with Kiers right next to him, he too saw the dust clouds rising high and out from the west. A telltale sign that they were going to have some company very soon. Because nobody kicked up a storm like that unless they were mad as hell.

And out here, everything was mad.

Upon Anhur's shuffling up onto the rocky spires, Hyperion followed suit, and huddled underneath his wings to allow himself to climb up onto the boulders, following up and over the spires into a shaded crevice where he could hide more effectively in that abyss. His form was lean enough to shimmy inside and he emitted a low growl as he was forced to watch Banning and Chance just stand there like pigs waiting for the wolves.

"Better walking in than standing here with our dicks in our hands" he chuckled mentally. And then their good host made his decision. Well it was about goddamned time, he grumbled in his gut. It wasn't something he enjoyed either, but it was either that or wait for their new visitors to tangle with them.

Banning only cared to fight one battle at a time.

"Okay," he said, nodding and stepping forward to dump the rifle in the box, along with his side-arms. He was hard-pressed to part with those revovlers. They were the only material possession that truly mattered to him. Of course, like a fool, he had to bring them out here, but he never went anywhere without them. And he'd be damned if someone would take them from him without his say-so.

With the box filled with guns, Banning quickly moved forward toward the door. And found the lock give.  With no resistance, he kicked it open and passed through the threshold.

[nephero]

Chance's eyebrows shot up, obscured though they were by his helmet, and he had to give an acquiescing "I GUESS" sort of nod at Banning's comment. Vivid as the mental image had been, better to get moving and out of sight of whatever was in that dust cloud than linger here; with all these automated defenses, it wasn't like their host could be that much more of a threat. At least it seemed like there was only one of him.

Which was a far sight better than whatever the hell was coming at them full speed.

Chance moved forward to drop his own rifle into the box, along with his sidearm. While he didn't have any particular emotional attachments to either, he still didn't like parting with them. Out here, it just made him feel terribly naked; more than standing out in a minefield holding his own dick ever would have done. Oh well. There was more than one way to kill a man, and while bullets were the more expedient option, Chance was sure he'd manage without.

Just give me an excuse, he thought to himself, which earned him an amused little rumble from Anhur in return. He looked over his shoulder at where the dragons were currently hidden, before following up behind his commanding officer and in through the front door, shutting it solidly behind them. Best to cover their bases as best they could; the last thing they wanted was to be caught between... whoever Biscuits was, and whatever was coming to pay him a visit.

"Knock knock," Chance quipped into the dusty dark of the... what was the word? Foyer? ...did bunkers in the Wastes have foyers? Did they even technically count as sound places of residence? Man, he would be sweating this nomenclature all day. "Yavon calling."

[Nix]

As soon as the Pilots were in Goggles pressed the button for the box with the guns to lower back down, didn't need that temptation for the raiders to see, especially with one of his mines down. He reactivated the field and booted up what turrets he had left. He'd have to hope that would work as a deterrent for now. He climbed up back out of the safe room, and then parted the curtain that separated the back of his shack from the front where he did business. He kept one hand in his pocket, and he knew the Pilots would be able to read his mind and know what he has there, but it wasn't something he was trying to keep secret. It was an EMP bomb. A last resort. If pressed it would hopefully knock out their psionics for maybe a few hours, he hoped, but it would also fuck up his equipment royally. He didn't want to have to use it.

"Let's clear the air here. I'm sure you already know what I've got in my pocket. Its purely insurance. I want you two to leave here in one piece just as much as you do. I just need to make sure I stay in one piece too." He said looking from the one who seemed to be in charge to the other one and back.

"My name isn't 'Biscuits' and you ain't setting up a fucking patio on my property got it? I don't want you here, and I don't trust you... but I'll play host as long as you keep this all amicable and forthright. So cut the lame jokes. I'm not buying cosmetics or the shit you are peddling." He said lifting his large squared goggles off his eyes and letting them rest on his forehead. "What do you want to know?"

Obviously if they were here they traced the signal to him... but his system's frequency was low, the walkie talkies some of the raiders utilized didn't even pick up on it. They had have been actively scanning the area, not just surveying it. But... What did Pilots want out here?

[Lion]

Right they were inside now. And out of the prying view of the raiders that were no doubt bearing down on them as they were invited in. The door was shut behind them and they stood there like assholes talking to another asshole that could blow them all away. Banning did read his mind, merely scanned it because this guy's nerves were so wracked it was too hard not to pick up the anxiety that was frothing over that bowl cut of his.

Banning was steady and glanced around, taking in that ramshackle room, little knick-knacks here and there. For a moment he considered crossing that distance as fast as he could and knocking Biscuits out of his misery. The EMP would be painful of course. And a name flashed before his eyes.

"Temple," he thought to Chance.

"Okay then," Banning replied and put a hand up as if to settle him. "The feeling's mutual." Right cosmetics. And who else could this guy be but Aedolian? It was only one of the largest corporate brands. But never found much business in the wastes. Could you imagine trying to sell the right shade of lipgloss to one of the mutated monstrosities that were out here? A laughable thought, and Banning fought hard to keep from bursting out into an array of snickers.

"You've got all the cards,. Our weapons. A bomb in your hand, and your name ain't Biscuits, Biscuits," he said, clearing his throat. "Sorry. To the point. I want to know where that signal is coming from. An anomaly out here in the Wastes is no doubt going to be noticed what with Aedolis next door and all. That's what we're out here for. I don't know who you are, and frankly I don't give a shit. But that pulse is here, and I'm not leaving until our mission is completed, understand?"

Banning didn't wan't him setting off that bomb anymore than he did, and he certainly didn't want to waste any time before their new friends arrived. A cacophonous sound was brimming closer and closer to them. "So are you going to show us or what? Mr. Whatever your goddamn name is."

[nephero]

Temple.

The name echoed in Chance's head long after Banning was finished telegraphing it, and no matter what Chance did to shove the lingering thought away, it just bounced right back off the sides of his skull.

Temple. An EMP bomb. Chance was so wrapped up in these two altogether unpleasant revelations that he almost didn't catch the comment about Yavon; he had said it as a joke but now-- there was another piece to this puzzle, and the more Chance fitted the pieces together the more he realized he did not like the provided picture they were forming.

It was a shame, too, because he had this whole bit planned about red lipsticks and winged eyeliner being so very in this season. Oh well, opportunities lost and all that rot. ...Which was yet another train of thought that he really should not have allowed to leave the station.

No, focus. The noise outside was getting louder, flecks of dust carried by winds to rattle against the outer shell of the little shack. He could almost smell the blood the dust brought with it; dried flecks and bits of powdered metal mingling with the natural grit of the landscape-- and not for the first time Chance was distinctly missing his rifle.

He tilted his head as he regarded Not-Named-Biscuits; with his goggles pushed up it was easy to see how young this guy was, all wide eyed suspicion and rattling bones. Chance snorted to himself. If he really wanted to make a windchime out of this dude he probably wouldn't even need to skin him for how scrawny he already was. Just hang him up by the back of his shirt and the job was done.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, careful to keep his movements slow and easy as he returned to watching the front door. Better to just keep his mouth shut here; an EMP bomb would just straight up fuck up their day, and Chance did not envy the thought of facing down whatever else was coming without his psionics-- it'd be like running a marathon through a toxic windstorm in nothing but a speedo. They'd be dead within a fucking minute.

Dead in the Wastelands. How absolutely pissing ironic.

[Nix]

Goggles had to keep steering his thoughts away from certain things. Certain half memories, warnings about Pilots and how they read your mind, and there was nothing he could do to keep them out. Of course his memory from before a few years ago, before the Wastes and the raiders, was fragmented. But they could still pull the one thing he wanted to hide. The fact that he was a techn-

A technology expert- well, as far as the Wastes were concerned, of course that was probably a given since he had made an EMP bomb in what? A few minutes?

He was also scared as fuck. His false bravado, if it could be called that, wasn't fooling anyone. He was staring down two Pilots and had at least half a dozen raiders bearing down on him now- probably closer to ten. Probably Ruckus' people.

He twitched and scratched his neck anxiously at that thought, before looking the one in charge in the eyes, trying not to flinch. "It's my system. I just found a new power source for it and its putting out a stronger signal, but I was keepin the frequency low... didn't think you'd be watchin this corner a the Wastes fer your health." His voice cracked a bit. Even his dialect betrayed him. Sure it had been affected by the Wastes just as much as any part of him had, but here and there it betrayed him with traces of an upper level Havian accent.

"...I don't want any trouble." He muttered as if it was a conditioned response. He slowly back up to the curtain that separated his foyer / shop from his back room / living quarters and pushed it all the way open so they could see there was no traps before motioning for them to follow him as he continued his backward dance to his hatch in the floor. "My set up is down here... you can see the power source for yourself." He said opening it to the cellar.

[Lion]

Of course now probably wasn't the best time to bring up Temple Rosales. Every Pilot knew what happened to him. And what didn't.  With that kind of threat so close, it would probably be the best idea to diffuse it as quickly as possible, but fuck-all if that  was even an option right now. He was at least thankful that Kiers was remaining at least a shadow of calm.

Bowl-Cut here, even with his nervous demeanor didn't lend them much confidence that he wouldn't blow them all away anyway. Itchy trigger fingers and all that nonsense. Because that's quickly what this was turning into. Banning only had so much patience and so many fucks to give.

Banning kept silent, listening carefully to their host as he moved about to show them around his humble abode, or part the curtain to show them the backway and that metal hatch in the floor. Banning's alarm bells went off and even if the kid himself didn't pose any threat - y'know discounting that bomb in his hand - he didn't trust him any more than he trusted them. That and because now that he was in the same room with him, he could get a clearer feeling without disruptive elementals surrounding him.

Underground, that explained why his readings were so hazy. Banning could feel the psychic vibe off him, although it's specifics weren't exact yet. The little knack-knacks were partly telling. He had a thing for electronics, and was clearly from Aedolis. He couldn't hide it that well, and frankly he was trying a little bit too hard.

"Banning,' Hyperion thought aloud to the Pilot Royal."We've got company!"

"I'd check it out," Banning said, half jokingly. "But from the sound of it you've got some friends coming to visit. Are we having whiskey and biscuits now, Bowl-Cut?" Banning swiveled around and the sounds of engines were already roaring outside. "Not joking, man, but clearly this is going to be a bigger problem than just two Pilots hanging around. So this power source you were going to show us. After you!"

And Banning crossed that distance and nudged Bowl-Cut forward, perhaps a bit too uncaring as to that EMP detonator in his hand.
_____
Outside the little hovel, it was well more than a dozen Raiders that were stopping just outside of Goggle's shack. And when Rampage saw through his binoculars that Ruckus was already there, he'd revved his engine and commandeered the bike to tear up the ground and wheelied up and over a six foot ravine, hopping it and the rest of his Raiders at his back.

"Fuck all if I'm going to let Ruckus have all the fun to herself!" he growled.

[nephero]

"Anhur," Chance reached out, already retreating back behind the open curtain and looking none too enthused about the open hatch in the floor, "what do you see?"

"Two groups, marginally organized. It doesn't look like they're together, but humans have come together over a common enemy before," his dragon supplied, the great beast mentally grumbling at the thought of being the impetus of rival gangs entering a temporary alliance. "Worst case scenario, we can light them up from behind when they come to play. But numbers dictate that is the last resort."

"Copy that," Chance sighed, already looking around the tiny living space. A curtain wasn't going to do much by way of cover, but those rusted shelves on the other hand...

Without a word, Chance crossed the living space, and yanked the metal furnishings away from the wall. Both shelving and floor protested the rough treatment, with several of Biscuits/Not-Biscuits/Apparently-Now-Bowl-Cut's trinkets rattling dangerously as he went. And then Chance upended the entire thing, throwing it onto its side to better create some manner of barrier between the different rooms. He didn't even care where all the electronic bullshit went, piling the bigger pieces into the pitted gaps at the back of the metal bookcase.

"Don't want trouble, but trouble sure as shit wants you. You got any other way out of here, kid, or is the front door the only route?" he asked, even as he continued to drag furniture around to reinforce their position. Not that he could necessarily trust the kid no matter what he said; that Haviah accent was unmistakable, his apparent nerves even more so, and it was painfully obvious that he was trying desperately to keep something hidden from two men who could literally read his mind. It was kind of a gigantic red flag, all things considered.

"I'll hold down the fort while you go crawling in the dungeon," Chance thought in Banning's direction, casting him a long look that spoke volumes more than any telepathic conversation ever might. Stuck between two raider groups and a bomb-- their odds were not looking great, and for all his attempts to do otherwise, Chance's thoughts drifted to home, to green eyes and the sobering realization that this could very well be history repeating itself all over again. "Try not to get wrapped up in a tea party, sir."

[Lion]

"Roger that, Chance. I won't be long. Try not to have all the fun by yourself. Or Anhur without Hyperion for that matter."

"Smart ass," Hyperion thought louder over Banning's projection.

History that Banning was determined not to allow itself to repeat, he knew the story, and he knew Chance had someone to go home to. So when he caught that glance to the Pilot Echo, he nodded solemnly back to him. They were in this together, and they would come out of this together one way or another. He did not leave his comrades behind.

"All right Bowl-Cut, you've got our attention, and the attention of everyone else out there. Like I said, take it easy. We're here for the signal, not whatever bullshit you've done. So down the hatch we go." Banning said with a pinch of irritation.

"And I'm sure a smart guy like you has some kind of back up plan, and not just that bomb you're holding right?" he asked idly, repeating Kiers' statement just in case Not-Biscuits didn't understand it the first time.

[Nix]

Goggles had been just about to head down the hatch, muttering how his name isn't bowl cut and he doesn't even have a bowl cut when the Pilot Echo (wait how did he know this guy was a Pilot Echo?) started destroying his living quarters to erect a barrier. "Hey what the hell! The mines are back up, and what is that going to do? If they come in here we are already screwed!" Those electronic pieces that the Pilot was recklessly stacking... fuck!

He was bumped a bit as the other nudged him roughly down into the cellar... good thing there was no ACTUAL button to the bomb. The trigger was just his thoughts interacting with it. It was a better fail safe than just anyone being able to use it. As soon as they were down the first thing he did was check their monitors. Shit. More of them... And Ruckus was out there.

A shiver ran down his spine as he looked at her on the screen. More incoming too... probably Rampage... Shit. "They are here to... 'help' me." He said to the Pilot Royal.... oh right the uniforms. That's how he knew. Even the flight suits denoted rank if you knew what you were looking for. "If your friend hadn't created a nice breech in my mine field we would have no problem but here we are."

Maybe it was his fear of the raiders, his fear of Ruckus, that had him more willing to side with the Pilots.

He watched her surveying his terrain, sizing it up and then whistling softly as she nodded towards the patch where the no detonated mine had been. Ignoring Banning for the moment he slammed his hand on the talk button just as she began to ease her bike past the perimeter.

"I'm fine in here Ruckus. I'm just conducting business with these folks, you want a cut you can have it but stand down." He said, trying not to let his voice shake as much as his he was, both hands on the console as he tried to steady himself and figure out options for the breech. The turrets wouldn't do much at this point... what else was there? he couldn't think right now.

He looked back at the Pilot Royal before pulling off an old metal casing, revealing the nucleus of his system. "That's the power source I found. Not sure where it came from." He said pointing out a rather odd looking device amount his circuitry. "Everything down here runs off that... you take it now and we are screwed. There's a tunnel off the back of this room that leads up through the cliffs but... It's still a long shot to get through them... If they haven't suffered a cave in."

______________

Ruckus had heard her little tinker toy soldier's cry for help. Pilots out in the Wastes and baring down on him... how could she refuse such a call to aid him? Especially when it came with the perks of killing some Pilots. It took barely any time at all to rally the troops and high tail it to the scrapper's den. Neutral territory her ass. As far as she was concerned the entire Wasteland belonged to her. Only reason she had yet to take Goggles back by force was because he worked better thinking it was on his terms.

Well that and because it had been Rampage who let the kid escape, which was both amusing and a reminder of her brother's failure. She had been inspecting the changes in Goggles' property and about to proceed through the part where a mine already went off when the speaker crackled to life.

"Goggles there aint no way I'm buyin that love! Those dragon fuckers could be makin you say dat an how'd I know?" She said flashing a feral grin at the camera, which was sadly interrupted by Rampage heading this way.

Well now. This was getting interesting.