[Episode Three] Defile

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Scrap Crew

"Really? Oh uh, I got it right here!" Tom unplugged the Steel Key from his monstrous grappling device, showing it to Reman from his perch. "I got it right here Reman! I'll, uh..."

Tom looked back into the distance, seeing the stained sand and the cable. There it is again; not the cable, but this instinct to risk and discover, and he can feel it. Where does the cable go? Did someone drag it out there to hide? Well, why would they hide? Are they still there? Only one way to find out!

Now how to get from here to there... Well he could slinky his way down; the Steel key's ability to bend metal is what allows this grappling hook to bend its steel cable, thus allowing the alchemist to curve his shots in order grapple areas he can't aim for. Although as Dahlia just pointed out, the cruiser is rather unsafe. He could shoot his grapple hook elsewhere, but there's nothing out there he can grapple to in order to get there. As far as Tom knew, he can't change the grapple hook's cable to be strong enough to pole vault over there; at most, it can slow his descents in, uh, drastic situations.

So somehow, Tom needed to make a anchor, and throw it over there in order to get there quickly- Tom stopped. He assessed his device, and then the distance. The edge of the plateau might be too far for the hook, anyway. There's only one way he could get over there so quickly without being so reliant on his grapple hook.

"Hey uh, change of plans, I see a dead body over there! It's in some purple sand. There's also that line all the way over there; looks like cable, and it's going over the edge of the plateau. I'm gonna try and get over there, there might be something valuable I can recover!"

Tom inserted the Blast Key in a bulky walkman-like device, one with wires that end in tubes that connect to the frame. Pulling a tube revealed it to be a laser etcher, whose laser glowed orange from the power of the key. He began etching a alchemy circle into the hot hull of the derelict crawler.
 
Trayl II
The Crawler

As they approached the crawler and investigated, Perry, too, would sniff the smell of fumes of the various chemicals that permeated the derelict vehicle. He plugged his nose, speaking funny as he said. "Looks like someone left the tank open. Super yucky."

He took a moment to find cleaner air away from the crawler, before moving his head back to look inside beside the others who he joined on their little expedition. He investigated the interior, wondering why something like this would be in such a state here.

In response to Rhea, a voice from Perry's waist spoke up. "The engine would most likely have to be looked at, firstly. And that's before inspecting the state of the crawler's method of propulsion. In fact, the captain may be right; the vehicle would most likely fall apart if no attention is given to what's holding it together."

Perry paid more attention to the structure of the crawler itself, nodding in agreement. "I agree. Honestly, you see those holes? How long has this thing been here? If we hadn't come onto the thing itself, I would've thought it would fall into the sand at the first touch."
 
Crawler of Sands
God I hate it already


Aradia was certainly more well-mannered than in previous expeditions, but that wasn't saying much as her general disposition was revealing. Apparently, she had a personal hatred of sand, sun, and (almost) all things warm - as the blindingly white robe she donned made apparent; What heat it couldn't reflect was swiftly expulsed through the advanced nano-wool layers meant to keep you cool and dry. Or at least, that's what the thing is supposed to do, and it didn't seem to be working here. Dammit.

"I'd almost consider looking at Bivona again. Almost. I see some sort of engine, I smell gas, that's a robody if I've ever seen one, how do you guys drive these things anyways? Maybe it's got navigational data for their last heading if we can give it a quick charge," the arcane expert lowered her hood as she joined the others inside the crawler, sipping from a water bottle. One of probably at least three. "Actually, do you have a black box, data store, whatever it's called? I've never flown a ship without one, they're supposed to actually record all the data going through the vehicle's computers." The little one started poking around the various shelves, keeping clear of the maybe-a-bouncer but looking for anything that seemed... .Intentionally easy to loosen. A panel with screws or latches, or a switch - wait, this thing's dead on power, switches wouldn't help. Whatever.
 
Trayl II
Landing Site
Crawler Interior

At last joining the rest of the inspection crew in the large vehicle above the localized purple-tinted sands was Keith, the resident informant and archivist. Clad in his distinctive desert attire, complete with his hood up and scarf covering his face from the ruthless sunshine, the ex-sergeant's fingers traced alongside the interior walls and furniture of the abandoned crawler as he marched inward, revealing layers of rust that began painting his fingertips—but not gathering nearly as much dust as he had expected. "The units' reactivation was recent, then. Some of the grime has been cleaned, so I'd guess this thing has been stuck here for a week, give or take," he said, responding to Perry's question.

Upon first smelling the chemical fumes permeating the stale air inside the Oakland Heavy Wayfarer, Keith tightened his scarf's wrap around his face in an almost subconscious effort to protect his respiratory organs from the foul smell. "Whatever is leaking must be turning the sands purple as well... it's probably best to clog it up posthaste. Overseer, do you recognize the chemical traces?" he asked, turning his head to eye the crumbling not-bouncer machine head to toe. Being the only one of its kind left behind, maybe its peers were the ones who had briefly reclaimed the now-buried crawler.
 
Trayl II
The Casket
"Abandon all hope, all ye who enter"


The Fox's eyes trailed silently over the empty casing sitting before him, his hand following suit as he went quiet. The shape of the head - the average size. It was almost uncanny. The Overseer title. It didn't take a genius to deduce just what this case housed. He could swear his heart skipped a beat in anticipation alone - and this time, there were no cargo crates that he could feasibly drop upon a marauding Overseer unit.

"Guys, you may want to see this!" Deimos' entire body spun in on itself, twisting 180 to get a good look at the scenery around where the box lay. Any signs of footsteps or drag marks. If there were any signs that something like an OSC unit could have activated on its own volition. He clicked photo after photo, forwarding them to the other members of the Downrider Crew in a convenient CC mail format.

Of course, by now, the signature of an OSC unit was familiar on his personal databank - but perhaps a speeding Glaive would far surpass him even opening his mouth should he be an unlucky target. "Hell, we might even have a welcoming party on our hands."
 
Landing Site
Crawling


Dahlia stayed relatively close to Rhea, not quite trusting in the apparently radioactive crystal stick that had been formed. Indeed it was a tetanus nightmare in here. As the group carefully tread about the decrepit Wayfarer, the captain lowered a sliding plastic visor from the hardhat's rim- any protection helped. She stopped in front of the torn Bouncer, taking quite the minute to see the resemblance to the models the group had encountered now weeks before. "...I feel there should be more than one here."

The Captains voice trailed off as she gazed up towards the ceiling, noticing a quite large hole in the vehicles roof above the rack. It was faint, but there were signs of water damage coming down the wall. Even the desert sees a rainy day every once in a while.

The functioning and at least partially-accepted Overseer took a silent watch at the entrance to the wayfarer, keeping the folds of their attire wrapped neatly under one wing to prevent further stains and tearing on the ruptured metal surfaces. "The chemicals are more than likely the battery and cooling systems. If any was left, I imagine they didn't fare well moving again."

OSC-01 shot a glance over at the environmentally-challenged pilot, taking a step into the Wayfarer. "If this model was produced following standard safety regulations, a emergency datapack should be located..." the Overseer spoke as she scanned the walls, looking for a certain hatch. "There."

The Overseers head pointed towards the location like the head of a compass. At around chest height of the average man on the wall next to the engine laid an open hatch. The bent metal and busted hinges was a clear indicator that the hatch had been breached forcefully, as if by a pry-bar. The inside of the hatch was open, with nothing but the disjointed casing of a coupler that had half it's wires frayed. It seems that someone, or something, had taken the good already. A small puddle of purple liquid had pooled at the lip of the empty hatch, as if something had been cut along the way.


Perusing through the partly-collapsed racks in the Wayfarer, some of the crew members came across objects lost in the dust and rust of the lost vehicle. Some were simple hand tools, such as wrenches and screwdrivers. Others of note however included many spare, rusted beyond-use chainsaw belts. A plastic, green tube had been bisected, a smelly grey and blue powder fallen into the cracks in the flooring. The label of the plastic tube had been sunbleached and scratched beyond recognition, but there was the distinct presence of an electrical trigger remained in the rubble.

Dahlia tread carefully around the engine, eyeing the beast over. The engine itself was mostly hidden inside a cowl, but some of the mechanism and additional equipment laid in an orderly, modular configuration around the side of it. As Rhea wandered around the aged machinery, she could... feel something in one of the units connected to it. A dull, whispering sensation emanating from a pull-out cabinet next to the engine.

The captain bent over with a grunt, inspecting a thick black cable that laid in a nearly taught line from a side panel of the engine. It appeared to be clamped on manually. Step by step, the Captain started following the trail. It weaved tightly around the racks, before running out into the blinding white abyss of sand that had become of the Wayfarers cargo hatch.

---

Dahlia received the concerning images from Deimos, glancing through them one by one. The case certainly looked expensive, to have maintained such a seal. "Was it open before you got there?" she inquired. The captain peered at Romulus as he took off in a cloud of dust, following the cable that originated from within the Wayfarer. The Captain still did not trust him as far as she could throw him, but it wasn't her job to maintain constant vigilance on him- nor was it her job to throw him. The Captain stepped out onto the hot crust of the plateau once more, eyeing the trail of purple liquid. "Osco, what is that?"

The Overseer leaned down to pick up a sample of the stained sand, crushing it between her metal grasp. A purple ooze remained from the grains of sand, retaining an even consistency as it trickled down her palm. "Hydraulic fluid. An Oakland-proprietary mixture, at that."

Dahlia nodded as her lower lip drooped just a hair, looking back at the vehicle. "As big as it is, I can't see much more than scrap and questions coming from the... Wayfarer. I'd like to think you and Marie may be able to salvage any good electronics from it."

The Overseer glanced back at the Wayfarer, before nodding hesitantly. Dahlia turned, making her way across the open plateau to where Deimos was situated. When the captain caught up with him, she looked down at the case, looking it over. "The case is in good shape, so I imagine whatever is running around must be fresh as well." The captain paused, eyeing the purple canister of fluid. She tossed it up the vigilant foxboy. "I'm sure someone around here is gonna have a price for that."


As Juryrig made his landing in a cloud of purple dust, he soon found his bearings. In the center of the purple mount of stained sand laid a disfigured corpse, albeit not an organic one. The body had become mostly drowned in the slowly migrating sand, but a single metal hand stuck unnaturally up from the surface, the paint eroded off and replaced with scratched and scars of oxidation. Maybe it was asking for a hand.

---

The mysterious black cable ran across the ground, leading Romulus in a tight bend around the side of the plateau. The path cornered and weaved dangerously close to the cliff face, lending itself to an exciting ride. The joyride of the alchemist was brought to an abrupt end as the path around the side of the plateau vanished, leaving him skidding to a halt dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. As Romulus put the bike to the ground, the trail the cable took became apparent. The black cable wrapped abruptly 90 degrees into the side of the mountain, sneaking into a narrow outcrop within the rock. From where he stood, he could see the faintly light color of... concrete, deep within the shallow cave.
 
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Landing Site
Crawling

Engine room

"Uh hu... inspection... sure..." She half mumbled, not entirely listening after they had all finally reached the engine. Like she was trying to hone in on something she could just barely hear. She paced around for a bit, until she pinpointed the location it was coming from, the conspicuously inconspicuous cabinet. Maybe she just thought of it like that becuase she could hear it whispering to her, though.

She looked around after placing herself infront of the cabinet, and muttered "captain?" Looking around, before realizing the captain had already vacated the area, following a clue. Oh well, she couldhandle this alone... probably. But she sure as heck wasn't going to touch hwatever it was with her hands, not after what happened last time. She once more, inspected her suroundings, before placing her hands on the floor and taking a deep breath. Yeah, this was fine, she could do this...

With a bit of concentration, and one evaporated staff, a sheet of crystal started growing over rhea's hands, looking quite a bit more ordered than the last time, though still quite angular, and jagged at the digits. If she couldn't find protective gloves, she was going to make her own! The newly aquired, and slightly guady purple gloves, even if they weren't going to protect her, made rhea feel a little bit better as she reached to open the cabinet, and take a peak inside, being careful to take out the offending whispering object in question with the tips of her crystal covered fingers.

"You know, I'm pretty sure hearing whispers is a sign you are going crazy right? But what if the whispers are right? Are you still crazy then?" Besides that, nothing ventured, nothing gained. With great stupidity could come great rewards.
 
Open Sands
Romulus compacted his vehicle, careful with his footing as to not take an unfortunate dive over the cliff. He quickly compacted the bike before walking towards the outcropping. To light the area, he very carefully lit his fingertips alight before heading inside the darker outcropping. Whatever was in here should provide enough sense of what transpired here enough for the biker to figure out what his next actions should be, but Inside his mind he wanted to almost exaggerate the problem slightly.

Being cut off from the veteran made maneuvering slightly tougher, but the scientist wasn't unfamiliar without his prized weapon. His approach wasn't slowed or deterred at all by the rougher terrain of the sand, and as he made his way into the cave, he got his footing very quickly, almost impatiently speed walking inside the depths of the cavern. His footsteps echoed within the colder chamber of the cave.

Maybe he could find something on this "Rift Boring Drive" that the crew were so adamant to find. If he could find it before they did, maybe he could use that moment as leverage against the crew. If it were small enough, even... He could study the tech enough for his own purposes. Having a Slipgate like the cult did could prove useful in the coming days, especially now that the cultists know where Beta and Conroe had been stationed. After they had finished with him, In his mind he knew they stood no chance if Urane decided they were no longer useful or fun to toy with.
48 45 52 45 54 49 43 53 20 53 48 41 4C 4C 20 42 45 20 50 55 4E 49 53 48 45 44 20 42 59 20 54 48 45 20 57 49 4C 4C 20 4F 46 20 55 52 41 4E 45
--------------------
Scrap Site
"Actually, Let me come to you, give me one sec!" Reman pulled the trigger on his bracer, as he normally would. Instead of it's traditional projectile, the Bracer lent out a gust of air, and projecting one around Reman's feet, once again muddling the once-clean air with dust as he got a running start before taking a mighty leap into the air with fervor absolutely unseen from before. The sand cradled the path where his feet led, leading a gigantic cloudy pillar in it's wake as he hopped to the top of the crawler.

Reman gently took the steel key from "Jury" and took out his cyclone key from the bracer. The cyclone key went in his pants pocket, followed by a swift, confident motion from hand to bracer as he took the Steel key in stride, as he lept back down from the crawler, almost carefree and without thought. Instead of taking a crash onto the sand, he slid down and with a large thud, landed back to the sands, getting a little buried in the sands, pulling himself out by blasting the sand at close range to his feet. "Let me show you something this baby can do!"

The Mechanic walked closer to the scrap area, and pulled the trigger of his bracer once again. Unlike previously though, It was not wind that made it's way around him, but small shards of metal coalescing around his feet as a projectile shot out of the barrel, aimed towards a relatively large pile of scrap. It took a few moments, but as Reman went to the scrap pile, an even obelisk of metal rose from underneath a small pile of junk, right where the little ball landed.
 
Wayfarers suck, just fly a Hound or something

Well, damn. It's never that easy, is it? They really forced that thing out, whoever it is..." The arcanist pouted at the damaged paneling. In her eyes, an actual Oakland unit would know how to open that thing without tearing it up like that. Not only that but now it might be damaged because who knows what moron got ahold of it...

"The whispers aren't a sign of being crazy until you let them be, Rhea. what'cya find, anyways?" The other gingersmol asked, soft footsteps taking her over to the inquisitive, radioactive Rhea.
 
Wayfarer

"I'll try," Marie replied, before the air smelled sharply of ozone again. She let off a brief pulse of electromagnetic energy, almost as a radar...for metal. Mostly to gauge the size of the Wayfarer buried underneath the sands, but as she processed through the response, she walked over to the case as well.

"Hydraulic fluid requires control systems, which at the very least includes many different kinds of useful things..." Marie muttered, searching the case for any seams that she could use to crack it open and see what was inside.
 
Landing Site
Oakland Heavy Wayfarer

"Hearing whispers might simply be a manifestation of your subconscious, kid. In my experience as an informant, though, hushed voices tend to hide something," Keith said, idly musing by as he crouched down to inspect the hand tools scattered on the floor of the crawler; some were still usable. He picked up a nearby wrench and screwdriver that he deemed in good enough condition and stored them for later use, moving on to examine the bisected, green plastic tube.

The tube itself was unremarkable, any clues which might have remained on it long since gone at the hands of Mother Nature's relentless onslaught upon Trayll II, but the informant pocked it as evidence nonetheless. The remaining powder wedged between the floor cracks had a distinct, strong smell, but not much else of note. Despite wishing to collect some samples, Keith had no way of easily reaching between the tiny cracks, which prompted him to turn to the others—specifically the man with a computer on his waist, Perry. "You... wouldn't happen to be carrying some sort of vacuum tool, would you?" he asked, jabbing a thumb behind him at the residual powder as if to explain.
 
Scrap Site ----> Purple Sand Mound

"H-hey, you- Oooooh..." Tom blinked. He eyed the pillar from top to bottom as the noodle mix in his head processed what happened in front of him.

"OH! That makes a lot of-Okay! Yeah that makes a lot of sense. I can think of more than one thing I could do with spontaneous metal pillars," the alchemist claimed with excitement.

"Yeah, they're all terrible ideas, Tom."

"They aren't terrible, Jury!"

"Yeah yeah, didn't you want to look at that mound...?"

"Oh! Yeah the mound, it looked like there's something buried there! Come on Reman!" With that, the redhead just sprinted off to the purple mound-

".... Ooooh no-"

Now what happened soon afterwards, was a impossibly chaotic display of clumsiness. Tom's foot hit a bent piece of hull, he tripped, and he painfully tumbled off the Crawler. Every single possible ledge, outcrop, platform, just any flat surface and very sharp, spear-like debris was out for his neck, his clothes tearing and his face kissing scrap metal every half of a second. Every single half of a second. "OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW!"

Finally, Tom belly flopped into the purple sand, with all of his tools lying around him. He was still, and then he was back on his feet, with all the tools in his arms and not a scratch on his skin. "Woah! That scared me! Now where were we? Uh, mound. We're doing the mound. Mound!"

With that, the chipper and oddly-sounding 'Juryrig' took to investigating the mound with a hand sticking up, working at a inhuman vigor. "Okay, hand... Hm..."

"Tom. I know what you're thinking. Do NOT grab the hand. Do NOT do it. If you do it, you will die."

"... Hm... Maybe." Tom grabbed the robot hand and pulled.
 
Wayfarer

"Sure, sure, I think I brought something like that with me," Perry said in response to Keith. "Need it for everything, really. Cleaning the shields and sucking up grime from Sky's computer. You won't believe how much dust she picks up."

He took his large, shields-laden backpack off him, carefully laying it on the floor. He wiped some sweat from his forehead; heavy packs in this kind of heat didn't usually go well. For him, though, he would never dare go anywhere with it, lest he get into danger without his trusty, extendable shields. Good things, those are.

After taking a hand and fishing through his pack, however, Perry would finally bring out a small vacuum cleaner, perfect to fit in one's hand. It looked pretty empty too. Handing it to Keith, Perry said. "Just give the thing back to me whenever you're done and I'll let you have the thing's bag, alright? Need to get the sand out of everything once we get back."
 
"That's where I'm worried, Cap." Deimos piped up. "If this thing was opened as recently as I think it was, it shouldn't be too far away. Maybe we should cast a Pixy unit into the air. Scan around for any signs of an Oakland Droid wandering the sand before we get another repeat of our last battle... only this time I'm afraid I can't drop a crate on it."

The Fox dropped his gaze to the datapad he was yanking from behind him. "If it was just an empty crate, though, I guess we just found a nice place for her to sleep without burning a hole through it, wouldn't you think?"

Despite the tension in the air of an OSC on the loose, perhaps a little quip wouldn't hurt. Deimos hated situations like these, one where control was clearly out of the teams' hands as to what direction any potential interlopers may arrive from - though if this unit was designated to this decrepit scrap heap, perhaps it is they who are trespassing on its territory. His amber eyes narrowed, slowly trailing the glowing white sands that billowed like waves in the desert breeze. Already he could feel trickles of sweat dotting his brow, prompting him to yank his canteen from beneath his cloak and dip back a swig.
 
Trayll II
Wayfarer


Marie's analysis of the engine found an eventual fault, a hatch laid over the top of the engines main "shaft." Removing it took some work, but revealed a complex labyrinth of pipes, wires, and mechanical housing underneath the protective shield. The design of the engine resembled a hydraulic pumping unit for certain, with a generator not far behind. However, the exact properties of the engine were hard to find- particularly how it was meant to be turned on. The fuel-operated generator was clearly not meant to be the main power source. As Marie stared at the machinery and all its nuances, an eerie familiarity grew over herself. Certain portions of the main drive and alternator resembled something she'd herself worked on during her days in the Institute, connected via translucent fiber weaves to an external box- one that the redheaded girl was currently messing with.

The sliding panel took quite a few tries for the small girl to open. Time had not been sincere on its joints, but the sliding panel felt as if it had been leveraged once before her. Eventually, the panel exposed itself once more with a crooked bend. As it was unleashed from the wall, the whispers from the panel began to cease. Located in the center of the panel was a square sheet of dry, fractured glass- a greyish blue in color with metal rods running through the center lengthwise. The glass did not conform perfectly in the sheet it had been cut to, instead having grown outwards in an almost aggressive fashion. As Rhea pulled the overgrown sheet out from the wall, chunks fell into her hands. The material was dirty and dusty, falling into a ashen dust that seemed to slowly shrink with time.

As the eroded crystal broke away, Rhea could hear a final sensation of a whisper, a purple spark draining from the weak clump of dust. The voice was unknown, the dialect beyond Rhea's comprehension. But beyond the noise of syllables was a common string- something clear as day. It was almost sonorous.

"They're not here. The stragglers must have gone downward."


Keith' and Perry's adventures in vacuuming went off well at first, sucking up the plethora of sand and mysterious dust. After a while of digging deep through the grated floors of the Wayfarer however, the two encounter a snag. The snag being, the vacuum blew up in Perry's hands. It wasn't a catastrophic failure, but a flash of blue erupted from the chamber of the dust buster, leaving the device inoperable and smoking. It seems the contents of the green tube held some volatility through their age. The smell left behind wasn't that of traditional black power or the like, but had an almost tingling sensation to it- almost like a rush of ozone.

Landing Site

Dahlia nodded, reflecting on Deimos' concerns. After a minute, the captain responded with a quiet hum. "Yes, I've been concerned about that, too. It seems like with the way things have been going, we're going to need better... tools."

The captain tapped her chin, checking her wristwatch briefly. It was not a lone clock, but rather a pre-programmed display of several time zones. "I tried getting in touch with the Vigali about moving a shipment of heavier arms for us. However, they only deal with certain parties. Scrubbed guns only, too expensive for us."

Dahlia fell quiet for a moment, choosing not to think about how the Expedition had barely been able to turn a profit at this point. They needed something big. She looked back at Deimos, and then over at the caucus happening between the Wayfarer and the site of interest. Best time to head over and check it out. "Captains wisdom says we'll need to get crafty.



With a hefty tug upon the hand, more came out of the stained sand than Juryrig bargained for. Sand poured off the figure as an entire vaguely humanoid body came from the dune, it's dead weight continuing it's track towards Juryrig. It was an Overseer, or what remained of one. Its body was frail and rusted, layers and parts chipping off as it emerged from the sand. The corroded mechanical corpse landed in Juryrig's grasp, peppering the alchemist with even more unhealthy doses of ruined metal.

The head of this overseer unit still bore a triangular shape, but held a vastly different visage. It held a singular eye not unlike a Pixy unit, guarded on the top and sides by now eroded visor that dug into the madman's coat like a pike. The glass eye of the machine had long been shattered, the intricate motors and slides controlling it's vast interior optics hanging loose by wire threads from the heave. Most disconcertingly was the torso of the machine, which had been nearly bisected at the waist by what appeared to be a... chainsaw. The lower hips and legs of the machine- or what w as left hung from the chassis like entrails. The dirty chainsaw bar had been snapped at it's connectors, but given the still-dripping hydraulic fluid staining the sand around the crime scene- the damage was recent.


OSC-01 approached the scene slowly, overlooking the grotesque damage with a detached glance. Their outwardly whole appearance was a stark contrast next to the ruined lump of limbs. "This isn't the Overseer model that we're tracking. This is... older."


Overhang

As Romulus made his way around the tight cavern, the bright sunlight behind him began to fade into a dull orange glow. The structure of the overhang proved to be unnatural, rather resembling a collapse, if anything else. Chunks of grey concrete mixed in with the red rock, leading the man like breadcrumbs towards something larger.

After a bit of careful stepping, he had found it. A concrete pad, dug into the side of the plateau itself. It resembled a bunker, descending into a deep recess with a trapezoid shaped seal at the end. The sound of shattered glass and aged plastic crunched beneath the layer of sand as he approached the unusual structure. Attached at the the lip of the bunkers roof hung a broken machine, it's proportions stretched and broken from it's time spent dead. The sand-crusted amalgam of parts vaguely resembled... a turret. At the end of the bunkers descent were two solid metal blast doors that had been bent open, leaving a small but manageable doorway between the two slabs. The black cable ran cleanly between the two, leading into a dark, concrete abyss.

Even with the Artificer's hubris, It would be foolish to go into such a place alone.
 
Overhang

Romulus was quick to grab flash photography of the sordid scene, being careful to watch for motion and light sensors around the area, as to not trip any carelessly. For everything he wanted a picture of, he stuck his hand out and snapped the images by flicking his wrist and pointing direct towards the target. The wrist bound compressor captured and saved the files quickly not moments after he re-stabilized his hand, keeping the photo stable and non blurry. Especially around the open door, he tried to make sure that as little light came through as possible.

It was only moments after that Romulus quietly slid out the outcropping. He took cautious steps to step away from the edges of the cavern, even though anything inside probably already heard him go in already before revealing his bike, revving the engines and kicking up a dust trail back to the crew.
--------------------
Landing Site

Reman was ecstatic to grab the larger pieces of scrap from atop the monument, leaving the smaller pieces to settle back into the piles of debris before Juryrig called him over to observe the half-buried overseer model in the ground. "Good lord..." was the only thing Reman could say at the moment. Kneeling and taking out his journal, he was quick to fill in the spots that the original overseer that was not really privy to him, although by the end various components didn't really make tons of sense to him on how they operated. It seemed some sort of blueprint tech lost to time... Or something.

"Does this kind of thing scare you...? Not that I think you'd be afraid! It's just a bit morbid to see what is essentially a run down version of your model..." Reman tried not to anger the overseer, but instead attempt to be sympathetic in case she registered anything but that cold yet oddly sympathetic logic.

It was only moments later that the sound of engines roared across the open desert as Romulus came to a stop near the overseer, hover engines blasting sand over the surface of the area, kicking just a few grains at Reman in the process. As Reman covered his eyes from the dust, the biker emerged from the shadow of the absolutely massive plume of spare dust his bike kicked up from stopping that fast. "Situation report. Going to need your help after all." Romulus pulled up a screen, dim in the sand-blasted light of the desert, but visible nonetheless. On it were the pictures of the site he'd taken only moments prior, flipping through them quick, but slow enough for the crew to see.

"Looks like what could be an underground shelter of some kind. Door's bashed in, looks like forced entry. If you want my advice, it's probably the bot I severed the limbs of, and that sleazebag you met in the observatory has his grubby hands all over this. Whatever's going on here is more than coincidence. It's planned and thorough."
 
Trayll II
Wayfarer


"GAH!" Rhea shouted as she quickly backed off, shaking her hands- and as she was thinking 'get awaayy!' her gloves shattered and circled around her in pieces as she quickly examined her hands. She was more than a little bit startled, but more than anything she was emberassed, absolutely tomato faced. She can't beleive she touched the echyllis twice in a row!

She looked around, making sure to not cut anyone up with all the echyllis circling about her, and stuffed her hands in her pockets as she tried to look to see if any of the stuff was still in the shattered 'gloves' circling around her. Maybe some of the 'glass' panel was still useable, but it probably needed replacing anyway. it was pretty clear to her at this point. "... found a panel of Echyllis in there... it uh... probably... needed replaced anyway..."

She turned away from the panel after... some hesitation, and quickly gathered up all the shards that were floating around... not dismissing them quite yet, keeping them out of the way in case they had any of that weird whispering echyllis still in it. "Um... The whispers said, that 'The stragglers must have gone downward'... Maybe, there is a cave nearby here? I feel like we should go tell the captain or something..." She also mumbled vague words of apologies to the, probably startled crew members around her. It wasn't like she didn't notice that the captain even tended to put some distance between them, let alone the other members of the crew, especially the ones that actually knew the nature of her powers.

She then began making her way out of the wayfarer once more, scooching on past the smoking vacuum and its owner, searching for the captain outside. She didn't really want to be in this lump of scrap metal, hate, and crazy crystals any more.
 
Trayll II
Oakland Heavy Wayfarer

Keith jumped in place, startled by the sudden vacuum explosion. He whipped his head around to see what exactly had just happened---only to be met with a short-circuited, smoking device. Rising back to his full height, the informant averted his eyes as he rubbed at the back of his neck partly in shame. "Well... sorry about that. I... at least reckon we've collected enough dust for analysis. Um, thank you," he said to Perry, apologetic about the unstable reaction the mysterious blue dust had with the device his fellow crewmate let him borrow. "In any case, we're done here. Let us see what the others have found," he said, and stepped outside the Wayfarer after pocketing the small bag now filled with dust.

Landing Site

Adopting his usual nonchalance once more, Keith shot a glance over to Rhea, stopping near her to survey the overall progress of the investigation going around the landing site. The informant began to speak right after exiting the crawler, briefly expressing concern over Rhea's well-being... "You alright, kid? You looked mighty shocked for a---oh, would you look at that," ...before having his attention entirely whisked away by Romulus' pictures of the underground entrance. "Great work, artificer," Keith said, a subtle tone of dismissal perceptible in his voice. "Captain? Seems we've found a lead."
 
Nivara approached Romulus, emerging from the wrecked shell of the Wayfarer. She'd poked around a bit- but rather soon realized there were plenty of people covering this area, and not much here within her circle of expertise. That, and nobody had bullet holes to stitch up. The field medic stepped out into the sand- and didn't have much trouble walking over- seemed she'd brought sand boots with her.

I'll go- seems things are just about wrapped up here to me, anyways.
 
Landing Sight

Tom had to remind himself that he needs to act more like Juryrig, more or less because he forgot to do so. Whoops! Acting isn't his forte, but he's doing his best, so that... Maybe... Counts? All that matters is that he doesn't look like he's spooked from a mangled, desecrate corpse of a Overseer!

"Hmmmm... You know, I wanna take this with me, give it some much-needed maintenance and alchemical elbow grease, probably needs a arcanis gryus matrix considering the fact it's, uh... Its got a minor case of serious robot rheumatism," 'Juryrig' observed with a quizzical, vibrant expression and traces of a odd accent.

"Now uh," the alchemist looked back at the Overseer, "I know we're rummaging through some old abandoned technology, but why would this thing's age make a difference-"

Tom gets interrupted by the engines of Romulus's bike! It was just enough time for Juryrig to get in touch with Tom.

"Just saying, bro? You're not doing too good at being me."

"I know, I know, I didn't think it took so much effort to be a selfish meanie!"

"... It's called 'angst', Tom. Angst with orange morality."

"What does any of that even mean?!"

"Why're you asking me, we share the same memories, dumbo!"

"... Oh yeah."
Tom, upon realizing that, just did a quick take on Juryrig's memor- "WAIT YOU DID THAT?!"

"Oh yeah! I'm proud of that one. Hired to kill a guy, so I blew up the whole cargo ship."

"... JURYRIG!"

"What?! What's done is done, and if it came back to bite me in the butt, I probably took care of that- Hey hold up, we have a mission to do! Pay attention, Tom!"


"I uh, actually, I'll go too!" 'Juryrig' spoke up all the sudden, dropping the mangled Overseer corpse right away.

"Yeah, sounds like our fantastical, butt-faced rivals have beaten to us here first... Or something. We should probably just catch up."
 
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