09.05.3013: Not Rats!
Summary: Anabethe, Victor, and Devon search a factory. They don't find rats. Reena finds them later.
Date: 02 September, 2013
Related: None
Victor Anabethe Devon Reena 

A Factory, Volkan, Imperius
In poses
05 September, 3013

Reports have come from some of the outlying Volkan factories of disappearances and damage to facilities. It's not anything concrete, but enough to warrant investigation. Especially when you're going as stir-crazy at being away from the front lines as Victor and Anabethe are. There are a few teams of men-at-arms scouring neighboring factory blocks, but the nobles are sticking together for this one. The factory that is their search quadrant is operating at full capacity, although the drone controllers have retreated to a single room high up in the structure and locked the door to allow the search to proceed without them being in danger and without the assembly lines stopping. Sheets of hot metal are rolled out of a furnace, pressed flat, and stamped out into parts for crawlers. It's a kinetic process that could be distinctly dangerous if one were to get into the wrong place at the wrong time, and loud enough to compete with the rolling thunder outside. Victor steps into the factory, looking upward into the gloom above, "Well this ain't gonna be easy to fuckin' search." And then he murmurs inside his helmet, "Vera, gimme lowlight." And some of the dark corners are pushed back, the bright sparks from the mechanical trip-hammers blurring away into blackness to compensate. He hefts his axe in one hand, the haft extending at the push of a button.

"You know, if this was rats, I am going to kill the shit out of those rats," Anabethe informs the party as she tilts her head back to look up toward the rafters. "Nothing personal, you know. Just, it'll be the first thing they've let me kill in the better part of a month, so it's kind of unfortunate for it. Mostly." She watches the ebb and flow of the mechanical process, making a few adjustments on her own HUD. "Let's work it like a grid, Vic. Nice and easy."

The Ash Witch is following her husband in her own ember-colored plates of recently refinished combat armor. The electro-treated hood is up over the smooth and almost inhuman mask of her helmet, its color a deep red that matches the unseen color of her hair. She is following carefully behind the Young Lady and Khourni Knight, looking quite petite compared to the monstrous pair. She chortles briefly. "Those poor rats," she replies with a faux layer of sympathy. Her own AI is tracking their movements and instinctively monitoring temperature control — a remnant of The Pit where an unexpected temperature spike could be fatal.

Victor shakes his almost-skull-faced helmet at Anabethe, "I hope it's something more than rats. I haven't hit anything solid in weeks." He nods to Anabethe, "Lead on, 'Bethe." There's a pause, then he adds in, "Vera, analyze pattern of hammers, rollers, and furnaces, do your best to filter their noises out." The AI in his armor acknowledges the order in its contralto, and then he stops, reaching out with his left hand to clap Devon lightly on the shoulder, "Lemme go last, Dee. Hey, and if it is rats, maybe you can do that trick you did with the fuckin' vulture out Laskaris way and see if there's anything else around."

"What, Devon got into Nic's head?" Anabethe smirks at Victor's words, starting to move down the nearest aisle of machinery. Her steps are even and practiced, familiar with the process of searching a space. The thunk and clang of machinery cutting parts doesn't seem to upset her either, perhaps thanks to plenty of trips to the factories with her father, accustoming herself to the work her people do.

Devon blinks sharply at the weight of the hand on her shoulder, and she turns that visageless face up toward Victor's. She reaches up to gently grasp his wrist before offering a solemn nod. She steps forward, sliding between Anabethe and Victor in a Grantham-Khourni sandwich. Her voice is laced with an unseen smile. "Unfortunately, even his skull is too thick." She follows after the Young Lady, keeping her attention alert.

Victor chuckles lowly at Anabethe's question, tilting his head up and about to study the area around them, "Naw, I would've warned her off going some place that twisted. A real vulture. Did the whole eyes-and-ears thing." He adds one more little tweak to his HUD, "Vera, picture-in-picture, 30-percent bleed, upper-right quadrant, show rear 90-degrees." Slowing his steps a little, he spaces out the little group. Even with energy fields to protect against blasters, it doesn't do to bunch up..

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Anabethe=Alertness Vs Hostile10=Stealth+2
< Anabethe: Good Success Hostile10: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Devon=Alertness Vs Hostile11=Stealth+2
< Devon: Success Hostile11: Great Success
< Net Result: Hostile11 wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Victor=Alertness Vs Hostile12=Stealth+2
< Victor: Good Success Hostile12: Great Success
< Net Result: Hostile12 wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hostile13=Stealth+2 Vs Hostile14=Stealth+2
< Hostile13: Good Success Hostile14: Good Success
< Net Result: Hostile13 wins - Marginal Victory

"He's supposed to be holding some sort of tech expo in the next couple weeks, you know," Anabethe says with a roll of her eyes, steps falling into rhythm with the music of the factory almost unconsciously. "The medtech was about the only thing he had left after the divorce, and apparently he's claiming he's made some sort of massive step forward. Should send someone to attend so I don't have-" She pauses, helmet tilted up toward a catwalk. "Infrared scan," she murmurs to her suit. "Thought I saw something."

Devon looks up sharply at the words from the Young Lady. Her heart catches a moment in that millisecond of panic. She is having D-4 flashbacks — the darkness, the heat, the unseen. She takes in a deep breath through her nose, shoulders straightening back. "Ghost stories," she mutters softly.

Victor grunts at the mention of the tech expo, his head not really into that as he turns his head this way and that, frowning a little inside his helmet. His head dips, apparently looking down at his feet before he adds, "Vera, 60-percent bleed, top half, rear 180." And there it is again, motion above and behind them, furtive, but indistinct. "Ghost stories, Dee. But there's definitely somethin' movin' up there. Haven't a clue what the fuck it is though."

"Sir, we don't have infrared," Anabethe's suit reports, and if AI can sound put-upon, hers certainly does. "You're kidding me," the heir exclaims, genuinely surprised. "Do you know what we just spent on upgrades and repair? How can we not have infrared?" The suit begins to recite a list of technical specifications, which are eventually cut off by a growl from Anabethe. "Fine. Don't switch to infrared. Just…Hmph. Optimize. They did program you to optimize, didn't they?" There's an affirmative from the suit, and Bethe starts toward the nearest set of stairs. "Might as well see what we can see."

It takes Devon just a moment before she is a vibrant, glowing vision in this darkness. Her aura is white and anglic, ribbons of light creating wings off her back. She summons a small sphere of light, tossing it up in the air toward the darkness above in hopes of providing additional lumination. "Then lets see if we can find it," says the white-eyed woman.

Victor nods to Anabethe, keeping half his attention on his rear-view screen as he follows behind Devon, "Up we go." There's something pleased about the sound of those words, but then again, the Khourni cousin has always enjoyed heights. And then Devon's aura bursts forth, the brightest points of it blackening out on Victor's enhanced light HUD. That causes Victor to quicken his steps, another low chuckle touching his lips, "Way to make yourself a target, Dee." And then he's relatively close behind her, blocking the angles for some shots from above, and heading up the stairs at her heels.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Anabethe=alertness Vs Hostile10=Stealth
< Anabethe: Good Success Hostile10: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Devon=alertness Vs Hostile11=Stealth
< Devon: Good Success Hostile11: Good Success
< Net Result: Devon wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Victor=alertness Vs Hostile12=Stealth
< Victor: Good Success Hostile12: Great Success
< Net Result: Hostile12 wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hostile13=stealth Vs Hostile14=stealth
< Hostile13: Good Success Hostile14: Good Success
< Net Result: Hostile14 wins - Marginal Victory

"Can't believe that wasn't in the upgrade," Anabethe mutters a little more, though she falls silent once she sees more of the movement, drawing in a careful breath and holding her pole arm across her body in a defensive position. "Watch your steps, guys," she murmurs to the comm as she climbs the stairs. "You fall onto that assembly line and it isn't going to be pretty." A few more steps, and she searches for something more concrete.

"I was going to be a target anyway," Devon remarks dryly to her husband-to-be as she trails between him and Anabethe. She takes each step carefully, the light ball bobbing along with them to keep the lumination steady. She has reduced her glow down to a faint simmering light, and her white eyes search around her carefully. It is then she looks up sharply toward the tops of the warehouse once more, and she freezes on a step. She glances toward Victor and then Bethe before she murmurs, "I see what you're seeing… several shapes… they aren't moving all that much."

Victor puts his left hand out to brace himself against Devon's shoulder as she stops abruptly, "I see 'em… or at least, the movement. But we don't want them to know they're seen…" Anabethe's words cause him to grimace, and he nods, "Watch yours too, 'Bethe. I don't wanna bring some scorched, flattened piece of Heir back and have to tell the boss-man what happ — " and then he's cut off, as the indistinct motions resolve themselves into a trio of Hostile Scouts on the catwalk, and then another pair on the other side of the stairway the Havenites are climbing. There's no time to do anything as the ribbons of steel fly, but at least the Havenites weren't caught totally unawares…

<COMBAT> Victor passes.
<COMBAT> Hostile13 attacks Anabethe with Launcher - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Hostile13's weapon clicks empty.
<COMBAT> Hostile11 attacks Devon with Launcher - Light wound to Left Arm (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Hostile11's weapon clicks empty.
<COMBAT> Hostile14 attacks Victor with Launcher - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Hostile14's weapon clicks empty.
<COMBAT> Hostile12 attacks Victor with Launcher - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Hostile12's weapon clicks empty.
<COMBAT> Hostile10 attacks Anabethe with Launcher and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Hostile10's weapon clicks empty.
<COMBAT> Devon passes.
<COMBAT> Anabethe passes.

"Not rats!" Anabethe declares as the Hostiles drop down, jaw setting in a flash of anger. A ribbon pings off of her armor, earning another growl, as she starts toward the group of Hostiles, lifting her weapon. "Need to take them out before they do any damage to the factory. Keep eyes on them!" she adds to the others, picking out the two on the stairs and getting ready to go after them before they can escape.

Devon sucks in a tight breath as the launchers take flight. She is moving, but the stairs do not benefit her all that much as she collides temporarily into Victor. She is reaching up to prepare a Psychometric shield, but a launcher ribbon slices into her left arm with painful precision. "Not rats!" She confirms as she takes another step back.

Victor checks his rear-view camera one last time as the launcher ribbons lash out, staggering back down a step as they ricochet off his breastplate, "Fucking…" And then he's growling low in his throat, reaching up to put a hand on Devon's right shoulder so he can squeeze past her and up the stairs, turning toward the trio on the right as Anabethe turns toward the two on the left, "Not rats. I'll keep 'em fuckin' busy."

With their violent ribbons let fly, the Hostiles reach back to ready the heavy double-bladed axes that are their other standard weapon, slipping them free from their back mounts and moving to meet the Havenites atop the catwalk. For all their quiet before, now that they are rushing in, their footsteps are just as loud and clattering as those of the armored defenders.

<COMBAT> Hostile13 attacks Victor with Bludgeon - Moderate wound to Left Hand.
<COMBAT> Hostile11 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon but Anabethe DODGES!
<COMBAT> Anabethe attacks Hostile10 with Polearm - Serious wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Victor attacks Hostile12 with Great Bludgeon and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Hostile14 attacks Victor with Bludgeon - Serious wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Hostile12 attacks Victor with Bludgeon but Victor DODGES!
<COMBAT> Hostile10 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Devon attacks Hostile12 with Psychometry but MISSES!

Anabethe vaults over the rail that divides the stairs with one hand, bending backwards beneath the strike of on of the Hostiles coming at her in the process. One axe shears over her head, as the other skitters off her breastplate. As she comes to her feet, though, Anabethe braces on a lower stair and thrusts upward, the blade of her weapon digging into the second Hostile's chest.

There is a blast of white, fiery energy from the young Grantham widow as she narrows her sights on one fo the Hostile scouts. It flares over its shoulder, illuminating the backmost wall. She is trying to find her footing on the stairs, moving down another step to give the melee-centric pair some room.

Victor storms up the stairs, "Clear rear-view,"… and directly into a trio of very active Hostile Scouts. One of them actually loops around behind him, swinging around the bars of the catwalk as easily as a monkey in a tree, and then hammering him in the back with its axe. The Khourni grunts painfully at the impact, letting out a hiss of breath, and then swings in at one of the two still in front of him, only to have an axe slide down the haft of his own weapon and chop into his left hand, pulling it off its grip. This causes his own swing to be more like an awkward chopping motion, easily parried by the third Scout. "Shit." And then inside his helmet, "Vera, Random switch." Blood trickles down over plates that suddenly flash a shattered sort of white and gray pattern, making his outline difficult to ascertain.

<COMBAT> Anabethe attacks Hostile10 with Polearm - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Victor attacks Hostile12 with Great Bludgeon - Critical wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> Hostile11 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon - Serious wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Devon attacks Hostile12 with Psychometry - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Hostile14 attacks Victor with Bludgeon - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Hostile13 attacks Victor with Bludgeon but Victor DODGES!
<COMBAT> Hostile12 attacks Victor with Bludgeon but Victor DODGES!
<COMBAT> Hostile10 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon but Anabethe DODGES!

<COMBAT> Hostile12 has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Victor has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Victor spends a luck point to keep fighting!

Anabethe twists her grip on her pole arm, dragging it across her opponent's chest to open up the wound a little further. Ducking out of the way of its axe, though, leaves her back bare for the other Hostile to sink its axe into her side. Armor cracks, flesh sliced beneath it, and for a moment, Anabethe is staying on the stairs by bracing herself against pole and skewered Hostile. "Wait your damned turn," she snarls, ripping her blade free and turning her attention to the other Hostile.

With so many heavy, armored bodies thumping and smashing atop it, the catwalk and attached stairs sway and shake with every motion. Victor ducks under one swing of an axe, counters another with the haft of his own axe, and twists his axe between his hands to send the Scout's weapon tumbling to clatter somewhere down below, opening it up from hip to opposite shoulder and sending it falling as well. Victor then staggers forward as the Scout behind him hammers its axe into the rent in the back of his breastplate again. It's enough to knock him to his knees on the catwalk, and the successful Hostile behind him turns toward Devon, leaving the remaining Scout standing over Victor and raising its axe over his head.

There goes one with a blast of white fire. She is moving back up the stair to close the gap between her and the Hostiles. But her attention is momentarily distracted by the state of her betrothed. "Victor!" Devon shouts out as she sees the man drop to his knees. She narrows her eyes as her aura starts to radiate brighter.

<COMBAT> Victor attacks Hostile13 with Great Bludgeon - Serious wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> Hostile13 attacks Victor with Bludgeon and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Devon attacks Hostile14 with Psychometry - Critical wound to Neck (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anabethe attacks Hostile11 with Polearm but Hostile11 DODGES!
<COMBAT> Hostile14 attacks Devon with Bludgeon - Critical wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Hostile11 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon but Anabethe DODGES!
<COMBAT> Hostile10 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon but Anabethe DODGES!

<COMBAT> Devon has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Hostile13 has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Hostile14 has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Devon spends a luck point to keep fighting!

<FS3> Devon rolls Athletics: Good Success.

There's a struggle on the stairs, a tangle of bodies as Anabethe and her Hostile dancing partners flail at each other. Injured or no, Bethe manages to escape taking more damage, but so do the Hostiles. Trying to secure her position, she gives ground enough to move down a step, preparing herself to take on the Hostiles once more.

As the Hostile scout closes the gap between it and Devon, there is an instant that is as brilliant as a supernova. Just as she throws another handful of hot plasma, the Hostile draws up its axe to cleave her. The actual moments of impact are blurred together in the burst of light, but the Ash Witch is almost collapsing down the stairs with a gaping wound across her chest. The Hostile has fallen, tumbling down the stairs alongside her. The Grantham has managed to grasp hold of something to keep from joining it in the treacherous tumble.

Victor snarls, painfully, "Demon." And his armor flashes into the flayed image of a demon, complete with a skull face. He reaches up to grab the lowering axe, straining against the descending weapon. And then he surges up to his feet, "Fuck you, Hostie." And the axe comes up under-arm, chopping hard into the Scout's chest and sending it sprawling backwards. The burst of light from behind him has him turning around, and the Khourni curses, turning about to study the scene. And he's caught for a moment, actually hesitating between driving back into the fight and heading down the stairs to assist the Grantham widow.

<COMBAT> Hostile10 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon but Anabethe DODGES!
<COMBAT> Anabethe attacks Hostile11 with Polearm - Moderate wound to Right Arm (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Victor passes.
<COMBAT> Hostile11 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Devon attacks Hostile10 with Psychometry but MISSES!
<COMBAT> Victor has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.

"You guys still with me?" Anabethe calls, trading a few more dance steps with her Hostile friends. If she's not careful, she's going to end up with a byname to that effect. In an attempt to disarm one Hostile, she rakes her blade down its arm, stealing most of the force from the blow that cracks against her breastplate again. Stubbornly, though, the Khournas heir holds her ground. Armor in crimson and gold is ideal for hiding the slow drip of blood over the plate.

Devon's arm is hooked around the railing of the stairs as she tries to get her bearings even while she hears the chaos on the landing and upper stairs above her. She lifts her head, the hood of her armor having fallen away to reveal the clean curvature of her helmet. She shakes her head when she notices Victor actually paused in his steps, and she looks up toward Anabethe. "Here," she gasps through the comms, though there is a certain wetness to her voice. Sucking wounds do that. She pulls herself up as best she can, flinging a flimsy burst of white energy at one of the Hostiles still feuding with the YOung Lady.

Victor lets out an audible breath as Devon shakes her head, and by the time she's said her single word, he starts forward, gathering his axe back up in both hands. "On my way, 'Bethe." Coming around the corner of the catwalk, he bounces off a support strut, hissing again in pain, "Fucking ow… on your right." One of the machines down below grinds to a halt as a scout-corpse goes under the rollers. And then Victor is stepping up alongside Anabethe, "Stay with me, Dee. Stay with us."

<COMBAT> Anabethe attacks Hostile10 with Polearm - Serious wound to Left Arm.
<COMBAT> Victor attacks Hostile11 with Great Bludgeon - Critical wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Hostile10 attacks Anabethe with Bludgeon but Anabethe DODGES!
<COMBAT> Hostile11 attacks Victor with Bludgeon but Victor DODGES!
<COMBAT> Devon attacks Hostile10 with Psychometry - Light wound to Chest.

<COMBAT> Hostile11 has been KO'd!

"Oh good," Anabethe grins, spinning her weapon to bring the blade down hard on the left arm of the first Hostile as Victor comes up on her right. "Heard a lot of clattering over there, wanted to make sure I knew who was going down." Metal scrapes through armor with a screech that's right at home in the industrial setting of the factory.

It takes all of Devon's concentration to fling with some degree of precision another fistful of white energy toward the Hostile scout intent on eating Anabethe's face. She is almost on her knees on the stair now, the pain overwhelming her mental function. She isn't a Knight, and in this very moment, it shows.

Victor grunts as his brings his axe-haft up to knock aside the Hostile's weapon, stepping forward to slam his helmeted head into that of the Hostile, driving it back a step, and then makes a pained sound as he whips the axe down at his right side, catching the Scout between the legs and driving the blade halfway up to its ribcage. "Most of us." The grimace on his features can be heard in the terse, grunted words. "Metal motherfuckers got… all around me, but Dee scratched my back."

The sole remaining scout is outclassed now for sure, and it knows it, starting to fight its way backwards along the catwalk to try to get free.

<COMBAT> Victor attacks Hostile10 with Great Bludgeon - Moderate wound to Right Arm.
<COMBAT> Hostile10 passes.
<COMBAT> Devon attacks Hostile10 with Psychometry - Critical wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anabethe attacks Hostile10 with Polearm - Serious wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

<COMBAT> Hostile10 has been KO'd!

There's no escape from two bloodthirsty Khourni and their plucky Grantham sidekick, though. As the scout tries to make its escape, Anabethe spears it through the chest, swinging it to a clear spot where Devon can get in a good shot and holding it steady for Victor's axe. "Glad to see you two getting along!"

Breathe, Devon. Breathe. She can almost hear Flint's voice in her head from so many years ago. She remembers that day with clarity — the first time she was out on a real battlefield, in the heat of Ignis. She shakes away all the thoughts that bounce about her head and focuses, solely, on the Hostile. She steps forward sharply, sending out an aggressive wave of telekinetic force that almost whooshes past Victor and Anabethe and slams right into Hostile. She immediately collapses in the wake.

Victor steps around from Anabethe's right side to her left as the Hostile tries to leap off the side of the catwalk in that direction, chopping his axe into its right arm as it tries to pull itself free of the Young Lady's polearm, then pulling his axehead back from the wound so that Devon can obliterate the Scout. And then he's thumbing his axe back to one-handed length and turning immediately back the way he came, pounding down the stairs. He kicks aside the body of the first Scout Devon blasted, clipping his axe to his hip, and crouches down to clasp a hand at the back of her helmet, "Talk to me, Dee." Only then does his free hand go to his back, grimacing as he does, "Yeah… we're figurin' it out, 'Bethe…"

Anabethe is panting by the time the last of the scouts is dispatched, blood seeping through the cracks in her armor. "Good," she answers Victor, thumbing her visor open with a faint wince. "Figured you would eventually. Blackspyre, this is Bethe. We're gonna need some medical here at the factory, and a collection crew. Five Hostile scouts down, but we've got some injuries too." Hand over the crack, she starts toward the others, brows furrowed.

Devon is slumped against one of the steps that leads up to a catwalk in this particular factory. Her armor has been cleaved crosswise along her chest, blood trickling out from the crack of both plates and skin. She is wheezing through the vocorder as she tries to breathe, and her hands are grasping blindly at the wound as if trying to put pressure on it. She just doesn't have enough hands. "Helmet," she wheezes. "Off." Her left arm is equally weeping from a near-miss launcher ribbon, though it is definitely a minor wound in comparison.

Victor frowns at Devon's groping gestures, "Blackspyre, get 'em movin' fast." His hand reaches up for the exterior release on her helmet, sending the arc curving back into her armor and exposing her features. The scrabble of gauntlets on armor causes him to frown, "Shit… Dee, you gotta tell me what to do…" Until then, all he can do is get the hand not supporting her head on the wound, pressing down atop the rent plates. "None of those fuckers is gonna get up, are they, 'Bethe?"

"Pressure, Vic," Anabethe advises, grimacing when she realizes there's blood leaking out of her own armor as well from the crack at her side. "And no, none of them are getting up. So long as there aren't any more lurking over here, we should be good. Ish. I mean, you know. Better than we'd be out in the middle of nowhere, at least." She goes down to one knee, lowering her head and closing her eyes for a moment to catch her breath. "They're on the way, Dev."

Answering the call for medics, Lady Reena Khournas, freshly back from helping organize some refugees from Cape Amran off in Khar Mordune, rushes to the factory district. She's in her protector armor, just in case, and has a medkit attached to the back of it. She toggles her comm as she approaches. "This is Reena, does anyone read? I'm here to administer medical attention. ETA two minutes. Give me an idea of the injuries!"

Devon is very pale when the helmet finally recoils back. She is groping at her own chest, trying to find his hand to place at where she thinks it hurts the most. She nods at Anabethe's words. "Pressure," she says, her lips and teeth saturated with blood. She closes her eyes after a long moment, trying to breathe through the pain and stress in her chest. "I'm okay," she wheezes. "I'm okay…"

Victor straightens up a touch at the voice in his helmet, "Vic. 'Bethe and I got hit hard, but Dee's got it bad." He lets Devon reposition his hand, pressing down hard and wincing at the pull of muscles on his back. "The fuck you're okay. But you're gonna keep talkin', and stay awake. Reena'll be here soon." He shifts so that he can brace her head on his leg, reaching up to pull off his helmet and clasp it to his hip.

"Sucking chest wound, Reenie," Anabethe clarifies for her sister. "For Devon. Vic's got a couple cracks in his chest, too, and I think I'm just continuing to punish my liver here. But, you know. My liver could use a little more punishment, right? We'll call it an alcohol cleanse."

"Crushing or stabbing injury, Vic?" Reena asks over the comm, navigating the alleys between factories at a rapid clip. Anabethe's reply has her grimacing. "If it's a crush injury that's bleeding, you're going to have to stick your fingers in the wound and pinch off the bleeder between your thumb and fingers, Vic. Don't use pressure, it might do more damage." They can see her now, leaping over a Hostile corpse at a run, heading their way.

"More… like a cleave," Devon says toward Victor. She can't seem to focus all that well, but she is fighting aggressively to stay awake and focus. She grips lightly on Victor's wrist as she waits for Reena. "I like Reena," she says after a moment.

"Back, 'Bethe. For me. Ran into scouts, Reena." Which means that all of the Khourni and soon-to-be-Khourni have taken axe wounds rather than stabbing or smashing wounds. Victor starts to lean forward over Devon's wound, "You've seen my fingers, right Reena? I stick them in there, I'm gonna break something." He nods at Devon's words, "Yeah… everybody likes Reena. Hell, who don't you like, Dee?"

"Stick around, Devon," Bethe murmurs. "Otherwise Flint's going to be pissed at me. And he's a total girl when he's pissed, you know," she rambles a bit. "Or at least I hope you know. Because at some point, I'm sure I'll need backup about calling him a girl when he gets upset about something." Her breathing is still a little labored, but she's holding up all right so far.

Reena slides to a stop beside Victor and Devon, as the latter is currently the worst off of the trio. "How many scouts were there?" She asks as she drops to a knee and hauls the trauma kit off her back. She opens it and takes the cover off the top, which folds out into a stretcher for carrying wounded. She sets that aside. "We're gonna move Devon onto that on the count of three, Vic," she instructs her cousin. "Take her shoulders, move her fast but smooth. Got it? Beth, get her legs." For her part, Reena injects something into Devon's neck to help stabilize her, and gets out an IV with saline in it. "One, two, three!"

"I don't like you very much," Dee wheezes up at the large Khourni. She is at least smiling when she says that. She closes her eyes, leaning her head back against Victor's monstrous paw. Her breathing is already shallow. She quirks with a bit of a smile. "He is a girl," she says to the Young Lady, her eyes still closed. "He doesn't talk to me much these days." She is jolted awake — if she was drifting to sleep — with Reena's arrival. She winces at the injection.

Victor waits for Reena to count before answering the question, shifting around to take the back of Devon's shoulders to help get her off the metal stairs, "two… three…" And then he lifts Devon up, hissing in pain as the motion pulls at the wound on his back, "Fuck fuck fuck…" And then she's down again, and he drops down onto his ass alongside the stretcher, "No shit you don't like me very much. I drag you to places where five fucking Scouts jump us." And there's Reena's answer. "How you doin' over there, 'Bethe?"

"Got it," Anabethe nods to Reena, bracing her grip on Devon against her thigh and hissing through her teeth as she lifts. "Five scouts," she answers her sister. "Hell if I know what they were planning on doing here, but we managed to take them all out. Eventually." She eyes Victor at his question, craning her neck to get a look at his back. "Think I'm still better off than you are, Vic. You know me, I just dance with 'em."

Reena opens the gauntlets of Devon's armor, swabs an antiseptic wipe over the skin of her forearm, and inserts the IV, locking a short pole into the corner of the stretcher to hang the bag off. She then gets out lots of packing and triggers the medic manual release on the woman's breastplate. She quickly begins packing the wound with the clean gauze then putting pressure bandages over it to hold pressure. "I've given you a relaxant and some pain killer, Devon. I need you to just relax, the IV is to keep you from going into shock. You're going to need surgery." Other medical personnel are en route to help transport the wounded. "Vic, Beth? Which of you is worse off?" she asks, glancing over the two.

"That and other reasons," Devon says to Vic once she has settled on the stretcher. She crosses one arm at her chest, as if protecting herself from something. She then closes her eyes, focusing on her own heartbeat. She already feels the pain subside, but with that is also a warm haze over her mind.

Victor shrugs at Anabethe, "Could be. One of those fuckers got behind me." He starts to lift his left hand, then winces hard, lifting it up to show the wound there to Reena, "Ow." Looking down at Devon, he shakes his head, "Yeah… come on then, tell me why you don't like me much." And then he offers up his right hand to the little Grantham, "My back hurts like fuck, Reena."

"He's got more holes in him," Anabethe nods to Reena, though she also lays back on the catwalk herself, pressing a hand to her side. "I'm not going to be dead for a bit more. Until Flint realizes I got hacked up again. Then he'll go all girly at me. Devon even agrees."

Reena preps another hypo of antibiotics this time for Devon. "Have to ask per standard procedure, so don't laugh hysterically, any chance you're with child, Dee?" She nods to Victor. "You're next then. Get the armor and shirt off please. Beth, you need pain meds before I start on Vic?" That is sisterly love!

"No," Devon says up toward Reena, and she offers her a bit of a vague smile. "I'm certain I am not." Though there is a vauge sense of shyness behind her words. She glances toward Victor before she clears her throat. She grimaces a bit. She reaches up toward the hand offered toward her, and she gives it a soft squeeze.

Victor blinks at Reena's question, coughing — and then hissing in pain at the cough, "Shit, Ree…" And then he reaches up to unclasp his breastplate, managing that alright, but then grimacing and closing his eyes as he pulls it free, "Fuck… fuck…" The armor clatters to the floor of the still-working foundry. "And if you're trying to tell me that you're pissed at me 'cause you're not pregnant, Dee, we got some issues." And a chuckle claws its way up through his throat, and he returns the squeeze to her hand, then pulls his hand free to pull the seal of his underarmor down to reveal the full extend of the slash across his back from one side to the other, showing a touch of rib in one place. "Ow. Fuck. Ow."

"Pain? Pain is weakness leaving the body," Anabethe says in gruff imitation of their father, though she does keep a hand over her side still. Just in case anything important is trying to get out. "I'm not pregnant either, Reena. Someone call the press!" She chuckles to herself, turning her head to keep an eye on the others. "Nice, Vic. Nice."

Reena nods and gives Devon her gentlest smile. "All right, this is going to fight infection. Then I'm going to start on Victor's back. Medics will be here soon to take you back to the Infirmary for surgery, ok Devon?" She injects the hypo quickly then strips off her nitrile gloves to put on a fresh pair. She examines Victor's back and grimaces. "Did you run backwards into his axe, Maiden's Tits, Cueball!" she gripes. She begins cleaning the wound, which probably stings like hell. "You want something for the pain?" she asks as she goes about it. She snorts at Anabethe, a little laugh. "Sit down while you wait."

"I didn't say anything," Dee says with a smirk up toward her husband to be before she relaxes her head back. Her eyes start to close. "Okay," she sighs softly before there is a definitely sense she is drifting again. Her breathing is at least stable, if not hitched due to the wound.

Victor leans forward, bracing his left forearm on his raised knee to make it easier for Reena to get at his back. Blood drips from his left hand onto the floor, his fingers limp and dangling. Anabethe's imitation causes him to laugh, although it's a pained chuckle that descends into a hiss as Reena starts to work on the wound on his back. Two, really, although one's a relatively minor slash at a slight angle to the worse of the two. "Like I said, he got behind me. Fucker swung out off the catwalk and back on again. And I was a little busy with the other two." His right hand free again, he reaches out for Devon's left hand, "Don't pass out on me now, Dee. Don't want anyone sayin' you're a quitter, do ya?" Those words could be a cruel reflection of his father's, if they weren't spoken with a pained chuckle themselves. "And, uh… yeah. Pop me one if I'll still be able to walk after, Reena."

"Yes sir, lady doctor sir," Anabethe salutes with her free hand, lying back on the catwalk and propping her feet up on the railing. Because she gets injured enough to self-triage at this point. "The fuck were they looking for in here anyhow?" she mumbles, eyes narrowing as she thinks. "More importantly, how did they get into here? Clearly we're going to need to step up the patrols. Reena, did you know they didn't upgrade my suit with infrared the last time I sent it in?" Apparently she's still resenting that.

Reena gives Victor a local anesthetic near the back and hand wounds. Then she begins packing them and putting on pressure bandages. "You're going to need stitches. Best to do those back in the infirmary and not out here in the polluted factory air." Probably a good point. "You're up Beth," she notes, changing gloves again before she begins to examine the wound in her sister's side. "Shit, this is bad too." She shakes her head at Beth. "Did you put in the requisition like I told you? Nothing happens without paperwork. And as for why here? It's a good spot to sabotage us. If the factories stop working, a lot of the weapons and infrastructure materials stop being made."

Victor nods slowly to Reena at her description of what the Hostiles were probably there for, "Won't be the first time, Ree." The stitches, that is, as the ropes of scar tissue criss-crossing his bare torso aptly demonstrate. "Gonna need a new tat though. A cog, I think." And then he meanders back to Anabethe's complaints, "There ain't no Aggressor or Defender suits with infrared, 'Bethe. Servers can't handle that and the upgraded AI." And then stretcher-bearers show up to pick Devon up, and Vic rises to his feet as she's lifted up, "Thanks for gettin' here so quick." He looks around, a little lost for a moment as pain starts to fog his head, then reaches down to scoop up his breastplate, evidently intending to troop back to the nearest Waygate topless.

"Servers, bah," Bethe grumbles. "I'm sure someone can do it. But I guess keeping my liver inside is more important right now." And then she moves on to grumbling while people take her away for medical attention.

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