leanonstuff | PSL post for daughterless

PSL post for daughterless

[The NCR had sent Norman to the Vault because the area was surrounded by Fiends, and he was damn good at blending among the various "criminal" groups around the Mojave. No way an ordinary NCR trooper would be able to get inside without being attacked. And according to their intelligence, exactly what was inside was of such great importance that they couldn't possibly wait to go after it just in case Caesar's Legion got wind of it and acted first. Norman was searching for a box of special bottles that appeared to be beer or vodka bottles, but were actually filled with a chemical that, when introduced into a water supply, could spread a deadly bacteria that would wipe out anyone who drank the contaminated water for at least a month.

Unfortunately, finding the bottles was turning out to be far more difficult that Norman had anticipated. He'd gotten into the Vault in the first place by wearing old, torn and dirty clothes that could pass as those a typical raider or Fiend might wear. He'd even bought a few chems from them to help gain their trust (and to use them later, though he planned to tell the NCR that he'd disposed of them instead). The Vault seemed to be empty of Fiends, luckily, but he wasn't too optimistic that he wouldn't eventually run into ghouls or worse.

10mm pistol in hand, Norman opens the door to the Vault infirmary, hoping he might have some more luck locating the bottles in there.]

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[Hopefully Norman's got better luck than Joel, 'cause he's upended nearly every desk and drawer in the main room, and found practically nothing. The most interesting things he's picked up are a petrified bag of old skittles and two bottles of Nuka Cola Quantum. He'd found a hidden compartment in one of the desks-- but been disappointed find nothing but a stack of papers covered in characters he couldn't read. What the hell?

Eying the glowing bottle, he wonders if he ought to take a swig or shoot up with one of the stims. His leg hurts, to nobody's surprise, a bone-deep ache complete with sharp twinging up his leg. Limping into the next room-- some sort of side closet, the shelves covered with dusty bottles of bleach, Joel peers through the window shades and squints at the bright sunlight outside. Nothing but sand and scrubs and... footprints, their own tracks clear as day, approaching the building. Goddamnit. They needed to get the hell out-- sooner, rather than later.]

Hey! [...not even sure if Norman can hear him from downstairs, Joel starts hobbling toward the door.]

[One Med-X. One lousy Med-X is all he finds before he hears a muffled voice calling out to him from below. That makes him halt in place, worried about why Joel might be calling out for him. Well, he isn't going to waste time wondering about it too much.

Norman hurries for the stairs, taking them two at a time in his rush to rejoin his companion. He also draws his pistol, preparing for a fight. Shit... hopefully Joel can handle whatever trouble there might be until he rejoins him. Assuming there is trouble. Norman isn't about to get his hopes up imagining otherwise.]

Joel?

[It isn't like him to be spooked by his own shadow, and Joel knows that, but he also trusts his instincts and right now his nerves feel like they've been doused with ice water. There's a burning sense of get going, get going, get out now, that he doesn't quite know how to put into words, his senses running way ahead of him. Tess might have understood the urgency, that sudden near-inexplicable knowledge of what was coming next, back when they were both running guns into and out of the Strip, but that was... a long time ago. ]

Time to clear out. We're too goddamn exposed over here. [What the hell was it that had set him off? Joel tries to think back, remember: footprints in the sand-- their own, heat-haze rising over the dunes, the glint of sun in his eyes, too bright after the gloom of the building... except that he'd been facing west and the sun was still due east, and what he'd seen was the glint of sun off something bright and reflective over the edge of the dune. A scope.]

Think they might've got a sniper outside.

[Does the Legion even employ snipers? Joel can't remember off the top of his head, but if it's one of the trained NCR rangers out there, they're due to be in a world of trouble.]

Fuck!

[A sniper might mean they'd gone so far as to call First Recon on them. The elite sniping forces of the NCR, they have a well-earned reputation of not missing their targets, regardless of the distance. If there's First Recon out there, he and Joel are not getting outside through any of the doors...]

Could be First Recon. [There's no point keeping that thought to himself. Joel needs to be aware just how serious this might be. For a moment, Norman actually feels sorry for the guy, having gotten himself involved in this mess. Still, it's too late now to worry about that.]

They'll probably have the building surrounded. Then it'll only be a matter of time before they send ground troops in after us.

[This is very, very bad.] We need to find another way out of here.

We might be tangling with First Recon? [Joel shakes his head, muttering curses under his breath. Say what he might about the shitstain that was the NCR, nobody in their right minds messed around with First Recon.] Christ, that is some grade A death wish material right there.

[He is starting to really regret getting himself mixed up in all of this. Still, regrets won't see them through this ordeal, and it won't help them escape. Though if all the exits are being covered by snipers, this is going to a real problem. Joel does a slow turn, taking in their surroundings, trying to come up with an answer-- it's all desks, more desks, chairs and a whole fat lot of nothing.]

Maybe we could collapse some walls, hole up somewhere, and let 'em pass us by. Office building this size could have a shelter in the basement... [He's talking aloud now, trying to come up with a viable plan. A bomb shelter would be an obvious hiding place, but if they could seal the doors shut, maybe it would buy them some time.]

Yeah, I know.

[He was never buddies with anyone in First Recon, but he knew some of them by name. The idea that they might be hunting him now is more than a little nauseating.

The mention of a basement perks him up, however.]

That's right... these places do usually have basements.

[Probably would be somewhere near the executive's office, so that the important people could find cover first. Fat lot of good it would have done when the bombs fell, but they probably thought it'd help. Maybe it did for a couple days, until those people became the Wasteland's ghoul population.]

Come on, I think I know where to look.

[He'd seen a room with a fancier looking desk earlier. Norman grabs Joel's elbow, intending to give him support as they move. There isn't really time to argue about it.]

[Joel gives Norman a look, intending to warn him away as he grabs his arm, but there's no time to argue as he follows wherever the hell Norman's trying to lead him.]

You got a plan in mind? [His turn to be dubious now. Basements and shelters are great and all, but there's no doubt that any half-trained trooper will check all the floors of the building, and being underground won't keep them from getting discovered.]

The executive's office.

[He leads Joel down the hall, checking the placards over the doors as they go.]

It might just be a basement, but there might be an escape tunnel too.

[From everything he's learned about pre-war civilization, people were extremely paranoid, and for good reason it seems. It would not be at all without the realm of possibility to find escape tunnels in these office buildings.]

Smuggler like you would do well to know that.

[He turns his head briefly with a smirk, before continuing to lead Joel to the door labelled "executive's office".]

[Joel shoots a distinctly unamused look at the back of Norman's head, with half a mind to tell him not to get cocky. Still, Norman seems to know what he's doing, and the reasoning behind it is sound enough, in that fucked up way that only makes sense to the rich and power-hungry.

The office is pretty much like every other room in this damn building-- in ruins. Joel squints through the think layer of dust before pulling away from Norman to investigate.]

Got any idea where that s'pposed escape tunnel of yours might be hid? [He knocks at the dessicated wood of the big office desk, feeling pretty damn silly.]

Yeah. You're touching it right now.

[He gives Joel a pointed look as he knocks on the large desk. The tunnels tend to be beneath the desks, their access locked through computers. Norman isn't much for hacking, but the passwords can often be found in locked safes... and he is great at lock picking.]

Keep an eye on things while I get to work picking locks. We're gonna need a password for the terminal, and I'm not gonna risk locking us out of it by fucking up the hack.

[Norman pulls off his pack and rummages for his lock picking tools, then gets to work on the first lock. Holding up his injured arm is an unpleasant strain... and knowing there are enemies just outside makes him work as fast as he can. Unfortunately, the owner of this office wasn't taking any chances, and these locks are not easy to crack.]

Edited 2014-02-07 21:08 (UTC)

...Alright.

[Looks like Norman's got things in hand-- Joel feels a twinge of unease, leaving him to it, but it's not like Joel himself is an old hand at hacking, and forcing the lock is right out of the question.

He leaves the other man to his lockpicking, instead cracking open the office door and peering outside. There's not a sound to be heard, and the building is peaceful. Joel scowls, squinting at the lobby area-- hell, maybe it'd just been his paranoia talking and he'd gotten them roused and ready to run all for nothing.

There's silence, for a while-- then a quiet rustle of paper draws his gaze to the left. Shit--! His back stiffens, breath catching in his lungs as he spies the other man-- a creeping dark outline of a shadow, hazy lines of displaced air-- someone using a stealthboy, moving silently from desk to desk. So they want to take care of this nice and quiet, do they?

Turning back to Norman, he eases the door closed and hisses under his breath--]

We've got company. They're using stealthboys to sneak up on us.

[Norman freezes when he hears that gasp, already pretty sure Joel isn't the sort to have a reaction like that for no reason. He shoots the other man a concerned look, a new bobby pin in hand after he'd managed to ruin the first in the lock. Stealthboys? Those things are pricey and difficult to find, so they really must want to get this done and over with fast.]

Think you can hold the door while I work these locks?

[Even as he asks, his eyes glance over Joel's injured body nervously. Against these guys, uninjured and camouflaged, they aren't gonna do much good. The weight of Norman's responsibility is making his chest feel tight, and he immediately gets back to picking the lock. If he can't do this, they're goners.]

[As soon as he closes the door, Joel wedges a chair under the handle as a temporary stopgap and begins to pull dusty books off a nearby shelf-- he can't push it over with all the extra weight.]

You just focus on your end-- [Joel's voice is strained with effort and pain]-- and I'll take care of mine.

[Books disposed of, he starts to shove the shelf over, bracing his shoulder against the side, trying to keep the scraping noises down to a minimum and not having much luck. Cold sweat beads across his forehead and drips down his neck and his injured thigh is throbbing with pain as he finally maneuvers the damn thing into place against the door.]

Okay.

[He struggles between the urge to move quickly and the ever present knowledge that a lack of focus will lead to more broken bobby pins. There's also a feeling of guilt, forcing Joel to into that much physical exertion when he should be taking it easy, but what other choice is there? Even that bookshelf won't hold for long... the troopers probably have grenades on them. Eventually they'll give up on trying to be sneaky.

Norman tries his best to steady his increasingly shaky hands, and almost laughs with glee when the lock finally clicks open. He wrenches the safe open, and pulls out the piece of paper inside.

Passwords.]

I've got it, Joel!

[He hurries over to the terminal, gesturing for his companion to follow. Once those men outside try the door and find it jammed, they'll start using force for sure. Time is running out.]

[Joel has his ear pressed to the wall, listening to the ominous silence, suddenly broken by the sound of a crash and then men shouting, the patter of feet up the stairs. Shit! Clearly they weren't trying for stealth anymore. He glances back just as Norman starts tapping at the terminal and starts hobbling back towards him.]

Time's up! We gotta go.

[Maybe if they're fast about it, they could be down and out before the soldiers outside even got to their room. Joel's hopes are dashed almost immediately by a clicking sound-- someone trying the door, followed by a loud bang. Cursing under his breath, he peers over Norman's shoulder.]

You got that door yet?

[He flinches at the sudden sounds from outside the door, indicating that his predictions were correct and that the soldiers are done sneaking around. Norman bites his bottom lip as he waits for the terminal to finish starting up, then pulls up the login screen.]

Almost!

[His hands are shaking enough that he has to take it a bit slower than he'd have liked typing in the password, but thankfully it's correct and he gains access to the network.]

There. [Scrolling through the information before him, he finds something labeled "emergency escape access." Norman quickly clicks that, then selects "yes" when it asks him if he'd like to open the emergency escape door. Moments later the floor in front of the desk starts to retract, revealing a flight of stairs into darkness below.

Glancing at Joel, he starts toward the stairs. Another loud bang at the door spurs him on- the bookcase doesn't look like it'll hold up too well if that continues.]

We should be able to close it from down there. Let's just hope there's a way out.

Yeah, let's hope. [They hurry down the stairwell, and Joel's sarcasm is swallowed up by the darkness that envelopes them both.

The stairs run deep, and as both the crashing of of men trying to break down the door and the faint glow of the opening above their heads fade into the distance he fumbles at the straps of his pack, flicking on his flashlight. The dim light illuminates a wide expanse of cracked wall, more stairs, and... a brass panel complete with large unlabeled buttons. By now, the sound of shouting and thumps are growing louder, as Joel hobbles right on ahead to the panel and... presses down on all of the buttons, because one of them's gotta shut the door, right? Probably. This is impeccable logic.]

[Norman quickly follows, glancing back over his shoulder now and then even though there's nothing to see by the time they make it to the bottom of the stairs. He looks again one more time out of habit, which is how he fails to notice Joel oh so brilliantly pressing every bottom he can reach on a panel.]

What are you doing? [He hisses, about to berate the man when the hidden door above sudden begins to slide shut. Oh... well, then. And even better, something else is rumbling open beside them, to reveal what Norman sincerely hopes is the entrance to an escape tunnel.]

...Nevermind. Good job.

[Joel's answering huff might have been a shade too smug as they file out of the stairwell. Still, they're not out of the fire yet. There's no telling if the men outside had seen the bottom of the floor slide shut, and even if they hadn't, there would still be the telltale blinking of the monitor to give their position away.

The new area is... not quite a tunnel. Actually, it looks to be some sort of a small monitoring room, multiple screens, more panels, thick sheafs of notes and scattered paper, everything covered in a fine layer of dust. A narrow doorway is set into the opposite wall; the door is ajar, and half a skeleton wedged into the opening, arm splayed out as if reaching out for help.

Joel eyes it for a moment, taking in the scene, then gives a little shake of his head, glancing at Norman.]

Well, that don't look to be a good sign.

[Norman all but deflates at the sight of the room, far from the tunnel he was hoping to find. He isn't too optimistic about what's on the other side of that little door with the skeleton, and now wonders if they've just made everything worse for themselves.]

I'm gonna check out these terminals.

[Maybe there's a turret system controlled from down here? If he could turn that on the soldiers...

...Christ, what has his life come to? Thinking casually about killing multiple NCR troopers? He wishes he could still believe there was a misunderstanding here, and that they don't mean to kill him. Wishes, but knows better by now.]

See if there's anything that can slow those guys down. You check on that door.

Got it.

[Joel follows Norman's lead, leaving him to tap at the keyboard as he crosses the room, shoving a rolling chair to one side where it rattles away, kicking up dust. The narrow door itself is jammed, caught between the skeleton's ribs. Joel gives it a hard tug. When the door doesn't budge, he braces his injured leg against the wall, wincing as he yanks back on the handle.

The door opens with an awful grinding sound of rusted hinges and cracked bone. Panting a little for breath, Joel peers cautiously around it into the darkness beyond. His flashlight casts a bright beam through the doorway-- a narrow passageway that widens out into curved, vaulted ceilings and... train tracks? Huh. Well, here's Norman's tunnel.

Turning back to call out to the other man, the beam of his light sweeps across the skeleton, missing everything from the hip down, and casting jagged shadows onto the toothmarks deep into its pelvis.

...well, shit.]

Norman- [He gestures] There's a path down this way. But... looks like we might have company. [He nudges the skeleton forward with his foot for the other man to get a better look.]

[The terminals aren't starting up. No power down here anymore, it looks like. He tries anyway, but stops and glances over his shoulder when Joel addresses him.]

Company? [Then he sees the state of the skeleton and heaves a sigh. What could have done that? Deathclaws? Feral Ghouls? Supermutants? He doesn't really want to know, but a path is a path and he'd rather take his chances with wasteland creatures than with NCR Rangers.]

Turn off your flashlight. We move slowly and quietly. If we're lucky, we might actually make it out of this alive.

[Though by now, Norman doesn't have much faith in his luck. He doesn't like the idea of Joel having to go through this now either, injured as he is. Hands shaking, he starts toward the narrow door.]

[Looks like Norman's taking point on this one. Joel doesn't have any complaints, flicking off the light before sliding through the narrow passageway, shoulders bumping against the walls. The gait forces him to put equal weight on both legs, but he grits his teeth and sidles on through, jumping down onto the gravel of the tracks and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.]

Don't know far out these run, but I ain't familiar with any trainyards in these parts.

[He squints down the shadowy tunnel, trying to orient himself.]

This way east.

I've never been here either. Should be an adventure.

[He lets out a halfhearted laugh, then remembers to lower his voice. Even a soft tone can carry in a place like this, and the last thing he wants to do is alert anything nasty to their presence.

Keeping said nasty things in mind, Norman pulls out his rifle, ignoring the ache in his shot arm as he holds it ready with both hands. He'd more readily use it as a melee weapon given the chance if he can cause less noise. Unfortunately, there are some creatures out there that won't die from a few blows to the head.

Following Joel's directions, Norman crouches a little to keep better hidden and starts down the eastward path. Damn it, these places give him the creeps... even worse than some of those vaults. As they walk, he stops frequently, thinking he's hearing some sounds echoing up ahead. He knows feral ghouls like to frequent places like this, and is being careful to listen to any of their shuffling or groaning sounds.]

[Joel snorts under his breath, also keeping his voice down.]

Yeah, I'll pass. Already had my fill of those.

[He keeps his 9 mm pistol in his hands, leaving the shotgun in its holster for the time being. Given the kick on that thing, he doesn't want to think about how bracing for recoil is going to fuck up his injured leg. Even crouched, Norman moves faster than his own hobbling gait, and he's breathing hard, cold sweat slick on his face after a little more than a mile underground.

Pausing for a moment to catch his breath and listen along the tracks, Joel squints into the darkness. Just how far do these tracks stretch anyway? As a smuggler, he knows his fair share of hidden routes and shortcuts through the Mojave, but no one had every said anything about a goddamn train line under their feet.

No sooner after he finishes that thought, there's an echo of metal on metal that reverberates through the tunnel, followed by a shriek. Joel's head immediately goes up, listening for the source of the sound. Down the tunnel, of course, the same damn direction they're headed.]

These trains don't run anymore... so what the hell was that?

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