Oppression

Description

Oppression is about a very large country called Chartica.

Chartica was once a great land, with a great economy and great technological advancements. It had massive, thriving cities that lit up the dark skies with their brilliant lights. It had great leaders who led the country to even more advancements in such. Though with many, with great power comes great greed, one man, named Tarvinis Locke, became elected as the ruler of Chartica. He had spent many years amassing a very large and secret group of followers to help him with what he planned. Creating his own heavily armed bodyguard force and starting massive propaganda campaigns, converting many to be a follower of him, he then took advantage of the great wealth of Chartica and built himself glorious Palaces, Mansions, etc. Tarvinis ruined cities and turned lots of them to urban slums, using the gathered materials to build himself more glorious things. Many people hated him for this, though even more loved it, as they only got richer and got better lives as they were devoted followers to him. Many of the people wanted The Order gone, but were too afraid to start anything themselves for fear of the horrible things that The Order promises for Treason. They now just live as comfortably as they can, hoping for a miracle that may never come. The once marvelous country of Chartica turned to a massive ruin, where cities were slums and money hard to come by.

Now, that's where the participants of Oppression come in. What will you do/how will you change this? Will you start a rebellion and end the Order once and for all? Or will you ensure the mighty rule of The Order and crush any form of resistance?

NOTICE! I'm back so I'll be making changes and I'll be adding things again! I had some ideas before I disappeared!

Character Creation

I give you guys the freedom of no set character sheet, though you need to at least have a name and some occupation, it's also recommended that you put some skills in as well, unless you want them to be a secret and let the rest of us find out!

Deleted this, I'll make use of it later!

Deleted this one, I'll make use of it later!

"The Order" Standard Gear for Players

Armor:

Helmet: Can stop a few 10mm shots, but can repel large pieces of shrapnel raining down. It comes with a drop-down visor that has Night Vision, Thermal Vision, Distance Tracker(Meters), and the visor can stop some 9mm rounds and small shrapnel. It's tinted black as well for the looks of The Order.

Chest-piece: Can stop a few 5.56 Caliber rounds(average rifle rounds), though don't expect to be a tank, don't get shot often xD. This chest piece includes full arm coverage, reaching down to where the wrist meets the hand and it attaches to the pants/leggings, it is optional to attach the armor to the gloves but it is also recommended. This armor also covers part of the neck but the neck area can only stop a 9mm shot. As for shrapnel, it will stop any sharp object that is not being held by another human and if it is not a large object, as in large chunks of shrapnel. Has minor movement penalty.

Pants/Leggings: Can stop up to a 10mm shot, though can still block just as much shrapnel as the chest-piece. Does not really have any movement penalty.

Boots: These boots have retractable titanium dull spikes that are great for rough terrain and kicking down obstacles, these should only be used when doing those two things, and should be retracted when not doing them. The boots also have titanium rims and studs that are great for kicking as well.

Gloves: Have lots of grooves in them for amazing grip, modifications can be made to be able to climb up short vertical surfaces or to hang off of vertical surfaces for those who are higher ranked in The Order.

Weapons:

Assault Rifle:
M4 Carbine

Weight:
6.36 lb(2.88 kg) while empty.
7.5 lb(3.4 kg) with the standard issue 30 round magazine.

Length:
33 in(840 mm) with the stock extended.
29.75 in(756 mm) with the stock retracted.

Barrel Length:
14.5 in(370 mm).

Cartridge:
5.56x45mm

Caliber:
5.56 mm

Rate of Fire:
700-950 rounds per minute(full auto).

Muzzle Velocity:
2,900 ft. per second.
880 meters per second.

Effective Firing Range:
500m(550 yd).

Magazine: 30 Rounds

Modifications: ACOG Sight, Flashlight, Fore-Grip, Compensator.

--------------

Handgun:
Beretta M9

Weight:
952 g(33.6 oz) while empty.
1,162 g(41 oz) while loaded with a 15 round magazine.

Length:
8.5 in(217 mm)

Barrel Length:
4.9 in(125 mm)

Cartridge:
9x19 mm

Caliber:
9mm

Muzzle Velocity:
1,250 ft. per second.
381 meters per second.

Effective Firing Range:
50mm

Magazine: 15 Rounds

Modifications: Laser Sight.

Knife:
High Carbon Stainless Steel Knife

Length: 7 in.
VERY sharp.
Takes a hella long time to rust, hard to break, keeps a sharp edge for a long time.

Combat Order Soldiers are equipped with a pack that contains rations and some random conveniences.

Patrol Order Soldiers also have a pack, but carry more conveniences than rations, they only have rations for the time(s) of meal(s) that they may be on patrol for.

The Order Soldiers

Normal(Gear is already stated in a post)
Sniper/Marksman
Heavy
Riot Control
Tracker

I'm keeping the gear details more simple than I did for the normal soldier's gear set!

All soldiers are equipped with a Defibrillator and med-kit. The med-kit includes bandages, 2 morphine shots, and disinfectant. Every soldier is also equipped with an adrenaline shot.

A squad of Order soldiers will usually consist of 1 Heavy, 4 Normals, and occasionally a Tracker. The Heavy is the commander of the Squad.

Snipers/Marksman:

Weapons:
Primary: A 40 Cal. Sniper Rifle. In special cases a 50 Cal. Sniper may be used. Both are bolt-action.

Attachments: 20x Scope, Bipod, a 20x Infrared Scope is also carried.

Secondary: FN Five-Seven

Attachments: Glow-Iron Sights, a Suppressor is carried but not always equipped.

Other:
Steel/Carbon Combat Knife
2 Smoke Grenades
Distress Flare
Handheld Radio

Gear
Helmet:
It is built to mainly stop shrapnel, but can stop a 9mm bullet or weaker. A gas mask is carried in case poisonous gas is somehow a threat.

Chest:
The chestplate covers everything from the waist to the neck, though it is not as effective at stopping a bullet(due to this being armor for snipers). It can stop shrapnel but 9mm shots are it's limit.

Gloves:
Highly flexible gloves with lots of grooves for great grip. Small steel studs on the knuckles.

Leggings:
Highly flexible leggings that can not stop a bullet not shrapnel, though can make the impact less severe. Includes knee pads that can stop large shrapnel and can take a few shots of standard assault rifle ammo.

Boots:
Great grip, work effectively off-road and on the road. Though eliminate any possibility of stealth. There are large steel studs on the tip of the boot for kicking, and some steel reinforcement on the bottom for kicking down weaker obstacles.

Miscellaneous: Spare magazines are strapped to the legs and/or chest or waist region. A small range finder is strapped to the side of the backpack, opposite of where the gun is strapped.

Heavy

Weapons:
Primary:
M249 SAW

Attachments: Glow Sights, Bipod.

Other Primary: Flamethrower

Details: Similar to the M2 Flamethrower, it has an effective range of 50 meters(M2 is 45 meters, but that's WW2 tech, this isn't), and includes two 3 gallon tanks of Napalm(M2 included two 5 gallon tanks), which are somewhat armored to prevent them from easily exploding. When a Heavy is equipped with this, their armor is less bullet resistant and more flame resistant. The explosion of a tank will engulf 10 meters in a circle around the tanks in flame.

Secondary:
FN Five-Seven

Attachments: Glow Sights

Gear:
Normal Heavy:
A one-piece full body outfit that is heavily armored. It's only weakness is flames or explosives. It will be hell to deal with.

Flame Heavy:
A full body suit that is heavily protective against flames and/or explosive debris. Though cannot take as many shots as a normal Heavy. The best it can do is multiple shots from an AK-47(Just an example, not everybody will have an AK but most will).

Other:
Steel/Carbon Bowie Knife
2 Grenades
Distress Flare
Portable Radio

Riot Control

Weapons
Primary:
Stun Baton/Riot Shield

Secondary:
FN Five-Seven

Attachments: Glow Sights.

Gear:
Helmet:
Built stronger than a Heavy. It covers all but the mouth and eyes, while every Riot soldier carries a mask so they can get through their own tear gas.

Chest:
Slightly better than a Normal soldier, mainly built to withstand blunt weapons.

Gloves: Slightly Flexible, amazing grip making the Riot Shield must easier to hold.

Leggings:
Hardly any armor, knee pads can take a shot going up to a .308

Boots: Very heavy build, makes it hard to move fast but will bust down doors and such much more easily. Mainly built to stick to the streets/urban areas. Off-road is much harder to trek.

Other:
Steel/Carbon Bowie Knife
2 Tear Gas Grenades
Distress Flare
Portable Radio

Tracker
Early Information: Trackers are the most highly skilled soldiers to ever be seen. They are widely feared among the people and highly respected within the Order. Most people in power within the Order Military are Trackers or Former-Trackers. Trackers can sometimes be seen with a patrols(high-security areas), but are mainly a Special Operations Force.

Weapons:
Primary:
MP5:

Attachments: Suppressor, Glow Sights, Laser Sight(Toggled), Vertical Grip.

Secondary:
MK. 23

Attachments: Glow Sights, Suppressor.

Gear:
Helmet: Covers the whole head, very lightly armored and can only stop a 9mm shot. Has built in Night Vision that can be toggled.

Chest: Can stop up to 3 AK-47 rounds and small shrapnel, highly flexible around the arms making operations easier.

Gloves: Great grip and flexibility, built to make climbing easier.

Leggings: Lightly armored, the pads can stop a 9mm round and the rest can too.

Boots: Great grip overall. Built to help keep the wearer silent, very comfortable to the wearer.

Other:
Steel/Carbon Combat Knife
2 Smoke Grenades
1 Flashbang
1 Breaching Charge
Small Portable Radio
Small Portable Headset

If you have any questions/concerns on the soldiers, feel free to send a message! Remember, every soldier has its weaknesses!

Reserved

Miscellaneous

I'll put any random information here. Make sure to message me with questions.

"Elouise, honey, come downstairs for dinner!"

Before the Order had taken over, her family was pretty well off. Her father was a scientist, and owned a tech company. Now most of that was gone, although the family miraculously managed to keep a small home in the suburbs, the one they used to rent out. Now it was one of the few assets Mrs. Abrams had left. That and her daughter, Elouise.

Baked chicken, black-eyed peas, cornbread and a glass of water. This was better than most people outside the Order had. Technically, her mother was still a member, and drew a pension from her father's death. Their neighbours were members of the Order. Her father had sacrificed himself, in order to give them that life, but Elouise knew that something big was about to go down, and that she would have to leave this place.

"I love you, mom," Elouise told her mother at the dinner table.

"I love you too, sweetheart. What's wrong?" her mother replied suspiciously.

"Tomorrow is the last day. I have to go. I'm a grown woman now. As you know, tomorrow is my 19th birthday. I had until midnight to join the Order, but I'm not going to do that. I'm going Underground. I might survive. I might not. I know people. Some in the Order, others who fight against it. I don't love or hate them. Its all business. How else do you think I have as much as I do?"

Elouise took full advantage of her father's intellect which was passed on to her. She, too, became a scientist, of sorts. She was, however, more involved in the practical application of that science. She was a gardener. She ran a lab. Elouise was an all-around drug dealer. She couldn't get a "proper job" without joining the Order. So, she instead got involved with their families, her peers. She sold the children of the Order top-quality methamphetamine. She sold the rebels marijuana and LSD. She worked with a small group, who had a lab downtown. It was always a risk. She looked like a rich kid, so the police normally left her alone. She could be found, more often than not in the upscale parts of the city, where the Order families lived.

Elouise ate quickly.

"You don't know anything. You may never see me again. If you do, it probably won't be a good thing, and it will probably be on the news."

Mrs. Abrams looked at her daughter, having known this day would come.

"You are your father's child. He would be proud."

"I'm my own person now. Its time to let go."

Her mother looked a her, not sure what Elouise was trying to say.

"Look at the news," Elouise suggested.

It was a story about how the Order has helped to improve every aspect of society.

Then, a short piece about how a girl from an Order family was killed by a group of young people hostile to the Order.

"In a shocking turn of events, Elouise Abrams, daughter of the late Harold Abrams, former scientist for the Order's technological development firm, and her motorcycle were thrown into a waste-disposal incinerator downtown by rioters. The rioters turned on her for trying to stop their wanton violence and vandalism of our city. What a tragedy, one that will not go unpunished. Her father was killed in a similar incident, in which anti-Order elements gunned him down for not divulging the Order's weapon designs. "

Her mother stared at the screen, then at her daughter.

"It had to be done, mom. Elouise Abrams is dead. I have to go by my other identity now. The one I use to sell drugs. I'm not coming back. Oh, I bought a new bike. Well, I pieced it together myself. All kinds of illegal mods. Might as well go big, right? I'm wanted for my own murder. You know that it was the Order who killed Dad, right? They did it because he wouldn't design an implant to keep the masses loyal. They blamed the rebels, but in fact, Dad was helping them. The whole thing was a cover-up, but I wouldn't live to see 20 if I joined the Order. My name is Brenda Barbary now. Sounds like the kind of name that the Order will love to hate, right?"

Her mother cried as her daughter got some clothes, some food, and took them into a car which didn't even stop, just slowed down in font of their house just as she had walked outside.

This was it. She was a full-time drug dealer and resistance fighter now. She could never see her mother again. Brenda was armed with a .44 calibre pistol, and owned a bedroll, a blanket, a motorbike, a marijuana patch and part of an illegal meth lab.

Name: Hoxton Mallard
Age: 21
Height: 6 ft. 3 in. or 2.3 meters.
Weight: 180 pounds.
Useful Skills: Hoxton is better with assault rifles and some explosive weapons, he is also fairly strong, being strong can have some pretty good benefits, though he is a heavier build of a man so he is not as fast as a lot of people.

De-Buffs: Hoxton is bad in any form of stealth, it is hopeless to him unless he gets any proper training from somebody skilled in it. He is also not very good at making things, he can hardly make anything useful at his little workshop.

Notable Equipment/Clothing: Breaching Hammer, 10mm Pistol(12 shot magazine, full, with an extra magazine with 12 shots, also full), Beanie, Long-Sleeved Shirt, Leather Jacket, Pants, Knee Pads, Socks, and Boots, all are colored black.

Hoxton had a lot of problems that he was trying to run away from in his past, he had seen both of his parents killed at the age of 14, the man that had killed them had been trying to break in the house but when Hoxton's dad confronted him the burglar threw a pipe bomb, which exploded and killed the father and mother, Hoxton was an only child, no siblings. After his parent's deaths he moved in with his uncle, who was not a nice man at all. Always working Hoxton on various things that were physically taxing, though he did take Hoxton shooting sometimes. Bringing his AK-47 along and they would spend hours shooting makeshift targets. Those times when he went shooting were the highlights of Hoxton's younger life, he loved to shoot guns, he liked guns in general. He knew the potential of a single weapon and studied a lot of different types, though soon he was not able to do this as when Tarvinis Locke came to power and put heavy monitoring in the Internet.

Hoxton hated The Order, he wanted it to be destroyed, and Tarvinis Locke killed. He had crippled Chartica, ruined the amazing country, Hoxton was a Patriot, a true Patriot. "A Patriot will stand by the country, not always by it's leader,". His uncle had hated The Order too, but was too bold in his actions, he was too killed when he tried to attack an Order Patrol Officer in an alleyway with only a pipe. Hoxton decided to then use his Uncle's house as his own little base. He made it look rundown and abandoned, but did it slowly as to not draw suspicion, he had been anti-social, hardly anybody knew that his Uncle even had a Nephew. He also improved the locks on the doors and windows, only a good thief would get in now, he also had the AK-47, but it soon stopped working due to Hoxton not having the proper materials to clean it and repair it when needed, so he scrapped it. He had a "workshop" in the basement, which consisted of a wooden table, a hammer, screwdriver, some random other things that may or may not be useful, and some random parts in a bin next to it. He was not the best of craftsmen, he could name very simple things just like everyone else could, but he sometimes tinkered with things and never got anywhere.

Hoxton soon decided that he needed to make some money, so he got hired at a nearby general store, which he worked random positions at random times. The pay was good enough, but Hoxton needed more to achieve what he had in mind.

Alright, enough of the past! Time for the present!

Hoxton looked out his window as the helicopters flew overhead, 50. Cal machine guns mounted at either side, 5 helicopters flying in a V shape just like planes/jets. He heard some sirens in the distance too, surprising, might be the small police force trying to contain some angry people. He soon turned away from the window and turned on the TV, some parts of this city still had electricity, he didn't know how long that would last, he needed to maybe get some type of generator soon. He changed the channel to the O.C.N.C(Official Chartica News Channel). He listened to see if anything interesting happened other than the usual.

He saw a woman in fancy business clothing standing there with a single paper in her hand, which she occasionally looked at while talking, must be what she was supposed to say.

"Today our almighty President Locke has completed a new Mansion in the Rich Districts, for sale for about 7 million dollars, what an amazing price, President Locke is very generous to the people of Chartica,"

The screen changed to a view of a man sitting at an office desk, also wearing fancy business clothing.

"In a shocking turn of events, Elouise Abrams, daughter of the late Harold Abrams, former scientist for the Order's technological development firm, and her motorcycle were thrown into a waste-disposal incinerator downtown by rioters. The rioters turned on her for trying to stop their wanton violence and vandalism of our city. What a tragedy, one that will not go unpunished. Her father was killed in a similar incident, in which anti-Order elements gunned him down for not divulging the Order's weapon designs. Also many arsonists and a single gunman were taken into custody today when trying to burn a government building. Our glorious soldiers dealt with them easily and no casualties or major property damage occurred, nothing else to report now, thank you for watching the Official Chartica News Channel,"

The screen went dark for a second, then the picture of Tarvinis Locke standing in some heroic position and the Chartica Flag behind him came, there would most likely not be another broadcast for another few hours.

"Hell, more Order bullshit, I bet the Order killed her off as well as they probably did her father, poor people,"

Hoxton turned the TV off and grabbed a book to read, he believed that it was a nice way to relieve any stress that he got during a day. He leaned back on his small chair and started to read, his breaching hammer laying next to him and his 10mm pistol strapped to his chest.

Name: Asset 15 (I figure it would be more realistic, Maybe he'll name himself at some point during the war) [:tongue:]
Age: Lets go 18 because I can.
Height: 5 feet, 6 inches.
He has a slender build, Not a lot in strength.
Gender: Male.

Asset 15 (I really need to choose a proper name at some point) was born into the order, Or at least that is what he, and all the other children were told. Frankly The Order was all he knew, He had no memory of a past life except fleeting glimpses of a dull grey world filled with discomfort and pain.
His earliest memory of the order was a stern man inspecting a line of children standing to attention. This was the beginning of his training as a member of The Order. As a secret society the order had decided to take children from birth and make them weapons. And that is exactly what they did. The training was brutal, The children were put through hell, Forced to fight, work and even kill.

As he lies in his cold hard bunk his thoughts flash back to his final indoctrine into the orders ranks. It had been a swelteringly ot day, the air full of moisture but filled with the sizzle of skin, He remembers the cold metal of the gun in his hand, the deep blue pools that were the eyes of his only friend, they were almost bottemless. He also remembers the deafening echo of the gun shot and the spray of liquid. A deserter he had been told, A betrayer. Asset 15 didn't know if this was true or not, But ll he knew was that it didn't really matter in the end. The Order had embraced him with open arms and thats the only important thing.. Then why couldn't he get those empty pools out of his brain..

As he turns the bed creaks and the sound echos through the compound in which Asset 15 had spent most of his aware existence. The creak revertebrates along the walls, joined in with the creaks of a thousand other metal framed bunks.


Asset 15 has been trained as an Order agent. He is familiar with order tech and has spent his life being fed lies about the state of Chartica. He knows how to use many types of weapons but has no real mastery of them. He also equipment with him at almost all times. Hidden knifes in his boot and hip area, A small silenced handgun with 5 bullets in pieces hidden in the seems of his jacket and small communicative devices also hidden there. Asset 15 is also compentent at close up fighting. Although he is highly trained by The Order he is inexperianced in actual combat and this will show in fights, Only with time will he improve. Due to The Order he has no moral compass, Only following the orders of The Order blindly and without question. However in the dead of night Asset occasionally and tentitively questions The Order and his own life choices.

The ride was awkward. Brenda Barbary knew that talking would make it even more so. She clung to the belongings she had brought with her, not bothering to strap herself into the car, in case she had to make a hasty egress.

After what seemed an eternity, the car stopped. "This is it," the driver said, tersely.

"Thanks for the ride," she replied, and handed the driver a fiver. Not much, but it would be appreciated. People in the world outside the order took what they could get, and Brenda, due to her entrepreneurship, was still among the "haves" even out here. The trick would be holding on to that, because these streets were at least as unforgiving as the Order. Still, there was honour among the dealers, and she would be safer with them than without them. She pitched in some smoke out of her private reserve, the plants she grew for personal use, someone else brought food, and another member brought drink. The last guy owned the place where they would spend the night. It didn't matter that Brenda was homeless. Everyone had a story, and it was better for people to keep it to themselves.

As long as she stayed in business, as long as she could pitch in the smoke, the food, the drink, or at the very least some cash if she managed nothing else, she wouldn't need a place of her own. But, even when she got one, she would still need to accept some overnight guests to preserve the community. That was just how things were outside of the Order's shelter. This bond of trust was rarely broken, and anyone fool enough to try to take advantage tended not to live to tell the tale. Everyone in that room was armed, and nobody thought otherwise, which kept things cool. Arguments and bickering were avoided. They were all in this together.

Brenda felt safer already, and it was a pleasant high, songs were sung, and that feeling of camaraderie kept on until they each found a corner, curled up, and went to sleep. In the morning, it would be time for business. There were drugs to be cooked, drugs to be measured and wrapped up in neat honest little packages, and drugs to be sold. Some wanted them for pleasure, others needed them as the only kind of medicine they had any access to. For Miss Barbary, the money had to keep coming in, no matter what else transpired. There was no other way to sustain this life. Freedom wasn't free, by any means. So, it was rare to find a dishonest dealer out here. They would tend to give you a little bit extra, weigh everything out proper, and consistently deliver high quality. In their eyes, and in the eyes of the Underground, they were honest tradesmen, the pharmacists and physicians of the streets where the people that the Order didn't care about lived.

Jasper Stone walked down the alleyway. His hooded jumper covering his entire torso and head, a gas mask covering his mouth and nose. His backpack clanged with the sound of metal bouncing slightly against metal. Under his mask, he had a scar on one corner of his mouth, which didn't help when he smiled. He walked with intention in his step, he knew where he was going and what he was going to do. The alleyway emptied out next to a sign, a big sign from the Order. He had lost friends today, many who had attempted to burn down a government building. This was revenge.

He stopped near the edge, opening his backpack and taking out a spray can with a black cap, and another with a dark blue cap. He put them to one side, and quickly moved a blanket around in the bag. He wrapped all of the other cans up, leaving enough blanket for the two he had out. He closed the bag, took the caps off the cans and stepped out by the sign.

He estimated he had 2 minutes to leave the area, no long enough indeed. He sprayed the name, using both hands to create a double layer, blue just under the black, to add colour and to make it pop out just a little.

JESTER

That's what it read, and right next to it he added in small black letters,

Let the people go

He then left into the alley, checking his pocket watch. 1:45. Close, but a bit of time. He fitted the caps back onto the cans, opened the bag and put them into the blanket, wrapping them up. He removed the mask, placing it inside the bag, then zipping it up.

He checked his watch, 2:10. He blinked, cursing himself. He left the alley with his bag, taking the hoodie off, flipping it around and putting it back on. The inside was rosewood red. Now it was the outside, and would do well to ensure his escape. The bag as now silent, and he thanked his lucky stars and he heard Order vehicles arrive nearby. He walked through many alleys, hearing others talk to Order soldiers. As he passed by a house, he saw a small mark next to a door, near the floor. He stopped to look at it. Its meaning was clear, 'safe', so he opened the door, closed it behind him and kept walking.

He walked to the other side, stopping at the window to check the outside was clear, then he continued again. He had quite a walk, and would use this time well. Lefts and rights, stopping and going became the norm for the next 10 minutes. The further away he got, the less Order soldiers he heard or saw. When they walked past him, he would nod, or move out of the way, as was customary.

About 1 minute from his home, he saw the last soldiers, who walked right past him. He felt lucky, how had no one seen him? He decided not to take any chances, and opened a nearby drain cover, and climbed down. He closed it afterwards, not wanting to take the chance. He turned left, then left again, and heard the drain cover being moved. His eyes widened in fear, and he took another route, turning right, then left.

He zig zaged around, hearing the footsteps becoming further and further more distant. He doubled back, walking slower and slower as the noise of his followers became louder and louder. He crept right past them, before coming up to where he had entered. No one was there, but their footsteps were. He continued onwards, walking in the water to hid his footsteps.

When he was at his stop, he paused, and listened. Hearing nothing, he got out of the water, climbed up the nearby ladder and opened the sewer drain. He entered the outside of a slum, seeing shacks and campfires everywhere. He smiled, and continued, his footsteps, the water slowly drying with each footstep. Once dry enough and not creating more foosteps, he turend and walked the other way, going to the outskirts of the slum, here there was a small shed-like house.

Jasper reached into his jean pocket, pulling out a small key. He opened the lock on the door, removed his shoes and walked inside. He locked it afterwards, before returning the key to his pocket. He took his shoes, hoodie and bag and walked over to the corner of his house.

There was a small set of numbers hidden behind a face concrete panel. He entered the code, revealing a basement of sorts. He climbed down, placing the bag, hoodie, jeans and shoes inside, removing the key. He climbed back up, closing the basement and the key panel, grabbed a book and new trousers and put the trousers on while opening the book to a bookmarked page.

The shack looked like Jasper was barely able to live there, but he lived comfortably enough. He could afford stuff, but he never said where it came from.

Some things never change. The next morning, Brenda was expected to make coffee and cook breakfast, which she did. It was always a pain finding her way around a strange kitchen, but she managed. Egg, sausage, potato, cheese and salsa burritoes were the easiest thing to make for that lot, so that is, in fact, what she made. Everyone had their fill, and a couple of them took a couple of the extras with them to have later on. Brenda found a lad headed downtown, close to the lab, so she would catch a ride with him. It would be nice to retrieve her motorbike, she thought. When she got to the lab, it would be time to assess, then out to get the ingredients if they were needed, or to start cooking if they were there already. Brenda suspected they would, in fact, be there, unless Chemical Dave cooked them up already. Her nick was Brenda Burnout, because of the way she takes off in her motorcycle, always fast. She had to replace the tires more frequently but she got where she was going fast, and that was the reason behind it.

Thus the strangers parted ways, knowing that they may never see each other again, or that they might see one or more the following night. The future was just something to hope for, never a given, in this world.

Sometime later in the night Hoxton stopped reading, marked his page and went to bed. Making sure to set his alarm for the morning. He didn't have to work tomorrow, which was nice, he could maybe try to tinker with things, hell, there was a lot he could do on that day, he doesn't get many days off anymore.

In the morning his alarm blared with that hellish noise, he jumped up and turned it off. He then four out of bed, dressed, and went to the kitchen to make his breakfast for the morning.

He always made sure to have a good breakfast, with proteins, carbohydrates, etc. He saw it as an important thing and thought breakfast as the most important meal of the day

He went with some wheat bread, bacon, an orange, and some milk. All contained great nutrients and would ensure him to be generally better physically that day. Though it wasn't a lot of food, he still had to take small amounts as food could be hard to come by, though he wasn't very poor himself, he always prepared.

After breakfast he drank a small glass of water and grabbed his things, he grabbed his hammer and put his pistol in it's hidden holster in his jacket, any Order soldier who gave him a long gaze wouldn't see it, though any search on him would make the pistol found and him arrested, he had no special permission to own a weapon, his Uncle did, but Hoxton was not his Uncle.

Hoxton set out and kept up a steady jog downtown, it's always nice to stay fit, especially in these times, like he always said to himself, stay prepared for anything.

Luckily, he lived close to what was called the downtown area of this city, he stopped at a little makeshift market and browsed what the man had to offer, a random assortment of things, and Hoxton wanted to help this man. He decided to buy a nice looking Stainless Steel knife(normal knife with a sheath, not a pocketknife) and a book. Putting down a ten(let's just call the currency Notes) and telling him to keep the change, giving him a small grin.

Hoxton walked away to the corner of the sidewalk and just leaned against the building, an alleyway next to him, if he saw anything that he couldn't handle, the Alleyway was always an option. He made sure that the breaching hammer and the pistol were in comfortable and effective positions and just stayed there, watching everything go on and enjoying his nice day off of work.

*Strange didn't have any name besides strange. He'd given up on names. He'd given up on a lot of things in his time. Tobacco, money, friends, city living, society. It had even been in more or less that order. He knew of the order in a vague, nebulous sort of way. He classified them into one of the three groups of people he ran into. The first group were those that begged him for things. People running from the cities. Strange gave some of these food, others he killed if they were untrustworthy. The second group were those that ran from Strange. He killed most of those. His lifestyle required secrecy. The final group, which included the order, were those who tried to enforce their will on strange.

To date, all of them were dead.

You see, strange had fled the company of men in exchange for the solitude of the mountains. He had no home, just the knowledge of how to build various shelters. He patrolled his range of mountains and foothills on the north of the continent. He trapped, hunted, and gathered the food and furs he could. He had hidden caches throughout the mountains, and when times got hard, he fled to these safe spaces. Everything he did not hide in these, he carried on his back.

Thus, strange had lived for more than ten years now.

He had, in this space of time, had five conversations.

We open our observance of strange with a thick pine forest. When a tree falls, it's roots pull up a chunk of earth with them, leaving a hole behind. Long after the tree has rotted to nothing, and the pile of earth has spread back out, the hole remains. Old forests would be like moonscapes were the trees and shrubs not there to obscure it. Pine forests are also quite dark during the day, and pitch black at night. Now was twilight. There was but a twinkle of light in the air.

An old blanket, made of sacks sown together, is stretched over this hole. Into the weave of this blanket are interlaced sticks, pine needles, ferns, and patches of forest moss held down with dried grass. At each corner of the blanket is a rock to hold it taught, these are obscured to fern or moss. There is no pattern to any of this, patterns catch the eye. To the naked eye, it is simply a flat section of forest floor. In the darkness of the forest, it was nothing.

If one peeked under an edge of this blanket, and they had a flashlight, one might see a pair of eyes, a roughcut beard, and a face obscured with ash and dirt.

There were folks around tonight that would rather like to see this face. In the field overlooked by the forest, three order soldiers patrolled. Their armor and weapons stood out like jewelry in the dying sunlight and the rising moonlight. Their flashlights proved they did not know what they were doing.

They had been sent to hunt the mountain bandit.

The mountain bandit had been hunting them for thirty six hours now. The hunt was about to come to an end, one way or another.

Strange was running low on gunpowder and primers, and he knew their bullets would do just fine for these components.

They were on a course to walk within twenty feet of strange. He knew he could do nothing, and they would walk right past. There were times to hide, times to run, and their were times to stand and let the sounds of your rifle echo off the trees. Strange looked over his rifle. It was an old one, but it hadn't let him down before. An old bolt action, chambered in 6.5x55. He had five rounds in it, all five had bullets in it he had cast himself, a lead shell around a thin tack of steel. The rifle was wrapped in wool cloth, and had a scope mounted in a high mount. The scope was a good one, but it was no use in this low light. The mount was high enough he could still use the irons though. They would do.

The barrel of the rifle poked out from under the blanket. Strange looked down the sights. He adjusted the rear sight to the two hundred yard setting. He estimated the distance was more like two hundred and fifty yards. He would aim high, but just a touch.

There was a moment of peace as strange breathed in. He exhaled, and half way through this, he gave the trigger a nice slow squeeze.

On of the soldiers took a bullet through the neck, and his comrades heard a rifle crack echo off every tree and rock. They hit the deck, and strange waited. He worked the bolt of his rifle, and prepared for the inevitable.

A head popped up.

Another crack, and the head went away.

A spray of fire went through the trees as the final soldier tried to suppress a hunter he had never seen. He had no doubt called for support by now. A helicopter would arrive in a half hour. Far, far too late, but a good gesture none the less.

Strange worked the bolt, collecting his spent brass as he waited.

Another spray of suppressing fire, enough to reveal the position of the last soldier. Another crack.

There was no more fire. After waiting a few minutes, strange came out from under his blanket. He carefully pinned it around his neck with a broach of tarnished brass after folding it in half. He walked over to the soldiers.

It was the work of a moment to collect their ammunition, first aide kits, rations, and an unspoiled hard plate from one of their vests. These went into the large pack on strange's back under the blanket. He then dragged the corpses into a nearby creek, to make them invisible to the IR cameras the helicopter would no doubt have.

At last, strange set out at a jog into the forest, and then back up into his mountains, following game trails that only he knew.

Soon he found himself a mossy overhang. He retreated into this, and helped himself to the crackers in the soldier's rations as he waited for the aircraft to come and go. *

Johnny Cadabre, aka 'Corpsey', stood at around 6' and had a thin athletic build. he be considered handsome if he ever bothered shaving the scruff from his square jaw or comb his messy dark hair but he seldom ever did. No real sense in taking care of one's self when you live in the inner city slums of Chartica, and in fact quite the opposite is true. Good personal hygiene was an indicator that someone had money and that made you a target here in the mean streets. No, Johnny was too smart to ever put on airs, even his clothes were shabby and distressed. He wore bluejeans and a black t-shirt both of which were holey and randomly patched and hadn't been washed in long enough that they'd probably stand up on their own if he ever took them off. For a jacket he'd found some old sheerling coat and the once white lining now had a musky yellowed stain. His hat was nothing special appearing as no more than an oversized olive drab beanie but he'd cut two eye holes in it so that he could use it as a shift mask when needed, which was needed quite often when in his line of work.

Johnny wasn't much different than any other street level thug which inhabited the ghetto. He was even cliche enough to belong to a gang; the group of ne'er-do-wells was known as The Cutters and as far as organized crime was concerned, they were small potatoes. The Cutters were essentially just a bunch of teenagers and young adults that specialized in petty theft and robbery to make ends meet. They are named as such because their primary source of income comes from the ballsy act of 'cutting' the electrified razor-wired fences that surround the upscale mansion districts and sneaking in at night in order to pilfer the rich and bring back the stolen goods in order to sell on the black market. Now don't be confused, he was no Robin Hood figure and the men he hung around with weren't very merry. No these men shared no philanthropic value system, they'd gladly rob any poor soul even the other impoverished that called the slums home as quickly as they'd do dirty on one of the wealthy. Led by and villain nicknamed Snake, they robbed cheated and stole from anyone that was stupid enough to cross their path.

As far as they were concerned everyone was fair game regardless of political affiliation. The Order wasn't some evil dictatorship to be overthrown, they were just the government and all governments are corrupt after all, so what was the difference? The Cutters stayed out of the Order's way and they got by just fine on their own. Not that they hadn't done work for the resistance in the past, hell if those freedom fighters wanted to pay for a bit of civil unrest so that they could complete some clandestine mission to undermine the current administration, then Cutters would gladly oblige them. However if Order investigators happened to get tipped off to the location of some of those 'terrorists' afterward, then they would make money that way as well. Go ahead and judge them if you feel the need, but the simple truth is that this was survival and nothing more.

Present time

Johnny got up out of bed and pulled his grimy black t-shirt on, turning to regard the prostituted still sleeping in bed beside him.

"Hey wake up! I gotta go, Snake said he had a job for me and the boys today and I don't wanna be late, thanks for the good time last night.....What's yer name?" He said shaking her awake.

"Bernadette, and where is my money? You promised you'd pay extra for that freaky stuff we did!" She said still half asleep and wiping the smeared mascara from her eyes.

"I'll pay ya after we get done with the job, Snake said it was gonna be a good pay day. I'll swing by and pay ya what yer owed after ok? You gonna be on that same corner or in that sleazy bar?" He replied, half ignoring her protests and putting on his jacket and hat. He checked the inner pocket to make sure she hadn't robbed him while he slept. His small roll of tens and the ramshackle revolver were still there and he took the gun out and tucked it into the small of his back in his waistband.

"Thas Bullcrap, You said you'd pay me! How am I gonna eat today Johnny?" She said, the anger and desperation in her voice evident.

"You'll figure it out, You're a survivor just like me, that's why I like you. Well that and the fact that you'll do that freaky stuff I like! ha!" He finished by leaning down and giving her a small kiss on the cheek which made her recoil at the smell of his morning breath. "I'll see ya when I'm finished with work, promise." He said as he made for the door but they both knew he was lying.

Johnny walked down the garbage covered street toward the Cutter's hideout noticing a new bit of graffiti on the walls. It read 'Jester' and in small words next to it almost as an after thought was 'Let the people GO'. He laughed to himself, 'let the people go where?' He scoffed to himself. There wasn't anywhere else to go, and anybody that didn't know that was just kidding themselves. This was life, and you could either deal with it or spend your time whining about your poor dead family or how the world was so friggin' bad, but none of it made a damn bit of difference in the end.

Johnny walked through an alleyway full of panhandlers and bums each of them with their hand out wanting someone to spend mercy and give them a handout. He had to actually kick one of the more aggressive ones in order to make the man back off. "Get a job you fracking slob!" He said, reciting a popular song lyric, to which the man replied with a bloody cough. Down the alley was the dumpster, which wasn't really a dumpster but the secret entrance to the Cutter's HQ. He hopped into the fake garbage bag filled dumpster and disengaged the trap mechanism which guarded the door. Once the small explosive device was deactivated he opened the hatch and slipped down into the network of sewer tunnels, making sure to rearm the trap before setting off.

After navigating the labyrinth of tunnels Johnny arrived at their gang's hideout. It was a large overflow culvert which they'd repurposed as their base of operations. Snake was there as well of several of the other gang members. Johnny approached and threw up their gang sign which resembled the latter in a game of rock-paper-scissors. "How's it going boss, What's the score?"

Snake was currently lounging on one of the dilapidated couches which filled the room. "Going well Corpsey! You look like you got yer wick wet last night! Good fer you, but I hope it don't effect your skills son! I got a job for you and a couple of the boys and it could be a good payout, You up fer it?"

"Shit yeah man, I'm ready and willing, What's the gig?" He replied and looking around to see who else he'd be working with. It was Stevie and Baggs, two fellows he wasn't all that fond of but, beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Well I've had my eye on this Resistance drug lab a few blocks north of here. You know that drug-slinger Brenda.....Brenda....ah what's her name?" Snake trailed off but Baggs interrupted "Burnout....Brenda Burnout is what she goes by, boss"

"Yeah that's her! You know who I'm talking about Johnny?" Snake asked.

"Yeah sure I guess, She slings a little pot, sometimes Acid, what about her?" He replied.

"Well like I was saying, she's hooked up with those Resistance fools now and she's working for them full time. They got her set up in one of their labs and now she making some serious weight. I want you to take Stevie and Baggs here and go and scope that place out. You sit back and wait till they got a good amount of stock built up and then I want you to hit the place and clean them out! I want it all! You good?" Snaked asked, taking a huge hit off his Meth pipe and exhaling a massive cloud of smoke.

"Sure boss whatever you say, But it ain't like some mom & pop shop we can just roll. That Resistance and they are likely to have armed guards and some sort of security system, plus how are we gonna know when they get a good load?" Johnny asked, hoping he didn't sound stupid or weak in his leader's eyes.

"You guys can take a couple of sawed-off shotties and Baggs is gonna have an uzi, the lab ain't got but two guards and not much of a security system either cause they think they got it hid real good, but ol' Snake found out where it is. I guess that's the problem with having junkies as your sole clientele, you know what they say about 'lose lips' HA! So what we found out is that they work all day and take the shipment out around 9pm. I want you and the boys to hit that spot at around 8:45pm and clean those Motherfracker's clocks! You good?" He asked again, and this time Johnny knew not to ask anymore questions.

"Yeah boss, I'm good" Johnny replied, going to their meager gun cache and selecting a pistol grip 12 gauge with a barrel short enough to conceal under his coat. He tossed another double barrel sawed off to Stevie and the three men set off on their mission. Johnny didn't mind working with Stevie, he wasn't that smart but he rarely did anything overly stupid either. Baggs on the other hand was gunning for a higher position in the gang and so he was always doing crazy stuff all the time. Baggs was someone that you couldn't trust and Johnny just didn't like him, he could only hope everything would go smoothly, but he had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn't going to happen.

The three men exited the sewers and made their way to the gang's car. It was an old rusted out muscle car with two different colored doors, but it fit right in as far as the quality of cars were around here. Johnny drove and soon they were at the spot parked across the street for the Resistance's lab. The clock on the dash said 8:21pm and the men started getting ready.

"Alright boys, time to ROCK and friggin' ROLL! Stevie and Corpsey You two hit the guards and I'll keep the scientists covered! Once you've neutralized the guards you two fill the dufflebags with the dope! Got it?" Baggs announced like his was in charge and nobody protested.

"I got it Baggs, but don't be doing nothin stupid ok? We are there for the Drugs, not to turn that place into a bloodbath! YOU GOT ME?"Johnny decided to interject.

"Don't worry about me Corpsey! I know what the frack I'm doing!" Baggs shot back angrily and rolled up his sleeve so that he could shoot the liquid amphetamine into his vein. "OOOH YEAH BABY! LET'S GET SOME!"

"Wake up you maggots!"

The sterile and dark voice of the drillmaster woke Asset 15 as it did every morning. Pulling on the orders standard armour. Starting with the leggings, Then the chest piece. He then slowly pulls the gloves over his blotched and scarred hands. The helmer came last, Pulling ot over his hit Asset 15 stands up from his small bunk and strides into the training ground. It is simply a concrete plaza, Cracked and dull from a million drills.
The drills for today started out simply enough, Shoot targets with the M4 carbine. Shoot targets with the Berreta. The normal stuff. That was of course until a tall man with scraggly hair, an unshaven face and wild eyes was dragged into the compound.
"Listen up ladies!" The drillmaster called. "This spy here was found snooping 'round outside. You will find out what he knows and dispose of him. " He glares around at the assembled trainees. "So get your asses in gear!" He screams before departing.
Asset 15 is the first to approach. Gripping his standard knife in one hand he slices open the mans gag
"please, You have to help me!" Comes the response. Bad move.
Silently and without pause Asset 15 decides the best tactics would be fear. With this in mind he pushes the tip of his knife into the muscle of his upper hand. "One move and you'll never shoot again." His voice is emotionless and robotic.
"No! Please no.. I'll tell you what you want to know.. "

As the spy starts to talk it was obvious he was leaving something out, Almost sighing Asset 15 proceeds to slice casually through the muscle of his left arm prompting the man to scream in pain,
"f**k you Order scrum!"
He was defiant. It would take some work to make him speak. Lowering the knife against the skin of the spy he begins. The methods of torture thought by the Order were surprisingly effective.

After the disposal of the body (The dogs had to be fed somehow), Asset 15 reports the information to the Drillmaster.
"Sir, there is an attack planned on an Order convoy in the eastern city for 12:00 tomorrow morning. The spy was here believing he could hold up against the torture and distract us. He has been disposed of, Sir. "

"Very well" Came the response. "Asset 15. You will lead the trainees on a counter attack. If you fail, You'd better be dead with them. Dismissed!"


Walking back to the training ground Asset 15's mind races as he considers a counter plan.

Brenda got to the lab building, but it was locked. She went around to the storage building, where she kept her bike, unlocked it and discovered that whoever locked the lab left her a note. BB, If you read this, you still have a chance. Get out. Now. Go where you go, where the green grass grows." The note was unsigned, but she rolled it into a little ball and swallowed it. She removed the pack from her back, put it in the sidecar, and stopped twice on her way out of town, once to buy a large family-sized meal from the fried chicken fast-food takeaway, and once to fill both her bike's tanks, and another 10-litre canister. Anything she had to buy, she bought at the petrol stop, not the least of which being petrol. She also grabbed a large can of coffee, the biggest size of black tea in bags, and some meat snacks. Not much petrol to be found where she was headed, to a little camp site she used in the mountains, near where she grew her marijuana.

It was lunch hour when she slipped out of town, so although that made her stops longer, it made the drive out easier. Traffic was moving at a snail's pace, but the bike lane was mostly free. If things were that hot, she didn't need to be seen by the Order, so she couldn't use an "approved" exit. She would take what she called, "the Jump", It was, in fact, just that, a makeshift ramp at the end of a dead end on the edge of town, which, if you were travelling at about 130 kph would allow a bike like hers to jump the town wall, barbed wire inclusive.

It was a dangerous jump, and she nearly had a heart attack the first time she had to use it, but these days the Jump was fun.

There were things that her friends knew, and things they didn't. That was just the way of things. Some things people were better off not knowing. Not a single one of her associates had been to "The Garden". She had chosen the spot alone, after having blazed the trail through the dirt. The first part was simple enough, but she had never left for the Garden at that hour of day. Normally she left in the evening and slept at the halfway point. Today, she decided to take it through, stopping only to eat, relieve herself, stretch her legs, or drink water. Water was easy enough, there was a small spring close to the start of the dried riverbed that she would be riding until she got close to the more forested foothills. She filled her water canister there, as there would be little else until she got to the mountains. This land was mostly destroyed by the Order. Her father said it was beautiful once, before the Great Leader made a mess of things.

Brenda took it low and slow. In town she could cruise at high speeds, but one wrong move out here and it could end up a disaster. The Jump was easy, fun even. The landing and deceleration, a bit less so. She managed well enough, and began heading toward the riverbed, where she would fill her water. When Rin stopped, she felt the tread on her tires. They were new. Whoever left that note had her back. She would have been discovered buying new bike tires if things were that hot. She felt a bit stupid for not checking that before she made the Jump.

Once that was done, she ate a piece of fried chicken while it was still warm, and one of the not-quite scones that they served with it. and a few of the chips. Brenda ate and drank only enough that thirst or hunger would bother as little as possible on the long ride ahead. Luckily, it was uneventful, nothing much was out there. A few rabbits, spiders, snakes and toads, but nothing really that would impede a motorcycle, aside from a few large rocks and occasional fallen tree branches which had blown in, which she carefully avoided.

Every two hours or so she would stop and walk around a bit. Eat some of her packed lunch. Relieve herself. Keep herself hydrated. Have a puff. Brenda began to wonder what it would be like to live out in the wildlands, away from people, away from the trappings of the Order and their crumbling society. The worst part about all this for her was not knowing. The note was clearly written in haste. No friendlies would try to maintain contact while she was at the Garden, as the phone wouldn't have service out here. Hopefully no hostiles would track her down either, and that was a good thing. She had prepared for this, survival in the wilds, but started wondering if it was enough. Her petrol could only take her so far, and the Garden was deliberately chosen to be in a rather inaccessible spot. The fact that she was young, and not very large would enable her to squeeze through some of the tighter passages, whereas a soldier, especially a fully geared soldier would not be able to pass qute so easily. If nothing else, it would slow them down.

She started driving as the sun reached its apex and began being closer to the Western than the Eastern horizon. Up ahead, she saw it, a large rock at a turn in the riverbed. It was the landmark she used to know when to leave the riverbed.
This was the fun part of the trip - an old abandoned stretch of highway which was only in slight disrepair. Brenda had no way of knowing, but it was there because it used to lead to a little town which was almost entirely hostile to The Order. The town was obliterated, and the road up into the mountain was all that was allowed to remain. Looking carefully, one could still see holes in the ground made by heavy artillery, but all the metal scraps from that conflict had long been taken by the few scavengers who roamed the Wildlands, and the Order's Recycling Programme, mostly the latter. Greedy bastards.

Brenda still rode slowly and cautiously, at no more than 60kph.There were times when she would have to stop and carry the bike over a crater in the road, and then start the bike back up before riding on. The centre stripe was long faded and washed away by the elements, but it was still the best place to have a ride. The Order had long stopped caring about it, and didn't bother monitoring it. Near the entrance to the foothills was a forested area, impassable by motorcycle.


Brenda drove along the wood-line until she found it, the spot she keeps her bike on this little adventure. It was a small patch of concrete, just large enough to park the bike. She puts her pack on her back, removes a fuse from the bike to discourage anyone from trying to jump-start it, puts that in her pocket. takes the canister of petrol, places the tarp over the bike, and continues on foot.

The likelihood of anyone being able to makeshift that particular fuse was very slight, and anything else she left with the bike she knew would be taken were a scavenger to chance upon it. Petrol was not cheap, and Brenda would rather carry it around than risk it. That and if they did find the bike, found it wouldn't start and drained the petrol it would be a good idea to not keep it all in one place. She was, of course, just being paranoid.This paranoia had saved her much strife over the past several months, starting with the incident with her father.

Brenda had found a decent footpath though the forested foothills, and as she neared the mountains, the sun had set. Off in the distance, a shot rang out. It was a rifle of some kind. She kept walking. She heard the rifle fire again. Its echo was unmistakable. Silence. Distant machine gun fire. Then it stopped. Machine gun again. Then the rifle a third time. Silence.

Brenda was not a weapons expert. She was adept with her pistol, and a decent shot with a rifle, but had never used a machine gun or anything in that range of military and Order Elite exclusivity. She kept walking, toward the Garden. She heard a helicopter searching the area in the distance. she kept going, away from that sound, until she finally reached the place where she grew her herbs, her little sanctuary, her Garden of Eden. Not sure what the commotion was about, she ate cold chicken chips and the simple buttermilk-flavoured scones. She did not build a fire that night, choosing instead to sleep under a blanket beneath the stars, hoping that she would remain undetected by the Order.

*Night fell in earnest. The moon provided some illumination, but in the thick forest, most of it was lost.

It had taken a full hour for the helicopter to depart. Strange like helicopters. No matter how advanced they got, they would always be the loudest thing in the woods by a great margin. He wondered if he would ever become enough of a problem for the order to send anything more substantial at him. He doubted it. He was mostly convinced that the powers that be used him to execute soldiers that had made mistakes somewhere along the line.

If that was the case, it would be a win for the order no matter who killed who.

When the helicopter had departed, strange pulled a compass from the recesses of his clothing. He wore an overcoat of dirty furs, mostly from things he had trapped. His pants were of a sturdy canvas, with fur chaps in the same style as he coat. He could have taken the fur from the hides when he tanned them, but having his outline broken up by the erratic fur was worth it.

He survived by not being seen. It gave him an advantage over anything and everything he encountered.

He looked to his compass, the small glowing needle pointed north. He returned it to his bulky clothing. He was farther south than he usually ranged. Normally he kept to the mountains proper, but a few times a year he was lured down here, either by a desire to forage for flora and fauna, or just to escape the harsher weather of the mountains for awhile.

He had come down for the wild raspberry harvest. He had several bags filled with berry paste and honey in his pack now. Couldn't get a better treat than that after a long day. Well, besides the coffee and tea that was in the soldier's rations he had taken. Those were the real luxuries. With these treasures acquired, it was time to return home, and that meant going north.

So he set off at a slow, creeping pace. Mostly because it was very dark, partially in case there were any more folks around. Both could be dangerous.

He walked for a time. Maybe an hour, maybe two. Every hundred steps he checked his compass. He did not need to be precise, nor was it really possible in this darkness, he simply needed to go north.

One hundred steps was up, and strange checked his compass again. There was a bit more light here, it seemed the trees had thinned. He corrected his heading, and then the smell hit him, and it hit him hard. He looked around, squinting. He reached out and grabbed a handful of the nearest plant. He felt it, and held it close to his face.

Dope.

He was standing on the edge of a goddamn field of the stuff.

This put strange's hair on end. A sign of people? A cultivated field? He must have roamed farther south than usual hunting that patrol. This could be very bad indeed. His right hand went inside his coat, and gripped the antler handle of his first, and favorite, pistol. He drew it out of its holster, but left it and his hand inside his coat. He had nothing reflective on him, holding the cold steel of his pistol out in the moonlight could be a fatal error. *