8055/Dancing in the Desert

Dancing in the Desert
Date of Scene:	25 June 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	War Machine, Chris Redfield

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War Machine has posed:
     The sun shines high overhead the rolling hills of sand look untouched in this seemingly endless expanse of desert. A harsh wind blows through the air while the suns rays beat down a sweltering 115 degrees fahrenheit.

     From desert to aircraft there's a lot of shimmers in the light little tricks of the eye that throw off the vision at every turn. As the deserts blow and shift small signs of life can be seen peaking out of the desert.

     It's all life that's been long since gone really, bits of buildings peaking out on those golden sands. The tail wing of a sparrowhawk, the fuselage of a Mig15 near by sticking out of the wreckage of what had once been a grand hotel. Now only the plane that had partially collapsed it sticking out of the ruined halls built down into the depths of a massive hill of sand.

     As the quinjet crests the hill only then would the rest of the once great city state come into view. The buildings are all mostly covered in sand a line of once proud standing skyscrapers only just keeping it from being swallowed the rest of the way by those golden sands.

     Trees peak out from above the desert, they're long since dead as is the rest of this unknown city state.

     Where once were brilliant city streets lined with trees now all remains are the tattered HYDRA banners hung from crooked lamp posts, and long since abandoned dead trees turned to little more then driftwood in the ages past. Crumpled rubble of buildings and rusted out husks once belonging to the most expensive cars the 1940's had to offer litter the view.

     This operation didn't have much on the way of Intel for Chris to digest. It was just supposed to be a quick pickup. Fly the jet in and evacuate an asset and his team on an op that had gone south on the edge of this mysterious desert city.

     Bones stick out from the drivers seats of cars bleached white from the harsh light of day the cloth torn and pulled from skin long ago now just left to hang on the fringes of abandoned corpses of those whose names would likely never surface.

     Atop the tallest building left standing rests an old sign painted onto the roof by hand, the edge of the last letter trailing off back down the stairs leading to that rooftop. S.O.S. The paint is faded and worn left barely visible by the passage of time, leaving only the imagination to ponder what may have happened here.

     HYDRA symbology is everywhere in this place. The walls, the building design, it looks like the dream city of the third Reich left to rot in the desert sands. There's no record of this place on the history books, or the maps, it just IS.

Chris Redfield has posed:
Chris Redfield is on flight to retrieve somebody. At least. That's /why/ he's oficially here. Unofficially, he's not given up his search for Wesker yet. The Quinjet he's flying is speeding along a hundred or so feet off the tops of buildings, skimming down to hug the desert floor again then swing back up to hug the tops of buildings.

Get in. Get the asset. Get out. That's what this was meant to be. It's been a smooth, boring flight. . Even the chatter with his co pilot was dull. Chris checks the course again and makes a slight adjustment, then kicks the rudder hard, the Quinjet does a full 360 degree turn and comes to a hover as Redfield's scanning the desert floor with his eyes, looking for any sign of any life. He's over what would once have been maybe a house or a building....he's reeping forward, slowly looking for signs of life. Chris is alert for anything. Get in. Get the asset. Get out!

looking to the horizon, Chris jinks the Quinjet and hits the throttle again, the jet moving forward a slow and deliberate amount.

War Machine has posed:
     As the jet swoops over the hills of sand and ruined city streets one thing would become quickly clear. The strange sense of familiarity gnawing at the back of ones mind.

     The city streets look clogged in an almost unnatural way. Cop cars lined up to block the way a barricaded police station in the distance with a plane slammed firm into the side of the second floor. Everywhere one looks there's signs that something went bad here, and it went bad fast. There are guns left on the street next to bleached bones with some of the bones moved.

     The low whistle of the wind echoes out from those old brick and steel buildings. Most of the windows seem smashed by old age but the bones held in place with little more then cloth tell a different story.

     There's HYDRA tank at one end of the street its hatch torn open as if by bare hands the barrel of the gun thrown aside still sticking out of the wall of a banking building.

     German and Arabic writing covers each and every sign, but many of them look to have been smashed aside by large craft.

     Further and further into this one sprawling city state the craft may travel but everywhere is the same scene. Massive barricades look to have been knocked over, buildings boarded up and left forgotten, for all of these years.

     There's nothing alive here but Chris could see easily enough the footprints in the sand. Hundreds of thousands of footprints left in the sand.

     A freshly burned up car, bullet holes left in the sides of buildings. Someone recently being drug behind. There's enough footprints to lead to an army, and enough fresh damage to show the fight may be one sided.

     Boards have been broken down and it looks like something had just poured out of nearby buildings on all floors. A SHIELD APC lays flipped over on one side, bloodstains left behind on it, and littering the street but no sign of any bodies.

Chris Redfield has posed:
Chris pulls the Quinjet higher and noses down to follow the footprints. "You see anything. Light it up. We got Shield casualties" he tells his cop ilot/gunner. "You heard me. Light them up once we know they're hostile" he adds and looks serious. Then he snaps the QUinjet back to a hover and....looks worried. A ruined SHIELD APC is not a good sign. He's out here on his own. It was supposed to be simple! Supposed to be a milk run, instead.....it's a vclusterfuck. Chris is less than happy. And....he's got a bad feeling about this as he sets the Quinjet down and instructs his co pilot to go on foot but stay in the Quinjet's shadow. The jet's covering the copilot and both are at walking pace. Chris is moving forward when the co pilot does. Because Quinjets can't get into buildings.

War Machine has posed:
     It's an odd silence as the jet touches down onto the deserted streets. Kicking up the dust would reveal that even the manhole covers hold on them the HYDRA symbol. This one like the others incorporates the swastika into its design unlike the more modern design traditionally adopted.

     There's a chill like the grave out here the air stinks of decay and rot, of flesh, and of buildings. The desert may have done wonders to calm the cities state but there's nothing that can remove the sheer decay that has seeped into the very brick and mortar of the surrounding buildings.

     As the jet slowly rises back up its light would hover across the inside of a building. A familiar logo left draped over the back of a chair. The umbrella logo, on a worn down leather jacket left on the back of a spinning chair. The desk itself has been searched shelves thrown to the ground in a hurry papers scattered about. That jackets spot the only sign other then shield that there is something out here more modern then what may have happened long ago when the city fell.

     This place on for miles and miles making it hard to classify as just a city or even a metropolis. It's a wonder that a place so massive as this, with just so many people crammed into it could have avoided showing up on the radar, or on satellite imaging. Yet here it stands a mausoleum for the people who once called it home.

     The travel is slow sweeping one street at a time taking quite the time consuming process but every building checked into tells a similar story. Signs of struggle, of survival, of people trapped in place for a long span of time, bottles of water and booze drank and left abandoned, bottles of... other contents left behind from where makeshift tents had been set up. Bones left behind with guns still in hand from where they'd taken the easy way out.

     The stores are mostly looted, with little left behind but what is are just the signs of day to day life in a HYDRA controlled city. Pictures of Adolf, and of a middle eastern man hung on the walls of most places, declarations of fealty on proud display. Yet in almost every instance that smiling middle eastern man has had his head cut out of his own image. His smiling face of pure white teeth, and thinning blonde hair torn from all but a few.

     This place was a massacre, a bloodbath of proportions unfathomable, and yet there had been no reports, no media coverage. Certainly some history book should have mentioned it, but the past was the past.

     The trail of the man having been drug leads to a small fortified position where from the looks the team had spent some time. The walls held and there's blood all around the base of the gas station turned holdout center. Metal has been shoved against windows as quick barricades, with rapid deployment shield encampments used to hold out for some time. From the looks all went well till something managed to collapse the southern wall of the building. Something standing in at almost a full 10 foot tall.

     There's only one body left on the scene, that of a SHIELD agent one round right between the eyes and a bite mark on his leg. He'd been bit clean through his assault armor and left behind with one of his tags taken.

     His blue eyes have been shut, a small cloth placed over his face to hide the look of anguish plain as day on his features.

     His black hair cut to shield regulation looks frazzled and slicked with sweat. His skin has turned a pallid greenish color, and yet the body is still fresh. His ammo bags have been emptied his equipment secured, for the most part, and he shows signs of having received quite a bit of medical attention prior to his passing. Even if his arm is missing as well.

Chris Redfield has posed:
"What happened here?" Redfield asks with a looks around with the light sweeping over things. The co pilot finds the dead agent. Shaking his head Chris is talking on the radio about what he found. He's asking for backup, asking for any backup here as he has a bad feeling on this.

Shaking his head Chris is at least keeping his co pilot in his jet's shade, creeping the jet forward and his co pilot in the shade. Those two are in contact, the talk focused in on the mission. Shaking his head Chris keeps the jet moving then stops it.

"Hold up. Hold up" Chris says, "I got a bad, bad feeling about this. Hang on" he calls over the radio and looks worried. It's the whole.....hairs on his neck standing on end, like he's about ready to yell at the co pilot to get back in the jet.

War Machine has posed:
     The station gets a quick search by the co-pilot before he turns back to head to the entrance and talk up to Chris. "Looking by the signs I'd say they where here."

     He doesn't notice the SHIELD agents corpse start to shudder and shake. The body has already been practically cooked by the desert sun, so when it comes back to a stand it does so slowly its leg bending the wrong way in the process with a quiet crack. "From the looks of things I'd say they headed further up the road." As the body slowly shambled closer still hidden in the shade of the building.

     "Left the rookie back here, so they must have been in a hurry to get to city hall." He lights up a cigarette from his pack placing it into his mouth. The light of his lighter just enough to reveal that pallid green face and twin blue eyes of the agent who'd been shot dead.

     "So much for a Milkrun ey Redfield?" His last words before he's got the dead one armed agent on him, with a pair of sharp teeth digging into his neck.

     That scream fills the air as he cries out in pain echoing out throughout the completely deserted city. But the echoes of the screams isn't what's troubling, it's the rumbling of movement that comes shortly after. Something coming, or rather a lot of something's and coming fast.

Chris Redfield has posed:
Chris jerks the Quinjet higher up in the sky as he wantes to be out of the way of.....whatever's coming and looksworried about it. That rumbling and scream and bite marks.....Chris is on edge. Dead co pilot? Check. Rumbling? Check. And....he's alone here. Wonderful.

Chris keys the communicator and is calling for backup, anyone nearby to help him out. Or hell, launch planes, or...whatever to help him out. Shaking his head, Chris is absolutely, point blank worried as he's got the jet up and circling where his co pilot was killed. Chris is....if anything more worried the more he circles.

The jet climbs slowly as it circles as the jet heads more up the road, but staying at a pretty nice height. Stil though, Redfield can't shake the feeling things aren't right, somehow. Shaking the jet Chris slides the jet sideways to get a good view of what's beneath him, keeping an eye on the desert.

War Machine has posed:
     "I wouldn't get too excited of backup coming any time soon there buddy." A voice calls out over the radio the first voice heard in a while from back home. "The messages come in but they've got a hard time getting out." The voice sounds a bit stressed and worn down with a lack of sleep. There's a few more voices in the background but they're almost completely illegible.

     Out further in the city there's a sea of figures coming out of the buildings the alleyways even the sewers in this sweltering heat. The shambling masses of this dead and forgotten city.

     "Been trying to keep silent on this op best we can, but looks like you just woke up the hornets nest."

     Things are still silent save for the sounds of the footsteps. Like a mass parade of the dead wandering brethlessly in various states of decay. Most of their clothing has partially worn away along with them to be honest. Not much left but skin on bones.

     The horde is massive, spaning several city blocks, the likely remains of the cities population making their way towards the scream.

     A lone object soars up into the air before splitting off into dozens and dozens of smaller missiles which impact into the crowd causing bodies to go flying in all directions a shower of parts and bone and old cloth.

     "If you can get that bird over to city hall we might just have enough power for me to help us all get out of here." A light pause. "Or we could just take the jet, but then we might have to leave SHIELDs New Toy."

Chris Redfield has posed:
Redfield looks suspicious then watches the missile. Shaking his head Chris looks unimpressed, "So. City Hall's where from here?" he asks and looks over the desert and city again, circling more and more.Climbing again, Chris spots City Hall and circles over it. He's not going to just land in the midst of....this. Far from it. He's missing a co pilot. Instead...he circles.

Chris is smart, he's not putting himself or his jet in immediate danger, really. Far from it. He's cautious. "What the hell is that horde?" he asks over the radio and shakes the jet, then hovers it above and away from the horde. How he wishes he'd brought a bomb or two.....