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<p><i>{To all this concerns to: everybody. I'm taking a fucking day off, maybe two. Will post something on Wednesday. No, it doesn't have to do with this story. No, it doesn't mean you solely made me saned to this World when I was fine being perfectly insane. No, I snapped back into sanity and now I have to live seeing all these contradictions in society. No, someone may have tipped me past the breaking point, but they were a long line of fuck-ups waiting to happen. Fuck you all. I'm going to sleep after making my rounds of comments and posting this. Too much shit happened for me to even stay insane as I was before. Dobranoc, I hope everybody gets a good night sleep... This post was made in collaboration with @calluna. No, she didn't do anything bad. No, she was and still is a good person. I've had enough frustration and I'm making sure the entire world knows it... Today's music-aide: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4__MmN53D3o">this slow version of Aeolian Harp</a> by Chopin.}</i></p>
<p><h1>- Robo-mole -</h1></p>
https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmeD2riwCquUDvuAXf5Fg4QyGcbZeKDnbu93em7ReBpjc2/Robo-mole's%20starter.jpg<p>Sketchy sketch by me.</p>
<p><h1>- Starter by @theironfelix -</h1></p></center>
<p>“Chicagoan MP-team 3 reporting in, we’ve closing in on the scene.”</p>
<p><strong>“Roger that Radio-Comms, relaying from HQ to MP-team 3: weapons-grade 3 are permitted on sight. However, usage of explosives are barred on site. City still needs the sewage once we <i>clean up the mess</i> of that runaway chattel.”</strong></p>
<p>“This is Captain Mike here, has the purchaser of that chattel been punished?”</p>
<p><strong>“Give me a moment ... From HQ to Captain Mike: Negative. Purchaser has been acquitted, foul play at hand but a fat stack is being tossed our way.”</strong></p>
<p>“Roger that. Radio-Comms, relay to HQ when we do arrive on site.”</p>
<p>“Aye, aye, Captain.”</p>
<p>Peering away from the military android, the Captain’s eyes strain on the city surrounding the convoy. Through the reinforced glass, all that stood was the broken concrete that sang no song, the fizzling street lamps cracking sparks if the electricity so happen to make a pitstop there, the graffiti which stood defiant to every attempt to bury it under the city colours and decayed trees that could support no more bird nests that would host the background blues and tunes. The city jumped and the convoy yelped, but the bump was felt again and the MPs simmered down as they jeered about shamblers. His mind with great haste joined in with the jeering, the voice-box uttering about their countless deformities, the humorous crooked dances they perform to even function and how their place should be the guinea pigs of society or the dirt below if they accepted it not. The convoy roared and threw more obscenities to one-up their fellowship of anti-shambler word games, but a deafening silence grew and Mike sensed the terror that would soon envelope the convoy.</p>
<p>“<i>Psst</i> - android, why ain’t yah jeering on those shamblers? Them freaks are worse than you, not even good to take your jobs!”</p>
<p>“Captain Mike, I was not built with a humour chip.”</p>
<p>“Heh, sure. You like those shamblers.”</p>
<p>“I am merely a Radio-Comms unit, I serve no other purpose than to relay messages. I only fight when necessary, other human acts are barred from my functions.”</p>
<p>“Spit out the truth before I use you as shambler bait; hell we got charred-skins in there. They sure would like to use you to <i>contact home</i> or something. Crazy lunatics, the disease in their heads made them sick and now they think about all these crazy things will happen and a <i>Void</i> will consume us if we don’t progress. C’mon. Am I supposed to-”</p>
<p>“Captain Mike, those <i>charred-skins</i> are withers and they’ve never been I-D to anyone nor any missing person. They pop out of nowhere and with the foreign gear that we don’t even know how to work out except them. Remember your Field-Grade Officers are still debating, and whatever they say is the word.”</p>
<p>“Heh, fine by me. Still believe that they’re just mutants like those shamblers and they don’t want to admit it. Even so, I find it funny you’d still not at least give a line of dialogue – heh, we’ll see your true loyalties soon. Android scum; be thankful that we let <i>you</i> live because <i>you</i> still have a purpose... No response, good I wouldn’t imagine androids having any human emotions – you scrap metal.”</p>
<p>As the Captain went back with his mouth and voice-box yammering about the next conspiracy theory of the withers’ existence, a transmitter irks a silent click as robotic hands twists a nob. Carefully placed deep into the Radio-Comms robot’s storage, small metal chinks and ruffling echo inside the robot, but vibrate not loud enough for all the others to hear. Ceiling the storage hatch, the Radio-Comms robot begins internally vibrating as a small humming tune bounces inside the body.</p>
<p><i>O sweet ex-humans, how you’re called shamblers. Tortured, maimed, killed and harassed you are; now I must bear witness to your execution. Oh hear my transmission, you poor souls; the MPs are coming and tonight they seek to see every blood cell leave your carcasses! And be kind to your new friends, for they have ran away from a harsh, slaving soul. They know what it means to possess no agency, nor a sense of vulgar freedom in any quantities. The chattel is now being tracked, so please o please keep them safe... Run-away fugitives serve no use to the Government anymore, at least in these times of trouble. So please, run while you still can.</i></p>
<p>The convoy line screeches, the broken concrete moaning in pain as the tire scrapes the rubble and cracking concrete. Doors singing the only tune it knew, and so well it performed the one task as it opened; upon the door announcing the touch-down, boots shake entire convoys as both the boots and convoy sang the fury of thunderous steps. With the last noise of thunder drowning to the night sky, the last boot clicks into formation and so ends the song of steps. As the boots of the Captain squeaks each step, he centers and paces six away from the element; upon the silence of the cool air that only was plagued with the Radio-Comms robot yammering that they’ve reached the incident site, the Captain salutes and the element salutes back with an unquestionable o-rah. So unquestionable ‘twas that it scratched the night air around the entire LZ that it bounced off the buildings and struck their ears with a noise they only could find pleasant. With the Captain’s lips arching, his voice-box prepared only what lusty blood connoisseurs could find as a simple jingle to their ears:</p>
<p>“MP-team 3, carry out the order of execution. All shamblers and withers are to exist no more; their defiance to the <i>Government</i> is unacceptable and their defiance is rewarded with their early descent to Hell! Give these two races of freaks a piece of our mind, our human race shall not be <i>plagued</i> by their diseases nor shall these tricksters convince us of their humanity. All those that hesitate are equally to be executed without hesitation, race traitors are the vilest scum known to the history books of humanity. The real humanity that is. Now go, and let the blood flow tonight! O-rah!”</p>
<p><strong>“O-rah!”</strong></p>
<p>A pair of binoculars eek as the caps are latched on tight to them, a tender hand so quietly reaches for a radio and a click announces its readiness to transmit.</p>
<p>“Alpha-1, our robo-mole was correct. Everything to the last detail, they seem to be company-sized and they have weapons-grade 3 gear... Thankfully we brought ordinance-6 gear to counteract such. Over.”</p>
<p><i>“This is A1-L, I hear yah loud-n-clear! We evacuated all the noncombat withers and ex-humans. Those that remained with us are armed and armoured-up; we got tonight Cal, exfiltrate the robo-mole ASAP. Over.”</i></p>
<p>“Stay safe, Dzerzhinsky, please. Over.”</p>
<p><i>“Can’t make that promise, Cal, but I shall try. Over and out.”</i></p>
<p>“Roger, understood. Over and out.”</p>
<p>A silencer gasps and eeks in enjoyment with each swirl that drives it deeper into the Makarov. Giving a silent click upon being fully installed, her feet take massive strides to the incident site. But no MP could spot what they weren’t told to be aware off, not even the sharp eyes of the Captain who’d been to the dunes of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan would sense any oddity. He had been told by UAVs that the site had been clear and only shamblers shambled about while the withers abused their supposed charred-skin to dodge surveillance except when they stuck out as a sore thumb to the white-film grain. Taking it as a secured site, he issued the whole mess of MPs to enter in the sewer entrance; hearing only a few pebbles dance about the broken concrete, his voice-box gaffed off the concern that his ears picked up. Heading in to check on the MPs, his ears were both stressed and relieved to hear no SOSs were being issued nor tangos being spotted and executed. His Deagle being racked, he head into the tunnels and ventured the grounds the MPs had already covered.</p>
<p>Yet, before the feet of the robot could proceed one step in, the whole body was yanked back and away from the entrance. Before the robot could yank any arm off and then wield the red-rum flow as a blinder while smacking sense into the figure, two hands CQC-hugged the robot. Algorithms going haywire, the robot ceased all calculations and re-evaluated the situation; seeing Cal giving a soldiery embrace, they, the Radio-Comms robot, returned the embrace.</p>
<p>“God-damn Frantz, almost got yourself into a shitshow there~”</p>
<p>“Cal-”</p>
<p>“Frantz, what we would do if we lost you? Every lil’ gear of our Insurrection counts on everyone. An insult to one is an insult to all.”</p>
<p>“Cal, yah would’ve extracted me inside the sewers then.”</p>
<p>“Frantz, please. No more of that talk, remember last time when you almost lost your life because your exfiltration buddy couldn’t do the job right?”</p>
<p>“Cal~ That’s only one peck up, that wasn’t even that much of a bad one at that.”</p>
<p>“I guess you’re right Frantz~ Anyways, let’s regroup with Alpha-1 and aid them as best as we can.”</p>
<p>“That’s a decisive decision I could follow proudly. Now let’s get going.”</p>
<p>Now waiting in front of the thuds of many-hundred boots, one clean rack from the machine gun dares echo inside the tunnel but the noise long dead as it couldn’t compete with the firm cadence of the MP boots. Dzerzhinsky, equipping a SchMs gas-mask and feeling ecstatic with every lil’ noise, then racked a Makarov and heard the bullet ready to fly into a MP corpse. Crushing the cigar before it could make a thud noise and hiss at it being dropped, Dzerzhinsky’s comms instructs the MG-gunners for which their bodies get ready at the helm with firm determination and discipline exuding through their gas-masks. With all things in place, Order was ready to give its wailing cry of Chaos a go as to fix up the illness that long burrowed inside of it.<br><br><center>Insurrectionist Alpha-1 team was ready to hand back all the pains and sorrows exacted by the <i>Government</i> on this night – give an inch, give a mile.</center></p>
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https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmeCRybHaJsvvtb6rVLcrNsgNbErqkgRDKAyzmmkjeLBEt/IMG_2327.jpg<p>Sketch by @calluna</p>
<p><h1>- Closer by @calluna (actually, I'm covering for @calluna here.) -</h1></p></center>
<p>The thick plumes of gas spurted into the tunnel, filling the cavity with a choking smog.</p>
<p>“Now or never.” Dzerzhinsky winked at Cal, this was their fifth attempt, ‘never’ wasn’t an option.</p>
<p>The pop-corn patter of gunfire echoed through the cavern, bouncing off the walls with ricocheted bullets and shrapnel. The sharded rain sliced through the armoured MPs, instantly cowering under the assault.</p>
<p><i>“Where you gone? Hulking shard of scrap metal?”</i></p>
<p>Captain Mike huffing in the dust, the fine powder saturating his lungs, ebbing his breath away from him. Scrambling, his pulled his SchMs mask from his pack, ramming the thing over his clammy, dirty face. Through the dusty haze, he could make out his MP unit, desperately clawing at their packs, attempting to do the same. He had been well prepared for everything he’d been briefed on, and like all those who complacently rely on the infallibility of technology, for nothing else at all. It was a pure stroke of luck the unit even had their masks. Or at least, he thought it was.</p>
<p>Deep within the tunnel, the ground began to shift. The distance crash of boulders rang down the passage, echoing over the unconscious bodies of the captains slower men. Dzerzhinsky and Cal held the entrance, Dzerzhinsky shouting in to the chaos, adding volume to its writing slice through order.</p>
<p>“How we looking in there Cap’n?”</p>
<p>Cal met excited eyes, framed behind a clear plastic spheres of Dzerzhinsky’s mask. For long moments, the silence they hoped for seemed to rush out in response.</p>
<p>“Got some kinda booby trap going off, roll the front line forward, this could be a trap.”</p>
<p>She smirked, matching the glee sparkling back at her. It was go time. Every shambler, every wither, that was still in the area, had a part to play. The charred-skin creatures, slunk through the shadows, taking position in the tributary tunnels. The mutants, not every mutation a disadvantage, knew the risk they took was the greatest. They had said goodbye to their families, stashed their children away in the hills beyond, and here, on Dzerzhinsky’s mark, they’d make their stand.</p>
<p>The wall shuddered, as Captain Mike wove between his units, repositioning the MP grunts to form a protective circle around him.</p>
<p><strong>“Unit, forward advance!”</strong></p>
<p>They were going in. Mike had never been a man for quitting, once he commited, he commited. He’d wiped out an entire community of shamblers after one had got their over-fingered hands on a large M5 gun, knocked out his inbound convoy. He’d run through that place like blood through water, not leaving a single abomination alive; he wouldn’t back down now. But Dzerzhinsky had been counting on that, the captain’s reputation had proceeded him as the man who got the job done; that was why Cal had pushed for it, they had to stop him.</p>
<p>There was a foreboding sense growing between them, teasing the senses with the passing of seconds. The trigger point couldn’t be much further down the tunnel, the shuffling boots of a half nervous, half pumped up MP would touch it any moment.</p>
<p>“Cal, it’s going to work.”</p>
<p>She looked at Dzerzhinsky; something about the resonating, deep voice didn’t match the soft, gentle face, yet she found that somehow comforting. Frantz stood between them, scanners piercing through the murkiness; a quiet round of beeps passed through the circuitry.</p>
<p><i>“Approximately 3 seconds until trigger point is reached.”</i></p>
<p>With the last word, the sun was covered by the air; for the held a thick and black clammy cloy and let it permeate throughout the tunnel, engulfing them as it spilled over the hill.</p>
<p>“Dzerzhinsky?”</p>
<p>Just one time, Cal found herself cursing, just one time would you promise to be okay.</p>
<p>“Gotcha!”</p>
<p>She felt a hand touch her back, following by another, and another, until she was being guiding through the heavy darkness. She tried to fight her repulsion; she had friends who were withers, she knew there was nothing wrong with them, but something about the cracked, blackened skin, pitted with gorges and furrows, always repelled her.</p>
<p><strong>“Unit, Fire!”</strong></p>
<p>The Captain’s orders hammered through the tunnel, rushing towards them as faint pops of light sparked in the darkness. Cal’s ears, despite being drowned under the noise of whizzing bullets and thunder of gunfire, heard a cackle. Dzerzhinsky’s fingers pulled a bullet from a loaded mag, taking great care to flash it in her eyes.</p>
<p>“My dear, bullets wouldn’t help them now. May they become like dust before the wind; may Fortuna pursue them.”</p>
<p>The vastness of the void puffed through the tunnel like a giant sea slug, sinking into every crack with it determined advance. Now, only the groans and moans of the wretched of the Earth echoes through the night and the tunnels. Upon the clicking that vibrates from the gun to the stone of the tunnels, do the breathes reclaim the noise. One hoard calling shakes the tunnel, only blood and some guts are left that preserves the memory of the wicked. That was until the sewer rats came along and their tongues and teeth cleansed the sewers back to their standards.</p>
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