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Sara sighs . With a heavy heart, and slowed movements, she turns to Aaron, "Did you think them safe before?"

A long pause to allow him to think, then, "What part of feeling safe, makes you safe?"

"Not needing to hide..." he finally answers.

After a heartbeat that lasts a lifetime, she slothily turns her head towards his family "Who will give their life to keep them safe?" As the answers strike his heart, "Safety is an illusion we tell ourselves to not have to face the reality of pain. Their realities of safety are already shattered, they will never feel safe again until they know they can go down fighting. Look into their eyes. Really look into their eyes. You may be afraid of losing them, they are already lost in the fear and the only way out is for them to fight. Not to win, to know they can fight."

"Uh huh, so, are you asking them to come with and fight as well? If so, then I'm afraid I can't let them do that." Aaron frowns.

"The dragon doesn't hunt itself for sport of food unless there is nothing left. Bandits do not hunt those that hunt back." Looking at the oldest women who stepped forward. "Do you wish to hunt back?"

"Yes, but only if the youngin's are back to relative safety, ma'am." She replies, with stringy blonde hair and a pretty young face, accentuated by the brightest blue eyes, that both of her children inherited.

"No!" Aaron growls, "Take the jeep and drive to safety." He turns to Sara, "She's recruiting to save the town. I'm enlisting so that YOU don't have to," then in a low voice, "There... you made your point. I'll fight for them. What do you have for me and where are we going first?"

"The point is lost if you think anyone can protect your children. Fear overrides all for the little ones."

Her tone and voice change to a natural cadence like talking to a familiar face. As she finishes her preparations, she points in the direction of Camp Wilson, "it took me about an hour to get here from Camp Wilson. They're cleaning up from an undead incursion but they will be your best bet for *inhale* 'safety'. It will take you a few more hours driving IF (she will emphasis that if)...well, there are maanny factors there. Gas, bandits, undead, DB's, dragons, it doesn't break down...but that (breath) 'safety' (pause) is there at the end(breath) IF (pause) you make it."

She mounts her bike

"I DON'T recruit. I can't protect. I will help. I willl teach. I work with."

She starts the engine

Their choice will not bother her either way.

"You can fight bandits or you can fight for them, but you can't do both apart.
It takes a special kind of bravery and stupidity to do it alone. At least with mine, it is only me!"

She starts her bike. She acts and speaks with a practiced ease. She has no ill will towards them. She is not frustrated or angry or sad. She is not devoid of emotion but she is not exoending mental energy on something outside her control. She planted some seeds. She made her point. In the end, their deaths, today, tomorrow or in 50 years doesnt matter.

"Which way WERE your neighbors" This is spoken as more of a command and not question with the hint of a Please.

"The point is lost if you think anyone can protect your children. Fear overrides all for the little ones."

"Eh, they aren't trained or equipped to fight... There isn't enough time to teach them." Aaron argues.

Her tone and voice change to a natural cadence like talking to a familiar face. As she finishes her preparations, she points in the direction of Camp Wilson, "It took me about an hour to get here from Camp Wilson. They're cleaning up from an undead incursion but they will be your best bet for," Sara takes an exaggerated breath, "'Safety'. It will take you a few more hours driving IF... Well, there are maanny factors there. Gas, bandits, undead, d-bees, dragons, it doesn't break down...but that," another long breath, "'Safety'... is there at the end," another long pause to breathe, "IF... you make it."

She mounts her bike, "I DON'T recruit. I can't protect. I will help. I will teach. I work with," and starts the engine. Their choice will not bother her either way. "You can fight bandits or you can fight for them, but you can't do both apart. It takes a special kind of bravery and stupidity to do it alone. At least with mine, it is only me!"

She acts and speaks with a practiced ease. She has no ill will towards them. She is not frustrated or angry or sad. She is not devoid of emotion but she is not expending mental energy on something outside her control. She planted some seeds. She made her point. In the end, their deaths, today, tomorrow or in 50 years doesn't matter. "Which way WERE your neighbors?" This is spoken as more of a command and not question with the hint of a 'please'.

"In town," the woman replies, "We ran and somehow they didn't see us. I'm sure they killed everyone."

Aaron motions for his wife to approach as he notices the damaged armor and the rocket launcher. He turns to his wife, "Mel, take the kids to Camp Wilson. It's to the east by northeast, I've been there a few times and the road isn't too bumpy. Let the law know that they may head that way next," as he scoops out some of the gore from the armor that looks to fit the best.

"Ma'am. I'm coming with you. I have combat training, but never actually used it. Best to not let it go to waste. If you'll have me..."

"If they can listen and obey, they'll make better soldiers than most."

"You are free to come, but I want an answer first. If something happens to them on their way to Camp Wilson, what will it do to you?"
She crosses her hands over the seat in front of her and looks down at him.
"I will not promise you will see them again, but I will promise a chance to bring justice to those wronged. If you try that stupidity with me you will find yourself alone. I need someone with a clear head and focused on the task at hand not worrying about anything outside their control. Can you do that? Can you push them to the back of your mind?"

"If they can listen and obey, they'll make better soldiers than most. You are free to come, but I want an answer first. If something happens to them on their way to Camp Wilson, what will it do to you?" She crosses her hands over the seat in front of her and looks down at him.

"It'd crush me." Aaron replies, realization of what she's implying crosses his face.

"I will not promise you will see them again, but I will promise a chance to bring justice to those wronged. If you try that stupidity with me you will find yourself alone. I need someone with a clear head and focused on the task at hand not worrying about anything outside their control. Can you do that? Can you push them to the back of your mind?"

“How about this? I take them to Camp Wilson, grab a posse, and come back with reinforcements.” His tone shifts to something like hope cracking through fear. “At least then I know they’re safe... and we can make these monsters pay for their crimes.”

His wife moves quickly, gathering their children, hands trembling but determined. The way she shields them with her body, the way the kids cling to her seems to pick at her more than it should. It feels like she’s not seeing them.

Instead, she’s seeing Chuck. He was a young boy she’d taken in. The one who shadowed her steps, tried to mimic her grit, tried to be useful, but was always scared, apprehensive and worried more about losing Sara than anything else. At first he was a burden, being too small, too scared, too breakable. But over time, he’d grown into something else. Always helpful, loyal. Almost like family.

Then El Paso happened and Chuck vanished. No trace, footprint or even a rumor of him. She’d searched where she could, but bounty work swallowed every spare moment. Every instinct screamed to go find him, but the mission always came first. It had to.

So why now? Now that she’s found Kryyn, why does that old ache flare again? Why does the sight of this man, this woman, their terrified children make her chest tighten? Their desperation mirrors Chuck’s. Their fear mirrors his. Their hope is fragile, flickering and feels exactly like the way he used to look at her.

The flashback snaps forward, returning her to the present, but the weight of it lingers like dust on her armor. Where did Chuck disappear to and why does it suddenly feel like the past is riding hard to catch up with her?

With the sign of duty she pushes the memory of Chuck to the back of her mind.

Distractions kill!

"Do what you must, raise your posse and head back. I will forge ahead.

Now, where was the last place you saw vermin last?"

With the sign of duty she pushes the memory of Chuck to the back of her mind because distractions kill! "Do what you must, raise your posse and head back. I will forge ahead. Now, where was the last place you saw these vermin?"

"Most of them are in town, killing people. But there is a small group to the east, scouting for reinforcements coming to help the town. Everyone knows that Camp Wilson is protected and has the backing of the Coalition States. They're waiting to ambush anyone coming or leaving..." Aaron pats the jeep, but with this beauty, we should be able to blow through their lines.

This brings up the obvious; did they notice Sara approaching on the hovercycle? They aren't particularly loud but loud enough, but they do kick up quite a bit of dust.

Mel begins loading the kids into the jeep, telling them to keep out of eyesight as Aaron examines the engineering of the LAW, noticing the safety and the trigger, but seems confused how to reload it. Finally, he just sighs, "I'll figure it out... I have to..."

OOC: Continuing on!

The convoy rolls out with Mel at the wheel, Aaron braced behind the rocket launcher while Sara pushes ahead alone, scanning every horizon line for movement. The air feels wrong as it's too still and expectant.

She climbs a plateau in silence. At the summit, she kills her engine early, letting the hoverbike settle behind her. Dust would give her away. Noise would give her away. She moves forward on foot, boots sinking into the dry, crunchy earth, until she reaches the cliff’s edge.

Drive City lies below. From this height, it looks almost peaceful like a model town arranged by careful hands. A few streets, a scattering of buildings, one tall structure rising like a spine in the center. But the illusion breaks quickly. Movement gathers along the main street.

Sara narrows her eyes for a clearer view as dozens of armed men swarm the town, corralling civilians into tight clusters. Their vehicles form a jagged semi‑circle of hovercycles, jump bikes, weapon‑mounted jeeps, an APC, and several pickup trucks rebuilt into crude war machines. Engines idle like beasts waiting to feed.

Inside the ring, the bandits work with mechanical efficiency. They drag townsfolk from homes and storefronts. They execute anyone who resists. Bodies lie piled near the saloon, consisting of men, women, children, even pets. The wind shifts, carrying the metallic scent of blood up the cliff face.

Near the center of the street, one man stands apart. Their leader, perhaps?. His armor is darker, heavier. His posture radiates ownership. He holds a young girl by the arm, no older than ten; her face streaked with tears and dust.

Sara strains to hear, as he shouts, barely audible, “I will execute one person every five minutes unless Mr. Armin Jackson is brought to me.” He raises a pistol as the girl’s cry fractures into a single, desperate note. The shot echoes across the plateau as her body drops sideways, small and fragile, like a toy discarded by a cruel hand.

The bandits barely react. Some watch. Some don’t bother. A second perimeter of armed men guards the street’s edges. A third group patrols the outskirts of town.

Sara scans the cliffside to find no sentries or lookouts. They didn’t think to check above. They didn’t think anyone would be brave enough to stick around.

Sara will start a timer, 4:30.

She will begin scanning the area for an ideal shooting position, and then a second less ideal one but still good. That will be her sniper nest. She will take a mirror or any other shinny object and get ready to set it up in the first spot. That should give her a few shots off before they discover the direction of her attacks.

She will replay the landscape she past in her mind identifying fall back positions.

Tick tick tick, she must work quick.


She will quickly analyze the vehicles and equipment looking for anything that will cause an explosion/distraction/disablement.

Tick tick tick

Sara sets her timer: 4:30.

Sara steps back, observing the immediate and intermediate area for ideal spotting and sniping posts. She locates three incredibly good spots and one moderate location that she declares to be her sniper nest.

She produces her mirrored sunglasses and sets them up along her first spot. That should give her a few shots off before they discover the direction of her attacks. She mentally replays the landscape behind her, cataloguing fall back positions.

Tick tick tick, she must work quick.

She drops into analysis mode, scanning the convoy like a surgeon preparing for triage.
Hovercycles - six of them, light frames, volatile fuel cells.
Jump bikes - three, unpredictable recoil, easy to topple.
Two jeeps with .30‑cal machine guns - loud, messy, dangerous.
Two jeeps with WI‑GL 4 grenade launchers - very dangerous.
One Big Boss with a mounted flamethrower - catastrophic if ignited.
Eight rusted pickups converted for combat, each with mounted guns

Besides the men in or on the vehicles, she counts roughly thirty armed men on main street. There are another dozen walking the streets and maybe a dozen more patrolling the perimeter.

She sees the grenade launchers on two of the jeeps, next to them are reloads in a crate...

The leader slowly rotates, waiting for someone to answer as a woman is unwillingly escorted by two burly men towards the leader...