The site of the crash is an ungainly thing, strewn with wreckage and debris. The earth, grudgingly acquiescing to the force of re-entry, is unsteady beneath them. The transport makes an unexpected dip to the left, and several resistance soldiers scramble to keep it upright while the driver hurriedly throws it in reverse, wheels spitting sand over the edge of the crater.
She watches from just to the side, her attention drawn to the noise more than anything else.
'For such a busy place' She thinks. 'It is awfully quiet.'
The howling of the wind above their heads seems to be the most palpable thing at present, the truck notwithstanding. The sun had set hours ago, and the harsh light of halogen lamps flooded the inside of the crash site.
Wire fences, rolled out from spools like chicken wire, circled what of the crash site that couldn't have a patrol stationed next to it. Ciel almost felt like some sort of prisoner, trapped behind the gleaming silver and under blinding white, and the dust in her shoe was beginning to turn into mud.
She shifted uncomfortably on her heels as the excavation team made away with another chunk of valuable metal, lifting it from the ground on the blocky feet of outdated exoskeletons, whose crude fingers dug painfully into the flesh of the salvaged alloy.
For the sake of professionalism, they were taking this step by step. From the outside in, very carefully picking and choosing what was and wasn't important, and taping off what was either suspect or altogether unidentified.
The gloves feel thick and stiff over her hands, starched by years of grime and dust, unwilling to respond. The small utility belt sags over her hip, and the unfeeling fingers grab it and tighten it almost without her noticing. Cerveau enters her peripheral vision, looking at her through his visor. He gestures for her to follow, and together they look into the dent that the salvaged chunk had left behind.
A cracked helmet lay abandoned in the dirt, and mismatched footprints fade in the face of the fierce wind.