Dove felt uncomfortable. As if there was something not quite right. It wasn't the fact that Penny hadn't called yet today. That was technically a good thing. Something or someone was in a state of agony. Pain. Anguish. Something like that, Dove was never good at telling the difference between those. Something that was so powerful, that whenever he scanned the horizon, it filled his vision with feedback. While his semblance was basically useless, and couldn't really see beyond 9 meters, it could still feel a bit further than that. Less of a radar system from that point on and more of a Geiger counter. Just a general feel for where something is coming from. Just incredibly influenced by how strong or weak emotions are, making it essentially pointless for discerning numbers. And currently, something or a bunch of somethings were so negative, it was making it hard for him to even see the full 9 meters. Which was incredibly weird, as there wasn't a single grimm in sight. Creatures that hunt and feed off of negativity, not attracted to so much negativity, that even a Creep could sense it from who knows how far away. That meant one of two things: either the grimm were currently eating the faces of whoever was in despair, or this was a project of Salem's. Or one of her lackey's. Dove really didn't care. And it wasn't likely to be a grimm feeding frenzy, cause the emotions were basically a constant suffering for the last 3 hours he had felt it, without any punctuations from people being hurt. He hunkered down in the snow, burying his arms and belly, leaving only his jagged armor back out of the snow, and focused. The pain wasn't ahead of him. It wasn't to his left or right. Didn't feel anything from behind him. Y-axis. No one looks up. Nothing above him. No Nevermore. Again, strange, only more confirmation to his second theory. That left… below him. Something below him was suffering. Not that it surprised him. Most villages outside major cities had gone or had been underground. Most grimm weren't designed for digging through snow or slush, and the choke points made it quite easy to defend. Against grimm. Fire bombings oven cooked citizens faster than anything else. Well, technically the people inside the bunkers died before they were even burned, but the point stands. Which either meant that the entrance was below him, buried, or it was a distance away, incognito. In order to figure out which one it was, he had to figure out what kind of facility this was. It had to be a facility if it was in the middle of the boonies, probably off most records, and was not interfered with by the grimm. Then again, most scumbags don't keep good records, bar the Atlassians. They kept perfect records of everything. It was actually kind of impressive how accurate the records were. Back to the matter at hand, it meant that it either was something to keep bottled up for long durations of time, or something they opened or closed often. It being a facility didn't knock either entrance method off the list. But the type of facility would. And if it was this concentrated in pain, it either was research, torture, or a prison of some sort. Probably a couple other things but Dove never claimed that he was smart. And if people wanted to receive additional clients, that would mean they would need a consistently easy entrance to find, otherwise the risks of transiting subjects would exponentially rise. Especially since the snow fields looked all the same. Literally. Dove had to go off Penny's word that they had actually left the Mint miles behind them, because all the scenery looked the same. With a quick swig from his canteen, Dove inched forward through the snow, keeping his profile low, and his gaze on the horizon.
"You ever wonder why we're here?"
"Why are we here in this valley, or in life? Because I can already feel you're going for an overused in joke that some people have memorized for the hell of it."
The guard took a drag from his cigarette as he leaned against the door frame. "You got me. Can you blame me though? It's boring as balls out here."
"Hey, they need bodies to do it. And we can avoid being bodies, we'll be the bodies they need."
"I guess so." A clump of ash dropped into the snow. "But don't you wish something interesting would happen, 432?"
"Hell no. Not in a thousand years do I want something like that to happen 437. The Salem shenaniganry is all the excitement I need in my life."
"Normally when one signs their life over to be a storm trooper, they expect to be killed off like a trooper, right? Then where the hell is anyone!"
432's visor-covered face turned to look at his partner. "You asking to be killed?"
"I'm just saying, it's boring."
"You know storm troopers are thought to be the bad guys, right? And are meant to be disposable?"
"Why do you think they gave us numbers?"
432 clicked his tongue. "Fair point."
"What do you think the rest of our series is doing?"
"The 430's?"
"Yeah. We ended up here. Where did the others go?"
"Probably other vaults. We were all security forces guys."
"And girls. 431 and 435 were girls."
432 looked over at 437 in disappointment. "We doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"It's the proverbial end of the world, and you're arguing about me misgendering my own battle buddies?"
"Technically, its not the end of the world for us." Smugly stated 437. "We joined the winning side."
"Eh, true. I guess we did."
437 tossed his cigarette into the snow. "You think people think we're cowards for choosing the winning side?"
"You think?"
"Yeah?"
"Apparently you don't," groaned 432. "Of course they do. They only think of themselves and their 'heroic' sacrifice they'll be able to make against great evil, when its just going to be them ripped apart by animals."
"Grimm."
One beat. Two beats. "What?"
"Grimm. Grimm will rip them apart. Grimm aren't animals."
"Why did they not terminate you in training?"
"Marksmanship scores."
"Fair enough," resigned 432.
"What did you mean by they only think of themselves?"
"Most people don't think about the repercussions it'll have on their family. Sure, you get to die and no longer deal with the consequences, but your family will be saddened, or have a target painted on their back for your rebellion against the higher order."
"What if you hate your family or your family hates you?"
"Family may still have target painted on them. But getting yourself killed by an agent of Salem still doesn't confirm their death if you really hate them."
"You're saying this like you have firsthand experience with the system." Hesitantly stated 437.
"I used the system to kill my ex-wife. She was a piece of work."
"Impressive." 437 checked his watch. "You didn't get in trouble for it?"
"Nope. She was sleeping with some rebellion insurgent or something, so helping firebomb the shelter was a nice change of pace."
"Wasn't she in prison when you joined?"
"Yeah. Was," groaned 432. "Past tense. Ruffians busted the prison to swell their ranks."
"Huh. Weird. Didn't hear about that."
"You don't hear about a lot of things if they don't want you finding out about it."
"Makes sense." 437 checked his pager for messages. "So, is that why you joined?"
"Nope. Joined for my kids."
"Don't think they'll be able to handle the transition to the new government?"
"I mean, most of the nation is in shambles, the scroll network is down, etc." 432 paused, and sighed. "But it's mostly for my son. He just idolized hunters so much, that if I didn't join, he might have been put on a watch list somewhere. Might be on one anyways."
"But if you work your way up the rank, you might be able to protect him."
"Pretty much."
"Don't you have a daughter as well?"
"Yeah. She'll be fine though."
"Don't you think that's a little neglectful of your daughter?"
"You've never met my daughter. She's doing fine. System's practically made for her."
"She takes after her mother?" Fielded 437.
"She takes after her mother, in the right ways. She still has her heart in the right place."
"Good to hear."
"Yep."
437 waited. And lit a new cigarette. And waited. "So, you going to ask me why I chose to join in?"
The answer ripped like a bullet. "No."
"How come? It's only common courtesy to show equal interest back."
"You either wanted some poon, or some booze."
"Ugh," stammered 437, voice laced with disgust. "You really think I'm that base of a creature?"
"We lived in the same hallway for 8 weeks. You knew I had a daughter already. I knew that you were no better than a monkey."
"That's racist."
"Not once have I mentioned race," deadpanned 432.
"You called me no better than a monkey."
"Are you a monkey? Did I call you one?"
"You called me no better than a monkey," said 437 with even more confidence.
"Okay. And?"
"That's racist."
"I'm not getting into this." 432 resumed staring into the horizon. "Sure. I'm racist."
"You're really not going to defend yourself?"
"There's no point." 432 pointed in the opposite direction he was looking. "Just cover that angle. Our job is to keep guard."
"Fine." 437 kneeled down behind his cement barrier. "You're no fun."
"I know."
"Don't sound so smug when you say it."
"Whatever. Just keep an eye out for movement."
