"Look at this place, what a dump!" Striker ranted, his voice echoing in the dark room. Entering through the door Gipsy, Crimson and Cherno looked about with interest.
Their new landlady, Miss Leora, the one who had driven them from Afterlife, had left to give them some room to explore their new home. It wasn't so bad. In fact the worst part had been trying to squeeze them all in the skycar. As it turned out Cherno was not claustrophobic, thankfully, but being squished in between him and Crimson in the back seat was hardly better. In fact how they had all fit into that tiny skycar was a miracle of itself. And why did Striker get the front seat? Oh right, his Angel Wings. The seat fit just perfectly in between them. Well, at least he'd stopped complaining for the ten minute ride to the apartment complex owned by said landlady.
After a careful extraction from the back seat, they'd been taken to what can best be described as the basement. But it was a good basement, Gipsy reflected, as they investigated the place.
It appeared to be an old safe house with thick walls, strong doors and the odd bullet hole here and there. It had five rooms, mostly unfurnished. Or rather four rooms, the living room and the kitchen were connected with only a long counter separating them. Then there were three doors on the right side looking in from the door. Two led into bedrooms while the last opened into a rough industrial bathroom. There were no windows, and when Crimson activated the lights the dull grey walls vaguely reminded Gipsy of the Shatterdome. In fact, it sort of added a homely feel to the bleak apartment.
She could learn to like it here.
There was no indication of anyone previously living here and a thick layer of dust covered everything. But there was some furniture, old and forgotten. A large couch in the living room, two beds, one for each bedroom, and the kitchen was stocked with the most basic of cookware, for whatever good it would do them. There was also a gun locker in one of the bedrooms protected by heavy encryption, if what Crimson said was true.
As she examined one of the mouldy sheets on the bed, Gipsy couldn't help but marvel at Crimson's amazing insta-learn skill. Seriously, one read through of any manual and he could do things like a pro. Except for somethings, like hacking, which he said would come with time and practise. With that in mind, Crimson would be a master in a matter of days. Cherno, maybe a few weeks. Gipsy, as soon as she could gleam something from the first few pages other than 'it was hard.' Striker, probably never, as he never even cared to open the manual.
"Not bad," said Crimson when they all gathered in the living room. "It's not the best but it's certainly not the worst."
"Not the worst he said," Striker snorted, falling back onto the couch which promptly collapsed under his weight.
"But I've been wrong before," Crimson admitted, looking down in morbid fascination as Striker picked himself up amidst loads of swearing and clouds of dust.
"When?" Gipsy asked, offering Striker a hand up which he begrudgingly accepted.
Crimson's eye darkened as he considered it. In only a few hours since they'd... woken up they'd decimated an entire company of Krogan, signed a contract with the most powerful gangster on Omega and were now employed by her for free lodgings. And in all that time nothing he'd told them had ever been wrong.
"I don't know," he said at last. Maybe it was just a saying he'd picked up from his pilots. "But now that we aren't under attack or otherwise occupied do you think we could talk about all... this?"
Cherno rumbled out a question.
"Well, this!" Crimson exclaimed, spreading all three of his arms to include everything around them. "How did we get here? Why are we here?"
"And why have we shrunk," Striker added.
"Yes, that too," Crimson nodded, lowering his arms and crossing them over his chest. "So far all we know is that we died fighting Kaiju and then ended up here. There must be more to it then that."
Cherno warbled sadly.
The Chinese Jaeger shook his head. "No, I don't think there is any way for us to get home. And besides, I prefer being alive, despite how impossible it is." He threw his arms out again. "I mean, how is all this possible? We're Jaegers! We have pilots! We're not suppose to think for ourselves!"
"So," Gipsy said slowly, "you don't want us to be alive?"
"Of course not!" Crimson replied, sounding a tad offended. "I'm loving this, but... it makes no sense. And this isn't even the future of our world. You read the codex with me, right?"
"Yeah, you practically shoved it down our throats," Striker grumbled.
"First, you don't have a throat. Second, there was no Breach," Crimson continued, "which means no Kaiju which means no us. I mean, the history in the codex about humanity is the exact same up until 2013. In our... world the Kaiju attack and everything happens the way we remember it. Here, everything continued as normal up until Prothean ruins were discovered on Mars. So this, basically, is not even our home dimension if what I believe is correct. But... how?"
There was silence, broken only be the creaking of their armor as they shifted on their feet. He was right. It didn't make sense.
"But," Gipsy spoke up after a minute, "didn't they say that the Breach was a breach in dimensions? Maybe we-"
"Slipped through a gap," Crimson interrupted, stroking the lower rim of his single eye like one would their chin. "It's possible. From what we knew the Breach connected two dimensions and maybe, maybe, their was a gap in the connection that..." He shook his head. "But that makes even less sense. None of us even got inside the Breach to make it happen."
"I did."
They all turned to look at Gipsy who seemed to shrink under their stares.
"I fell into the Breach," she elaborated, voice shrinking as the painful memory returned, "ridding the signal of a dead Kaiju and... detonated my core." She fingered the outside of her glowing turbine, feeling it tingle beneath them.
"Ouch," Striker grunted.
"But that doesn't answer anything. No offence," Crimson continued, giving Gipsy an apologetic nod. "You closed the Breach, so this shouldn't be possible. Even if we did go through it into another dimension we should have just ended up... there, where the Kaiju come from."
Shrugging, he said, "but I suppose it does us little good worrying about it. The most important thing is here and now. Power, for instance."
He motioned to Gipsy and Cherno. "How are your Cores feeling?"
"Fine," Gipsy reported while Cherno warbled in agreement.
"Good, you were meant to run for years without a refuel, so that's one problem taken care of. As for us..." He motioned to himself and Striker. "Our Cores aren't nuclear so I don't believe fuel will be an issue for any of us. Well, for a while anyway."
"Alright," Gipsy nodded. "So what now? We got a place to stay, as dirty as it is."
"I'm glad you asked," Crimson replied, activating his omni-tool and flicking through it. "Right, everyone turn on yours and go to the finances tab."
When they had done so and Crimson had pooled together all the credits found within they came up with a quite impressive amount of over fifty thousand credits. It seemed that the Blue Suns they'd taken these from had been in their fair share of drug deals and extortion rackets.
"Well, that sets us on the right track," Crimson grinned, his single eye brightening, opening up a new tab on his omni-tool. "I have composed a list of everything we need for our continuing operation. The room is now taken care of, though I think we need some sort of heavy duty duster to clean it up along with other cleaning supplies. On top of that there are some primary items we need. Coolant, for one and an advanced mech maintenance kit are what I would consider top priority."
He looked up at Gipsy. "Did Aria say when we were needed?"
"No," she replied, "just to be ready when she calls."
"That gives us plenty of time then." He tapped his omni-tool and Gipsy's device pinged as a message was received.
"What's this?" she asked, opening the message.
"Your end of the list," Crimson replied. "I've searched through Omega and found only a few places that offer the more advanced stuff I'm looking for. The less vital stuff is available in the markets. So, I suggest we split into teams. Cherno and I will get the more important articles and you and Striker can get the other stuff."
"Alright," said Striker. "Go there, get the stuff, get home. How hard could it be?"
-LineBreak-
"Alright, this is a bit harder than I thought," Striker admitted, looking about at the dozens of shops. Beside him, Gipsy nodded.
After Crimson had detailed their little outing into the underbelly of Omega to search for the necessary items, they had taken a skycar from the terminal outside the apartment complex, after a quick briefing of operation from Crimson, and headed off to one of the markets. Thankfully, a different one than where they had pulverized those Blood Pack earlier. But it seemed that what Kriln said was right, news spread fast on Omega. While some took the advice to "stay away from the big mechs" others threw the messengers out the window and ignored it completely. Hence the three, rather unfortunate Batarians who they had been forced to "disarm" when they landed.
While that had relived most of the stress built up over having to spend twenty minutes in the cramped skycar with Striker it didn't help to quell her nervousness as they walked into the busiest days that the market had ever seen. It was far busier than the first, with groups of aliens left and right, mercs hanging around in the dark corners and drunks and stoners staggering home from the bars, all hurrying about like ants. And they cast wary glances at the Jaegers, standing in the middle of the chaos like an island with a good five feet of empty space between them and the crowd.
They didn't mind that, but they were thrown off when they learned that there were almost twenty shops that claimed to sell the things that they needed but actually didn't for outrageous prices. There were a few places Crimson had recommended but he completely forgot to mention where the hell they were.
So there they were, after about an hour of searching, standing outside a place called "Mechz and Haxz" run by a rather sleazy looking Elcor, if such a thing was possible. Behind the counter were the weakest pieces of crap Gipsy had ever seen. It looked like someone had taken Coyote Tango, taken away most of his armor, lost the mortars on his back, painted him white and red and gave him a puny pistol. It made her sick just to look at them and even Striker admitted they looked like shit. She could probably go up and tear one apart with her bare hands. And the Elcor reminded her too much of Leatherback for her tastes.
But, the shop had the most chance of having the items that were looking for, cleaning supplies mostly and some cleaning formula able to get in a mechs joints and clean them without damaging anything.
"Well," Gipsy said, sucking in air through her vents to cool the heat she'd felt building there for the past few hours. "Lets do this." With that, she started walking confident strides towards the shop with Striker following behind.
When they reached the counter, the Elcor had his back to them, staring at some screen embed in the wall. So, seeing no other way of getting his attention, Gipsy slapped her hand on the metal counter, making a dent inches deep.
"We're not paying for that, agreed?" Striker said as the Elcor jumped at the noise and turned, taking in the Jaegers with gleaming eyes.
Then it spoke in a dull monotone. "Excitedly: Are you for sale?"
"What?!" Gipsy stiffened, fists clenching as the Elcor continued, oblivious to the fact that he'd just waded into dangerous waters.
"Excitedly: Command override 3387, identify owners."
"The only owners we have are ourselves, wanker!" Striker exclaimed, shoving Gipsy aside and leaning over the counter to get in the alien's face. "And if you try that override shit stuff again I'm gonna pound your face into the ground!"
"Curiously: Why, did it work?"
"No!"
"With disappointment: Aww."
Having enough of the shopkeeper's insistence on buy them, Striker reached out and grabbed the Elcor under its massive chin and pulled it's head over the counter with ease.
"Now listen here," he growled in the alien's face, "I'm in a bad mood and we got stuff to get. Do you have it or not?"
"Alarmed: What are the strength rating on your servos?"
"Strong enough to crush your skull like an egg," Striker replied. "Now, we need a... a... hmm."
He looked over his shoulder to Gipsy. "What was it we needed again?"
Sighing, she opened her omni-tool and selected the list Crimson had given them. "A standard industrial cleaning kit for mechs with an above average sensitivity."
"Yeah, that," Striker nodded before gripping both sides of the Elcor's head and pulled them closer so it's breath condensed on his visor. "So, you got or not?" he asked, adding just a little bit of squeeze to his hold.
"Panicky placating: I think there's one in the back... Humbly: Please let me go."
Giving him one last glare, Striker released him and the Elcor jerked back before retreating to a door in the back of the shop and disappeared inside.
"That... could have gone better," Gipsy said over the radio, glancing at the door.
"Meh, it felt good though," Striker shrugged, leaning against the counter.
They stood like that for a while watching the shoppers go by, meanwhile thuds and bangs came from the back room.
"Sorry."
Gipsy straightened, slowing looking over to Striker as he slumped against the counter. In fact it looked like he was sulking.
"What?" she asked.
"Sorry," he repeated, looking away. "About Yancy, I mean. I've never had a pilot, ya' know, die on me. So just... sorry. Insulting you like that was just low."
"You," Gipsy gawked, "saying sorry?"
"It won't happen again, trust me," he grumbled. "But... what did it feel like. Having him... ya' know." He motioned upward vaguely.
"Like something you can't imagine," she said softly, shaking her head sadly. "I wasn't... alive yet, so... Raleigh and Yancy, they were all I had. I saw through them, I remember things they knew... they were all I was."
"Amen to that," Striker nodded. "Herc and Chuck, when they were in my conn-pod... they were me."
"Yeah, two parts of a whole. And when he died..." She shivered. "It was like part of me vanished in heartbeat. It was there... then it wasn't. Half of me... died."
Her vents let out a choked cough. "And I could feel it all. I felt him die as that... bastard took chunks out of me. It was more painful than overloading my core, I swear."
Before the conversation could go on, the back door opened and out walked the Elcor pushing a trolly with a large box on it.
"Business-like: One industrial cleaning kit generation 4 version 8," it said, pushing the trolly through a hole in the counter. "All yours for a mere five thousand credits."
It was then Gipsy was glad she'd taken Crimson's instructions to heart, easily transferring the credits with an easy wave of her omni-tool.
"Looks alright," Striker said, prying open the box and peering inside.
"Offended: I offer only the best products available for mech maintenance."
"Including this stuff?" Striker reached inside and pulled out a small packet of red sand like powder.
The Elcor shuffled it's feet nervously as Striker waved it in his face. "What's this then, eh?"
"Reluctantly: A side business."
"Whatever." Dropping the packet at it's feet, Striker went, closed up the box and picked it up with ease. As they made to walk away, they heard the Elcor speak up again.
"Curiously: I have not seen mechs like you before. Suspiciously: Are you Geth?"
Scoffing, Striker turned and, walking backwards, said, "those walking flashlights? We're Jaegers. Get it right, wanker!"
"Well that went better than I expected," said Gipsy as they walked away.
"Could have been better," Striker muttered, hefting the box in his grip. "I didn't get to do PTR. It's funner that way."
"PTR?"
"Punch To Reset. Works best if delivered in the face, but there are some other places that work just as well."
"Heh. I'll have to remember that for when your being an ass."
His head twisted sharply to face her. "Hey!"
"It's true. You are an ass most of the time."
"I said sorry, didn't I?"
"Right. But you said it wouldn't happen again, remember?"
"Shut up."
They walking in silence for bit, parting the crowd like the red sea as they searched for another shop that Crimson had directly recommended. Then, after picking up what the shopkeeper promised was a modern duster on pain of PTR, they started heading back to the skycar terminal. Then something in a vender's wares caught Gipsy's visor and she stopped.
"What's the hold up?" Striker asked, turning back to look at her from a few paces ahead.
"Deja vu... I think," she replied, glancing at him then back to to what she'd seen.
"Is it contagious?"
"I don't know."
"Well whatever it is I don't wanna catch it, lets go," he said, adjusting his load and stalking back. "What are you looking at anyway?"
"That." She took her hand off the handle for the "duster," which she pulled behind her like a little red wagon, and pointed at the object. As Striker saw it his visor brightened.
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
It was like watching a kids eye the largest lollipop in the candy store, only the kids were two ton fighting machines, at the most
"How much do we have left?" Striker asked, visor never leaving object.
"Around fifteen thousand credits," Gipsy replied.
"Think it's enough?"
"I think so."
"We should get it."
"We should."
-LineBreak-
"What is this?" Crimson exclaimed, pointing at the object on the wall.
"Nebula V8 Generation 5," Striker replied from the broken couch where he and Gipsy sat, happily watching the screen. "One of the latest and best modern telescreens to date."
"Holoscreen," Gipsy corrected. "It's like one of those old TVs."
"Whatever."
Crimson could only sigh and shake his head at the overly large hologram that now covered the wall, projected by a little, rather banged up box on the floor, connected to a power outlet in the wall.
"Where did you even find it?" he asked curiously.
"Some guy in the market wanted to get rid of it," Striker replied causally. "No one seemed to want it though. Most took one look and ran the other way."
"I can only guess why," Crimson muttered dryly, eyeing the crud Blood Pack symbol painted on the projector.
"Yeah, neither could we," the Australian continued. "So we go up to this guy and ask how much. And guess what, he said he doesn't cater to mechs. So we talked and ended up getting the PTR discount."
"You stole it?!"
"No, we just got it for free. You see he was lucid enough to tell us to just take and get out."
"Is he still alive?"
"How should I know?"
"You are the one who punched him."
"No, that was Gipsy."
"Really?" the red Jaeger looked down to Gipsy who kept her visor focused on the screen.
"I still think I hit him too hard," she mumbled.
"Naw, that was perfect!" Striker chuckled, slapping her on the back with a loud clang.
"What happened?" Crimson sighed, crossing his arms.
"Well long story short, he ended up calling her a metal fuck toy. Enough said."
"I see," Crimson said. "Well at least it was free."
"Yeah, came with a free subscription too. Just had to plug it in and it worked like a charm. Almost ten thousand channels."
"Free subscription?"
"Yep. Krogan/Asari lifetime. Almost brand new too."
"That's nice," Crimson nodded, resting his hands on the back of the couch and leaning on it, earning a creak from the already broken piece of furniture. "What are you watching?"
"Dunno. It was on channel one thousand nine hundred and twenty three and I was tired of hitting the button."
"It's a cartoon."
"So?"
"Nothing, its just... what is that suppose to be?"
"Don't know," Gipsy replied. "Its based on some kind of ancient creature that existed in the time of the Protheans. And Prothy the Prothean just stole it's magic orb from the temple. Oh look, now it's chasing him."
"Heh, I can run faster then that," Striker scoffed. "And look at his tiny legs. Hilarious."
"I see," Crimson said, pushing off the couch. "Anyway, Cherno is just unloading the stuff from the skycar and we need your help carrying it in."
The next half hour was filled with heavy boxes, whining servos, whining Strikers and those weird futuristic packing peanuts that filled the boxes. When they had finally gotten the last one inside it was that wild excitement that came with opening presents only with... limited excitement.
The stuff Crimson and Cherno had acquired was far more specialized and singular then what Gipsy and Striker had found, besides the holosrcreen (HS). That included a number of small specialized tools and a welder for whatever repairs they might need. There was also a smaller box that he kept closed, saying it would come in handy later. Then Crimson started looking through the cleaning kit they'd picked up, finding three more of the weird packets of red sand among the various bottles, cans of polish and brushes. They had no idea what the packets were so they just threw them by the HS until Crimson could look them up. But in all, Crimson was satisfied with the kit. When they got to the duster, however...
"What is that?!" Crimson asked horrified as he pointed at the device.
"It's a duster," Gipsy replied, giving the piece of machinery a fond pat.
"That's not a duster!" Crimson insisted. "That's an air compressor with a nozzle!"
"He said they did the same thing!"
In the end though it didn't really matter. Once Crimson had found the controls for the vents in the rooms and started up the fans on reverse the air compressor proved to be a big help, sending all the dust a flying and allowing the vents to suck it all up. Easy... right?
"How the hell did that happen?" Striker scratched the top of his head, gawking at the opening to the vent.
As it turned out, the bedroom vents had been without their coverings for quite some time. So when Gipsy came in, carrying the air compressor like a flame thrower, the moldy sheet had somehow flew up and got caught in the whirring fan. Problem was it was tangled up so much they couldn't just yank it loose without tearing out the fan.
"Well," Crimson said, activating one of his buzzsaws. "Does anyone else have better idea?"
Surprisingly it was Cherno who answered with a loud rumble before leaning back, aiming his Incinerator Turbines at the offending piece of fabric.
It was probably a good thing that the place lacked any fire alarms, less so that it didn't have a proper fire extinguisher. In the end they decided that easiest way to put out the blaze that had spread to the bed itself was to just shut the door and let it burn itself out. So, while Cherno stood by the door, periodically checking inside and letting out copious amounts of smoke, the remaining three tackled the bathroom, cleaning it and installing some upgrades Crimson had gotten for the shower. It was then they got another unpleasant surprise.
"This... is not what I ordered," Crimson growled. From out of the small box he'd brought in he pulled out... a shower curtain.
"Well what did you order?" Striker asked, poking at the alien fish pattern on a solid blue background.
"Industrial strength rubber weave. The cleaners you got will just melt through this over time."
From his position near the bedroom door, Cherno let out a worried groan.
"No it won't melt us. Just the junk on us."
In the end though they decided to use it anyway under the reasoning that they could just get a new one when it eventually failed.
When all that was done, and the fire finally burn out, they all gathered in the living room. It was defiantly cleaner then when they first came in. The dust was gone, good bye vent and joint clogging nuisance, and the place just had the homely feel.
Then came the part they were all looking forward to.
After Crimson had sorted through the box of cleaning supplies and giving them an amount of how much they should use, they all took turns in the shower to wash off the blood from their earlier brawl.
As Gipsy stood under the warm spray from the shower head she couldn't help but let out a shiver of delight. The warm water running down her frame was pure bliss. It was like standing in a warm summer rain, soaking into every crack of her armor, washing away the grime of the last fight and leaving her refreshed in a way nothing else could.
Relishing the feeling, she gently brought the soaked sponge over her blood stained wrists and arms, watching as the clearer washed away the impurities and leaving her armor sparkling clean.
After she had rinsed and dried off she left the bathroom. The others were sitting around watching the HS as something that resembled the news flashed by on it's surface. She would've liked to join them, but she felt... tired. Her movements felt slow and slugish and her mind was even slower as her vision seemed to flicker. Was this what being sleepy felt like?
Moving as quietly as she could, she sneaked behind the others and into the one bedroom that hadn't been torched by Cherno. The bed was still old and moldy but somehow it looked so comfortable. Giving it little though she simply fell face first onto the sheets, hearing the mattress creak beneath her as she flipped onto her back.
She sighed. It was like floating on clouds. Then her systems started to fade away, her vision darkening as she powered down and entered into a world that offered only peace and rest.
So this is what sleep feels like, was her last thought as she drifted away.
Well, chapter number five is here.
Not a lot of action here, but I just wanted to work on their personalities and interactions a bit outside of combat. Still not completely satisfied with the interactions part. More to that, I used to have problems with the characters in some past things I've written, meaning their personalities were all over the place and I want to avoid that this time. I find it easy to keep Crimson and Striker in character, the tough nerd and the even tougher jerk, and Cherno... well, he's Cherno, but with Gipsy I'm finding it kind of hard. So far I've been trying to go for the innocent killer kind of attitude. You know, the thirteen year old girl fawning over stuff that suddenly turns into the Predator when threatened. I find it hard to nail that kind of thing. So please inform me if the characters are getting out of... well, character, and I don't notice.
Now to Captiosus in regard to the plasma cannons... I don't think ammo will be a problem, because in the movie it never mentions anything about ammo for them, only that they're "loading" which could also mean "charging." Also, I looked Crimson's IB22 Plasmacaster on the wiki and found this quote: "The only downside to this firepower is the massive amount of energy required, with each shot being slaved to a 6.8 second charge time." This most likely means that they run off of power generated by their cores and not off of any kind of ammo. However, if you find anything contradictory to that let me know. I'm sure it'd be fun to write about.
Also, the brief little part about their cores is only based on my assumptions. I couldn't find anything about it on the wiki, how long they will last or anything like that. The only reference to fuel in the movie and wiki was involving Cherno's incinerator turbines and Gipsys' back rockets. So If I get something wrong, please inform me so I can fix it before we move on
Yet again, thank you to all who reviewed.
DJ out!
...
Oh right.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pacific Rim or Mass Effect.