Time: 2:00 AM - The clouds block out the moonlight as well as the twinkling of the stars. There is a gentle breeze blowing over the Mojave and with it carries sand.
- Visibility: 54%
- Perception to sound: 60%
- Wind is blowing from East to West. From behind the gas-station to it's front.
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A full four hours and thirty some odd minutes had passed since the ranger Oberon had lied down for his rest. He sleeps soundly within his enclosed temporary housing. Using his folded trench coat as his pillow as well as having removed his helmet, he earns himself a well deserved rest.
Having brought together the food that had been at the gas station, upon awakening he found himself with quite the helping of his nutrition. He himself had a pack full of about a 3ibs. of dried Brahman jerky. He ate in peace, in the silence and darkness of the gas-station. The power was out, for he had disconnected the circuit-breaker
to avoid drawing any unwanted attention with the neon signs outside of the station.
After his meal, he adorned his trench coat once more as he looked over to his pile of weapons and ammunition. He figured he had some free time on his hands so he reached for his ranger sequoia and examined it. Checking it for any stow-away sand grains that could potentially jam the gun. It was spotless...as expected, he always took extreme care of his weapons.
He did the same for the rest of his guns before making his way to a crafting-bench in the back room. There were large amounts of empty cans scattered all around the place, no doubt left-overs from previous looters of this location. He picked up a few and brought them over to the crafting-bench, and dismantled them. From this, he gained from scrap-metal.
There were some discarded lunch-boxes on the shelf behind the register counter, as well as a few boxed of cherry-bombs. Along with a few sensor modules picked up from destroyed Securitrons back at the Vegas Strip. He sacrificed a good number of bottle-caps. (No one left to really trade the caps with anyway.) He used these and decided to craft himself some Bottle-cap land-mines.
He placed them into his satchel and placed the satchel down on the empty far wall.
Across from his bedding. Next to his weapon cache and ammo. Inside the satchel was also:
- 32 stimpacks
- 13 rad-away
- 10 med-x
- 15 Bottle-cap Land-mines (recently crafted)
- 10 buffout
- 5 psycho
- 5 jet
- 15 frag grenades
- 3 cans of beans
- 100 randomly assorted ammo shells for crafting
He figured it never hurt to be prepared, and he bored easily, so it helped keep his mind off of the wastes.
He sat there against the wall, his right hand rested on his helmet. He looked towards the window and was at the perfect angle to were the moon-light that were lucky enough to pierce the clouds streamed down in through the windows and then broke apart by the many holes in the frame-work of the metal that made up the shopping-shelves.
The beams of light poured onto hi face. It was a scarred up, tired looking face. Stubble and dark circles under his eyes. Dirty, tanned skin. The grime and dust that covered his face easily blended himself with the shadows naturally. I wonder if that was it's true purpose...or maybe a by-product of not having nice, hot showers available to him at a moments notice.
He walked across the room to his weapons, he grabbed his anti-material rifle before returning to his seated position. He placed the weapon across his lap and looked outside the window once more...with his right elbow resting on his helmet...he dozed off and fell asleep once more, to the howls of the Mojave winds.
 Commander Verrik · Tue Jun 16, 2015 @ 10:10pm · 0 Comments |
