Adelaide's Story

Thatcher Rivet (Southern Leader) and Adem Norvik (West Scout) - Somewhere in a Forested Area of No Man's Land

One week prior to Current Day:

It had been a hard night but it would be the first of many. Adem was out scouting for the West. It involved covering masses of area scouting for food or basically any resources that may provide useful for the compound. Yes, they were allies with the East, and the East were, well, simply put it, loaded with stuff, they still needed their own fair share of things. Adem had trained as a scout at the age of 6. His father had been a scout and taught him everything he knew now at the age of 20. He was one of the best.

So, once again he'd been sent out to No Man's Land to see what could be found a long with a number of other men. They each had different areas to cover and would come back when they had covered their area or had as much as they could carry. It was dangerous, but it had to be done. Most scouts were fine. One or two got killed - but that was a very rare occurence.

Adem had lost track of what time it was. All he knew was that he was on a hard, cold floor and it was sometime in the middle of the second night out here. So far he'd picked up a few ammo cases he'd found hidden in the abandoned building he was currently in, but other than that it had been an uneventful and fruitless search. He wasn't going to find much in this area, he could already tell. But Adem would continue on. Maybe he'd find something valueable, like information towards finding 'The Key' and the cure to the virus that was killing people like flies in their twenties.

Who knew.

Eventually he gave up on sleep and pulled a small torch out of his backpack and some papers that he'd found discarded in one of the rooms in an earlier search. They were papers about the Key. Knowing it was a risk to have the touch on at night, he decided against all safety regulations for keeping it off, switched it on and started to read through what he had found.

In the darkness, a boot crunched, shifting on dusty soil.

Three young men, all burly and muscular, Doc-Ops soldiers of the Southern Compound, stood in a nearby thicket of spindly trees, knees bent and one hand touching the dusty, cracked earth. Any motion they would take would force the dust to rise up around them in little swirling puffs. Their eyes had long adjusted to the darkness that covered No Man's Land like a thick blanket, smothering those trapped in the large open landscapes that had made more than one man circle in the dust, lost for eternity. These three men in particular knew the land like the back of their hands, and were well accustomed to the nature of their current mission.

They had tracked the scout to his current location, followed his meagre tracks. The going hadn't been easy, and they had almost used up their entire supply of water before finally managing to corner him. Across the way, below a sand dune, lay another two Southerners, proned low on the dust, their faces nearly hidden beyond mounds of ash from a burned out cluster of houses. The five of them had moved in like a pack, and had surrounded their prey.

All they were waiting on was a word.

The man in the center of the cluster of three slowly stood, making no noise. The moonlight streaks that rained down upon them, barely piercing the thick clouds and blanket of night, showed off his salt-and-pepper hair, moving stiffly in the slight but bitter chill of the open landscape. His eyes were narrowed into angry slits as he examined the glow through red plastic that he had molded into glasses, designed to allow him to keep his nightvision while looking at lights. All of his men had it. He didn't smile, but bared his teeth slightly, a piece of grass stuck between his pearly whites.

The scout seemed to be looking through documents, and for this fact he was intrigued. He noted any weaponry that would be hiding, and growled a single statement.

"Take him."

As one, the two soldiers broke into a sprint, closing the shallow distance to their prey. On the other side, the other two men leaped to their feet, drawing pistols in case the situation became unwinnable.

Behind it all, Thatcher Rivet started sauntering, closer towards his goal.

Adem heard them before he saw them. Damn his stupidity for turning on the torch! Nowhere out here was safe. He should have known better! Immediately Adem was up on his feet, looking to see where the men were. He knew there were more than one from the footsteps and soon they were within his sight. Anyone else would have thought of fleeing, there was an exit easily enough behind him. But that wasn't in Adem's nature. He was a fighter, not a man who runs away!

The men looked physically bigger than him, and older. He himself was just under 6 foot in height and though he had muscle, he wasn't built like a brick. Immediately he picked up a old hunting knife out of his pocket and drew it in his right hand. It would have been holding a gun right now, but the gun was in his backpack and even Adem knew there was no time to grab it. At least he had a knife, some form of protection and he knew how to use it.

"Who the Hell are you and what do you want?" Growled Adem.

He wasn't going to be intimidated by these men or thefact there was two against one, it seemed. He was going to stand his ground - which may have been stupid - but Adem was no coward. His father had accused him of been a coward in the two years leading up to his death when he was only ten - his father only 25 and eventually succumbing to the virus. That had taught Adem a lesson. He was never going to be the coward his father thought he was.

"I demand to know what you are doing here." He told them when he immediately had no answer, drawing his blade up to make sure the men could see it. He had no protection currently against bullets though.

Inside, Adem was mentally kicking himself for thinking that he'd been safe. No matter how well he'd checked the area, made sure he wasn't seen or followed, some people had seen him. And they were now in front of him. But Adem was ready to fight and in the commotion of being found, the papers and torch he'd had were still scattered on the ground around his backpack.

The men ignored the knife, as they were trained to do. They were bigger and stronger, and double in number. Still, Thatcher was cautious, waving the men with the guns forwards as he approached the small clearing that the scout was situated in.

One of the two burly men would attempt a tackle at Adem's feet, while the other one would wind up for a punch, straight at the smaller man's jaw.

Adem wasn't surprised as one man came in for a punch. And he's anticipated the other man doing something - like a tackle. He had been trained to fight for both attack and defense. You weren't allowed out if you couldn't at least hold your own in a fight. And Adem could very well hold his own in a battle. He'd often come out of the 'fights' they had in training. So it surprised him that while he just managed to duck out of the way of the punch, he'd misjudged the distance he had to move to avoid the tackle.

The body crashed and caught one of his legs, knocking it out from under him and causing him to fall to the ground. Dust rose and the papers flew in all directions. He was on his back by his back pack and one hand, once he'd gotten over the initial winding, dived into the pack to try and reach his gun. His hand was at an awkward angle inside though making it difficult to pull his pistol out.

Meanwhile, Adem swung the blade in his left hand wildly, attempting to stab the guy that had tackled him to the ground.

Hunter, the brute who had tackled the scout, winced heavily as the knife bit hard into his shoulder blade, twice in rapid succession. Naturally, he let go of his quarry and rolled away before another knife struck him. Lewis, the youngest of the group, suddenly surged forwards, his gun pointed at the scout's head, his footsteps loud and anxious. Beside the scout, Jared swung another meaty fist, aimed at the Scout's gun hand as it whirled towards his head, looking to get a quick shot, he assumed.

Thatcher himself began to saunter towards the fight, his own revolver drawn and glinting off of the weakening strands of moonlight. In his belt was a silver hatchet, dulled just enough to make what he planned drawn out, and painful. Sending a message.

Adem couldn't help but smirk as he got in a couple of gashes with his knife into one of the attackers. His glory didn't last long though as in quick succession - as he was trying to shoot the man that had tried to punch him before, who now hit the gun from his hand - a gun was put to his head by yet another attacker. Three now. This was an ambush now. He knew he'd been followed.

He'd lost. That was certain now. He was on the ground, a gun to his head. The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter as did the gun. He knew it was time to give in now. Especially when he saw a fourth man with a what looked like an axe attached to his belt and a revolver in his hand.

Thatcher stepped in front of the man's nose, turning his face with the toe of his boot to meet his eyes. His face was hard and stoic, a mask of utter seriousness that permeated every pore of the air around him. His men had the scout wrapped up; one on his back, one on his legs, and one pinning his arms. The leader of the south leaned down, holding the Westerner's head at the correct angle. "I see that you've stabbed my man," he said, through clenched teeth. "We can't have that, I'm afraid."

He dropped the young man's face into the dirt, and turned towards Hunter. "Patch yourself up, and then grab the documents." He said, in as kind a voice as the figurehead could manage. He walked a short distance, towards a thick log that had fallen in the clearing. He stepped on it, putting weight on it in small incriments, testing how durable it was as his soldier pulled out a bottle of whiskey and dumped it on his wound. When Thatcher was satisfied, he turned towards the three men, slowly pulling his hatchet from his belt, rubbing his thumb against it absently. "Over the log."

The soldiers began dragging the scout towards the log, as Thatcher waited, tapping a brown, dusty boot against the earth.

Adem clenched his teeth as the person who seemed to be the leader of this ambush forced him to look him in the eyes as he commented about stabbing his man. From the man's tone, he was pretty sure he was about to be executed on the spot. There was so much he had to tell his leader about what he'd found... The documents. The man had told his men to collect them. If they killed him now then he wouldn't get back West to tell Twitch and give them an advantage to finding this 'Key'.

His attention was soon called back to what was going on around him and panic soon set in as he watched the leader pull the axe from the belt and ordered his men to haul him over the log. This was going to be painful and messy and Adem was pretty sure he was going to be fighting a losing battle as the men dragged him towards the log and Adem struggled, trying with all his might to break free from their grip. It didn't work though. They had him in a tight hold and now, as they got over to the leader, all Adem could imagine happening was a long painful beheading ensuing.

"You won't get away with this!" He called out, not that it mattered what he said or did as he struggled. "The West will find me, and serve out punishment to you all!" He threatened, despite knowing that such men wouldn't care about an empty threat. The West might find him, but they'd have no way of finding his killers.

Adem was screwed.

The men paused when Adem yelled out his threat, threats of the West, the most elusive of the four gangs on the map. Everyone, including Thatcher, was silent.

Then Hunter began to laugh. Suddenly, all four men were howling with laughter as they brought their captive towards the log, as if he had told them the most hilarious joke they had ever heard. As they laughed, Jared grabbed the man's right wrist, hauled it over the log, and stepped on his hand with all his weight, pinning it in place. Hunter, having collected all of the stray pieces of paper, took over holding the gun to the back of the now-kneeling scout's head. The other two southerners stood back, one of them holding the man's other arm tight behind him, and Lewis watched passively, marveling at the sweat that dripped down Adem's neck.

Thatcher came into the scout's view, then, unhurried and unruffled, as if this entire thing was taking place over a calm walk in the woods. Putting his hands on his knees, he leaned forwards, his eyes meeting Adem's with darkness in them. His eyebrows, from this close up, were bushy; the deep crow's feet around the corners of the leader's eyes were filled with grime and dust, from a lifetime of little water and even less time to bathe. The serious, unchanging, stony expression still surrounded him.

"You stabbed one of my men." He said, flatly, slowly revealing his hatchet. "And we can't have that."

In a flash, and with a nimbleness that few knew he posessed, Thatcher leapt over the log, having it situated between his legs as he aimed carefully with his eyes. The axe came down, biting deep into the man's flesh and bone, severing the skin in a jagged, dusty gash.

"It's cute, how you think your west will protect you." Another axe fall, biting deep into bone, the crunch sickening, satisfying. Jared and Hunter looked away, the smile on their lips becoming bigger as they watched the mutilation. Lewis still watched, fascinated, his eyes boring into the back of the scout's skull.

"It's cute, how you think that they'll avenge you." The axe came down again. Again, the sound of rending flesh and snapping bone met the ears of the assailants, dealing out the punishment for the one true crime in their fearless and bloody leader's mind; hurting anyone in the south.

"It's cute, how you think they care about you." His arm was a blur with each statement, and this one cut through bone. Only a patch, one small strip of skin, remained on the scout's hand, the scout who so bravely stood against his attackers, the scout who had done nothing but been born on the wrong side of their little world. This thought was heavy on Thatcher's mind, but he didn't listen. Not today. Today, he had an example to keep.

"It's cute. But naive." With one final swing, the hand was severed, dropping to the forest floor with a wet thump. Thatcher stooped, picking up the hand, and facing the barely-conscious soldier, his expression still stony, still unflinching.

With a quick, jarring action, he slapped the man with the severed limb, before tossing it into the woods behind him. "Cauterize the wound. We'll take him with us."

Lewis moved forwards, a blowtorch in his grasp. Thatcher slipped the blood soaked instrument back into his belt, examining the gore on his hands and face with disinterest. "I'm going to find a stream. Keep him awake, until I get back."

He turned, and headed into the forest, as the sounds of sizzling wood and the smell of burning flesh traveled into the night sky.

Laughter.

They were laughing at him, mocking him for his idle threats. It had been worth a shot and he'd renewed his attempts to break free in a hope that he'd catch them at a weak moment and offguard. It wasn't to happen though.The firmly got him to their leader and ready to position him.

It was only with his hand being pinned by the foot of a soldier, did Adem truly realise that he wasn't going to be dying. Not now, and not execution style. He wasn't going to be spared with a quick and painless death. He was going to be tortured. Adem hadn't given in with his struggles until someone was behind him, holding his hand firmly behind his back and the man he had stabbed was pointing a firearm at his head.

Adem returned Thatcher's look with one of pure determination and strength. Something within his eyes telling them that they wouldn't crush him with whatever they had planned. He'd be strong and get through it.

That was until the first bite of the axe had hit his wrist. Adem's whole body spasmed as he let out an ear-piercing scream. Agony rippled up his arm as blood spurted out from the wound. Adem felt nauseous and with the second cut into the bone, Adem had been sick through the scream. Whatever Thatcher was saying, Adem wasn't listening, his body in too much pain as the axe drove to cut through his bone, severing his hand.

His body was going into shock with the fourth cut through the bone and his hand hanging off. He was barely conscious and the previous screams had turned into painful grunts as his body spasmed and struggled against the pain. There was no point in trying to fight back. Finally, his hand fell to the ground. Adem wasn't upright anymore, only managing it because of the position the soldier behind him had forced him into as his hand was severed.

He barely registered the hand slapping his sweat covered face before being thrown away for the ravenous wildlife to maul. He just wanted to collapse to the ground and be swallowed up by the darkness threatening to consume him. He wasn't even granted that though. His eyes opening wide as searing heat burned the wound that had been created only seconds ago. Another set of screams escaped his mouth as he struggled against the captors in a bid to end the pain and suffering.

He was granted no mercy.

All his strength and determination had left him and he was now a wounded mess, unable to take the severe punishment that was being given out to him by the men.

And as his body continued to go into shock, but refused to let him slip into an unconscious state, he heard the sizzling of the wood and the smelt his flesh burning.

Andrew, Jacobs, and Ade-Obsidian Knights Territory-Medical building.


As Andrew stood there, seething over the rapid degeneration of events that had transpired in a wild blur, Jacobs watched him carefully. He was not ignorant of the Knife’s meaning, so he understood what his leader must've been thinking.

"Sir?" He asked cautiously. "What're your orders?"

His question refocused Andrew, brought him back to reality, allowing his mind to center around what needed to be done. He brought a tired hand to his face, taking a moment to think.

"Put us into Lockdown," He said slowly. "I want all patrols in the ruins re routed into the defense pattern."

The defense pattern was a scanning movement in which patrols circled the Knight's territory to detect an enemy attack and relay a warning back to the Keep so that the forces there could be alerted as to the direction of the assault.

"Alert the River Outpost to be ready to receive the evacuees, but inform them not to move West as originally planned."

"Sir?" Came Jacob's response, Andrew had expected it.

"Yeah apparently Twitch lost one of his scouts and thinks I have something to do with it,that was the whole thing you walked in on."

"Ah."

"He's also taken it upon himself to dissolve the truce that has been established for the longest, the idiot." He sighed again. "That reminds me, inform Motorpool I want the Western Humvee confiscated. We gave it to them, we're taking it back. They have permission to use force if necessary, hell shoot out the tires if they have to. But do not cause harm to them, the last thing we need are those....brutish, Thanatos harassing us."

"Anything else?" Jacobs inquired, a small smirk on his face, he always found it entertaining when ever the Captain got like this.

"Mobilize all reserve forces and put them on the wall or in the check points. Have the engineers work on fall back fortifications and tell the mortar crews to get on standby. And I want one company to start evacuating civilians."

"I'll make sure everything gets done, sir." Jacobs nodded, pulling out his radio and starting out the door.

"And one more thing, I want the Huey airborne to assist with the evac." He wasn't sure if Trys and the repair crew had finished work on the helicopter but he did not want to risk keeping it in it's hangar. It was too much of an asset to leave vulnerable for one of Eve's idiots to screw with should they get through.

"Yes sir." Jacobs nodded once more before running out the door and down the halls, speaking loudly into his radio. It was looking like the day they had been preparing for was finally coming.

Andrew sighed again as Jacobs left looking over his shoulder at Ade.

"I'm really sorry about what happened here, I'm sure it didn't help you feel better." He rubbed his forehead with the side of his hand, still feeling frustrated.

"Listen ah, I have to go, something really bad is going to happen and requires my attention. I want you to stay here, I'll send someone to pick you up and escort you to the river with the others. Don't worry about Char, I'll do the same for her as well."
He walked over to the wall where the knife had been impaled. Wrapping his hand around the grip he dislodged it with a quick jerk and held it by his side.

"Just do me a favor and be careful ok?"

Ade listened quietly to what was said as she sat in the bed. The more Andrew talked, the more scared she got as to what was going on. She had no idea what was going on exactly, but it didn't sound too good at all.

"I'll wait. And I'll be careful." She spoke when Andrew addressed her. She was seriously worried, and as he went to exit, she quickly shouted his name.

"Andrew?"

When he looked her way, she frowned. "You be careful too, okay?"