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Rowan "Boston" Alder

The road out is never the road home when you've seen what I have.

0 · 304 views · located in America

a character in “Touch”, as played by Riareous

Description

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Full Name:
Rowan "Boston" Alder
Nickname(s):
Boston
Age:
28
Gender:
Male
From:
Outside
Role:
Ex-military, scavenger, duster
~
Personality:
The military never could quash Bostons sarcastic, apathetic nature though despite that Boston still conformed to orders. There is a lot of lost social etiquette in Bostons head should he ever find civilization again, though he's not sure he'd utilize all of it... in fact Beethoven would probably be introduced first.
Bostons not the shy or quite type, in fact if he wasn't wielding a massive buzz-axe you'd think him quite normal and plain albeit not quite mentally matured, though this was wars fault, Bostons own coping mechanism. First impressions would be deceiving, Bostons a lot more realistic and level than he appears or talks. He accepts fights, not provokes them. Not quite the "tag along" person Boston has a mission in his mind and he intends to see it done.

Likes:
His buzz-axe affectionately known as "Beethoven"
Pre 1940 music
Clean wipes
Dares
His pillow
Cereal
Cans
Dislikes:
Questions
Fire arms
Plans
Settling
Silence
Electronics
Rain
Strengths:
Physical contact really swings for Boston.
Survival in a haphazard fashion
Due to all Bostons injuries he has become quite adept at applying field wounds.

Weaknesses:
Boston was never a crack shot when forced to use a gun, not that he will touch now there's no one to make him.
Pretty much useless with technology

History:
Life for Rowan stopped way before the "Touch" but so as not to get ahead of oneself; the beginning. There wasn't anything wrong with Rowan's birth or his family for that matter. He was the second child out of four, all boys bar the youngest. Rowan didn't excel at high school though many of his friend did. Age the age of 17 he began applying to the local law enforcement but no job transpired and at the age of 20 he signed up to army.
Military training suited Rowan ill, the only area Rowan could claim any promise to was boxing in which he soon became known. The regiment was shipped out on routine when he was 23, to the dismantling British Isles. Within the first week he had lost his entire regiment to the Essex Defense league, one of many British terror squads seizing counties. There was no reason Rowan had survived where his comrades hadn't, it was luck. He hadn't been the best shooter, the greatest survivalist or the most level headed; he had just been lucky.
Fortunately Governmental freedom forces found Rowan (a long with remnants of other US regiments). It was during this time Rowan lost his name among the freedom forces to Boston, his home town. Old music was the FF's long standing moral booster and what started off grating became Bostons "flavour" in his words. A few things learnt aboard were: always keep your pillow in a plastic case, clean wipes aren't washes but "on the go" it's a must, settling equates to discovery and usually followed by death, Aluminium cans have so many many uses. Boston excelled at unconventional hand to hand combat, crafting his own buzz axe that was known as Beethoven by all the lads in the FF.
Boston fought with the freedom forces years past the US governments decision to stop sending reinforcements, until the world experienced the "Touch," then it no longer mattered... Boston has only just made it back to the American shores; he had heard at least one of his relations made it into "The Dome" the US built in reaction to the "Touch".

~

Family:
Brenda Alder - Mother
Farrol Alder - Father
Jerry Alder - Eldest brother
Cosmo Alder - Youngest brother
Eliza Alder - Little Sister

Theme Song:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLnL63cXmD8

Other:
It's not really understood how Boston is still Boston, after all he prefers hand to hand combat and that would be a death sentence if he chose to spar with the wrong person.

Sample Post:
Bright orange and yellow flickers poured across Bostons awakening eyes. The sound of dusty friction echoed down a long passage and he felt his body ground into the dirt path. The reverberating sound of men speaking alerted him, especially the frequency of the word "meat". The blurred boots in front of Boston were bound with a plastic tie and as he anchored his head back he noticed that his arms were hooked to a motorized cart. His arms were chafing from combination of coarse rope and his entire weight; blood had been trickling down from his wrists and dropped infrequently to the soil his lower half was then scrapped over. In front of the cart were five men. Most had makeshift clubs but the head man had a rifle shouldered and had glanced back in time to catch Boston's eye line.
"He's awake," The rifled man turned barking to the others, "Tech, deal with it." The man closest to Boston nodded at the order.
"Do you want me to break his nose a second time, Nat?" Tech asked moving closer to Boston. Boston hadn't even noticed that his nose was jaunting out in the vision of his right eye more than his left, or that dried blood - his dried blood - was saturating his navy shirt.
"No first names! Are you a complete moron?" The rifled man sprayed, "Gun is the name I set, use it!" Gun aka Nat, turned his head away adjusting the strap his gun rested with. Tech moved towards Boston, his eyes completely concealed behind emerald goggles and mouth hidden by a dust coated scarf. He was carrying a what resembled a guitar neck but attached to the end were five sharp blades.
"Night time again buddy, don't expect to awake again," Tech muttered apathetically whilst raising the blunt end of his instrument. Boston smiled uneasily and hopped his legs beneath himself pushing up. The force pushed Boston onto the cart unceremoniously where he unhooked his hands still bound, and leaped from the cart double kicking Tech in chest. Tech flailed awkwardly to the floor and upon impact with the ground was left unconscious. The four ahead jolted-to when they heard the cart thud and witnessed in time Tech's fall. Boston rolled up sitting and grabbed the guitar neck rubbing a blade across the plastic tie. The tie snapped in time for the first of the four men to run around the cart, he was holding a jagged metal pipe and arched it up.
"Oh you're dead man," the man shouted and launched his pipe and self at Boston. Lifting Tech's weapon the pipes destination was altered to just right of Bostons head, though heat dribbled down his cheek. The fighter's smile faded when Boston kicked out his knees in return, bringing the assailant down and embedding the five pronged death instrument into the man's head.
"If I'm dead, you must be alive," Boston quipped sarcastically and then glanced around to find two men now surrounded him and Nat at the front held his rifle square at him.

So begins...

Rowan "Boston" Alder's Story

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rowan "Boston" Alder Character Portrait: Tech
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Boston sat lazily in the grass as the morning sun rose. The sizzled lump beside him stirred."Easy there, easy bake," Boston pandered calmly, "Who taught you how to play with fire anyway?"

Tech spent a moment separating his mind from the physical pain; Boston had noticed Tech had zoned out to his attempt to convey the situation, "So, you're burnt, luckily it's not a game changer but still it'll take time before movement is advisable. The gates will protect us for a while no doubt if we can get the security running; which has your deviance written all over it..." Boston continued.

“Did you move it?” Tech questioned, looking dazed at an empty space.

Boston stared at Tech, Is he referring to himself in the third person AND objectifying.. “Huh? You? Of course, your welcome," Boston remarked assuming Tech was just being senile.

“My buggy," was Tech's mono-toned response, holding his arm up back to the space.

“No idea, nothing there when I carried you out”, Boston answered, "But a little gratitude goes a long way, why I'm hauling ass for you..." Boston complained. Tech began shuffling into a stand. "What? So now the fire's burnt your ears too? You're three quarters of a kebab!" But either Tech was ignoring or it just didn't register. Boston saw the blue perch sitting not far, "You think you can get that working? With out a print por.....t," he trailed off, halting. Movement. One block down. A shadow blurred

Boston left Tech ambling, and ducked down crawling along the perimeter. The verge kept him hidden, though it's branches latched on clawing. I need a shirt... The stranger pushed against the rattling gate, 2-barrel hanging down in his hand.

Boston had slowly raised himself out and behind a trunk. The stranger looked fixated on the mess, ripping out car parts. It was the first moment Boston truly missed having a large sickle to hand, Beethoven...

Tech managed to penetrate the cars holo door, Boston was impressed to see, We're not staying then Boston thought exactly when he heard , “Let’s get out of here," being lazily tossed by Tech. He's distracted, he doesn't see. Boston had since crept round, silently pressing his feet against the grass.

“I think you won’t be going anywhere”, the stranger shrieked as he pulled up his gun cocking it. Is Tech grinning? Boston stood firmly behind and thrust out grabbing the man's head. It was over in a snap, the lifeless body dropping to floor. Tech was still grinning.

"I guess I didn't deserve it," Tech quibbed.

"It's not your first encounter with him...was it?" Boston frowned. Looking at the heap.

"No, I had dinner with his family; stocked up." Tech smirked, before a stabbing pain flared and distracted him.

"I ought to have left you to him..." I shook, disgusted at Tech. Is there anything human in there... besides what he's eaten. Boston stood, closing his eyes.

"There's a nice shirt there," Tech offered and Boston's eyes snapped open looking down. The dead man did have a nice shirt.

"We better roll," Boston shot a look at Tech throwing in the shotgun to him and straddling the drivers seat. "This time. I'm the driver, and no... you can't eat him." Boston grimaced, "The embers will deal with him, fairly." The engine roared. This model was meant to be uncrackable...

Reversing out of the drive was smooth and as Boston swerved the car around out into the road; the pile of rubble and fire back at the house flared a little, the man being devoured. "It should have been you; this isn't happening again, Tech." Boston spoke seriously, focused on the flames. Boston stepped on the pedal, moving the stick into second, third then fourth, speeding away; Gears... Boston reveled. A blast ruined the moment, jostling the car. "TECH!" Boston shouted, ears temporarily deafened and fully enraged.

The car now held a gaping hole in its roof, courtesy of Tech's fidgeting hap-hazard trigger fingers. "Sunroof. Accident" Tech replied wide eyed and covered in a powderized form of the roof. It's going to be a long ride...

Boston moved the car into fifth, the seemingly raring to life. "No restrictor..." Boston breathed as the car reached past 100mph and raising. Tech hoisted himself up through his home made sunroof.

"Floating and fired!" Tech bellowed, resisting the air. At this point it's hard to tell if he's talking about the hover car or himself...

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rowan "Boston" Alder Character Portrait: Tech
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[[OCC: Sorry for the wait]]

The man’s head lay twisted in horror, I couldn’t help but continue to grin at his expression. "I guess I didn't deserve it”, I quipped, admiring Boston’s handiwork.

"It's not your first encounter with him...was it?" Boston frowned. Looking at the pile of meat.

"No, I had dinner with his family; stocked up", I smirked. Pain flared up and my face mocked the failed agent of vengeance for a moment. Grawrrrr.

"I ought to have left you to him...", Boston threatened, throwing a disgusted look in my direction.

"There's a nice shirt there," I offered, changing the subject. Boston looked down thoughtfully and paused before acquiring a new shirt. He seemed to calm down after that.

"We better roll," Boston announced throwing the shotgun to me as he took the driver’s seat. I started for the failed assassin, but Boston intercepted my plans. "This time I’m the driver, and no... you can't eat him." Boston lead. The engine roared. You’re not shy, I smiled at the new vehicle.

Boston seemed like a virgin, handling the car cautiously, but I wasn’t in any state to take over. My mind drifted as my hands found something metallic, I twitched. The next thing I realise the sun is beaming down onto my face with a spray of what seemed to be… blue glitter? "Wreck!", Boston yelled... I think?

"Sunroof. Accident", I mused, still dazed from the effects and covered in a thin layer of snow like roof. The car lurched forward gaining speed as Boston began to talk to himself, or me, but I wasn’t paying attention, I was climbing up through my new gun hatch. "Floating and fired!", I shouted, the air meeting my will.

We were cruising away from the larger houses now and the older ones started to come into view. I couldn’t see if there were people about so I just imagined they were there. Like shooting ducks on a freeway. The shotgun clicked empty as the previous shots fell behind, I was about to drop it down through the hole but we swerved and it flew out of my hands, it was gone.

He could’ve been shouting at me but it was hard to hear anything with the wind in my ears. I banged the roof above his head and slid down. “Light on ahead”, I pointed eagerly

“Hold on a minute where’s the shotgun?”, he glared.

“There, light”, I repeated deflecting the question.

He gave up with the shotgun, it was obviously better out of my hands. “What? The museum?”, Boston looked doubtful, yet he slowed down, “What would be in there but skeletons and dust?”. He must have noticed the light then because he started to head for the entrance.

I sprang for the car door but it held firm… for a sec and then I found myself eating pavement. arrgfhfgfhd. I had forgotten about my seared leg and it wouldn’t bend as I kept attempting to stand. Boston casually lifted himself out of the car, turned four steps and lifted me up like I was made of cardboard. “Easy there crispy”, he mocked but his eyes betrayed the light-hearted tone. It seemed I didn’t quite understand my casualty and the pain just another annoying voice fighting for attention.

I hobbled up the steps one step at a time as Boston glided up, he was already scanning more distant windows as I reached the door. “Care to take a crack at the security system”, He asked, “I could easily break in but let’s be nice”. I like it, kill them quietly. I mused for a second then turned towards the keypad. I shook and barely managed to stay standing as my other leg almost buckled, the strain starting to take effect. I griped the wall with one hand and began searching my pouches for tools Quiet leg, I need think.

The door slid open automatically as the frayed panel dangled, exposed. Boston held his palm out and I stood confused. He seemed to think I knew what he wanted as he crept through the lobby and surveyed the area. 21st century perseveration hall. I didn’t recall what century it was, but I guess it was after that. “What are you doing?”, Boston whispered violently, “I told you to wait!”. So that’s what he meant. I decided responding was too much effort and I slumped down to the floor, against the reception desk.

He had that look again, but before I could place it he moved off behind the desk and began rummaging. A green shiny case with a pale glowing cross slid across the floor, open and empty. He huffed with dissapointment and turned around to discover a woman standing across from him on the marble like steps, wielding something bizarre. It appeared silver, but was streaked with neon green and started to make a noise. It’s charging I noted as I drifted off into sweet nothing.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rowan "Boston" Alder Character Portrait: Tech
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Crash

Glass dispersed as Boston leapt through a display, and shards sank into each of his crossed forearms. Grounded, he etched up a glance, speeding down a darkened hallway; his heart charging his body. The hall echoed with the thunder of destruction following and he turned his head briefly to see Amelia's worn emeralds staring back; she was keeping pace but her breathing sharpened, No time.

The door was ahead, a faint glow revealed the valve lock and in moments Bostons hands were enveloping the handle and turning. Quicker. Quicker. Amelia pried at the edge of the door with a hands, whilst her shouldered briefcase slapped against the opening. "Get in!" Boston shouted, "Unless you prefer being human toast!"

The passage ways roared as a barrage of heat blasted through the museum, incinerating relics and melting glass cabinets. The overhead lights burst as Boston eyed the pursing furnace and he grimaced, sweat steaming off his clothes. "Rowan!" Amelia shouted. Melting, and all I can think of is "after sun" lotion...

The flames devoured the front side.

[Previously...]

"Tech! I swear if you don't get inside the car I'm driving towards a low bridge!" Boston yelled, but Tech was outstretched enjoying the wind battling his body. The old town had long since been swept behind and a "new" - in terms of exploration - settlement had began to appear. It looked smaller, like a village or a hamlet and Boston slowed so that the buildings looked less like smears at the speed they had been traversing at.

The sun had clearly burnt this area of town and dust kicked up everywhere, buildings look vacant. Safety, Boston's first thought was. "Light..." came a muffled banging from above. Boston arched his head forward again and noticed the grand building ahead. No safety... Boston sighed.

Boston turned back to see Tech had slid back to his position, attempting to lick his wound. "Hold on a... where's the shotgun?" Boston glared.

“There, light”, Tech repeated. It was hard to tell if he was deflecting or completely incoherently distractable. Boston turned away, stupid hick probably threw it out during the drive...

Boston pulled up to the buildings entrance, "What? The museum? Boston scanned, "What would be in there by skeletons and dust?" But he hesitated spotting a small illumination. The car door vaporized and Boston stepped out, wary. Tech had managed to fumble out but with his injury ended up eating concrete. Rescuing him from his disjointed obscenities Boston lifted Tech to his feet, "Easy there crispy," he chuckled but Boston's eye caught a shadow move across the inside of building.

“Care to take a crack at the security system”, Boston asked in a hushed voice, “I could easily break in but let’s be nice." Tech seemed to understand the caution and nodded, turning around to face the keypad. Boston hugged the wall and peered into the building, it looked deserted bar the faint illumination from the left. In his peripherals, Boston could make out Tech stealing through his tool pouch, struggling at his feet. He's going to be a liability...

A small bleep activated the door and it gracefully slid open. Boston pushed his hand out, Wait, and entered, lowering himself as he crept. "What are you doing?" Boston whispered aggressively as he saw Tech trudge in, "I told you to wait!" Tech stopped and realization flooded his face as if the penny had finally dropped and slouched down against the reception desk, resigned.

Tap

A nearing step. No doubt lingered in Boston, there was some one else in here and he shifted but a desk halted him. Gah! I'm choosing to be selfish for a cannibal...? He scrapped open the lower drawer and sure enough a first aid kit sat. Opening it Boston revealed it's contents. No! He discarded the box angrily, sliding it across the floor. Bad move, he saw turning and exposed to find a woman standing across the room brandishing what appeared to be a defibrillator... Boston glanced at Tech, his head hung sideways, Either unconscious or playing unconscious, neither helps.

"State your business!" The woman demanded, "We have snipers trained on you." Boston looked about the hall, the stairs were vacant and there hadn't been any noticeable movement else where. The woman looked alarmed but cross.

"Your snipers aren't good if they even do exist, all the major positions are empty," Boston commented, and he could see her defiant stance recoil slightly. "Look, we're not here for trouble, though the one on the floor is a nuisance at the best of times. He's just injured and we're doing our best to survive, that's all." Boston moved closer to her, slowly.

"Stop! You'll leave. Then I won't take action." The woman exclaimed lifting her implement, strands of her long brown hair fluttered at the reaction. Boston slowed his approach further but didn't halt.

"It's important he gets medical attention, I'm sure you can appreciate the condition he's in... Doctor?" Boston guessed. The woman was stunned.

"H-how did you know?" She questioned, lowering the device.

"You have a medical tool and your still wearing a lab coat, it wasn't the greatest leap. Please help." Boston requested now lifting his hands to hers and removing the charged defrib from her grasp. She looked up at him and then shook her head focusing and retracting.

"Bring him into the room adjacent the one after this, I have suitable supplies there," and with that she walked off. Carrying the passed out lump wasn't easy for Boston, he kept twitching and the smell, ugh...

The room was Boston entered was an entire living quarter, in one corner books and a couch with pillows and blankets; in the other a table now brandishing a plastic sheet. Boston lifted Tech on to it. The other corners hosted cans and food supplies and assortments of medical equipment. "Long stay?" Boston quibbed noticing the littered food containers.

"The longest," She retorted, "Now move that cabinet here," she demanded pointing at a white cart. The procedure was fast, a couple of needles and cream, coupled with bandages and the wound looked considerably better. "That'll hold him," she sighed standing back. "I'm sorry for earlier, common courtesies seem so foreign now..." she drifted of slightly.

"Boston. They call me Boston," Boston offered and she looked up inquisitively.

"Boston? That's a place not a name, who are you really?" she demanded. Boston smiled, mind racing. It's been so long...

"Rowan. Rowan Alder I was. Am," Boston corrected.

"Amelia. Dr Amelia Tyler." She responded, leaning on the make-shift operating table. "Would you like a drink?" Amelia shot up. "I have a fridge you see and it runs, complete with batteries I've modified from cars," and without a reply her head had disappeared into a white cabinet.

The lemonade was amazing, "How did you find this?" Boston question, now resting quite comfortably on Amelia's couch. "I had a sprite not long ago, but ended using the majority to slow Tech's burn, oh, that's the unconscious lump..." Boston's last words caught in his throat. "Where is he?" Tech had vanished.

Amelia and Boston both sprang to their feet and moved towards the next room. "No...." Amelia inhaled, "Not the reactor!" She raced ahead and Boston ran to keep pace. Barging through Boston and Amelia found Tech lying next to a huge mechanical device, dazzling the entire room.

"Tech! Stop" Boston yelled but noise of the generator drowned him out.

The computer beside Tech sirened and blared out "CRITICAL ERROR!"

"Grab him!" Amelia yelled, as she rushed to the computer. As she tapped at the keys, Boston picked up the flailing loon and shouldered him back to Amelia's room, dropping Tech onto the table.

"You don't understand!" Tech screeched but his protest was accompanied by a fist as Boston knocked him out. There's no time for this rubbish! Stop trying to kill us all. Boston was furious. Amelia came running back.

"It's too late, we have to get out. This whole place is going!" She panicked, grabbing a briefcase and throwing things in.

"Think, there has to somewhere that shield us?" Boston commanded, opening up the fridge and dashing its shelves and contents out across the floor.

"The safe could work... but it's too far," Amelia protested but Boston was already closing the fridge door, Tech stuffed inside. best I can do... darn it Tech. Grabbing Amelia's hand he pulled and they stumbled forward, the ground starting to shake. No time for questions. Just act.

Boston turned from the front hallway into a display area skidding, time was running out. The next room featured 21st century living, there were many home displays with models, one corner presented a kitchen - vacant a fridge. At the end of the large doming room a large glass wall stood, protecting a weapons display and an access door the other side... The safe will be behind there. "Hold on!" Boston turned, letting go of Amelia's hand and jumped forcefully at the glass.

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Character Portrait: Rowan "Boston" Alder Character Portrait: Tech
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"So what in god's earth was a fuel generator doing in a museum?!" Boston demanded, leaning back against the wall furthest from door, which was now fused shut. "It seems all I ever do is escape from being roasted," Boston gasped away from Amelia.
"It wasn't any generator, Rowan," Amelia sat huddling her legs on the floor, "It was direct power to the dome."

"Direct..." Boston hung on the word, "The dome is miles away!" Boston resolved, now looking down at Amelia. Amelia lifted her head.
"The dome runs on multiple battery generators across the state grid. One goes out, the others pick up the slack." Amelia explained, glancing towards what was once a door, "I thought your friend was sabotaging the machine, but no, if too many generators blow the strain on the remaining would cause a chain explosion..."
"...And so Tech was trying to shut the system down," Boston finished with full realization. That means either the attack on the dome did more damage than was expected or someones been systematically taking out generators. The moments silence was broken by part of the vaults wall giving way, the explosion had not only melted the front but weaken the integrity of the sides. Boston moved towards the edge kicking at the wall half a dozen times. "I don't feel like slow roasting anymore, how about you?" Boston asked as the wall finally caved in enough to crawl through.

The cold air stuck to Bostons saturated skin, it felt Arctic to him now that Hawaii was left behind. Reaching out an arm he pull Amelia up, noticing the same feelings now swept over her; the air had never tasted so sweet. He sighed.
Tech.
Scaling mounds of warm rubble Boston staggered over the building remains roughly where Amelia's quarters once were. Scorched beams and plasterboard were easy enough to lift or drag, the marble wasn't. "He has to be here!" Boston shouted exasperatedly putting his weight into a slab and pushing.
"There's no guarantee he survived the blast, you saw what the explosion did to the vault," Amelia responded sullenly looking at the remains of her life's work. Fire still crept around the remains, but Boston didn't falter, until there it was: a charred black and white fridge, slightly crushed and turned over. "Help me, the doors on the other side." Boston requested urgently, "There won't be copious amounts of air left and we don't know what condition Tech's in."
Together Amelia and Boston lifted the fridge, a little at first, then with more grip underneath, " Wait..." Boston exclaimed and forced the fridge over, "This isn't right." There was a hole in the door and nothing inside. There wasn't time to escape... He wasn't in any condition... Boston dropped to his knees, opening the door fully; there was only black ash.

"Argh!" Boston yelled upward, then fell to all fours. Amelia knelt beside him and curved her arms around.
"I'm sorry," she comforted. A single drop fell from Boston. Soldiers expect the worst. He told himself. I'm just not a solider anymore.
"Blast..." he said dispirited, then stood with the help of Amelia. "We have to leave, there's a lot happening... and we haven't time," Boston resolved shaking his head. "Check the car, it may still be usable," Boston sighed again, "I'll see to Tech.." But Boston dropped off before the end. Amelia hesitated staring at him, then left.

"We weren't meant to be friends you know. It was always going to end this way or similar, still. It doesn't feel time... and you were my friend. The most annoying destructive one I've ever had, but I'll believe you saw me as more than just dinner in the end." Boston blew the ash and it sprayed out of the fridge in a scatter. "I don't think a burial would suit you Tech, you saw them as buried treasure, not final resting places. And you didn't rest, never rested." The particles dropped around as the breeze died and some floated to where the fridge had been, descending into a small hole that a beam was partially sticking out, and into what Boston could only assume was left of the basement.
"Farewell, Tech."

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Boston strolled along the perimeter of the collapsed museum, hands tucked in each pocket. He was contemplating hard on their next move, and it pained him. There's no longer any impromptu about our situation, I'm not a strategist! He exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples.
"We have a problem," Amelia spoke as Boston reached her, "Whilst it's avoided any real cosmetic damage the circuitry's fried and we haven't the parts or skill to repair it."
"We're on foot then," Boston replied without hesitation.
"Where are heading?" Amelia questioned clutching her briefcase and stepping away from the car. Boston lowered himself so that his heels lifted from the floor.
"I don't know," he gazed at the floor, "The only two choices that make sense are either a trek to the dome or an investigation of the next nearest generator...only that would confirm our theory." Boston realized he was staring at rock he'd picked up in his hand whilst outlaying their options and dropped it, regaining his height.
"The next generator I think; it could answer a lot for us." Amelia decided, reaching into her briefcase.
"...Or it could just be a pile of rubble." Boston replied, and it was clear Tech's departure was taking it's toll on him.
"That's where you're wrong," Amelia presented Boston with a file, "These are calculations I've been working on. From the generators final readings I can extrapolate that the extra power didn't sieve through the northern generator, which means..."
"... The place still stands, or had before your terminal blew." Boston finished, realizing that if the building stood or not would give them a clear picture as to the extent of damage the dome and it's power was receiving. " You don't have to trust me but I want it stated that I have stakes in keeping the dome standing," Boston blurted out.
"I know what you are Rowan," Amelia replied, "We should move."
"A lot of ground to cover, you're right." Boston turned and Amelia kept pace. "North you say?"
"Northern. So close." Amelia teased and let drop her lab coat to the dirt. "It'll get ruined in this dusty road anyway; white never stays clean." she commented. She now only wore a green vest along with her black combats, Suitable.

Turning at a junction northerly the buildings soon dissipated until all that was left were the cruel barrens, and harsh sun. Even the road had ceased its campaign. Night was crawling in fast and they hadn't discussed where they were stopping, in fact few words had been exchanged; Boston had been unusually quiet. "Do you think we can shelter soon?" Amelia exclaimed whilst dragging behind. With the silence broken Boston snapped to.
"Oh, right." Boston had completely lost focus and it took him a moment to regain himself and slow his rapid inhalations. He stilled. "There isn't immediate cover here, we could press on..." Boston weighed the options.
"...No! it wouldn't make sense to continue," Amelia interrupted, "There'd be no guarantee shelter would surface." Boston thought on this. Amelia's right. What am I thinking? He sat down and outstretched his legs, Amelia moved closer and sat on her knees.
"Something isn't right." Amelia looked inquisitively at Boston.
"...I didn't prepare the journey properly, I'm sorry, I'm usually better... Boston began apologetically but he was swaying slightly.
"No..." Amelia stopped him, "You're delirious, and..." She leaned forward and felt his forehead. Amelia's skin was cooling. "You have a fever, sunstroke I bet."
"You know I prefer to wait until the second date before I get diagnosed," Boston chuckled before lying back and slowly fading into unconsciousness, the last moments fluttered for him with shrieks of "Rowan" and fragments of the doctor leaning close and pulling at him.

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Light blinded Boston as he sat up gasping, his garments were soaked through and he coughed. "Take it easy soldier, your fever's just broke," a familiar voice assured, "Lay. Be still." The voice asserted as Boston tried to protest. Vision came back hazy at first, blurred shapes; the figure stumbled around bending over and from what Boston could interpret from the clinking noises, the figure was moving items around. There definitely was a fire, he could feel it not to far off. "People forget, you know," the voice conversed, moving towards Boston, "... That there are still diseases and illnesses out there," the figure moved closer and Boston felt a hand wrap around the back of his and motion it upwards. Ceramic pressed against his palm and his other hand was motioned the similarly but to metal, A bowl and spoon.

"To the general populace it's as if a slight feign of unwell is automatically THE epidemic," the voice continued, assisting Boston ladle a mouthful of soup it'd just handed him, "... It's ridiculous, it's as if the whole state see's things through black and white spectacles. You'd be long chucked out of the dome by now, or worse and for what? A mild fever." Boston's head pulsed pain through his body and the blurred vision remained obscurity. "You were talking, in your sleep. Did you know that?" The voice asked.

"No, I..." Boston began but was interjected.
"Something about Eliza..." The voice began, Boston snapped up to the name - soup and bowl dashed beside him. "Hey! That took time and resources we don't have to spare!" The voice berated.
"My sister. That's why I was here. Here in the first place." It took Boston a few breaths but he managed the sentence eventually and then looked directly at the blurr. "I need to go." Boston explained lifting himself up.
"I hate to break it to you, but you're not going anywhere," The voice asserted, "You don't seem to realise the condition you're in, a fever isn't what it used to be. You have residual side effects which may take days even weeks to fade!" Boston knew he knew the voice he just couldn't place it, or see it. The voice and blurr moved closer holding both his shoulders with blurry hands. "You can hear and thats a good sign, you're healing fast," the voice softened, "But considering you haven't said my name nor looked me in the eye once I can tell your vision and memory are imparied, you're vulnerable and useless. For all we know you've seen your sister already and we have a mission."

Boston thought for moment. Whoever it is, makes a compelling argument. "Your foot." Boston responded.
"What about it?" The voice questioned?
"It's damaged." Boston replied, "Left foot. Heel and side."
"Not as blind as you let on huh?" the voice spoke impressed.
"Perhaps not." Boston lied If you didn't stumble and bob about so much perhaps I wouldn't have noticed. "Can you walk?" Boston asked.
"Well enough," the voice responded though Boston felt a tremble in the voice. "Give me a moment to get everything together, put out the fire if you will." The voice requested. Boston turned towards the heat, which now paled in temperature. He kicked dirt towards the embers and hoped that would suffice, the turth was Boston's vision felt as if it was getting worse not better.
"So this way right?" Boston exclaimed, point a direction.
"Yes, so it's all coming back then? You really are a fast healer!" The voice exclaimed. If a guess counts, sure. Boston moved on, failing to notice the woman trailing behind, struggling to keep pace.

"So tell me about this mission..." Boston began.

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"Where are you going now?" A soft voice called from behind and Boston paused, craning his head to and fro, struggling to pinpoint it's exact source.
"I would be lying if said I knew the complete direction." Boston partially confessed
But you swore blind knew the trail before, the voice began catching up. That's the problem. I swore blind.
"Is your vision or memory not yet a hundred percent?" Bostons companion questioned.
"That's not it," Boston lied, though in truth neither his vision nor memory had even trickled back to him. Before his return to America, nothing.
"Whatever is up then, fix it; the generator should be inside THAT building ahead," the voice exclaimed upon reaching him, "To think, just how far we've traveled."
"Yeah, let's not do that again."
"No promises!" The voice cheekily replied and began to move off. Boston could only notice a slight shade move and shuffled behind. Outstretching a hand as Boston moved adjacent he hooked his hand with his companions and the recipient stopped momentarily, then continued without a word, though now the grip returned was as strong as Bostons.

Footsteps began to clank against metal ground and around Boston could make out the whistling of pipes and machinery, Both Boston and his companion walked single file though Boston still held onto a hand. "You're a lot less chipper than usual, you know?" the voice commented idly whilst leading.
"Lower your voice,"Boston advised in a hushed tone, "We don't know who or what may be out there and we're not exactly armed and combat ready." Boston listened out but the machinery made it difficult to distinguish anything properly.
"You're right, sorry." They both descended down and onto a small causeway, the sound of water flowing helped Boston identify this.
"At the end here I see a right and left, both will lead around to the generator, I think we should split up." the voice ahead deliberated. Just what we don't need.
"Unless you don't think it best?" Boston hesitated, a sound to his left changed his response.
"Go right, I'll meet you around." Was all he gave, then slide past his companion, Should I feel bad I don't know her name? Boston thought creep against what he could only assume was some sort of metal wall. huh... Took me a while to figure her gender out, what IS my problem? Caressing the side Boston kept hunched, feeling with his hands pressed outwards against the metal, the sounds became distinct, Footsteps. But who they belonged eluded Boston, though it wasn't a difficult feat with Boston's visual impairment.

Wait for the footsteps to move away, then navigate behind. Boston planned waiting for the sentry's position to be given away. Boston heard a boot click, One... And another heel step away, Two, Thr... A shriek filled the air from far behind Boston and he turned, still pressed, his thoughts raced to, to... He didn't know who, but she was important and his mind raced to her none the less.
The sentry snapped past Boston without noticing him, speeding off towards the commotion however Boston picked up on the blur moving and stepped to move in sync before grabbing the sentry's arms, kicking the back of his knees so that he fell to them, then Boston extended his leg forcibly into the sentry's back whilst pulling on his arms, the sentry collapsed fully. Dead. Boston sifted through the dead mans pockets acquiring a switchblade,"That'll do," Boston clasped, moving forward and right, passing the causeway.

"Didn't I specifically tell you NOT to scream!?" A voice raged and Boston could hear a harsh physical altercation."Now," The voice began as he shuffled something between his hands, "Who are you? And why are you here? Simple questions." The voice grew impatient, "I tire of this, guards! Wait!" The voice paused bending down, "What have we here?" He began finding a briefcase discarded to her side.
"It's just my research, please." the woman begged.
"It is, is it? Miss... Tyler," Amelia. "...Dr Amelia Tyler, how quaint. Burn it. " He commanded, tossing the briefcase and the notes stuff crudely back in to another person.
"No!" Amelia pleaded and cried, shouting fruitlessly as two men held her still.
One guard knocked her head with a rifle butt; Amelia fell silent.

Boston had encountered a ladder and was firmly planted on what seemed to be the roof of flimsy metal building. Most of the figures had moved or been dragged inside. The remaining one moved towards a searing light emanating from a barrel. Boston stepped couching to the buildings edge but failed to find a ladder or step to descend down, laying out Boston began to lower himself but this left him hanging. Darn.
"Oi!"A voice shouted and Boston could hear a gun being cocked. He let go.
Landing quite forcefully on concrete Boston yelped and rolled up against what Boston assumed was cover."It's a grate mate, you're done." A voice mocked, radioing in that everything was under control outside; unfortunately for the guard, that was all Boston needed and the guard slumped down, a switchblade embedded deeply in the left side of his forehead.

Amelia. I'm coming.