"You come from this direction, they're probably expect you to be coming out of the Wildlands, but considering this place is an island, they won't have much room to make any assumptions. The Refuge should be about an hour or 2 in that direction, to the east."

The boat's captain raised an arm, and pointed his old finger past Ryker, behind him. A conscript finally finished giving Ryker all of his equipment, handing him Isabella, his trusty rifle. He had fitted it with the longer barrel and an ACOG scope sat atop the rail on top. Ryker put the sling around his neck, completing his complete set of combat and survival equipment.

"You should be able to communicate with command with the radio we installed into your left arm. Be sure to keep us updated often. You go quiet for too long, we're going to have to send out search teams. If you're trying to keep your cover up, rescue teams won't help that." The captain gave him a tired smile, before standing to salute. "May the Silver Hand Guide you." His medals glistened in the sun. The conscripts on board the patrol boat all also stood at attention.

Ryker stood up straight and saluted the crew and Captain. "May the Hand guide you all back safely."

The Captain relaxed, and the crew all followed suit, returning to their assorted posts. "Good luck, Ryker. If anyone can do it, it's you." The captain said.

Ryker smiled. 'Thank you, sir." He nodded his head. The splash shields on the side of the boat began to rise, and the Captain remained standing, facing him. Ryker gave one last wave before he turned, and started walking down the pier he stood on, towards the main docks. He could hear the boat's engine roar to life, and starting revving, the water splashing as the boat sped away from the dock. He was on his own now. No more friendlies, only him.

Rotting, overgrown stalls still stood on the boardwalk that Ryker walked down. Their fabrics of fading colors flapped in the slight breeze that blew past them, with discarded stuffed animals and paper cups littering the boardwalk everywhere. To Ryker's right was a large, rusting ferris wheel creaking from it's movement. He put the hood on his trench coat up around his head, and his arms fell to Isabella. He watched as his cloth wrapped arms lifted the rifle up, his fingers finding the safety and flipping it off. Pulling the charging handle back, he heard the bullet chamber, and let the rifle hang around his neck with one hand still on the handle, finger resting on the trigger guard. 

His eyes shifted to his left hand, watching it's every twitch and fidget. He was still puzzled as how he felt anything with robotic arms, but remembered what the scientist explained to him. Something about a thin membrane network over most of the arm that sent signals that allowed to him feel. Medical sciences were child's play to him, but Robotic science was a whole new book. He sighed, and pulled his head back up, his walking pace starting up again. He brought his left arm up to his face, and activated his radio.

"Command, this is Romeo Bravo, establishing comms." His voice was still deep and tired, lifeless.

It took a moment, but the operator on the other end responded in his ear bud. "Oh, hey there Ryker! Comms established! Got any questions?" The voice that answered him was a high pitched one, a bit too cheery for Ryker's liking.

"The captain never briefed me on the ROE's." He said quietly, scanning his surroundings. His index finger skirted the trigger guard of his rifle.

"Ah! Well, you're not allowed to fire upon Silver Hand under any circumstances. If possible, avoid firing upon any sort UNAR-affiliated troops as much as you can. Try your best to avoid to shoot any SRF or RA troops, but it's not a huge deal if you can't. Tribals are all weapons free if provoked. Survivalists are expendable, and I'd be surprised if you [i]didn't[/i] shoot any of those Loyals."

Ryker sighed at the complacency for civilian deaths by his higher-ups. If the Silver Hand were going to get any sort of heavy influence on the region, they were going to have to start respecting the Tribals and Survivalists more. Even is he wasn't identifiable as Silver Hand, if he was made, any kills he had would fall upon the Silver Hand. "What about Apocanites and Centurians?"

The woman didn't respond for a moment. "Uh.. it doesn't say. That's odd. They aren't usually in those parts, but if you come across any, just try not to shoot them unless they shoot at you first." She giggled. "I didn't get to introduce myself. I'm Mia, and I'll be your personal handler. I'll be here just about any time of the day to help you in your mission, give you some information, or to receive any information you have to report the Silver Hand. I hope we have a happy little partnership!"

Ryker peeked into the dark window, the barrel of this rifle jutting slightly into the darkness. He scanned, and his flashlight slowly rose out of the back of his hand from under a sliding panel. It illuminated the dark room in front of him, and reveal nothing. Once he was sure there was nothing, he continued down the street, eyeing around the street. A stoic expression was cemented in his face. "Ditto." He muttered lifelessly into his radio.

"You know you don't have to hold the microphone so close to your mouth." Mia said with a giggle. "I can hear you just fine with your arm to your side. Just remember not to keep your radio on for too long, it might use quite a bit of your energy,"

"Then how will I know you're trying to contact me?" Ryker said quietly, shifting up to the corner of a building. Mia spoke as he peered around the corner.

"Oh, you'll know. You'll get a very distinct sensation in your arm when I'm calling you."

The street was silent, and Ryker had a long walk through Old Manhattan before he reached The Refuge.

"Well, this is Romeo Bravo, out."

"Out!" Mia replied cheerfully, before Ryker shut off his radio.

He continued down the street, eyeing the large plant that covered the road in front of him. What used to be a T-Intersection in the old world was now a T-Intersection with the massive root of an even more massive plant that has burrowed it's way into one of the taller building on the block. Many, smaller sections of plant branched off of the main stem, all covered in an assortment of various colors, with leaves falling off of it every and again. Ryker simply stood in admiration before the massive plant, which at it's highest point sprouted over, with huge pollen tubes lazily rising out of the top. It's massive root, although, was the more important of Ryker's problems. It was too tall to climb without being a pain in the ass, as most of it's area was covered in thorns. He'd have to go around, but it would probably be a long walk. "Fuck."

---

Ryker had moved to one of the buildings that the pant's roots had grown around, climbing up the vine covered fire escape. Sounds of metal on metal impact filled the quiet air as he pulled himself up the shaky ladders. [b][i]Snap.[/i][/b] The ladder gave way. It was to be expected, as old as it was, but it still took Ryker by surprise. His left hand slammed into the walls, as spikes emerged from his palm, drilling into the wall. Ryker's fall stopped abruptly, pain radiating from his shoulder. His feet came up under hum, his boots scraping on the brick wall as he tried desperately to support himself. Isabella hang from around his neck, softly swinging and bumping into him. A guttural growl escaped his lips as he pulled on his left arm, trying to reach the platform above him, before his gaze turned down to see that the platform he had passed before was inches below his feet. He couldn't help by smirk as he lowered himself down, his arm releasing it's hold on the wall and the drills retracted. He cringed as he stretched his left arm out, rotating it around. "Fuck me." He muttered under his breath. He looked up, seeing his drill holes in the wall.

[i]I really wish my other arm could do that.[/i]