[CENTER][IMG]https://i.imgur.com/uNV0csR.png[/IMG][/CENTER]
[COLOR=AF7AC5][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=white][I]Chihuahuan Desert (the outskirts of Navapo, New Mexico)[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b]Seeing [color=228B22]Green[/color] – 1.02[/b][/right][/sup][/indent][/color][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][color=AF7AC5][sub][B]Interaction(s):[/B] [COLOR=white][I]None[/I][/COLOR][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][b]Previously:[/b] [COLOR=white][I][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4950248]1.01[/url][/I][/COLOR][/right][/SUP][/color][/INDENT]
[INDENT]Thumb sliding across the phone screen, blue eyes skimming a list of headlines, Elizabeth Ross adjusted her posture, crossing her legs the other way. One hand going to the hem of her black pencil skirt, her eyes shot up to the desk at the man in uniform, turning his Dallas-style mustachioed face away from her gaze ‘casually’ scratching the back of his head as he yawned. Rolling her eyes, she flopped her phone down, asking, [color=F1948A]“Can you page him again?”[/color]

Nameplate reading ‘G. Talbot’, the Staff Sergeant shrugged before turning to his internal phone line and picking up the receiver. Letting it hang, he asked, “What did you want to see him for again?”

Betty’s eyelids fluttered, breathing thrown off slightly. Keeping her cool, she reiterated, [color=F1948A]“I would like to see my [i]boyfriend[/i].”[/color] Her emphasis was pointed. She continued, [color=F1948A]“Look, I know security is tight after the accident, but...”[/color]

Talbot scowled, “What accident?” Looking around, he said, “You aren’t supposed to know about any accident.”

[color=F1948A][i]Are you fucking serious?[/i][/color] Betty didn’t say the words, but Talbot’s sharp reaction was ample enough evidence to show that expression was all she needed. Holding up his free hand helplessly, he muttered, “I can’t just let a journalist in without permission.” Eyebrows raised, he added, perhaps playfully, “I mean, maybe we can work something out...”

Betty could have thrown her phone through his face. Science advocacy was a bit more broad then just journalism, but she knew damn well that Glenn was trying to earn some kind of favor, because he always did. Or always tried. Arm pulling back, she flexed as though she might toss the phone at him, but only for a moment, quickly bringing it back around to her face. There was a moment of hesitance as she went through her priority contacts, thumb hovering over ‘Dad’. [color=F1948A]“I can see what the General has to say if you’d like.”[/color] Betty hated pulling the ‘dad’ card, but being with Talbot was honestly worse. Eyes darting to the phoneline in trepidation, Talbot complied. Picking up the phone, he rolled his chair back and turned away, calling it out. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Betty's hovering foot tapped the air lightly as she waited.

Hanging up the phone, Talbot came back to the desk. “Uh...Banner still hasn’t show up.”

Betty stared for a moment, before shaking her head. Going to her contacts, she phoned Bruce. Letting it ring, she knew it wouldn’t have reached him if he were actually in the lab where it wasn’t allowed, but at the moment he could be anywhere. Yet the phone only rang fruitlessly. “The person you are trying to reach is unav-”

Hanging up, Betty glanced behind her, as if Bruce might show up in the waiting area. Turning back, eyes finding a vacant spot on the floor, her mind was abuzz as she postulated on just where that man could have gone, or what he could have gotten himself in to.

[center]---[/center]
First was the dream, the rush of the desert speeding before him.

Second was the heat of the dirt he rested on, its painful scent. Third was the breeze, the dust it carried lost, confused. Fourth was the harsh beat of the sun, so furious.

And finally was the terror. Bruce took in a sharp breath, coughing and hacking the dirt and dust that came with it. Grunting and groaning, he pulled his arms out from underneath him and crawled to his knees, mouth dripping globules of spit as he tried to drain the dirt out of his mouth. His breath couldn’t seem to regulate as more and more information brought him more and more confusion. His glasses were missing: he couldn’t see well, but he could tell he was in the middle of the desert, blurry rocks and dry shrubs spattered in the dusty flats. It was still day, but the sun was dipping even lower in the sky, closer and closer to tinting the day orange. His feet burned, bare against the ground. His pants felt loose, several of the seams broken. His shirt was in tatters, only hanging on quite literally by threads. The cold sweat on his skin might have made the breeze more comforting, even as dirt stuck to his skin, but it did not calm him. What he last remembered already seemed distant, the anger he’d felt well drowned out by his current emotional cocktail. Desperately skimming his pockets, his phone was gone, but he had his keys and his wallet, (for as good as that would do him).

Trying to make out anything he could, he stumbled to a shadier spot, crouching under a medium sized rock to get out of the blare of the sun. With one thing out of the way, however small, Bruce’s mind tried to figure anything useful, pushing back his confusion as a dread set in. legally blind without his glasses and in the middle of the desert, the very real possibility existed that he would die. The Base would be wondering where he was since he didn’t show up to work, but god knows how many hours it would take before they really got to searching, and what reason would Bruce have to be out here? Betty would be dragged into his mess too. She wouldn’t rest until he was found (bless her), but Bruce didn’t want to worry her if he could help it. But could he? Out here in the nothing? Picking a direction and going would be dangerous, but the phrase ‘do or die’ was one he couldn’t shake from his thought process. He needed direction, and if he was lucky he wasn’t [i]that[/i] far. But then again, if he were lucky, he wouldn’t have ended up in this situation in the first place.

Turning about, Bruce stooped and scrambled up onto the rock, the tallest thing within a few meters, taking a seat on the surface. Grimacing as the sun’s heat met him yet again, he bore it as he kept his eyes peeled. Rubbing his forehead with the back of his arm to keep the sweat back, he skimmed the horizon, straining to pick out some kind of landmark. Color was about the only thing he could really see in his blurred visions, any shape distorting ever so slightly. But among that was light, and from his position he swore he could make out points of light reflected in the sun: vehicles in a parking lot? It was the only thing that stood out from the tanned stone and stumpy shrubs, and with only one option before him, he didn’t feel like he had much choice. He had to move. Now. Or else he wasn’t going to make it back.

Hoping, praying, Bruce dared to make his way. His feet did not take to the movement kindly. Wearing shoes outside your whole life really dulled you to just how much there really was to [i]feel[/i] underfoot. Cracks in the ground became falling hazards, Bruce ultimately blind to them. Every little rock poked at his feet, his reflexes demanding he flinch away but his mind fighting that notion, gritting through the pain and discomfort to maintain his course. After some time he stopped himself in some shade, removing what remained of his shirt. It barely covered him as it was, so while his pale complexion was set to burn a nice shade of red, he could at least protect his feet, even if only a little. Guarding his heel and toes with bindings from the scraps of his shirt, he continued on, but the reprieve only lasted so long before they inevitably came undone, the little protection they offered short lived as it was. Feet now totally bare and god knows how much desert lay in front of him, the dirt only became more of an issue. The longer he walked, the more he could feel it grind him down. Sandpaper had its name for a reason after all, and as the walk went on, blisters forming, then bursting, skin went red, rubbed raw, before splitting. The stinging as blood became matted in the dirt, wounds coated in dust was only bearable as Bruce tried to focus on the reflections still in the distance, steadily becoming closer as the sunlight fractured into orange. Even if the area’s temperature was becoming more temperate, the cold that was coming only made Bruce worry more, as he was certainly just as unprepared for that as he was for this.

Crushing day turned to foreboding night, even the moonlight could not make up for Bruce’s lacking eyesight. And yet, somehow, his tenacity allowed him to press on just long enough as he stumbled face first into a chain link fence. Falling back onto his rear, he looked, but he simply could not see it, though the sound was unmistakable. Beyond he couldn’t make out much of anything through the darkness, but he didn’t need to. One hand on the fence, he picked a direction and went, the fence allowing him to brace himself as he went along, praying it would take him somewhere.

But instead, it took others to him. The barking of dogs in the distance sent a wave of hope, then a wall of anxiety and dread in the face of not knowing what he was getting in to. Looking around, he saw lights bobbing out from the other side of the fence, shapes moving alongside. Letting go of the fence, Bruce took a step back, waiting for their arrival with his hands raised. A voice called out, spouting Spanish, Bruce only making out a bit of it. As they made it ever closer, Bruce sputtered, but no words came out, his throat too dry. Covering his mouth and trying to make due, he finally gagged, [color=AF7AC5]“No hablo m...mucho español. Solo un poco. I-”[/color] Bruce stopped, a series of coughs bursting from his chest before he groaned, [color=AF7AC5]“...speak English.”[/color]

To tired to even look up as lights looked over him, Bruce heard, “Hey he needs medical attention!” He nudged his partner, yanking the dog on its leash back, before pulling out a walkie to call it in. The other grasped the fence, looking around, likely trying to figure where Bruce was to go from here.

Bruce dared asked, [color=AF7AC5]“Where am I?”[/color] The guard’s head shot to him. Bruce couldn’t see much with the flashlights ensuring they only appeared as silhouettes. The guard answered, “El Diablo Air Force Base.”

Relief flooding through him, Bruce kept his hands where they could be seen as he sunk to his knees, bloodied feet taking any reprieve they could get. Voice raspy, he let out a low laugh simply out of relief.

[color=AF7AC5]“Sorry, I’m late for work. I got here as fast as I could.”[/color][/INDENT]