[Center] Daniel Anders [/Center] --- Heathens. Why did he always have to serve alongside heathens? He wouldn’t have minded if the devil-coaxings bastards were all just ignorant of the faith, at least that was excusable. Instead, two of the men had strange delusions of grandeur and one even worshipped fire as some base, false idol. He was already inside his mech, activating various launch protocols when the fire-heathen delivered a mercy kill to the babbling man. “Deus animae tuae misereatur” -God have mercy on your soul. It was of ill-consequence to God what Daniel said, but the thought that at least one prayer might tip the scale in the man’s favour was comfort enough for him. His start up protocols were all-but-finished when he noticed the advancement of the two on-foot soldiers. One was rushing towards the tank like a bat out of hell and the other was moving towards it also, albeit it a much slower pace. The zealot rolled his eyes with a disappointment masked behind thick layers of armour. Inside his mech, he was away from the idiocy and behind the wheel of the monolithic ‘Crusader.’ The purging fire and the righteous fist of god, all ready and waiting for Daniel’s tender caress. He felt an excitement surge through him, when a moment of foresight reached him. Picking up the radio, for he knew he wouldn’t be heard over the din of the fool-pilot Brucie, he decided to open comms with everyone, not just his team. “Don’t forget your gasmasks. Not even a mech-suit will keep you safe from the smog, and I’m sure none of you want to see your insides.” Closing off his coms, he then tuned the radio into Achilles’ frequency. No doubt he’d be calling on the cocksure pilot before long: his fellow soldiers were the loudest, after all. Daniel waited at the back of the group, a shepherd amongst sheep. He could almost taste the attack coming as he donned the gas-mask. Inside his mech, he had a number of hours, should he seal the airlock. Wearing the mask was a protection against faults though, and while god protected the faithful: it was the faithful’s job to protect themselves a little. With an attack imminent, and at least two people being too stupid to keep themselves safe, Daniel waited to see who would need his assistance first. He manouvered the mech behind a central piece of cover, crouching it down and providing at least moderate protection while waiting for the first cry for help. As Jesus watched his disciples, Daniel would watch the idiots and await the wolves to come. --- [Center] Kiku [/Center] --- The air felt funny. Not to her hands, or anything: Kiku was more than aware that the air would only feel this way to her because of the small spines of her back, ever ‘tasting’ the air; sensing what would come from where and when. They were safety mechanisms: they kept her safer and she was happy to have them, even if a few had found the protrusions grotesque. [i]’Not that I care. They’re all dead!’[/i] She giggled a little at the realisation that the only people alive who’d seen her back spines could be counted on her fingers. There was Col. Black, who found her in the pits, half-naked and covered in blood, then there was the doctor… Whos-a-ma-call-it. The cute guy who served in the second ring of the bunker with the cute little dimples when she tickled his chin. ...Shame about the whole wife thing, she might have paid him another visit, if he didn’t mumble that little detail in his sleep. Her radio grumbled to life a second time: First was the cute-Chinook pilot, who was full of almost endearingly copious amounts of self-confidence, who shouted out options and instructions. The other message came from some other, older guy. She hadn’t really paid much attention to his name, but the advice was sound...Was it meant for her? She had admittedly forgotten about the gas-mask though, and upon hearing the advice, she put it on. It wasn’t like she needed her nose to sniff things out. Turning to the rest of the group, she saw: a guy with a fancy sword-which she totally didn’t fantasize about stealing-a chick who looked like a badass ninja lady and another girl with a bitchin’ sniper rifle. She didn’t fantasize about stealing that one though...She sucked with sniper rifles. “So which of you th-ohmygod my voice sounds funny in this thing.” She giggled at the sound of her own muffled voice, resounding through the gas mask. The giggle sounded like a sick gurgle, compared to the normally whimsical laughter of the listener. “So as I was saying. Which of you guys are good at shooting? I’m basically ass when it comes to long range fire, so I’ll probably watch yo’ booties by guarding the stairs. I’m pretty good at sensing things coming too, so that means I don’t have to worry about fucking up the shooting...Yay.” She looked at the group with a smile, unaware that the gasmask, as well as the left side of her face, had started to match the dark skies behind her in an active shift of her camouflage ability. The other side of her face had faded out the mask, but kept her unblemished skin clear and visible: which revealed the almost innocent smile matched with murderous eyes. Kiku liked this job a little too much.