Jeep Wrangler — Roleplayer Guild

	The thrust the two made to slam the metallic pole into concrete roof was hard enough work anyway. Without the complete availability to drills, or even a rusty chisel, made life on this particular duty very stressful. The two had been pushing their scrap into this rooftop for at least an hour, only just making progress. The make-shift design was Supposed to mean that it could easily be slammed into thick surfaces within a good half-an-hour. Obviously, being in this group, there wasn't exactly the greatest hope for sustainability with equipment lasting as long or doing as said with the right functioning. Aesthetically, it looked pretty nice, but since when in a crappy world will someone fighting almost every week to stay alive care about how a pole looks? If this is what the guys down in R&D were spending all their time and effort on, then he should seriously question what kind of Cell he'd joined. The two rammed it in a final time, agreeing to one another that they had done a Well-enough job to grant a small break, before they bolt it down into place. Marcus would backtrack his few paces from where he lifted it from the bag. The things weren't as heavy as such, but did prove to be rather annoying to carry around.

"So...this is the last one, right?" She continued to rummage through the bag, grabbing the bolts and handheld tools to quickly finish the last act. Marcus slid down against a roof-top generator, sighing deeply as he did so. He nodded, quietly muttering to himself as he flicked a few speckles of dust from his attire. His eyes slowly began to dim as he let his head flop down. "Think you could help me with this someday?" Marcus snapped back into his full-reality, exiting his dreams of a peaceful and non-violent present only in his mind. It would've been in everyone's minds at some point, but then again everyone's would've been different ideal futures. No matter if they were fighting, winning, losing, commanding or avoiding everything, it would only bring confusion to those who didn't imagine that the Human Race could one day be as successful as it was before. He stood up, slowly staggering over. Marcus was tired, as Lucinda Graham, Goshawk, was too. She was a more determined fellow, and was keen on getting everything done properly in the quickest time. More sociably successful, capable of taking charge, she was the definition of the Elite Hawks. Cheesy name for such a skilful collection. And by skilful, he could really say average. None of them were the best soldiers in existence, and the New Order, even if they were lower in intelligence, agility and strategic movement, could and would outnumber them by vast drones. At the push of a Commander's button, those hounds could be released into the wildfire, searching for stray meat to lurk in their hunting grounds. "Sparrow, for fuck's sake! Get over here!" He jumped back to attention, moving over to her side to hold the Pallet in place. "You'd think, with all of these are useless, huh? Constantly being put close to each other. As if we had enough here alread-"

"T-they aren't pointless." Marcus finally spoke up. "I-It provides the multiple routes. These prove useful in fire-fight situations."

"Yea', but it also is too much work! We should be fighting out there, M'...we should be on the Frontline right now, gunning them down with style and pride." She beamed as her handiwork screwed in the second bolt.

"We a-are on the Frontline. A-and to be honest, the entire area is the Frontline. But i-it isn't always about fighting, y'know?"

"Your New-Order days surely reinforce that..." She retorted back in her usual quiet tone. The two usually got on, and this was how they got on. Small debates is what made the two the most Human of their Nest. She was like everyone else, but more trustworthy and enjoyable to be around. Yes, she could be snarly at the most annoying of moments, but she proved to be rather useful. She'd grown upon Marcus' speech problems, gradually making him more confident to alone speak to her. The two could comfortably talk about anything really, especially when it came to topics of sad emotion. "Ever since the damn 7th Nest crumbled we've been putting th-"

"W-we don't talk about that. Remember? Last time we got it handed to us. You know how much Shikra was effected by that day. And t-to me. This is the best thing we can do. Prepare for the next time it happens, what a genius thing, yet so simple." The two finally finished the last bolt. Marcus nodded to his companion as she reeled the thick wire across. A Zipline, standard duty emplacement for those within the Flock. She pulled out a small handheld Military Radio, calling in on the enclosed channel.

"Welder England. Zulu-Line is in place. Heading back after a re-run. Response?" She paused, letting her hand slip off of the P-T-T button [Press-To-Talk]. "Why do we need these evolved phonetics anyway? Why not just use the regular phonetics? I mean some of them are similar but st-"

"Do I really need to answer that?" Marcus sighed, clipping a bag onto his left shoulder. The two slowly moved over to the building's edge, watching the small light-bulb lit streets ahead. In front, a large station for Peacekeepers within the New-Order sat and gleamed watchlights down upon the restless world. It was only just starting to get dark, and yet they were undetected and the New-Order were already switching out the Lamplights. "Guess it's not so easy being on the rough side of town, anymore, is it? Now come on...didn't Kestrel say something about whipping us up with a Cuppa'?"

	The back of the Nape was shattered, for some reason his quick-thinking shift hadn't fully formed the usual Bone-like texture that he called Nape-Armour. It left him open, vulnerable to extraction. If, for whatever reason, the Survey were using her once again to look for the very beast he was, then he'd be left in a deadly position for apprehensive actions. The swords dug deep down into the naked nape, slowly tearing skin and muscle until Grant had felt a prod on his shoulder, there was a searing pain. He was still in a black visual state, not being able to see, only hear what is going on. The beast was dead, she had dug into the vital point of survivability and killed the danger lurking within the world. Grant could feel the Sword, digging into his own Human-shoulder. She wasn't obviously used to cutting other people out of napes, and so his size contradicted her expert knowledge on the Titans themselves. He flinched as sunlight hit his back, his eyes slowly fluttering awake. His shoulder flourished blood out of the Beast's deceased opening and spluttered it all over the attacker...Grant was exposed...Shit...

Jeep Wrangler Banned

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