vietmyke — Roleplayer Guild

Webb shot a look over at a pair of soldiers over in squad two's bay and rolled his eyes. Patel was making noise and faces as usual. Not the most like man in the platoon, he still managed to keep his spot in the RIC because he was good at what he did. The fact that there was plenty of just as able replacements waiting in the wings made Webb wonder why on earth the man still had a job. He was aggressive, arrogant, and his apparent distaste for non perfect humans was strange- especially in a unit that had an almost 40% population of 'crippled' soldiers. 

Still, Duncan did his best to ignore him as he downed a bottle of water and popped half a dozen nutrient supplement pills the techs handed them. 8 hours in the tube was a long shift, and the men and women of the RIC got no breaks while they were on shift, and even though they spent 8 hours not moving, it could still be fairly taxing on the body. The on-staff doctors always reminded the soldiers to get a big meal in before they hopped in the tube, but that never stopped many of them- Duncan included from coming out the tube ravenous. 

"How's the lady, Ward?" Duncan asked as his squadmate joined him in the coffin room. He asked the same question every day, it had become a bit of a ritual for him at this point. Their entire squad was fairly close- when you spent 8 hours a day with the same few people- their voices quite literally in your ear for much of it, you learned to get along with, or ignore most people. 

Finally, with a big hiss, the tubes of third squad slid open, from which their operators groggily climbed out of. A few stumbling, the newer pilots unused to standing with their own legs after standing on virtual ones for 8 hours, and others clutching at their stomach. "Evenin' Webb. Good god I my stomach is digesting itself." Complained Ray Gilligan, the second shift pilot of Duncan's shared RI-1.

With some help from his squadmates and a tech, Duncan was lifted out of his wheelchair and lowered into the coffin like tube that served as their interface. As each squad member made themselves comfortable inside their tube, a technician went around, smearing some translucent blue gel over their forehead and temples before sliding their interface headset onto them. The thing looked like a bit like one of the old Occulus Rift type headpieces, except it was a full face mask and was hooked into the back of the tube. For a moment, Duncan couldn't see anything, and was only vaguely aware of the tube shutting with a thunk before the hiss of gas filled his ears as the pilots were submerged in some chemical cocktail gas. 

The first time, Duncan was terrified, but by now he was used to it, and settled in his tube as he felt his grip on reality slowly leave him. 

Damascus, Syria
10:00am Local Time.

Like waking up from a dream, Duncan opened his eyes with a deep inhale. Only now he wasn't breathing, he was kneeling in the middle of a ruined city inside the shell of his RI-1. Unblinking mechanical eyes scanned his surroundings, and saw sand, dirt, ruined buildings, and an army of six and a half foot tall robots. His squad, gathering their bearings were currently surrounded by first, second, and fourth squad- facing outward, as they covered the transitioning soldiers. His vision wasn't 'clean' like a normal human's vision, it was currently cluttered with an overwhelming amount of information- Gilligan liked to clutter his viewscreen as much as possible for god knows what reason. 

Quickly resetting his HUD to his own preferences- Shell integrity and other important vitals in the top left corner, ammunition and gear counters in the bottom right, squad frequency lists on the bottom left, and data-stream in a small box in the top right, leaving the center of his view completely clear. He held his glove covered hand in front of him and flexed it before grabbing at his weapon.

"Squad, report in." barked the voice of Sergeant Lane, third squad's leader. His voice projected directly into his ears- while the RI-1 Shells had external communication projectors, they were mainly for civilians and non RIC personnel they ran into. Most communication happened over a variety of platoon, squad, fireteam, and private communication frequencies, with higher level ones often playing overtop of private channels. 

"Duncan Webb, ready to roll." he reported in as he checked the magazine of his weapon and pulled the charging handle. As the rest of third squad finished checking in, they would change places with fourth squad, who still needed to transition.
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