Post by Insano-Man on Jun 10, 2022 15:46:43 GMT -5
EZIMA'THRES DRASSA
Getting out of her safehouse sewer pipe was top priority for Amin, but she was set to do it for all the wrong reasons. Up above, trouble was brewing. Cloaked men and scheming women, dark rituals and terrible monsters - and more than just the mutant death cult three floors above her. This time, it was the death cult to end all death cults; the one and only Cult of Meat - that'd not once had a foothold in the city before. It was that same Cult of Meat that Amin had only ever heard about in passing. It was that same Cult of Meat she'd giggled at the idea of.
It was that same Cult of Meat that was about to teach her about what went on in the world past the wastes.
On October 13th of 1313, the Cult hit the plates above. It took Drassa like a hurricane right up from Hell. Meat monsters went screaming into the streets, eating and eviscerating people on shopping trips and morning walks. Assassinations cut half the heads off the SDC, by Cult infiltrators and back-alley monster mobs. Brother turned on brother, as fresh converts tore into their own - or pulled their family together into a new band of fanatics. Amin heard the news with her crew the next day, complete with footage of zombie cops and blood in the streets.
Most everyone down in the safehouse figured that was it; no more Drassa, no more safehouse. They were going to wait for Jimmy's extraction team, or follow Raki out the door. That didn't happen. Raki pulled everyone up to start moving up - up to Drassa, to back the SDC. The damnedest thing about it was that, for once since Ves turned to smoke, Amin agreed with him on something. Seeing blood-breathing freaks, seeing greys split down the middle - hearing about her few friends up in the Enclave being murder en masse like the Red Bonfire - that was too much. Merc or not, the girl was shocked into action. She was going to meet the threat.
Of course, all that sass and knee-jerk bravado didn't do as much as she'd hoped when she finally got to see the spleen-worms for herself. That budding conscience of hers kept her on Drassa's plates, but she'd had enough trouble with the Dough Man. Going on field trips was an order too awful. Just like always, when the going got too ugly, Amin did what she did best; she hid away in the backend. While Raki was running in-person ops and admin duties at the top, Amin went to work handling logistics, communications - anything that meant she didn't have to outrun a horde of horrors, or gun down some old lady growing acid glands.
It wasn't glamorous, but, incourageous or not, it was exactly where Amin belonged. Drassa might've been fighting something that didn't have brain chips to hijack, or HUDs to black out, but it was still a city in the city. There were still clean clones, both in and around Drassa. There were still auto-doors to lock down and auto-guns to power up. There were still freight drones to whistle over to be sure the Enclave wasn't going to starve while it was being eaten alive. All that and more was what Amin handled - sometimes, all by herself - and all that was what kept her from dying of a heart attack before the walking globsters could catch up.
It all came to a head when Amin nearly lost hers - in the Marrazoch explosion that nearly wiped out what was left of Drassa. She was in the rich-side tower leading up to High Plate at the time, right next to her mastermind mentor. When the tower came down, it broke three things; both her legs, and her nerve to be in Drassa. Sakazzah being next to her when it happened was the only reason she survived - and one of the big reasons why she was out the door the next week. Amin didn't need to be in the Enclave to help it. Raki knew that better than anyone. Before she could even collect her composure to argue, Amin was slotted in with a bundle of refugees being smuggled off to somewhere safer - and about the best place in the city she could make a difference.
Getting out of her safehouse sewer pipe was top priority for Amin, but she was set to do it for all the wrong reasons. Up above, trouble was brewing. Cloaked men and scheming women, dark rituals and terrible monsters - and more than just the mutant death cult three floors above her. This time, it was the death cult to end all death cults; the one and only Cult of Meat - that'd not once had a foothold in the city before. It was that same Cult of Meat that Amin had only ever heard about in passing. It was that same Cult of Meat she'd giggled at the idea of.
It was that same Cult of Meat that was about to teach her about what went on in the world past the wastes.
On October 13th of 1313, the Cult hit the plates above. It took Drassa like a hurricane right up from Hell. Meat monsters went screaming into the streets, eating and eviscerating people on shopping trips and morning walks. Assassinations cut half the heads off the SDC, by Cult infiltrators and back-alley monster mobs. Brother turned on brother, as fresh converts tore into their own - or pulled their family together into a new band of fanatics. Amin heard the news with her crew the next day, complete with footage of zombie cops and blood in the streets.
Most everyone down in the safehouse figured that was it; no more Drassa, no more safehouse. They were going to wait for Jimmy's extraction team, or follow Raki out the door. That didn't happen. Raki pulled everyone up to start moving up - up to Drassa, to back the SDC. The damnedest thing about it was that, for once since Ves turned to smoke, Amin agreed with him on something. Seeing blood-breathing freaks, seeing greys split down the middle - hearing about her few friends up in the Enclave being murder en masse like the Red Bonfire - that was too much. Merc or not, the girl was shocked into action. She was going to meet the threat.
Of course, all that sass and knee-jerk bravado didn't do as much as she'd hoped when she finally got to see the spleen-worms for herself. That budding conscience of hers kept her on Drassa's plates, but she'd had enough trouble with the Dough Man. Going on field trips was an order too awful. Just like always, when the going got too ugly, Amin did what she did best; she hid away in the backend. While Raki was running in-person ops and admin duties at the top, Amin went to work handling logistics, communications - anything that meant she didn't have to outrun a horde of horrors, or gun down some old lady growing acid glands.
It wasn't glamorous, but, incourageous or not, it was exactly where Amin belonged. Drassa might've been fighting something that didn't have brain chips to hijack, or HUDs to black out, but it was still a city in the city. There were still clean clones, both in and around Drassa. There were still auto-doors to lock down and auto-guns to power up. There were still freight drones to whistle over to be sure the Enclave wasn't going to starve while it was being eaten alive. All that and more was what Amin handled - sometimes, all by herself - and all that was what kept her from dying of a heart attack before the walking globsters could catch up.
It all came to a head when Amin nearly lost hers - in the Marrazoch explosion that nearly wiped out what was left of Drassa. She was in the rich-side tower leading up to High Plate at the time, right next to her mastermind mentor. When the tower came down, it broke three things; both her legs, and her nerve to be in Drassa. Sakazzah being next to her when it happened was the only reason she survived - and one of the big reasons why she was out the door the next week. Amin didn't need to be in the Enclave to help it. Raki knew that better than anyone. Before she could even collect her composure to argue, Amin was slotted in with a bundle of refugees being smuggled off to somewhere safer - and about the best place in the city she could make a difference.
