hadriel_logs | [closed] and since we've one place to go

Entry tags:

[closed] and since we've one place to go

Who: Nathan Drake, Elena Fisher, Agent Washington, Agent Maine, Kyna Midha, Staci Pratt, Poe Dameron, Taako Taaco, Lup Taaco, Peter Parker
What: Nate leads a ~~polar~~ expedition out to the mountains.
Where: Out on the tundra; at an undisclosed excavation site in the foothills.
When: February 1-14
Warnings: PG-13+ for swearing, descriptions of dead bodies/science torture. :(

[source]

WELCOME TO SNOW HELL

the journey | the door | the bunker | the lab

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

People shouldn't have to fight wars they didn't sign up for. Dragging non-combatants into this shit...

But I meant that some people come from places and times of peace. They shouldn't have to deal with this, they should be able to stay untainted by war and fighting and all this...

[He gestures around as if there's actually anything out there to gesture at.]

[ It's a sentiment that Maine understands. Unfortunately, he doesn't think it's a realistic one. By allying with the "gods," the people of Hadriel pitted themselves against the Null. Doesn't matter if they weren't here for the decision. Doesn't matter if they don't agree with it. Shit, Maine doesn't want to be involved in this war, and he's been fighting nearly half his life. It is what it is — even if it fucking sucks.

So he asks (not entirely rhetorically): ]

City's a target. Innocence an option?

[ He could say "ignorance." But they're talking about people untainted by war; innocence seems more appropriate. ]

Isn't it the job of soliders and fighters to keep them out of it? We're pretty much failing miserably at that.

[ "We" causes Maine to tense. Fuck "we." This is the god's war, not theirs. And he types as much, albeit a little more slowly: he's trying not to let the tension seep into his grip. ]

Not our war. Not our failure.

[ He starts to turn the screen towards Pratt. Pauses to add: ]

Soldier's job's to win.

[ That's it. Win by any means necessary. It's simple. ]

It may not be ours, but we're here aren't we? What should we do? Sit on the sidelines and watch people suffer?

[No. He's done that enough. Fuck that.]

Maybe so, but I became an officer to help people. And this whole place is fucking that over.

[ That's the real question, isn't it? What should they do?

Maine knows what he'd like to do. Knows what course he'd choose if it were up to him. He'd accept the Null's offer to send him home, then he'd step aside and let them slaughter the gods.

He has his own war to fight. The gods are nothing to him.

But it's not his choice. Like so many things throughout his life, he doesn't get a say in shit. His allies sided with the gods and made themselves targets; therefore, Maine will stand beside them. He has to protect them. There's no other option.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), those aren't thoughts Maine is comfortable sharing. Not with anyone. So he grunts and steps back to his steak. Flips the meat before returning to Pratt with another message: ]

Place sucks.

[ Eloquent to the last. ]

It really fucking does.

[He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He doesn't have any of the answers, and somehow he's expecting other people to. Like maybe Maine will have some brilliant idea that no one has thought of for how to end the fighting and keep innocents safe. ]

What do you think we should do?

[ That he's actually asked gives Maine pause. He's not used to people wanting his opinion on such things. He's used to receiving orders and following them. Motionless, he stares at Pratt for a long moment, trying to figure out whether it's a genuine question.

... Seems like it is. Hm. ]

Not a strategist.

[ Best to put that out there, he thinks. Then he asks: ]

With torture?

[ Or in the fight against the Null? ]

No not how to torture them. Torture is easy.

[You figure out somethings weakness and exploit it until you get what you want. It's not really about the pain, in fact you can torture someone without ever even laying a hand on them. Pratt takes it for granted that everyone knows that. ]

I mean about this whole Gods versus the Null thing.

[ He didn't mean "how to torture them," but that's something that comes with using so few words: misunderstandings are more likely. However, Maine doesn't clarify. He just listens and considers his answer.

Maine isn't comfortable sharing his thoughts on accepting the Null's offer and letting the gods die. He won't openly question the decisions of his teammates — if he did, it would be to them — and he doubts it would make a difference if he did. Instead, he addresses the current situation: the gods are targets, and those in Hadriel are targets by association. ]

Train and arm everyone. War for survival. No noncombatants.

[He sighs. That's probably the best option, the one that makes the most sense. But it's not one he likes.]

If we had more guns, maybe. I'm trying at the range but.... bows and arrows and throwing knives aren't going to do much against robots or whatever the Null are.

There's going to be so many casualties.

[Simply stating a fact. People are going to die, lots of them.]

[ The Freelancer gives a little shrug and nods. Yes, there probably will be. It's war. Casualties are inevitable. ]

Can get ammo. Why not guns?

From where?

I'm not bartering with these fake gods for anything. And no one's said they have weaopnry anyway.

[ Again, Maine shrugs. It had been a question, not an offer. He figured that if it were possible to get more ammo, it might be possible to get more guns. Having his own weapons on hand, it's not something he's had reason to look into. ]

Other weapons.

[ He gestures vaguely in the direction of the group's magically inclined. ]

You wanna give a bunch of civilians the ability to shoot fireballs out of their hands?

They're gonna light the town on fire and accidentally kill each other. These aren't trained soldiers, they're just... regular people.

They need to be able to defend themselves if we can't do it for them, but I don't think we can expect much of an army with the people we have here.

[ Guns, fireballs — bizarre as the latter is, Maine doesn't see much difference between the two. Untrained people accidentally kill each other with conventional weapons. What makes fireballs special? ]

Train first. Then arm.

[ Every soldier starts off as a civilian. It's an obstacle to overcome, but not a deathblow. ]

You volunteering?

[Because he's had his share of that at the range and he is not cut out to be a teacher.]

[ That's not something Maine had considered. He doesn't know magic; he can't teach the fireball equivalent of muzzle control. But basic training?

... Carolina would be better. Wash might, too. After all, Maine can't bark commands if he can't fucking speak. Can't effectively instruct someone if he's having to stop and type things all the time.

But he could help. ]

Could.

[ Volunteer? Train? He starts moving back to check his steak before he can clarify. ]

[It's not a bad idea. Especially since Maine is the mose soldiery solider he's met. But he's also probably terrifying to someone who's never held a weapon before. Maybe they should start them out easy with someone who won't have them pissing themselves.]

I guess we could start doing something at the range. For regular weapons I mean I don't want anyone shooting lasers at my targets.

[Or worse: fireballs.]

I dunno if people would sign up to learn though. Unless there's an imminent threat and then it might be too late.

[ That gets a noncommittal grunt as Maine tends to his food. Looks like it's about done. He decides to give it another minute. Returns to Pratt, typing out another message as he does so: ]

Their funeral.

[ If they're not willing to even try to defend themselves, why the fuck should anyone risk their necks for them? Better to focus on taking down the enemy than protecting people who refuse to protect themselves. ]

Edited (wrong word) 2019-03-10 01:17 (UTC)

[Pratt stares out at the horizon for a few moments.]

The weak must be culled.

[But that doesn't mean he likes it. The more people who die the less they have to fight. Being fodder only gains an advantage for a single battle. They better make it count.]

[ That's ... a little more on the extreme side than Maine meant. But he guesses it's true enough. They'll learn to fight, or they'll die. They'll rise, or they'll fall. If that counts as "culling," then sure, they'll be culled.

Maine looks Pratt's way for a long moment, but he makes no comment. He's content to sit in silence until his food is ready.

They know what they have to do. What more is there to say? ]

[Pratt nods, that settles it. They'll do what they must for survival. Not everyone will make it, but there's nothing to be done about that - some are weak and some are strong and those that survive will be better for it.

He gives Maine a parting pat on the shoulder, turning to go walk out into the tundra. There's some planning to do - how can he improve the range to give everyone at least a base level of knowledge so he's not setting them up for slaughter. If he can get more people trained he can minimize casualties - and that might make him feel slightly better about everything than the resigned horror that's become his normal outlook on life.

Train. Hunt. Kill.

Sacrifice.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[closed] and since we've one place to go

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