When the door from Milliways opens, it opens into a dim and dusty space that smells like still air and old smoke. Things burned here, once; things died here. The scorch marks on some of the walls bear that out, as do the fractures and chip-marks in the tiles of the floor. It takes some blinking and adjusting to the dimness to see the place more
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The door opens onto the shadows of Greek Revival architecture; this is, after all, the National Archives building, and the front face is all pillars and broad marble steps. That may very well be what's kept it recognizable all this time. The buildings that were merely concrete and brick, scattered all around the area, have long since started to come apart under the assaults of time and combat. The ones sheathed in stone are... well, not whole, but certainly more viable despite what happened here so long ago. In the distance, the sound of gunfire can be heard, as can the sound of other, more exotic weapons.
There are, however, more immediate concerns. The most notable is the tall, armored figure who steps out of the shadows, the butt of some hefty melee weapon visible over one pauldroned shoulder, the squared-off outline of a laser rifle in its hands. "No sign of mutants coming this way," it says, its voice muffled and filtered by the helmet, but definitely female. "I take it these are the allies you spoke of?"
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"Is there anything else we need to know before we begin?"
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(The sounds aren't any of them foreign to him, so he doesn't take time to classify what they might be.)
There are some turrets on the ground, above the trenches, with large mutants manning them. He glances back to Cross. "What's going on down there?"
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"Do you guys need me for anything?" he asks, glancing back at Ellen and Diana, "Or should I go check it out?"
He doesn't seem to notice it, but his foot is tapping with excited energy.
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"But don't be so eager that you forget yourself, either."
It is a caution that most warriors need at one time or another.
It is not even limited to the very young.
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It's good advice!
He glances to the others.
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If they notice--if they're looking, and they're busy so why should they?--as he heads down and to the right, his stride starts shifting from that of a confident but lanky teenager to something smoother and not necessarily constrained by his current musculature. He's surprisingly good at skiving past the bullets of the guards, though there are a few close calls.
(If he starts laughing about when his awesome new sword bursts into flames, well... it's awesome. And he's just about out of hearing distance, anyways.)
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"The Enclave's the armored ones," Ellen murmurs. "I don't know why they're here, but I can guess."
"If there's anywhere other than Vault-Tec headquarters that would have the location of a GECK still hidden away somewhere," Cross adds, "it'd be here. And if they find that, the Wasteland is almost certainly doomed."
Ellen swallows and unslings the bulky, tube-girdled rifle from her back; the barrel begins to glow green.
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Her eyes narrow faintly, lips pressed together as she studies what she can see if the terrain.
"Are any of them likely to expect an aerial attack?"
It will leave her quickly outnumbered, but as a distraction to allow Ellen and the Star Paladin to obtain better positioning may make it worthwhile. Eventually.
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Her tone is only fractionally skeptical. One learns quickly in the Wastes not to assume anything about strangers.
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Not literally, however. Her costume is just a little to bright to be missed, especially in these surroundings.
Good thing she's fast.
"Are we ready?"
Surprise, such as it is, only works as a tactic if the rest of your side is capitalizing on it.
And this is not Diana's show.
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"Ready," she says. "We'll get to work on the mutants. Let's move out."
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Then she launches skyward, a blur of bright red-and-blue rising briefly before diving down toward the first of the Enclave soldiers, skimming a few dozen yards over their heads before turning back and dropping toward the earth.
Her landing is light, with no tremor to herald her arrival.
But that first punch?
That one is going to be felt.
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