Instructions for--- wait, no. This is Radio Free Hot Zone! [envy]
Grif and his group have finally escaped zombies and rust monsters and whatever else, and made provisions for rest and food. (PINpointing back to the forest, clearing out some traps and killing some bears for fresh meat may or may not have been involved.) Ordinarily, that would mean that, it being the next day, they would move on to get through the next level... except that the first thing they encounter past the yellow town is an area with hazmat gear and a decontamination lock. That pretty quickly led to a discussion about what could possibly be on the other side of the lock that would require hazmat equipment, and the relative flimsiness of the gear in question, compared to how obviously dangerous it was likely to be. One person in the group, however, is more than sufficiently equipped for hazmat conditions, with armor that's much less likely to be breached.
"...I fucking hate you all," he says, but with a tone of wryly amused resignation, as he knows that it's best not to put the others at risk. He does, however, suggest that everyone take a suit, possibly to be stowed in the bag of holding; gas masks, after all, should never be taken for granted by Nexus-going people.
As he progresses through the decontamination lock, Grif switches on his PINpoint's communications facility, and tunes it for wide-open transmission. «Okie dokie, folks. This is Grif, broadcasting live from the mysterious hot zone. I'm just getting in, and would recommend that anyone who hasn't gotten here yet hang back with the group I left behind. With any luck, I'll get to the other side and provide coordinates so others can skip whatever's apparently bad enough to merit even crappy NBC gear. In the meantime, I'll be providing my current location on a sideband channel, and running commentary here. Those of you whose PINpoints can receive pictures or video may get something every so often, I dunno, I'm making this up as I go along. The door out's opening, and I'm about to get my first look. Stand by...»
"...I fucking hate you all," he says, but with a tone of wryly amused resignation, as he knows that it's best not to put the others at risk. He does, however, suggest that everyone take a suit, possibly to be stowed in the bag of holding; gas masks, after all, should never be taken for granted by Nexus-going people.
As he progresses through the decontamination lock, Grif switches on his PINpoint's communications facility, and tunes it for wide-open transmission. «Okie dokie, folks. This is Grif, broadcasting live from the mysterious hot zone. I'm just getting in, and would recommend that anyone who hasn't gotten here yet hang back with the group I left behind. With any luck, I'll get to the other side and provide coordinates so others can skip whatever's apparently bad enough to merit even crappy NBC gear. In the meantime, I'll be providing my current location on a sideband channel, and running commentary here. Those of you whose PINpoints can receive pictures or video may get something every so often, I dunno, I'm making this up as I go along. The door out's opening, and I'm about to get my first look. Stand by...»