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5/5/2025, 8:26:52 PM
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In a way, it was nice to be back on the move, it was how you lived during the war, though your past acclimatization felt stifled, likely by your time on the ice. Feet ached, knees hurt, belts and straps chafed, but the singularity of your situation allowed ample chances to distract the mind. All around you are refreshing views of a natural land untouched by humankind, which strikes ironic as nothing here was, technically, natural.
Just the same, the green, rolling hills unchoked by kudzu, trees untainted by bark beetles, and the light, efflorescent breeze evoked a refreshing feeling in Stanley as the first miles ticked by.
A dark bank of rainclouds had been pacing up from the west for some time and around midday they finally overtook you. With the tarp obscuring most of your body from the oncoming precipitate and raising wind, your search for humanity is now accompanied by the pattering of rain against your makeshift poncho and the sucking of the moist ground against your footsteps.
Hours later, the rain still persisting, you come across your first sign of human civilization as the afternoon starts to draw closer to evening, a winding path of packed dirt that winds through the lows and gaps in the small foothills. Kicking some small rocks into a discrete sign of the direction you came from, you follow along the unkempt track.
More signs of civilization follow shortly. A camp was pitched near a broken-down wreck of a small military transport, the rain pattering the abandoned ashes and sundry trash items of a former campsite into the dust of a small turnout.
The armored car is riddled with bullet-holes. It seems at first glance that it has been thoroughly picked-through by scavengers since its' abrupt end. Stanley spends a restless night in a scrape a slight distance away from the destroyed transport, as sheets of rain ceaselessly carpet the land.
In a way, it was nice to be back on the move, it was how you lived during the war, though your past acclimatization felt stifled, likely by your time on the ice. Feet ached, knees hurt, belts and straps chafed, but the singularity of your situation allowed ample chances to distract the mind. All around you are refreshing views of a natural land untouched by humankind, which strikes ironic as nothing here was, technically, natural.
Just the same, the green, rolling hills unchoked by kudzu, trees untainted by bark beetles, and the light, efflorescent breeze evoked a refreshing feeling in Stanley as the first miles ticked by.
A dark bank of rainclouds had been pacing up from the west for some time and around midday they finally overtook you. With the tarp obscuring most of your body from the oncoming precipitate and raising wind, your search for humanity is now accompanied by the pattering of rain against your makeshift poncho and the sucking of the moist ground against your footsteps.
Hours later, the rain still persisting, you come across your first sign of human civilization as the afternoon starts to draw closer to evening, a winding path of packed dirt that winds through the lows and gaps in the small foothills. Kicking some small rocks into a discrete sign of the direction you came from, you follow along the unkempt track.
More signs of civilization follow shortly. A camp was pitched near a broken-down wreck of a small military transport, the rain pattering the abandoned ashes and sundry trash items of a former campsite into the dust of a small turnout.
The armored car is riddled with bullet-holes. It seems at first glance that it has been thoroughly picked-through by scavengers since its' abrupt end. Stanley spends a restless night in a scrape a slight distance away from the destroyed transport, as sheets of rain ceaselessly carpet the land.
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