06-15-2017, 11:01 PM
Blue skies and bright sunlight. I could hardly ask for better weather, though it did come with its own set of issues. Though being dropped into the middle of a rainstorm or a blizzard might well have proved troublesome at first, it would also lend itself better to stealth. Standing in the middle of the field made me feel more like a mil-spec scarecrow than anything else. Not exactly helpful, especially if any of the supposedly super-powered combatants spotted me from across the plains. I really wasn’t keen on getting suckerpunched by Superman or the like.
“Alright,” I muttered to myself. “Looks like farmland to the south. Getting a ’Hills Have Eyes’ vibe from down there, though. Definitely don’t want to be raped by a bunch of disfigured rednecks.”
I dropped to a squat and rifled through my ‘gift bag’. The durable black backpack was covered in at least a dozen Syntech logos, though one would think they’d cool it on the advertising when the game was actually in progress. Ignoring the thought, I finally dug out the standard issue tablet computer and opened up the Map application. A quick survey told me the farm was indeed to my south, though it mentioned nothing about inbred yokels. Gotta leave something to the imagination, I thought.
“Safe house. Well, might as well get my daily check-in over and done with now.” I glanced down at my ankle, tugging my pant leg up to expose the new accessory they’d slapped on me back at the facility. “Tch. What am I, a suburban truant on house arrest?” Still, it was better than the other two options, both of which would have been left in plain view for an enemy to strike. I’d had too much experience with snipers to give anyone a blinking explosive target to aim for.
After tinkering with a few of the options, I finally set my device to GPS and shouldered my bag. Map in one hand, handgun in the other, I felt like either some kind of homicidal tourist or the world’ s worst hitman. Keeping a keen eye out for ambush, I made my way toward the ostensibly “safe” house. In a contest that advertised death as something of an inevitability, I imagined this was more jargon that anything.
“Alright,” I muttered to myself. “Looks like farmland to the south. Getting a ’Hills Have Eyes’ vibe from down there, though. Definitely don’t want to be raped by a bunch of disfigured rednecks.”
I dropped to a squat and rifled through my ‘gift bag’. The durable black backpack was covered in at least a dozen Syntech logos, though one would think they’d cool it on the advertising when the game was actually in progress. Ignoring the thought, I finally dug out the standard issue tablet computer and opened up the Map application. A quick survey told me the farm was indeed to my south, though it mentioned nothing about inbred yokels. Gotta leave something to the imagination, I thought.
“Safe house. Well, might as well get my daily check-in over and done with now.” I glanced down at my ankle, tugging my pant leg up to expose the new accessory they’d slapped on me back at the facility. “Tch. What am I, a suburban truant on house arrest?” Still, it was better than the other two options, both of which would have been left in plain view for an enemy to strike. I’d had too much experience with snipers to give anyone a blinking explosive target to aim for.
After tinkering with a few of the options, I finally set my device to GPS and shouldered my bag. Map in one hand, handgun in the other, I felt like either some kind of homicidal tourist or the world’ s worst hitman. Keeping a keen eye out for ambush, I made my way toward the ostensibly “safe” house. In a contest that advertised death as something of an inevitability, I imagined this was more jargon that anything.
Quote:A4 -> Safehouse A
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