There are entire city blocks still in the midst of burning out, multistory husks of brick and concrete standing as monumental torches atop the mountain range. Plastics held within furniture and reinforcement begin to combust into clouds of noxious black smoke, leaving an acidic taste in mouths as the Five move through blockaded streets.
The city can’t spare the water to fight it, not at this scale. Fires burning too hot to smother beneath the flow of life saving liquid, at a volume so large not even the miracle could hope to extinguish it all.
A solution once again left to the military forces of the Federation; the sound of explosions booming across the central rings of the city echoing through the entire Baitan Range. They can see them; the plumes of dust rising from massive demolition charges annihilating blocks in a desperate attempt at stemming the flames. A programme used to clear out insurgencies now used to divide the city even further, a final attempt at keeping March standing with massive avenues of artificial firebreaks.
Madeline makes the observation, trying to hide a bite of sarcasm as she watches the massive inferno burn at the very edge of an engineered building collapse. “Well, shit.”
March Central Bank is a torch, the riot days prior an initiation for carnage as the entire triblock area is nothing more than a pillar of flames. Looters across streets ripping apart the scraps of value, soldiers watching from a safe distance with guns in hand.
“The central governance sub sector is currently burning.” Samuel observes without any emotion.
“Is the primary judiciary station intact?” Judge Murphy tries to peer through the thick smoke drifting across the streets.
She beats the young Mage to the punch with her joke, pointing out towards an inferno. “Notice how we can’t see it from here, gramps? Yeah, ain’t exactly the best sign…”
The old man just tries to breathe through the ashes, a sudden cough resounding through his diaphragm as ancient biology rejects the added particulate. More than just a simple rejection of air, phlegm and clotted blood from injuries prior regurgitated out as he doubles over. An illusion of health once again broken as the body tries to breathe, lungs nearly cacked out as the rest of the party watches.
“Judge…” Alto Carrin reaches out first with mercy, clapping the back of the old man in an attempt at a folk medical treatment. Force only applied to ceramic body armor instead of actual flesh, an already dubious treatment nullified. “Are you alright?”
“I-I’m fine.” Judge Murphy lies as it subsides.
“Gods damn we gotta get you out of this smoke.” Madeline grimaces, turning around away from the carnage as she leads the rest away in conversation. “Ok I think it's safe to say we ain’t getting any federal support from this. We gotta go private.”
“I do not understand the context of the word private.” Samantha dumbly and coldly informs the rest.
“So we gotta find some schmuck to sell us a truck or car; enough gas, food and water to get us at least out of the city and to the nearest town. Which is… I don’t know.”
“Incorrect, the only town that is named ‘I don’t know’ is located in the westlands.” Samuel informs. “The closest town in proximity to March is Old Springs, which is located south of…”
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“Not the point.” Madeline interrupts him as they all increase pace to a brisk walk. “Any towns up north we can hit?”
Samuel’s education falters, a world map’s geography rejected as the boundaries of the allocated search falls outside operational ranges for the two Bounty Hunters. “I do not know.”
Judge Murphy recalls the information for them all, a final cough recentering his diaphragm. “There’s multiple towns between here and September. Every outpost north of here should be around a three days drive away, based on the Federal promise.”
“This geography is gonna be ass though.” Madeline sighs. “I mean, even the Feds took like twelve years on campaign to get from July all the way down to here. And it took the caravan-train my gang and I joined almost two weeks to get here from September five days ago. And even worse there’s an even bigger problem we've gotta face…”
It's not the best place to loiter tactically, but in a city currently undergoing a violent revolution it's the best they have. A small cafe in the borderlands of city precincts is somehow still in business; small servings of pastries and bread the go-to alongside iced glasses of coffee for a moderate price. An outdoor seating arrangement beneath treated hemp sun umbrellas, five and one remain.
They all skip the food, minus the Mage and sibling who munches on an entire bowl of mashed, stale bread.
It's all they can afford, afterall.
“Thanks to the old lady back at the traveler’s store we still have fifty bucks and enough food for four days between all of us. Problem is… we don’t have transportation.”
As if on cue the sound of another demolition charge echoes across the city, followed closely by the fast-paced booming of a high caliber autocannon.
Samuel speaks as if the answer is obvious, a few crumbs of bread falling from his mouth. “The solution is simple as we are required to find a method of transportation. There are caravans created by multiple individuals on an incongruent basis, we shall use them as transportation.”
“Not that simple.” Madeline objects, pretending to push up a fictional pair of glasses on the bridge of a well shaped nose. “Caravans are nice and all, but we’re… a bit of a unique group. No offense, but look at us.”
It is a paltry party, even by the standards of gunfighting gangs in the world. Plates of salvaged armor and a mishmash of guns commonly found, but yet the very makeup of the group demands a much larger scrutiny by any close observers.
A face too foreign for the wastelands from Alto Carrin, and an immediate recall to possibly familiar photographs from some of the rarest bloodlines in the world. Overshadowed by the suspicions and beauty of Madeline McCormik, who absolutely ties into the wanted posters pasted across the great cities of the Federation. Two armin children; alone in this amongst the unified body of a heterogeneous society. And one Federal Judge, older than them all.
Even beyond their forms there are only two guns that could realistically pass as actual weapons on the Frontier. The Gunslinger’s revolver and the Lawman’s lever action rifle the tired and tested designs created for raw reliability and cheap manufacture, simplistic weaponry reliant on humanity to operate and not the fickle movement of machine mechanisms.
Although exotic to a concerning degree, the Bandit’s rotary machine gun was at least small enough to somewhat be holstered upon her back. An oddity, but not too foreign amongst the real-wooden buttstock and handguard of the Lawman’s arcane rifle.
Perhaps the most egregious, standout example is inconceivable. A weapon powerful enough to rip glances from the world even from its idle state, the four glowing lines atop the square barrel harkening to a mastercraft work in the alien cities beyond the Federation and old empires.
Even now the passerbys can’t help but stare at the avatar of power. The magical item flaunting its own energetic notions, drawing souls towards the beast like moths to a flame before social contracts rip them away.
The twins take no notice, instead focusing on the half-baked meal served to them.
Their final member is just one child.
Ar is so easy to miss amongst them, gazes somehow passing over the created soul now quiet as he watches them talk.
Madeline shrugs as she finishes her words. “Not exactly subtle, are we?”