Hit Rock Bottom (Corona Arclite)
| Hit Rock Bottom (Corona Arclite) | |
|---|---|
| Date of Cutscene: | 31 May 2015 |
| Location: | Brimsteel Frontier |
| Synopsis: | Someone or some-thing- picks through the remains at the bottom of the Gourge... |
| Cast of Characters: | Corona Arclite |
It had been several days since the band of outlaws tried to dismantle and steal the main trainline bridge over the Geargrind Gourge. The great creavice was so wide and deep that no one had bothered to try and retreive what had been lost into the rocky depths during the fight on the deconstructed bridge itself. The workcrews had simply brought their own tools, and suppliers from both Loadstar and the capital city had provided materials to replace the ones in the fight. Corona Arclite had towed away the remains of the outlaw's vehicles to dismantle for scrap, and near the end of the reconstruction had brought some of that metal smelted down and reforged into rebar struts and mesh lining to finish the building. It was a fitting end for some of the vehicles that had propegated the heist to be used in repairing the damage done.
Far, far below the finishing construction the dark and rocky bottom of the gourge was littered mainly with broken tools and metal bits that had fallen from above during the fight. Sledges, steam hammers, and a couple of cutting torchs even, now dead and silent.
The one difference amongst the litter was the lone body lying in a pool of dried blood upon the rocks. If he didn't die from the head concussion of having his face slammed in by a metal VEX armor fist, the fall from the extensive height onto the unforgiving igneous rock below certainly finished him off. Down here not even vultures would bother to come pick the dead meat off of bones.
From the looming shadows a mechanical claw on the end of a multi-sectional apparatus picked up what been the outlaw's hat. There was no one else to hear it, but a clicking, distorted voice pierced the silence abruptly. "Tch. You just had to go and *crackle* piss off a Ranger. *crackle* No matter."
Several similar but smaller and more rigid protrusions clacked across the rocks. The churning of clockwork gears and puff of a small steam engine echoed the movements, not that anyone else was around and alive to hear the mechanical cacophony. And another claw grabbed the back of the corpse by the neck to pick it off the rocks.
As the bandit corpse was lifted ripped portions of his clothing fell away, revealing the spots marking parts of his back and body, and the somewhat disportionate thickness between his neck and shoulders to his lower torso and waist. The bandit mask fell from what remained of his face, revealing the sunken, dark ringed eyes to go with the scruffy rounded ears that showed without the wide brimmed hat he'd been wearing.
For whatever reason the outlaw had been covering up indicators of his true species so he was taken as another canid race instead of reconized as similar to a hyenoid.
"*crackle* Doesn't matter. Death is a *hiss* fleeting hinderance at *crack* best." The corpse was slumped against one of the steam engine stacks to support it, and the mechanical ruckus clattered across the rocks to return to the shadows and however it found it's way down into Gourge in the first placed. Maybe whoever was operating the thing just climbed with the multitude of appendages and claws.
"You can *crackle* still be of use..."
