Wyvern
Aug 23 2007, 09:50 AM
***I made this separate from the already-made Shin because a) the research lab will be small but probably frequently used, much like the "jail cell" in the instructions post, and b) it will be confusing if we have the roots and beginnings of our stories in the same thread*** (also, read a little of Wrent's character bio at least, in the signup, or some of this will make no sense)
Wrent was working overtime again. At the rate the rebels paid him - no, he mustn't think as if the rebels were separate from him, that was dangerous thinking - at the rate his company paid him, his side, his team - there was no need to work such long hours. Even so, his work was all he had, and the laboratory felt more like home than anywhere except the bungalow where he had grown up, that now likely lay in ruins, on the border between Viridia and Rebel Viridia as it was. He thought back to how he'd made the switch between the two countries. It was in a fairly substantial way; he'd taken various Viridian papers, some that were to be headed for the "in" tray of the High Executive of Yuuth just days later. Admittedly, the High Executive looked at a lot of papers, but there were a whole lot more papers that he didn't look at than that he did. Evidently the armoured refrigerated food transport vehicle was important enough to be reviewed. Besides, if an army could feast on chicken, beef, chilled water, fresh milk and the other delights of home, while their opponents supped for the thousandth time on tinned sardines and beans, the morale boost would be huge. Aiming a gun is difficult when your arms are too weak to lift it. Sneaking into an enemy camp to steal documents or slit the throat of a CO is difficult when your stomach is rumbling loudly to all who might listen. Respecting an officer is difficult when he breathes stale fish over his troops. Few people appreciated just how important food was to the army, and moving it was harder than many thought. And this was where people like Wrent came in.
"Damnit!" he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead where a bruise would surely appear the next day. Yet again he had forgotten to empower his wrench soul siphon, and had gently pulled on one of the nuts to tighten it into place on the van. His arm had rebounded off, dropping the wrench square onto his own head. Still, he thought, tightening the nut properly, it had all been worth it. The overtime. The cuts and bruises. The countless failed attempts. He had finally created a true ARF. Armoured, yet not prone to warp from the conflicting temperatures given off. Not so heavy it sunk, not so unarmoured it could be shot. Triple glazed modern bullet proof glass, infused with an anti-misting agent. Self inflating tyres, and wheels that, on a flat road, could just about run without tyres. Ample space in the back of the van for food. This was one van that would not be stolen by the enemy, not this van, no. If there was anything worse for morale than fresh food was good, it was fresh food being stolen. And if there was anything better for morale than fresh food being stolen was bad, it was stealing fresh food. Theoretically, this van could not only keep pace with an army group in travel, but also in battle - its refrigerating units were a setback, and the need to account for centres of balance with the food, but it was almost as strong as an armoured troop carrier.
Wrent surveyed his masterpiece of 3 years with pride. It was a shame nobody was here to see it right now, but then again, perhaps it was better that way. Now was no time for thinking, though - now was the time to test out the ARF, and check it worked 100% before presenting it. Channeling a small amount of antimatter, he created a basic wooden doorstop-like object under the back wheels of the ARF, causing it to roll forwards on to a vehicle lift. Quickly rushing to the storage room, Wrent powered up a forklift and filled a metal crate with food. Driving the forklift back to the Food Van, he repeated this process until the back was full of food. Now; to test out his invention! He slipped his wrench into his pocket and his toolbox on the passenger seat, just in case - you never knew, this close to the border, plus all the posters said that the conflicts were "often occurring, often violent; always carry a weapon" - and typed in the keycode, swiped his card and submitted to a retina scan before the lift finally started to move up. No turning back now, he thought.
Wrent was working overtime again. At the rate the rebels paid him - no, he mustn't think as if the rebels were separate from him, that was dangerous thinking - at the rate his company paid him, his side, his team - there was no need to work such long hours. Even so, his work was all he had, and the laboratory felt more like home than anywhere except the bungalow where he had grown up, that now likely lay in ruins, on the border between Viridia and Rebel Viridia as it was. He thought back to how he'd made the switch between the two countries. It was in a fairly substantial way; he'd taken various Viridian papers, some that were to be headed for the "in" tray of the High Executive of Yuuth just days later. Admittedly, the High Executive looked at a lot of papers, but there were a whole lot more papers that he didn't look at than that he did. Evidently the armoured refrigerated food transport vehicle was important enough to be reviewed. Besides, if an army could feast on chicken, beef, chilled water, fresh milk and the other delights of home, while their opponents supped for the thousandth time on tinned sardines and beans, the morale boost would be huge. Aiming a gun is difficult when your arms are too weak to lift it. Sneaking into an enemy camp to steal documents or slit the throat of a CO is difficult when your stomach is rumbling loudly to all who might listen. Respecting an officer is difficult when he breathes stale fish over his troops. Few people appreciated just how important food was to the army, and moving it was harder than many thought. And this was where people like Wrent came in.
"Damnit!" he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead where a bruise would surely appear the next day. Yet again he had forgotten to empower his wrench soul siphon, and had gently pulled on one of the nuts to tighten it into place on the van. His arm had rebounded off, dropping the wrench square onto his own head. Still, he thought, tightening the nut properly, it had all been worth it. The overtime. The cuts and bruises. The countless failed attempts. He had finally created a true ARF. Armoured, yet not prone to warp from the conflicting temperatures given off. Not so heavy it sunk, not so unarmoured it could be shot. Triple glazed modern bullet proof glass, infused with an anti-misting agent. Self inflating tyres, and wheels that, on a flat road, could just about run without tyres. Ample space in the back of the van for food. This was one van that would not be stolen by the enemy, not this van, no. If there was anything worse for morale than fresh food was good, it was fresh food being stolen. And if there was anything better for morale than fresh food being stolen was bad, it was stealing fresh food. Theoretically, this van could not only keep pace with an army group in travel, but also in battle - its refrigerating units were a setback, and the need to account for centres of balance with the food, but it was almost as strong as an armoured troop carrier.
Wrent surveyed his masterpiece of 3 years with pride. It was a shame nobody was here to see it right now, but then again, perhaps it was better that way. Now was no time for thinking, though - now was the time to test out the ARF, and check it worked 100% before presenting it. Channeling a small amount of antimatter, he created a basic wooden doorstop-like object under the back wheels of the ARF, causing it to roll forwards on to a vehicle lift. Quickly rushing to the storage room, Wrent powered up a forklift and filled a metal crate with food. Driving the forklift back to the Food Van, he repeated this process until the back was full of food. Now; to test out his invention! He slipped his wrench into his pocket and his toolbox on the passenger seat, just in case - you never knew, this close to the border, plus all the posters said that the conflicts were "often occurring, often violent; always carry a weapon" - and typed in the keycode, swiped his card and submitted to a retina scan before the lift finally started to move up. No turning back now, he thought.