circle7 | gosh we're always saving your hide, james

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gosh we're always saving your hide, james

Bentley didn't go on missions. It just wasn't something he did. The anxiety and intensity of such a situation was unsavory to begin with, and dangerous, and Bentley didn't like dangerous.

But seeing as he had no field experience, and yet was one of the most qualified doctors in Circle 7, it set him up to be set out eventually. Apparently it was some sort of requirement, for experience's sake; to know you could act in the middle of action, or in dire situations. Bentley knew he could. Inside of a hospital, that was. Outside? It was hard to say. He had his pack which was fully equipped with what he needed, but what if an emergency arose?

At the very least, he was assigned with another, more field-experienced medic and Evan, who was more than familiar with these sorts of missions. Not to mention, one of the few people Bentley would call his friend. There was a small comfort in that - but it was very small.

"S-so, what's the situation? How bad are the commander's injuries?" he asked, trying to get a grip of the situation. They had ten minutes until they landed.

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"From a mission right before we came to get you, actually," Evan mused, rubbing his chin. "Vi likes it when her feet aren't on the ground, just not quite this way," he explained, sounding much like the indulgent parent recalling the eccentricities of their children. He slanted a look up at Bentley, turning the screen towards the doctor again. "A good look on her, don't you think?"

For the first time since liftoff, Bentley smiled, even if it seemed strained.

"I think you mean 'kidnap me completely against my will', but I get your point," he said. "Does she still get like that?"

"Don't say it like that," said Evan, letting the screen cut into darkness upon staying idle for too long. "You say it like you'd have it any other way."

After a bit of fidgeting, he managed to slip the transmitter back into his pocket. "She's a...little bit better now," he added, wincing a bit at the 'little'. "I mean, she usually waits until after we've landed to hurl, nowadays."

There was another trace of a smile, because really, they did Bentley a favor by kidnapping him. He still wasn't sure they knew that.

His smile quickly turned into an unpleasant expression, though.

"So she didn't before, huh?" Bentley said with a cringe.

Evan flashed a panicked look to his side. "Please don't throw up on me, doc."

"Or me," said the older doctor. Bentley just gave an amused huff.

"I'm not going to throw up," he assured. "If I do, I'll save it for solid ground."

Which, speaking of, they were swiftly approaching. The doctor finally decided to look out the window, awed just briefly by the scenery. Not that it was brilliant, or beautiful, but he had simply seen nothing like it before.

He could see why it had been nicknamed the Dead Moon. Gray dust clouds swirled about, blurring the actual surface. Now and then, though, there would be a patch where you could see through to the ground, which was a dismal gray. Jagged plains and hills stretched across the surface, dotted by the skeletons of once tall trees. All that dust was ash, Bentley suspected, from the day this place was destroyed. The atmosphere had been slowly decreasing since then, making the breathing conditions unlivable, on top of the fact that you would probably inhale enough dust to kill yourself.

Nowadays, no one actually lived here, but there were valuable things left behind on the planet that were often scavenged for. The bases here were made underground to avoid the cold surface, and make for easier mining. Of course, it wasn't always nice people. It usually wasn't.

"Prepare for landing," came the pilot's voice over the headset. "Masks on, packs ready."

Dutifully, both the older doctor and Evan pulled a close-fitting visor and helmet ensemble on over their heads, sticking their necks out from between the seat harnesses to secure it around their necks. They closed with a vacuum-sealed 'shuuup' against their skin, the sound of their breathing becoming that much louder as the helmet worked to filter the gaseous air for their human respiratory systems.

Eurydice was once much more favorable to the human race, but time and corrosion had clearly taken its toll. Apart from that, the lack of fauna or any vibrant color whatsoever outside made it clear why its chances for recovery were additionally slim. Slim lines of neon light - wherever they accented machines and uniforms, were the only things that stood out against the monotonous backdrop now, and even as the Circle shuttle touched down, settling on the ground with creaks, like a heavy, settling house, not a blade of grass swayed. Even the dust was too heavy to kick up.

Evan unlatched his harness first, almost immediately out of his seat once it was deemed safe by the pilot to do so. He stood up and stretched, clearly enjoying the option to free up his long limbs again. He turned to Bentley, though his face was barely visible now through the reflective lens of the orange-tinted visor. He looked like just another helmeted face. "Don't puke in your helmet either. For your own sake, this time. You do not wanna be stuck for the entirety of this mission swimming around in your own stomach contents."

Bentley tied his mask securely, his messy bangs jutting out at the top. He leaped out after Evan once they had landed, moving cautiously. It was unfamiliar ground, even in feel; there was so much dust, your feet sank into it. It was heavy, and though certainly dry, it almost acted like wet sand.

Their jumpers blended right in with the terrain - gray and dull - making them less of a target. It made Bentley wonder how Commander James had gotten himself in such a situation. The Circle members were usually very meticulous and careful. They had jumpers for each type of environment, masks for each planet with poisonous air, even weapons for certain kinds of enemies. His troop must've known what would await them. Though on a dead, renegade world, he supposed there more a higher chance of being unprepared.

It certainly didn't help to know that their first medic had been killed, and was why Bentley and Dr. Cambria were there.

"Thanks. I could've down without the mental image, though," Bentley sighed.

"I just didn't want your imagination jumpin' to scarier ideas while we're walking around on hostile terrain," answered Evan, his suited figure doing a one-shoulder roll. While he took a quick survey of his weapons - holsters strapped, guns at hand, he turned to survey the area.

It only looked dead. Space scavengers were a wily bunch, accustomed to hiding when there was little to hide behind. Even subconsciously, the sound of Evan's steady breathing seemed to lower and quiet, as if trying to draw the least attention to him as possible. Considering how thin the filtered air was, even a simple task as that had probably taken some effort to master.

"Doctor, you ready?" he asked without turning.

As Bentley was almost always referred to as 'Doc' or by his given name, the older medic took it as a cue to respond. "Yes," came his calm voice as he reached out to place a hand on Bentley's elbow. "Are you, son?"

"Yes," the answer came, a bit too quickly, jumping when Dr. Cambria touched his arm. "Of course I am. Let's, um, do this."

Bentley had inconspicuously sidled himself near one of the many dead trees surrounding them. He looked a lot like a frightened deer, glancing about each way, yet staying perfectly still otherwise. The dead moon, on top of being very desolate, was very quiet. The only sounds Bentley heard came through his headset. It was rather unnerving, when you were used to a bustling space station.

"Come on then," said Evan, waving his hand in a beckon for the other two to follow. The going was slow but careful as they crossed the barren part of the terrain, their footsteps tested to be sure before he really put his foot down. It only picked up when the flat, heavy ground gave away to rocky outcrops and what looked to be abandoned artificial constructs - large metal containers that were empty and painted with dirt, grime and graffiti, and little cylindrical buildings that must have once housed the inhabitants of the abandoned moon. Their doors swung open and their windows were glazed over with settled dust now.

Evan stuck to the shadows of these objects, instinctively seeking a path that offered the most cover. Unlike the doctors, there was a signal he occasionally checked on his transmitter, most likely an encrypted terminal of conversation that led them to their targets. Eurydice was deathly quiet save for the occasional low-pitched beeping of the device, audible only through their shared intercom connection, so it must have been strange when after a while, Evan began to hum something under his breath, quiet and repetitive, but with a distinct melody that the discerning ear could pick out. His voice sounded calm but lonely, as though it should have had an accompaniment, as though it was only one part of a synchronous song.

And then it suddenly stopped.

Evan stopped walking too, a hand extended at his left to stop the other two from progressing - no audible 'Wait' or 'Hold it.' He just froze.

Eurydice itself was calm but lonely, making an eerie suitability for Evan's tune. It was tinny through the headset, but somehow, it made it all the more unsettling.

Just before Bentley could tell Evan that he was severely creeping him out with his humming, everything was silent. The doctor could hear the ringing in his ears. He was very still (ever so good at being scared out of his wits), shouldered up against an abandoned building, a hand hesitantly at his hip over his gun. His breaths were long and slow, to make the least noise.

His eyes scanned the area for what caused the sudden halt. Bentley didn't see anything but gray and steel.

After a moment, Evan turned and relaxed. "Oh," he said flippantly. "False alarm."

The amusement dripped off his voice.

Dr. Cambria gave an exasperated sigh. "No games, please."

"N-no," Bentley's quieted voice said over the com. "It's not."

He was staring ahead, where a square patch of metal replaced the ground. A hatch had opened, three uniformed people spilling out. It was hard to tell specifics from here but Bentley knew that uniform anywhere.

"Gladsheim," he mumbled.

Evan whipped around, taking in their appearances in silence. "What is Gladsheim doing here?" he mumbled, hand automatically slipping to his weapon. "They haven't chartered any scavenging expeditions in at least a decade or so."

He lifted a hand without turning to face the doctors, pointing at a metal container nearby. It was hollowed but not spacious, made of thick metal that had withstood the test of time and elements with only a few dents in its side as evidence. Their numbers were even, but the two medics were hardly field operatives; they would have to play defensively. "The two of you get in there and draw your weapons," Evan said quickly, jabbing some command into his transmitter very quickly before pocketing it in the side of his suit.

"Hurry up!"

There was a pause before Bentley moved into action, the doctor close at his feet, scrunching inside the container with him. Bentley pulled his gun from his holster, drawing it close to his chest, pointed up at the sky. Dr. Cambria had done the same, looking much more determined and prepared than Bentley. The younger doctor had his back pressed flush against the wall of the container, his eyes squinted shut.

"W-why would they be here, then?" Bentley whispered, despite the fact that only they could hear each other.

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Dr. Cambria, brows drawing together as he peered around the corner.

In the time that Bentley and Dr. Cambria took to slip inside the container, Evan had slinked off in the opposite direction. The Gladsheim scavengers had seen them, so whatever advantage they would have had if they had retained the element of surprise was rendered null. Now, it was only a matter of playing off the terrain that the enemy possibly knew better than them, and in order to take full advantage of it, they would have to cover as much of that terrain as possible between the three of them, or else they'd get boxed in.

He had called for whatever reinforcements the stranded Circle unit could spare, but they would take at least five minutes to make it here. They were just lucky that the shuttle hadn't touched down too far from the rendezvous point.

A bullet glanced off the side of the metal pipe he was crouched behind, making the hollow construct vibrate with the impact. Another hit dead center, denting the pipe on the side Evan was thankfully not standing against. The bullets had fired too far apart to be from the same gun, the interval too uneven, so there were at least two soldiers on his trail. Good, he thought, ducking around the side and firing a warning shot. Less for the doctors.

The gunshot startled Bentley, causing him to jolt. Dr. Cambria gave him a look; one urging him to calm down. Bentley licked his lips under the mask, nodding and trying to control his breathing for starters. The grip on his gun was surprisingly loose, for how terrified he was. No amount of horror could make him grip a dangerous object too tight. As a doctor, he was used to holding precise, deadly instruments with enough care to avoid death.

"Evan, can you handle them?" the older doctor asked.

It took a few moments for Evan to respond, and when he did, his voice was a little more breathy than before - only to be expected, considering he was running around. "Handlin' them right now, old man," came the light response, before another gunshot rang out and its echo shortly after over the communications line.

"Oh, close one," came a second later, followed by a chuckle. "You guys holdin' up there? If you can't hold your ground, stick to the thick covers. I've got people coming."

"Y-you sound like you're having fun, Evan," Bentley said with more than mild concern.

"We're fine," Cambria cut in. He was checking his own gun for something, before suddenly peering around the side of the container and firing the thing with precise aim, right in one of the Gladsheim soldier's kneecaps. "I've got your back."

"It's not you I'm worried about," said Evan after a beat. A moment later, a gunshot followed by a pained yelp and the heavy thud of a body falling to the floor came once to their ears and then again by transmission. "That makes for one left," Evan reported, punctuating with a low whistle. "Stay where you are and wait for the reinforcements."

Then the connection cut off.

Before Bentley could call out, Dr. Cambria had put a hand on the younger man's shoulder forcefully, urging him not to act out on anything.

The occasional gunshot echoed through the thin air, each one making Bentley more worried. Cambria had scooted towards the edge of the tank, carefully concealed. He couldn't quite get a visual on Evan or the remaining soldier from here, and Bentley sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to peek out.

A very, very long minute passed before a Circle member came running up He didn't stop for pleasantries (who could blame him), but went straight for cover, kneeling with a snipe rifle in hand. He pressed a button on his headset, tuning into Cambria and Bentley.

"Word is you need help," he said. "This guy should be the last Gladsheim sucker out there."

Cambria nodded, pulling his own gun a little closer to his body now that the risk had abated, even if just slightly. If the sniper was here, then there were probably at least two or three other operatives dispersed across the area providing similar aid. "We have one more guy out there distracting them."

The sniper chuckled, peering into the viewfinder of his complicated-looking weapon. His entire body seemed to still and relax, falling into place and out of tension as he geared up his shot with whatever target he was following. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "We know our own." After a minute in which he barely even moved, he pulled the trigger - a quick-fire jerk of his finger followed by the muffled sound of the bullet being expelled from the barrel, barely any recoil whatsoever in the motion.

A loud swear sounded from a distance away, followed by one last gunshot.

"Thanks," said Evan, his voice cutting into the transmission. He sounded winded, but that was infinitely better than wounded. There was a professional edge to his voice now, something to-the-point and lacking playfulness, perhaps because of their company. It was a far cry to his normal countenance, but rarely heard during most of his interactions with Bentley. "All three are down. Who's with the doctors?"

"I am," said the Sniper, pulling up from his crouch and flipping the safety on his rifle. He looked to the medics and did a thumbs-up motion.

"Take them to the Captain first," said a stranger, most likely another reinforcement. "We'll catch up."

Even when everything was clear, Bentley stayed ducked down in his corner of the container. He distantly noted the odd tone of voice Evan was using. Did he usually sound like that with others?

"So... we're clear?" Bentley asked over the comm. He quickly tucked his gun back into the holster at his hip, relieved to be free of the thing. It was heavy, and not just in weight.

The sniper put a reassuring, heavy hand on his shoulder, also using it to begin to steer the doctors away from the field and towards what was probably the rendezvous point. "We're clear," he said with a nod, turning back only to wait for Cambria to catch up and fall into step. "This the new doctor, Cambria?"

"In a sense," said the old doctor, slipping his standard-issue gun away as well. He accepted a hand up when the other reinforcements joined them one by one on the path, but refused any help further than that, clearly not as weak or feeble as his 'old bones' might have suggested. "He's the most recent one. Dr. Bentley Foster."

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SHIT's GON GET REAL

LMAO WHY YOU GOTTA DASH ALL MY PLANS WITHOUT ASKING

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he's gotta be a BAMF old man to be in the mafia, you have to admit

damn straight

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I'm sorry this is so short )':

You should be!