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"Whoa—one question at a time," Shep cuts in, steadying himself after Carl’s sudden volume spike. "First, we can’t let them reach Crenshaw. If they’re zombies, they could infect the whole town. We need to engage, confirm what they are, and, if they’re a threat, eliminate it." He keeps his tone practical. "If we show ourselves and they’re infected, they’ll probably rush us without thinking. If they’re not, they’ll most likely run. Either way, I need to know what we’re dealing with."

The rank question stalls him for a beat. "As for rank… I don’t know that I’ve earned it, but if we’re trying to bluff our way through encounters, ‘captain’ at least sounds like someone who’d be out here on a classified autonomous mission."

With that settled, Shep adjusts his route. Moving through the brush at speed would be like a wrecking ball plowing through undergrowth, so he steps out of concealment and heads up onto the road instead. From there, he closes the gap quickly while the terrain is clear, slowing once he’s within roughly a hundred meters of the two figures to assess the situation before engaging. As he advances, he continually scans the surrounding area for any other signs of a threat, unwilling to let anything slip past him while he figures out what these two really are.

The figures pick up pace as they shuffle towards him. One looks like Melissa Kersch, Mazur's mother. The other appears to be Nova, one of the kids from the fishing trip. Kar's friend who moved to Camp Wilson from Lake Crenshaw. They've been converted.

"It seems that they're definitely not normal. Shall we ground and pound them?" Carl asks.

Shep closes his eyes for a moment, already bracing himself for what comes after the fighting—the crash of adrenaline, the memories, the guilt. He exhales slowly. “Yeah… I guess we’re going to have to.” His voice starts out quiet and resigned, but takes on an edge with irritation. “But you don’t have to sound so excited about it. These were once friends,” he adds, the last words worn and tired.

He resists any urge to fire the rail gun or make a thunderous powered leap—anything that risks drawing the SAMAS suits circling over the lake, or whoever else might be out here watching. Stealth matters. Once the two are close enough, he plans to rush in and end it fast—one clean, full-force punch to the head for each. Damaging the brain worked before. It’s brutal, but it’s the best chance he has to finish this quickly without calling more trouble down on him.

Shep closes his eyes for a moment, already bracing himself for what comes after the fighting—the crash of adrenaline, the memories, the guilt. He exhales slowly. “Yeah… I guess we’re going to have to.” His voice starts out quiet and resigned, but takes on an edge with irritation. “But you don’t have to sound so excited about it. These were once friends,” he adds, the last words worn and tired.

"I'm sorry, Shep. I didn't take that into consideration."

He resists any urge to fire the rail gun or make a thunderous powered leap—anything that risks drawing the SAMAS suits circling over the lake, or whoever else might be out here watching. Stealth matters. Once the two are close enough, he plans to rush in and end it fast—one clean, full-force punch to the head for each. Damaging the brain worked before. It’s brutal, but it’s the best chance he has to finish this quickly without calling more trouble down on him.

Shep walks in close to them both. Mel is the first to move, taking a wild swing at the Silver Eagle's chest, only to shatter her arm against it. Shep swiftly bats her head, caving in most of it while breaking her neck. She stumbles sideways and falls, sliding to a halt.

Then Nova approaches, her eyes still full of color, even though the whites of her eyes are bright yellow. Seeing, Mrs. Kersch lying on the ground, body twitching in final undeath throes. Visions of people being squashed, years ago, flood his mind again. His hands shake and his excretory system threatens to take on a life of it's own.

All the while, Nova begins futilly slapping and biting at Shep's armor.

OOC: Failed HF on Nova, because she was a friend of Shep's, unlike the virtually non-existant wife of the mayor.

Shep freezes the moment he recognizes her—not a faceless zombie, not a stranger, but Nova. Someone he knew. Someone he’d talked to, laughed with, told stories to at the library. Seeing her eyes now—bright yellow, wrong in every possible way—hits him harder than any demon ever could. Mrs. Kersch had barely registered as a person to him a moment ago. But Nova… Nova was part of his life practically since she was born.

He forces himself to try to breathe, but it’s shallow, ragged, completely unsteady. He knows he has to act. He knows what she’s become. He knows what she would want him to do...what must be done. But right now? Right now he can barely make his hands respond. All he can do is stand there, fighting to keep himself from breaking as someone he cared about claws at the armor like she wants to tear her way back into his life--back into the life she once had. He fights the internal struggle to overcome all of the emotions that threaten to send him into darkness...and do what must be done. There is no other way.

OOC: Dane tries to overcome his HF.

Shep freezes the moment he recognizes her—not a faceless zombie, not a stranger, but Nova. Someone he knew. Someone he’d talked to, laughed with, told stories to at the library. Seeing her eyes now—bright yellow, wrong in every possible way—hits him harder than any demon ever could. Mrs. Kersch had barely registered as a person to him a moment ago. But Nova… Nova was part of his life practically since she was born.

He forces himself to try to breathe, but it’s shallow, ragged, completely unsteady. He knows he has to act. He knows what she’s become. He knows what she would want him to do...what must be done. But right now? Right now he can barely make his hands respond. All he can do is stand there, fighting to keep himself from breaking as someone he cared about claws at the armor like she wants to tear her way back into his life. He fights the internal struggle to overcome all of the emotions that threaten to send him into darkness...and do what must be done. But right now? Right now he can barely make his hands respond at all. And beneath it all, he struggles to claw his way out of the darkness rising inside him—because when this moment ends, he knows what he has to do.

There is no other way. He blindly swings, trying not to see the carnage that he's about to unleash on her beautiful head, face or body. He whiffs. She suddenly lost interest in him and just stares, knuckles bloodied, fingernails gruesomely peeled back. The bruising around her neck shows how she died; strangulation. But now here she is, standing there, then says, "Help... mm... me..." And tries to reach up to choke the power armor.

Her pleas pull at his heart and threaten to break his resolve, but deep down he knows that even if there was some shred of humanity left in there he can't save her. The creature she's become would likely die trying to kill Shep before he could ever get her to someone that might be able to help her. With a final gritting of his teeth, Shep reaches out to her and pulls her roughly into a final embrace [GM roll: N19 to grapple]. With tears streaming down his face he squeezes her tightly. The almost supernatural strength of his armor crushing her small, frail body. With one final gesture, he slides his hand up to her head and tries to end it as quickly and humanely as possible.

Her pleas pull at his heart and threaten to break his resolve, but deep down he knows that even if there was some shred of humanity left in there he can't save her. The creature she's become would likely die trying to kill Shep before he could ever get her to someone that might be able to help her. With a final gritting of his teeth, Shep reaches out to her and pulls her roughly into a final embrace. With tears streaming down his face he squeezes her tightly. It starts with her back popping as she strains her last words, "I'm not... a... mmonnster..." As she begins suffocating, her eyes desperately try to peer into the helmet. Shep feels like she's looking right into his eyes.

With one final gesture, he slides his hand up to her head and tries to end it as quickly and humanely as possible. He crushes the back of her skull with a quick slap. She slumps in his embrace as he swears he hears a familiar, disembodied, whispering voice gleefully express, "Who's the monster now?" and quietly chuckle.

With an almost inhuman howl echoing inside his helmet, Shep drops to his knees. The SAMAS hits the dirt with a heavy thud, carving two deep divots beneath its weight. He clutches Nova’s small, broken body against his chest, sobbing into the confines of his armor. Seconds stretch into minutes—each one thick and unbearable—as he tries to force air past the tightness in his throat. He keeps trying to remind himself of what he told Reggie earlier, that the person he knew was already gone long before this moment. But the memory of her voice… of her trying to speak… haunts him.

.oO What if I was wrong? What if she was still in there? Oo. The thought threatens to crush him as surely as the armor crushed her. Eventually, sheer necessity pushes him into moving again. He rises unsteadily, scoops her up in his arms, then turns back for Melissa, dragging her gently behind him as he steps off the road and into the brush. He finds a small patch of ground that feels just far enough from the path, lays them side by side, and begins to dig.

He works fast. Has to. He knows he’s already losing time—not knowing what other horrors are happening to the town—but he refuses to leave them out here for scavengers. The suit’s strength tears through the earth in quick, forceful motions as he digs a shallow grave, dirt flying, tears still silently streaming down his face. He keeps going, ignoring the burn in his arms and the ache in his chest. Because whatever else he has to do today, he won’t leave them like this.

OOC: If the digging is going to take too long, more than a few minutes, I may have to re-evaluate the situation and move on without burying them.

With an almost inhuman howl echoing inside his helmet, Shep drops to his knees. The Silver Eagle hits the dirt with a heavy thud, carving two deep divots beneath its weight. He clutches Nova’s small, broken body against his chest, sobbing into the confines of his armor. Seconds stretch into minutes—each one thick and unbearable—as he tries to force air past the tightness in his throat. He keeps trying to remind himself of what he told Reggie earlier, that the person he knew was already gone long before this moment. But the memory of her voice… of her trying to speak… haunts him.

.oO What if I was wrong? What if she was still in there? Oo. The thought threatens to crush him as surely as the armor crushed her. Eventually, sheer necessity pushes him into moving again. He rises unsteadily, scoops her up in his arms, then turns back for Melissa, dragging her gently behind him as he steps off the road and into the brush. He finds a small patch of ground that feels just far enough from the path, lays them side by side, and begins to dig.

He works fast. Has to. He knows he’s already losing time—not knowing what other horrors are happening to the town—but he refuses to leave them out here for scavengers. The suit’s strength tears through the earth in quick, forceful motions as he digs a shallow grave, dirt flying, tears still silently streaming down his face. He keeps going, ignoring the burn in his arms and the ache in his chest. Because whatever else he has to do today, he won’t leave them like this.

He finishes the first hole, and gently places Mel inside of it and quickly buries her under four feet of a mixture of soil, gravel and sand. He moves over about four feet and starts another hole, when he hears, "I... I'm... not... one... of..." She isn't dead! "...them." Blood spurts from her mouth. Her ribs broken, back of her head crushed. Her eyes open, blood-filled, replacing the yellow in her eyes. "I... can hear... you... Shep..." A gurgled, heart-breaking cry splatters through the frothing blood, "Why?" Shep fights back images of his father spurting gore from his mouth.

The voice returns, "Oh... what a tangled web we weave, old man..."

OOC: Yeah... he has enough time to bury her... Ummm... Im sure you have more questions?

Shep quickly switches over to external audio. "How… how is this possible?" If anyone could see his face, they’d see fear, pain, and utter shock all tangled together. Then he remembers they’re not alone. Switching the audio off, he says, "Carl… Carl… have you ever encountered this? Can she truly still be alive… can she be saved?" His words come rapidly, gravelly from the tightness in his throat. His breath quickens as he studies Nova’s face, searching for the spark of life—the little girl she once was.