#i want to start a whole service of making nerdy jackets for nerdy metal heads

[bioswear]

Updates to my DrakeNieR themed jacket /wearable collectible !

Zero and Furiae imagery before I tackle finishing the back panel

[ikesenhell]

New Heights

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 6. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: Violence tw. Guns, general discomfort, implied death. 

There was no such thing as a rivalry in the post-apocalyptic landscape--just varying factions all trying to survive, same as the next. That didn't make the relationship between Waŋblí Hoȟpi and Kasugayama any better. They didn't contend for resources or fight over territory. The answer was much simpler.

It just so happened that, out of all the people in the world, Shingen Takeda, Kenshin Uesugi, and Nobunaga Oda all hated one another.

The reason was as petty as it was significant: Nobunaga was abrasive. Kenshin Uesugi didn't respond well to being abraded. Shingen Takeda didn't respond well to what he perceived as pompous behavior. Together, the trio mixed about as well as oil and water, and very little ever assuaged that. The only thing that came between their mutual dislike of each other was the collective welfare of the plains settlements.

This happened to be one of those times.

They arrived on horseback around mid-morning, their saddlebags thick with papers and plans. Only four came: the two leaders of Kasugayama and their respective experts, Yukimura and Sasuke.

“So,” Masamune asked, watching the four exchange awkward greetings with the Waŋblí Hoȟpi leaders, “Which do you think is the mechanical engineer?”

She grinned up at him. “Do we want to go stereotypical, or a serious guess? Cause my guess is on the nerdy one.”

“You’re right, Kitten, that is stereotypical.” He kicked back against Ieyasu’s porch and worked his hands over the worn wooden steps. “When do you think they’ll bring up the ship?”

“I can’t imagine it’s high on the priority list. Well--” She paused. “Unless it’s been raiding their settlement, too?”

“We didn't get that on the list.”

“Did you ask?”

They hadn't. Masamune mulled over this before pressing on. “Well, then in that case, we should bring it up even sooner. I told Mitsunari to drag me in when they start talking about it, so hopefully that’ll be sooner rather than later.”

---

It was much, much later when Mitsunari rapped on the front door. Fortunately, Masamune was waiting. He slung on a jacket and followed the man to the office. The familiar long table was stacked with polaroids of the ship, each copied in triplicate and laid out according to angle. Apparently, she’d been right. The settlement leaders were all gathered around, but the most invested was clearly Mitsunari and Sasuke.

“This ship,” Sasuke was saying, bent double over a photo, “It just emerges without warning?”

“As best we know.” Mitsuhide settled into a chair and crossed his arms. “We’ve never gotten one.”

“Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.”

Masamune rapped his knuckles against the table by way of greeting. “It’d be a lot cooler if people weren’t vanishing or dying cause of it.”

Sasuke nodded vigorously, shoving his glasses back up his nose. “Naturally. My apologies if it sounded insensitive; it’s simply fascinating, given the network of things at play here.”

Mitsunari paused. “Has anyone vanished from Kasugayama?”

Shingen stirred in his seat. He was a tall, broad shouldered man with rugged good looks. “We’ve had a few, but we didn't connect it to this. Our disappearances seem more attached to a sudden surge of these religious types outside the boundaries.”

“Then it’s connected,” Nobunaga announced gravely. “We’ve been dealing with much the same.”

“Oh good.” Kenshin finally spoke up. By all definitions of the word, he was a beautiful man--blonde hair, bright eyes, sharp features. “Then Shingen will stop objecting to me having them run out of town.”

Shingen didn't rise to the bait. Instead, Sasuke cut through the noise with a matter-of-fact tap against one photo in particular. “This is all very fascinating. I’d presume the ship existed before all this. Local lore springs up to explain its presence. Religion sprouts in its wake. All this over such a simple simulation.”

The room fell silent.

Masamune lifted his hand. “A what.”

Sasuke realized--perhaps too late--that he was the bearer of news. He plunged into explanation. “It’s a simulation. You see, if you arrange these photos by timestamp--”

Mitsunari caught on next. “Then every fifteen to eighteen seconds, it indicates part of the hull is missing in particular sections. You can see it on the leftmost and rightmost sections, though it is blurry.”

Shingen and Mitsuhide quietly slid copies over to follow along. Sasuke snapped his fingers at Mitsunari as if to say ‘you got it’. “The motion blur makes it difficult to spot.”

“But how?” Mitsunari continued. “To make such a complex simulation occur without casting it over something--that would require technology we haven’t seen since the war. Besides that, it would take quite a vantage point…”

Mitsuhide snapped his fingers, tossing down the photo. “The turbine field.”

It made sense as soon as he said it. The wind turbine field was a well-known scavenging spot. Almost all of the spare parts for generators in Waŋblí Hoȟpi came from there. Masamune felt his stomach lurch. How close had they been all this time?

Ieyasu huffed. “How would we have missed it?”

“It’s in the turbine,” Masamune announced, realizing it all in one. “One of the functioning ones. It’s how it has power. It’s connected to the turbine.”

“Masamune,” Hideyoshi started, “Masamune, no--”

Too late. Masamune turned on his heel and jogged from the room. Down the steps he ran, out into the dark streets. If they were right--if they were right!--they could end this tonight--

“Woah, tiger! Where are you going?”

Masamune skidded to a halt only seconds before impact, but he didn't stop. He scooped her up into his arms and flung her over his shoulder, ignoring her squeal. “You feel like a climb, Kitten?!”

“Masa! Put me down!”

He obeyed, setting her on his motorcycle and digging for two helmets. “We’ve got a mission. It might stop the whole damn thing. Are you with me?”

She didn't even wait for an explanation before jamming the helmet on her head. “Just fill me in while we’re going, won’t you?”

---

Moonlight streamed down on the field. The ancient remains of pylons towered in the echoing plains, overgrown blades lying in discarded heaps. Long ago they’d decided not to what was left for power; they’d never been entirely certain of the integrity of the remaining turbines. Instead they’d languished. In the dark, they looked more like the ruins of a temple made for giants.

Masamune puttered to a halt on the outskirts. With the engine off, nothing but the swell of silence remained.

“Fucking creepy,” he muttered.

“Tell me about it,” she agreed, dismounting. “Which one is it?”

“Dunno. I figured we’d wait for the wind to kick in and see which ones still work out of the standing. There’s only five--”

“Five to search, if they all work,” she shot back. “That’s a lot of climbing to do. We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

She had a point. “Any ideas?”

But she just sighed and shook her head. “Short of waiting for the ship to come around and seeing if the light projects out one? I’m not sure.”

“My plan it is.” Masamune shook out his hair. “Come on. Let’s go.”

As if on cue, the wind raced up behind them, swirling through the grass and echoing between the columns. Two turbines turned in response. It was now or never. Reaching behind him to her, he linked his hand in hers and squeezed.

“You good, Kitten?”

She squeezed back. “I’m fine.”

The dry prairie grass cracked underfoot. They picked past rubble and rusted parts, old vehicles abandoned to nature. In the moon, bright red paint glinted off one the abandoned pylons, reading: GODS COME FOR THE FAITHFUL.

In the distance, a faint light fluttered.

Masamune froze first. Her breath hitched behind him.

“Do you think--?” She whispered.

“Possibly.” He paused, groping himself for a machete that he knew he’d left at the motorcycle. Did they turn back? No--he realized there was too much wide open space between them and their exit now. There was only one alternative: hide.

Together they charged for the nearest functioning turbine. A dog bayed nearby. Laughter and conversation ghosted over the wind. Masamune tried the handle of the service entrance, but it was shut too tight to budge.

“Shit,” he mumbled, rolling up his sleeves. “This is gonna be loud.”

One, two, three--he lifted his leg and kicked in the metal door frame. The distant flashlight roved in their direction. Desperate, he yanked at the jammed handle. It screeched free. “Go, go, go!”

More barking. Someone shouted. She dove in first, Masamune sharp behind her. The inside was tiny and cramped, only enough space for two and the ladder up.

And oh--that ladder certainly went up. He couldn’t see where it ended, but no doubt it went up through the whole turbine.

“Shit,” he repeated. “Go.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. She leaped onto the ladder and scaled it to the first level, going as fast as she could manage. Masamune crouched by the door and sifted through the dust until he found a wrench. Good enough. As if on cue, the door started opening.

Well. Better to handle it on his terms.

In one fluid motion, he wrenched open the door. One very surprised looking man--the same cultist from the store!--weaved on the spot, rifle in hand and backup outside. Masamune took no chances. He snatched the rifle barrel downward and swung the wrench up into the man’s jaw. Crack! The cultist howled, and Masamune slammed the door shut in his face, taking the rifle.

“Come on!” She shouted from the next level. “Hurry!”

Masamune slung the gun over his shoulder and charged up the ladder. A flurry of blows landed against the thin metal door. It was only a matter of time before they cracked it open. Up, up, up he went, clambering onto the next level just as they breached inside. A gunshot ricocheted off the wall. Masamune checked the chamber of his rifle and counted two bullets. Only two shots. Great.

Someone fired off another shot. Behind him, he heard the rattle of metal and watched her heft a toolbox over the edge, handily knocking someone from the ladder.

“Nice one!” Masamune pushed her toward the next ladder. “Now go!”

Up, up, up they climbed, their pursuers close behind. Each progressive level just got smaller. What would they do when they reached the top? What lay in wait for them? Masamune didn't know. Instead he focused on covering her escape upward, saving those two precious bullets.

And then they were there.

There was a very small light at the top. It hung dimly over the rotor, hundreds of years of ‘on’ leaving it faint and brittle. Still it was something. She leapt onto the landing and immediately negotiated her way around the spinning engine, the dull roar echoing through his chest.

“Careful!” He shouted.

“Got it!”

BANG! Another shot. Masamune hissed a curse and slung himself over the ledge, preparing himself for whatever came next. She shimmied her way into the narrow crevice at the front.

This was it.

The first man made it over the edge, and Masamune picked him up by his shirt and shoved him bodily off. His scream echoed, cut short by the BANG of his body hitting the next level below. More shots. He wondered how much ammo they possibly had.

“Here!” She called. “I found it! I found it!”

Masamune hissed a prayer and slid back beside her, narrowly dodging the sharp wheels of the engine. A very slight hole protruded in the front of the turbine. Sure enough, there it was--a small box, caked in grime and dust. Pre-war tech, no doubt about it. She cradled its plastic frame in her hands and peeled it from the ledge, dusting off its surface. A small note was taped to the top.

“ARK,” she read, tapping the line beneath it. “And some coordinates.”

A thousand questions popped to mind. There was time for none of them. Behind them, the ladder rattled again. Masamune wheeled around and lifted the rifle just in time to confront the newcomer: bang! He shot off the ledge. One bullet left. Another man came over the edge and Masamune fired, narrowly missing.

Nothing for it. He hurled the useless weapon at the assailant, catching him off guard long enough to grab him by his collar and shove him face-first into the rotating wheels of the engine. The scream echoed; Masamune punted him off the edge as well, breathing hard. Silence.

“Let’s go,” he urged her, waving her along. “Bring the projector. We have a second’s opening.”

Going down was almost harder than going up. They skipped as many spokes as they could, rushing through the interior. Down, down, down--they made it to the landing and Masamune breathed.

It was premature.

The door kicked open. There, gun at the ready, was another few cultists. They screeched to a halt, the projector poised between them.

“Hands up,” snarled the leader. “And down on your knees.”

There wasn’t a choice.

Slowly, uncertainly, Masamune obeyed the directions. Another man swept in and cuffed their hands behind their backs, wresting the projector from her arms.

“What now?” She asked. “Do you shoot us?”

“Shoot you?” The first of them repeated. “No. You’ve angered the Messenger. We’ll take you to him instead.”