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No. 3904
"You're out of your mind Doctor... there's no way I can make that..." said the middle-aged man hunched over, fiercely clutching his stomach.

"Yes, you can!" the doctor disputed, eyes carefully scanning the scenery before him from beyond the broken window of the empty shack. He was younger and darker headed than the injured soldier next to him. The field medic glanced down at the rifle clutched in his right hand. "Give me your spare rounds."

The man hesitated the doctor's order, before being shot a dominating glare from beneath a pair of water-stained spectacles. He fumbled around in his black fatigue pockets, withdrawing five lengthy bullets. The doctor snatched them up. "When I give the order," the medic explained as he lined up the bullets on the window sill. "You're going to keep low and make your way for the dock as fast as you can; the containers should provide cover. See that nearest boat?" the younger man identified from the window. It was a small fishing boat.

"That's still at least half a mile Doctor..." the injured man breathed. The dark haired doctor firmly pressed his free hand to his ally's shoulder.

"I will protect you," the medic vowed. He removed his gloved hand and clasped it onto the weapon, shifting his weight and resting the rifle barrel through the window.

"I don't have a chance doctor..." the man admitted. "I'm gut shot; I'm not gonna make it." He let his head fall shamefully, staring at the wooden floor.

"We did not make it this far giving up, did we?" the surgeon asked calmly, his gaze not leaving the world beyond the window. "We're here because until now, we have refused to die," he assured the injured man. "You're going to escape because you demand to live."

The injured man slowly raised his head at the doctor's words. "What about you then?" he asked compassionately. The doctor hesitated, still examining the port below them, and the scant few uniformed men armed with machine guns who were occupying it. He noted that the rise of the morning sun seemed to almost taunt him in the face of such desperation.

The man with the rifle sighed.

"I'm not sure if I want to keep on living or not," he admitted solemnly. "Now go!"
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 3905
I got sucked in but I do not understand what I am reading, sir.
>> No. 3909
Agreed. I hope to see this continued post-haste!
>> No. 3934
Thanks guys. Also, to get this elephant out of the way; the reason why there are no accents is because they're speaking German, instead of speaking English with German accents.
>> No. 3996

OH! Okay. Comprehension growing closer...
>> No. 4006
Nice touch, but maybe next time try to convey that in the story proper rather than the notes?
I do like this though. Props for having them speaking German and not English in Germany.
>> No. 4009

Taking his time replying, the German patted the dark soil with his loosely gloved hands. He sighed and slowly rose to his standing posture, dirt covering his oversize apron that trailed below his knees.

"Dok-" the visitor began to repeat in a thick accent.

"I heard you zhe first time," the gardener stated coldly. He turned and for the first time solidly placed his eyes upon the uninvited man. The German almost stepped back in shock at the enormous size of him; he had initially only seen him approaching from his peripheral vision. Proportioned with massive, muscled arms, a protruding gut from inside his read shirt and a shaved head; the man must have been at least seven feet tall and would scale easily over four hundred pounds. However, the gardener maintained his composure. "Can I help you?" he asked, irritated.

"You are doktor, right?" the large visitor asked. The German arched his brows. He noticed the expression on the large man's face was becoming increasingly shy and shameful. Pitiful, he thought. For a man of such build to behave so childishly.

"And if I am a "dock-tor?" the German inquired, mocking the visitor's accent. Almost certainly Russian, he noted.

"Vell, leetle man in yellow hat at store said you vould help," the Russian replied, his stare lowering closer and closer to the dirt in humility.

"You vere told zhat I vould help you?" the German asked. Damn zhat stupid engineer, he cursed in his head.

"Da, leetle man said vork could be dangerous," the large man admitted.

Dangerous work that would require a doctor? The German pondered to himself for a moment. What the hell is he going on about? "Vhat sort of /vork/ is so dangerous?"

"I... I do not know, umm... /exactly/," the Russian man articulated, fumbling over his English. "Exactly vhat might be problem."

The German rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. This idiot isn't making an ounce of sense, he thought to himself. Though I may as well humor him some more.

The German walked from his small garden to the small nearby porch, as he untied the filthy apron and rested it over the porch railing. The Russian's eyes followed him in confusion. The German turned as he removed his gardening gloves.

"Do not just stand zhere, dummkopf. You may come in, but take zhose boots off!
>> No. 4011
What is going on.

>> No. 4014
I get the feeling this may be either AU or pre-war...
>> No. 4137
I might get someone to start proof-reading my stuff. If anyone wants to volunteer...

The afternoon sun bled into the room in between the blinds cast over the small windows. The Russian had obliged to his host by leaving his boots upon the porch and following him inside, ducking his head slightly as he entered to avoid the doorframe. The gardener had always kept his abode as clean as possible, though it was hardly a challenge given the size of the house; the large fireplace in the living area seemed to consume an absurd amount of space. Where there were no windows, bookshelves lined nearly every inch of the walls, filled with hundreds of hardbound books. In front of the oversize fireplace was a single lone cushioned chair with a tiny oak coffee table next to it. The Russian guest's eyes scrolled across the room curiously as he stepped onto the elegantly designed red and gold carpet, as if searching for something out of place. The German was already in the small kitchen opposite of the door, retrieving an slim green wine bottle from his refrigerator.

"Is somezhing zhe the matter?" he asked his guest, annoyed while removing the cork from the bottle.

The Russian hesitated, the cogs in his head turning to find the proper words in English. "Dokter... live alone?" he asked, his eyes fixated one the grey chair in front of the fireplace.

"Yes, is zhere somezhing wrong whiz zhat?" The German responded, in the same irritated tone. His guest was once again tripping for precise word choice.

"Uh, n-no... of... of c-course not," said the Russian in his remarkably, low burly voice. The German noted that his resemblance to some sort of hairless wild bear was staggering. The German gardener emerged from the kitchen with his wine bottle and a single, crystal clear glass. He sat the glass down upon the small coffee table and began filling it with the dark red fluid from the bottle.

"English ihz not your strong point I ghazher?" he teased as he returned the wine bottle to its upright position and placed its bottom down onto the table.

"Вы не владеете русским?" the Russian man asked eagerly.

The German hesitated, pondering momentarily of how to respond. "Только небольшая сумма," he replied with an accent.

"Oh... so only leetle?" the Russian asked, disappointed.

"Yes, not much at all in fact," the German reassured, reflecting on his poor Russian linguistics. He brought the nigh-filled wine glass to his mouth and sipped it as he sat down in his chair, legs crossed. Silence enveloped the room as the gardener swallowed his wine.He figured he would need it for today.
>> No. 4138
These updates are so tiny, argh.
>> No. 4139
Sorry Cat. I cut this one off prematurely admittedly (I have more written) but I wanted to update it before anyone lost interest. Next part will be much larger; promise.
>> No. 4140

Yeah, they are. I'm eager for the rest to understand the setting a bit more.
>> No. 4341
"So, vhat is it you need my assistance vhiz exactly?" he asked, staring at the lifeless brick fireplace.

"Um," the Russian started, desperately wracking his brain. "Woman contract me to take someting to compound in desert. Pays well."

The German processed the information silently while sipping his wine. "Vhat is it exactly you're delivering to zhis compound?" he asked impatiently.

"I... do not know," the Russian admitted reluctantly. "Locked inside case. Vhas told not to open."

"Where is zhis case?" the gardener asked.

"Is vhiz engineer in town," the Russian replied. The German sat his his wine glass down and turn his gaze up to his guest.

"You're being paid to deliver somezsing, and yet you leave it in zhe care of a total stranger?" he mocked, blankly staring at the giant man.

"I... he look like nice man," the Russian defended, his voice volume lowering along with his confidence before his host. The giant man's eyes fell to the carpet at his own feet. The German admitted to himself that while the town Engineer was indeed quite trustworthy, it was a remarkably foolish maneuver to abandon such presumably valuable material.

"So..." the German started, his stare returning to the dark fireplace. "You vere contracted to deliver zhis locked case to some sort of facility somevhwere in zhe Mojave Desert, and you're expecting danger zhat vould demand a field doctor. Is zhis correct?" The sitting man tilted his head slightly and glared at his guest through his glasses. The Russian's response was, to no surprise of his host, quite delayed.

"Yes, is correct. I tell hardware man about danger and he say you vere 'go to fellow,'" the Russian said, his voice and gaze still lowered. "So... vill you help me?" he guest pleaded.

"Are you expecting to get shot at?" the gardener asked coldly.

The Russian visually recoiled at the question, drawing his back a bit. "Umm, vwell..." he began.

"Vill zhere be people shooting at us?" the German repeated, louder this time.

"M-maybe, zhere could be some..." the guest admitted. The sitting man sighed and began feverishly rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

"Go by yourself, zhis is out of the zhe question. Please leave," the German demanded, rising to his feet. He hadn't actually planned on seriously considering the Russian's request at all, but the prospect of being asked to accompany a stranger into a firefight was insulting, even barring the utter lunacy of the mission itself.

"But Dokter, job pays vell-"

"I vill not be an accomplice to your silly antics, no matter how much money you claim to zhrow at me," the German said, striding over to the front door. He quickly yanked it open and stepped aside, allowing room for the giant man. "You have only vaisted your time here." He was furiously arching his brows at the humiliated Russian, who struggled to maintain eye contact. The German's guest stood there as if in some confused stupor, fishing his mind for a retort to convince the gardener otherwise. The German merely stood there near the doorway, glaring at him through spotless lenses. Facing defeat, the Russian guest finally stepped outside onto the small porch, ducking as he passed through the doorway. The door was immediately slammed behind him.


The Texan engineer sat in his large office behind his desk in a sturdy wooden chair, his wide whiskered chin resting upon his knuckles as he peered through his dark safety goggles at the light blue briefcase on his desk. The structure and nature of the office made it more akin to a garage with an office desk than an actual office. Even so, the engineer enjoyed dubbing it as such regardless. The heated Arizona sun smothered nearly the entire massive room via tall, curtain-free windows. The entirety of the interior was characterized with black oil stains and countless scars among the metal materials and tools blanketing the walls. The door across from the engineer's desk was open as a young women strode through it, tossing the man a brown lightweight paper sack. He twitched, startled, as it landed on top of the mysterious briefcase he was so fixed upon.

"Yer too damned nice, ya know that?" the women said as she sat down on the battered nearby couch. "I told ya you shouldn't have held onto somethin' like that," she continued while digging through a brown sack of her own. She was clad in incredibly greasy overalls and a faded sleeveless shirt, the original black now varying degrees of grey.

"He jus' needed some help is all," the Texan said, while snatching up his own bag and eyeing through it. "God damn, Stewart had bacon? Thank ya darlin'." The engineer retrieved a wheat-breaded sandwich from the bag; thick strips of bacon lay among the mustard and turkey in between.

"Yer so damned picky, you should really at least put lettuce on it," the woman criticized; her sandwich was significantly more colorful by comparison.

"Lettuce jus' gets in the way," the male Texan defended, sinking his teeth into his meal.

The two sat there in silence, chewing several bites each before the accented woman spoke up.

"What do you reckon's in that thing anyway?" she asked before taking another bite.

"I ain't got a clue, 'specially if that Russian feller don't know what's in it," the engineer replied.

"Musftt be awful important," the young woman affirmed, her mouth still full.

"Don't speak with yer mouth so full Eri, you got better manners n' that," the man chastised. The young woman swallowed her mouth full.

"Sorry," she apologized. "But, it's awful fishy ain't it?"

The engineer swallowed a bite. "It sure seems that way," he admitted.

"You shouldn't uh said you'd look after it, 'specially since he was a Red," Eri warned.

"Aw come on now Eri, he's a nice lookin' fella," the Texan said. "Lil' lost maybe, but he didn't mean us no harm or anything. Ya shouldn't judge folk so quickly. It ain't right."

"An' you trust folk too quick!" Eri retorted.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' nice ta people," the engineer stated, before taking an aggressive bite into the second half of his sandwich.

"You too good ta some folk, like that German; you gave him that spare house an' everything!" Eri shouted.

"Hey now," the man started while leaning forward in his seat, his tone increasing in hostility. "That doctor's a good man. He might seem a lil' funny but there ain't no good in doubtin' him jus' cuz of his accent."

Eri sighed. "You just too god damned nice fer yer own good."
>> No. 4371
You know, that update looked a lot bigger in my word processor. : /

Protip: You can never write enough.
>> No. 4373

That happens to me every time.

>> No. 4603
Well, this is considerably different to the usual settings. Sage for not an update.

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