[Intro Log #3] SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM.

[oasismods]

INTRO LOG #03

Dropship The new dropship touches down during the evening when the sky is beginning to get dark. It lands further out than usual, where the greenery and trees taper off into the desert sand. The most surprising thing about the ship's landing is that it does - in fact - land in one piece. It leaves the same crater beneath it as the others have, but there is no sheared metal or bent in portions of the ship to show that something has gone awry. There is simply the ship, groaning as it cools from its re-entry into the atmosphere. Despite the best landing so far, the power has failed aside from flashing alarm lights and an annoying warning sounding off every couple seconds. The shock doesn't end there, the mysterious voice that Han Solo had contacted kept his... promise... instead of packages of trail mix there are boxes and boxes of cheese. On the foremost box is a note and written on it: "HAVE A LITTLE CHEESE WITH YOUR WHINE." Next to the boxes of cheese are stacks and stacks of canned spam. Delicious. There is only a single person on the dropship but he is supplied with the typical backpack. What's different is the .22 tucked safely inside next to a box of bullets. Inside the box of bullets there is an additional note, in different handwriting: "broadcast your needs." Cryptic but promising to anyone that knows what's going on. Someone was feeling merciful apparently. The Welcome Party All possible exits to the ship are closed, and if Carl feel like he's strong enough he can try to pry one of the doors open, but someone seems to get the same idea. Suddenly something is wedged between the door and where it lies before it's wrenched with a twisting metal noise. Then another crowbar is wedged far enough in to cause a gap that's quickly filled with a hook. Then another, and another. The same process. It takes a long time, but then the revving of an engine, a far too pleased yell and the door is yanked from its home. Confetti pops and sounds, falling from a small space near the top of the door - another mockery from the man who left the harsher note, no doubt - that distracts the sudden strangers that are poking their heads into the ship, and staring up like they've been shown the light through their masks. The hatchets in their hands make it clear they're not there for hugs. Besides the bandits, the drop-zone around the ship is completely silent, not a single infected in sight. It's like they're all busy with something else.

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Comments

[dirtyredneck]

"Ain't the cheese I was talking to," he answered, voice raising so it could be heard easier. He shook the empty bag he'd grabbed off his shoulder and got to opening it up so he could join her in taking what they could for now. "This shit ain't going to keep as well as the trail mix did. Gonna get sick of it fast."

[peacekeep]

"Least it's food. Something to keep us going." That's all food had become, really. Fuel. It was a shame, because she could remember some amazing things she used to love eating. Like burgers, fries, and milkshakes. She wasn't ever going to get Dairy Queen again, but that was okay. Just as long as they had something to make it day to day.

Which made her think of something else she wanted to talk about with Daryl, she just wasn't sure how to approach the subject without making him feel sad. "There's less of us now. This might go a longer way than it would've before." It wasn't necessarily a good thing, because their dwindling numbers had her worried. She wanted to hear his opinion on it, though.

[dirtyredneck]

"Nah," he shook his head, sighing. "Not the cheese. The spam, maybe. But cheese'll go bad just as quick as it ever has without anything to keep it fresh. We got a week at best, assuming we can find a room that's relatively dry and cool. If we had a fridge that worked, we'd be okay. But right now?"

Daryl shook his head again. They'd basically gotten screwed as far as food went. The trail mix had been better for the sheer fact Daryl could hunt for the meat they needed. With spam, they'd have to get their assess moving on the garden and hope some of it started to come along faster than usual.

"We'll eat what we can, but ain't no use getting sick on it just to keep it from going to waste. It'll be wasting no matter what we do."

He didn't really want to dwell on the fewer mouths to feed thing. That was still bugging him. No signs of foul play, no trails to follow. No blood or bodies. Just gone. How was he supposed to keep the group safe if they kept disappearing on him?