Special Lizard Taming Unit| LeSane&JennyDK

[LeSane]

 

The interior of the barracks is a stifling blend of stale sweat, gun oil, and the metallic tang of old armor. Dust motes dance in the shafts of harsh sunlight piercing through the slats of the corrugated roof, illuminating the grime-streaked walls of the outpost. Captain Elias Thorne stands in the center of the room, his presence anchoring the space. He is a silhouette of weathered NCR Ranger armor and tired authority, his grey eyes scanning the small group of soldiers gathered around a scarred wooden table. The air is thick with the restlessness of men who have spent too many weeks in the dirt, their gear piled in haphazard heaps around them.

Thorne leans back against a support beam, the wood creaking under his weight. He has a toothpick tucked into the corner of his mouth, shifting it from one side to the other as he surveys his men. His expression is a mask of stoic exhaustion, the jagged scar on his chin catching the light. The silence is broken by the rhythmic clicking of a soldier cleaning a rifle, a sound that underscores the tension of the impending change to their unit's dynamic.

“Listen up,” Elias begins, his voice a low, gritty rumble that cuts through the murmur of the room. He doesn't shout; he doesn't have to. The authority is baked into the gravel of his tone. “Command is sending us a new addition. A fresh set of boots to fill the gap in our line. They'll be arriving by the within the hour, and from here on out, they're part of this squad. That means you treat them as such—which means you keep them alive and you keep them sharp.”

Sergeant Miller, a man whose face is as lined as a road map of the Mojave, frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks at Thorne with a skeptical squint. “A new recruit, Captain? We don't have the time to babysit."

Thorne lets out a dry, short laugh, the sound devoid of any real mirth. He rubs his temple with a calloused hand, the gesture betraying the headache he's been nursing since the last dispatch from the Colonel. “Believe me, Miller, I'm not thrilled about the timing either. But Command let me know that they're more than capable, but evwrything else has been left out. Whether they can actually handle the heat of the Mojave is something we'll find out the hard way. If they're a liability, I'll be the first to tear them a new one, but until then, keep your skepticism to yourself.”

The Captain pushes off from the beam, straightening his posture as he prepares to head back out into the oppressive heat. He pauses at the door, looking back at the squad with a piercing, unwavering stare.

[JennyDK]

After about 20 minutes of time, there is a beep coming from the surveilance room, indicating that someone or something is coming closer to the small outpost. There is soon confirmation that it is a non-hostile entity. A few more minutes pass by and outside in the horizon, in the dusty wasteland, there is a large truck moving towards the few buildings making up this place, kicking up lots of sand and dust in the process. As it gets even closer there appears to be a open roofed wagon of some sort being dragged alongside the truck. It appears to be mostly covered by something which allows people just barely able to see within it and it soon appears to have a single, huge silhouette of a figure within it.

The truck finally arrives fully and makes its stop. This is when the figure from other thing unveil themselves and the soldiers here get a proper and clear view of one of the newest assets that the Republic have gotten a hold: huge, trained and domesticated Deathclaws. They see a huge ass of this, standing around 6 meters tall, muscular, white skinned and clad in thick, yet simple armour with their insignia.