Voodoo flips his NVGs down over his eyes, looking in the direction of the sound. Two males, both armed, both armored - in heavy-duty leather, but armor's armor. The shorter of the two has a helmet that looks like it's rated against a straight razor at best, but the taller of the two is helmetless and has...glasses.
(Must still be some optometrists plying their trade in this world. That, or they're salvage. Largely irrelevant, either way.)
Shorty's got his gun out. It's a lever-action rifle, from what little detail the goggles offer at this distance - were it his world, he'd make it for a .30-30, but Ellen's world is wonky as all hell when it comes to calibers.
(Well. If recent events are anything to go by, Ellen's world is his world, now.
-best not to dwell on it too much. Focus on the mission. Moping and angst gets people killed.)
Conversely, the taller one's gun is still holstered, but he's got a hand on it, ready for a quick draw as the two of them approach the church. -if Voodoo had to guess, he'd peg it for a ten-mil, but the principle remains the same, regardless: don't take a bullet from it.
They're armed. They're unknown. They're coming under cover of night. All of it adds up to a sketchiness factor of about - seven out of ten. Their sole saving grace - the only reason Voodoo's not lighting them up right now - is that there's just the two of them. A raiding party - a decent raiding party - would be bigger, move faster.
But none of that means he's got to just let them waltz in here.
Silently, he crouches down, making his way back down the staircase and moving along the wall toward the main entrance, weapon up, careful to duck under any windows along the way.
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Voodoo flips his NVGs down over his eyes, looking in the direction of the sound. Two males, both armed, both armored - in heavy-duty leather, but armor's armor. The shorter of the two has a helmet that looks like it's rated against a straight razor at best, but the taller of the two is helmetless and has...glasses.
(Must still be some optometrists plying their trade in this world. That, or they're salvage. Largely irrelevant, either way.)
Shorty's got his gun out. It's a lever-action rifle, from what little detail the goggles offer at this distance - were it his world, he'd make it for a .30-30, but Ellen's world is wonky as all hell when it comes to calibers.
(Well. If recent events are anything to go by, Ellen's world is his world, now.
-best not to dwell on it too much. Focus on the mission. Moping and angst gets people killed.)
Conversely, the taller one's gun is still holstered, but he's got a hand on it, ready for a quick draw as the two of them approach the church. -if Voodoo had to guess, he'd peg it for a ten-mil, but the principle remains the same, regardless: don't take a bullet from it.
They're armed. They're unknown. They're coming under cover of night. All of it adds up to a sketchiness factor of about - seven out of ten. Their sole saving grace - the only reason Voodoo's not lighting them up right now - is that there's just the two of them. A raiding party - a decent raiding party - would be bigger, move faster.
But none of that means he's got to just let them waltz in here.
Silently, he crouches down, making his way back down the staircase and moving along the wall toward the main entrance, weapon up, careful to duck under any windows along the way.
He stops about 30 feet from the door - and waits.