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Description
The drone feed gave Stosh an eagle eyed view of the terrain. Great crags of rock stood sentinel over the great ocean of sand. Looking at the place, it seemed surreal to have what seemed like an ocean of sand stretching into infinity. Stosh's experience with such places tended to be on the dustier side, like New Mexico and Texas. Until now, he thought of these places as being out of a children's book. Now on the other hand...
Well, at least the woman he had on the ground had more experience in the matter.

"It doesn't seem like they're aware of our presence." Ifrit's voice came from the speaker of his office. "They seem to be buying the breakdown story."
Stosh smiled. It took a little convincing, but Ifrit had warmed to the idea of planting a tiny charge that fragged only a portion of the engine block. It would have certainly been more convincing than the old 'log pulled across the road', or the 'civillian suffering a breakdown on the middle of the road' shticks. Now the fighters were sullenly working at the truck containing the goods, trying to figure out what needed to be replaced. The others in the convoy had spread out a little, keeping an eye for any possible attack.

"Told ya it'd work." Stosh said as he sipped his coffee.
"'Oh I was so wrong about your wise, wise wisdom oh great fakir...'" her voice playfully came. "If only I listened before..." there was a pause for a moment.
"Yeah, yeah..." Stosh said. "You planning to make your move?"
"Letting them get settled in." Ifrit said. On the camera she stretched her leg out behind her like a cat settling in. The blind she had setup was camouflaged from the direction of the road, but from above he could see her in a little depression on top a sand hill. "There's no way for them to offload their goods, the trucks are not big enough to fit the stuff." "Give them a few hours, and they'll have to send some people back home to retrieve some better vehicles."
"And once they send a good portion of their guys head off..."
Ifrit made the sound of cracking her knuckles in the microphone. "Never see me coming."

"Ifrit..." Stosh said. With perhaps too much hesitation in his voice. "We got a message from the Emir."
There was a moment of silence.
"Well?" She said. Was there perhaps a sense of wariness to her voice?
"I'll forward you the email." He typed on his keyboard. He wasn't enthusiastic about the response. The flowery words the Emir penned or had penned for him didn't hide the whole condescending undertones.

On his camera, he watched and noticed that she was now sitting cross legged, facing away from the convoy and into the vast expanse of sand.
Stosh clicked down on the push to talk button. "Everything alright-"
"I'm fine." Ifrit's voice came back, quickly and harshly.
Stosh let his hand off the console.
Ifrit's voice came back, this time softer and more level headed. "I'm sorry." she said. "It's just..."
Stosh thought about asking, but then felt that it was best to let her collect her thoughts.
"I did the best I could." She said. "I tried to keep on a brave face, go to the parties and be the good pretty princess again." There was another pause. "But then everyone talks about the latest fashions and who talked to who and my eyes just glazed over. And when I try and join in the conversation..." There was a sigh. "And they all clam up. Just try and talk to each other. 'Oh that's nice Rabeea!' they say, and then go back to talking to the people they were talking with as if I said nothing at all. And so what if I have these tattoos on my face? They're beautiful! They'd prefer the dermal scars from the skin weave I needed? Fucking burn marks? Just...."
She was silent for a moment. Stosh could make her out grabbing a fistful of sand and letting it fall out between her fingers. A fidget of a sorts perhaps.
"I didn't ask for any of what happened back in Mexico. But somehow back home everyone looks at me as if it was. I'm like a leper back home. A ghost that won't go away." There was another moment of silence. "And it doesn't help that I'm the only one who made it back. Malik and Fatima didn't deserve to die the way they did."
"So fuck him." she said. "Let him fret. He should be glad I'm gone, it's not like he wanted me around. He can find some other girl to be his heir." Ifrit seemed to be in thought for awhile.

"Sorry..." she muttered. "Didn't mean to vent like that."
"S'alright. Good to let it out I guess." Stosh said, sipping the last of his coffee.
There was a pause. "Flat white?" Ifrit asked.
Stosh eyed the empty cup in his hand. "Yep."
"Heathen." Ifrit scowled, the thermos in her hand clattering as she unscrewed the cup off.

----------------

Hey again! For this lady I decided to go with an Arabic/desert/Berber vibe. The idea behind her suit is that the under part serves to mask her thermal signature and give her some ballistic protection. The oversuit on the other hand serves as both protection and as a means of powering the thermal cooling system that prevents her from cooking to death in her own suit. I admit, Ana from Overwatch was a big inspiration, as was the freman stillsuits from Dune.
It doesn't recycle her bodily fluids though like a stillsuit. Takes too much space in the suit. And no, you can't get the taste out of it when you drink it.

Having some ideas as to what sort of world these ladies and gentlemen live in. A place where a mix of climate damage, plague and chaos run rampant. And cybernetically enhanced operatives kicking ass...

Description
The drone feed gave Stosh an eagle eyed view of the terrain. Great crags of rock stood sentinel over the great ocean of sand. Looking at the place, it seemed surreal to have what seemed like an ocean of sand stretching into infinity. Stosh's experience with such places tended to be on the dustier side, like New Mexico and Texas. Until now, he thought of these places as being out of a children's book. Now on the other hand...
Well, at least the woman he had on the ground had more experience in the matter.

"It doesn't seem like they're aware of our presence." Ifrit's voice came from the speaker of his office. "They seem to be buying the breakdown story."
Stosh smiled. It took a little convincing, but Ifrit had warmed to the idea of planting a tiny charge that fragged only a portion of the engine block. It would have certainly been more convincing than the old 'log pulled across the road', or the 'civillian suffering a breakdown on the middle of the road' shticks. Now the fighters were sullenly working at the truck containing the goods, trying to figure out what needed to be replaced. The others in the convoy had spread out a little, keeping an eye for any possible attack.

"Told ya it'd work." Stosh said as he sipped his coffee.
"'Oh I was so wrong about your wise, wise wisdom oh great fakir...'" her voice playfully came. "If only I listened before..." there was a pause for a moment.
"Yeah, yeah..." Stosh said. "You planning to make your move?"
"Letting them get settled in." Ifrit said. On the camera she stretched her leg out behind her like a cat settling in. The blind she had setup was camouflaged from the direction of the road, but from above he could see her in a little depression on top a sand hill. "There's no way for them to offload their goods, the trucks are not big enough to fit the stuff." "Give them a few hours, and they'll have to send some people back home to retrieve some better vehicles."
"And once they send a good portion of their guys head off..."
Ifrit made the sound of cracking her knuckles in the microphone. "Never see me coming."

"Ifrit..." Stosh said. With perhaps too much hesitation in his voice. "We got a message from the Emir."
There was a moment of silence.
"Well?" She said. Was there perhaps a sense of wariness to her voice?
"I'll forward you the email." He typed on his keyboard. He wasn't enthusiastic about the response. The flowery words the Emir penned or had penned for him didn't hide the whole condescending undertones.

On his camera, he watched and noticed that she was now sitting cross legged, facing away from the convoy and into the vast expanse of sand.
Stosh clicked down on the push to talk button. "Everything alright-"
"I'm fine." Ifrit's voice came back, quickly and harshly.
Stosh let his hand off the console.
Ifrit's voice came back, this time softer and more level headed. "I'm sorry." she said. "It's just..."
Stosh thought about asking, but then felt that it was best to let her collect her thoughts.
"I did the best I could." She said. "I tried to keep on a brave face, go to the parties and be the good pretty princess again." There was another pause. "But then everyone talks about the latest fashions and who talked to who and my eyes just glazed over. And when I try and join in the conversation..." There was a sigh. "And they all clam up. Just try and talk to each other. 'Oh that's nice Rabeea!' they say, and then go back to talking to the people they were talking with as if I said nothing at all. And so what if I have these tattoos on my face? They're beautiful! They'd prefer the dermal scars from the skin weave I needed? Fucking burn marks? Just...."
She was silent for a moment. Stosh could make her out grabbing a fistful of sand and letting it fall out between her fingers. A fidget of a sorts perhaps.
"I didn't ask for any of what happened back in Mexico. But somehow back home everyone looks at me as if it was. I'm like a leper back home. A ghost that won't go away." There was another moment of silence. "And it doesn't help that I'm the only one who made it back. Malik and Fatima didn't deserve to die the way they did."
"So fuck him." she said. "Let him fret. He should be glad I'm gone, it's not like he wanted me around. He can find some other girl to be his heir." Ifrit seemed to be in thought for awhile.

"Sorry..." she muttered. "Didn't mean to vent like that."
"S'alright. Good to let it out I guess." Stosh said, sipping the last of his coffee.
There was a pause. "Flat white?" Ifrit asked.
Stosh eyed the empty cup in his hand. "Yep."
"Heathen." Ifrit scowled, the thermos in her hand clattering as she unscrewed the cup off.

----------------

Hey again! For this lady I decided to go with an Arabic/desert/Berber vibe. The idea behind her suit is that the under part serves to mask her thermal signature and give her some ballistic protection. The oversuit on the other hand serves as both protection and as a means of powering the thermal cooling system that prevents her from cooking to death in her own suit. I admit, Ana from Overwatch was a big inspiration, as was the freman stillsuits from Dune.
It doesn't recycle her bodily fluids though like a stillsuit. Takes too much space in the suit. And no, you can't get the taste out of it when you drink it.

Having some ideas as to what sort of world these ladies and gentlemen live in. A place where a mix of climate damage, plague and chaos run rampant. And cybernetically enhanced operatives kicking ass...