Two years after the first Hellgate.
12th of November.
Mt. Dorking, England, south of London.

Fort Dorking; also known as the ‘Dork Fort’, a fort built by survivors from Crawley and the surrounding cities and towns, under the leadership of a priest called Norton (aka; Dork King). Established two months after the first London Hellgate was built to house survivors, both military, civilians and government personal (such as firefighters and cops). The fort is built into the mountain, with four heavily fortified entrances, each connected together through tunnels in the shape of a large cross, the tip of which is facing north.

At the center of the cross, there’s a rather risky looking, rusty elevator which leads down into the actual living quarters. It’s a very humble way to live with no comfort; since comfort is not a necessity for survival.
The living quarters hold up to eighty people at any given time, with about twenty in each ‘room’ (or caverns, as they are called by the inhabitants), not counting the priest Norton, who lives in the church (a tiny room barely holding five standing people).

This is where the story begins.

Ammon leans forward onto the fortified railing, looking down the northern side of the mountain. He grunts and changes his posture, but no matter what he tries, it’s always just as uncomfortable, thanks to the paladin suit. He’s thankful for not having to wear his full armor on guard duty, or he wouldn’t even be able to rest against the railing.

With an exaggerated sigh he gives up and sits down on a tall chair; tall enough to let him see over the railing, so he can still remain on guard.
“Oh, you poor thing.” A femenine voice speaks from the tunnel, colored witha good deal of sarcasm and a hint of Scottish accent.

“Joan?” Ammon looks over his shoulder, just in time to catch her walking into the light.

“Yeah. Sorry for taking so long, but Norton demanded that I’d help him with the NG’s.” She climbs up onto the second chair, then winces from discomfort; her own paladin suit isn’t much more comfortable, and it isn’t helping that she’s wearing the armored boots.

“No problem. I’ll be the last to complain about any maintainance given to those things.”

Joan chuckles at that, and ammon shoots her a small glare.

Silence.

A few moments pass with neither saying anything; both keep their eyes on the small town of Dorking below, if you can call it that. It’s just ruins. Skeletons of houses, roads filled with craters and months old evidence of slaughter. That place should’ve been cleaned up ages ago, but the enemy has a strong foothold there. Tall tower of black smoke rise from various points in the town, marking territories of enemy squads or battalions.

“Nervous?”

Joan looks at Ammon, for a second it looks like she’s almost insulted by the idea, then frowns and nods. “Big day today.”

Ammon nods. “Big day. Everybody’s getting their final rest. Everybody except us two, I guess.”

Joan grins, “Yeah. Talk about bad timing for guard duty, right? I didn’t sleep at all last night thanks to nightmares, and now my last few hours here will be spent forcing myself awake. Go figure.”

Ammon laughs. “Go figure.”

“It’ll be worth it though. When word spreads out that Dorking has been liberated, I’m sure survivors from all over will be eager to join us.”

“All ten of them.” Ammon’s voice is clearly anything but optimistic, yet Joan can’t but chuckle at that. “So the NG’s are ready? And the ammo?”

Joan nods. “They are, and we’ve got plenty of ammunition, both holy and plain; not that those that haven’t been blessed will help any, but Norton’s working on that.”

--- A slight intermission ---

The NG-42, or the NG in short, is a modified machine gun with it’s roots in Germany, originally known as the ‘MG-42’. The NG-42 however is a machine gun capable of ‘giving Heaven’ to any number of enemies, and has proven itself to be very useful as a support weapon. It was ‘modified’ by father Norton, with the sole modification being a cross etched into the handle along with a blessing bestowed upon the gun itself. That alone doesn’t make it capable of fighting the enemy however, but the ammunition does.
Each and every single bullet has to be blessed individually, and then marked with the holy cross. This is a painstakingly slow progress, making the NG-42 the least used (and one of the most effective) weapons available to the survivors. It is only used against great odds, or for ‘special occasions’, such as today.

--- . ---