He had proceeded to put on his heavy BDU armor over his simple one-piece scrubs last washed God-knows how long ago, heavy and with a protruding chest strewn by frags. His shoulder pauldron held the butt of his shotgun and his heavy SPNKR was slung across his back, preparing as he took orders. With only a salute and bringing a lighter to his cigarette, sliding one into Render's hands, patting his de facto leader's shoulder and putting on his bulky helm, he dropped from the bowels of the Pelican. Rucksack slung over his shoulder, bountiful with rations and ammunition as well as basic survival equipment, and the bulk of his armor, only the mass-spreading properties of his magnetic boots could keep him afloat above the feet of snow below. A red sunrise began to loom behind the clouds and biting swirling snow, painting the clouds pink, but not without the blue haze of the retreating moon and brilliant starts staring at Gonzo. It truly was beautiful, he remarked internally before recommending that he pay attention to the jagged cliff edges and pitfalls of the area. After an hour of trudging through the snow and braving the only-intensifying Storm, the visor of his helmet fogged with heavy breath. It had became so cold his armor bore its own snow and developing ice.

Render was still cooped up in the Pelican's hold, bumming a smoke once in a while as he tended to a busted radio with a toolbox. He'd taken off his heavy gauntlets for added dexterity as he tended to the intricate workings of the machine, and with expert precision, began to remap its haywire design. He'd updated his VISR with a fresh data package, which had freed his tactical apparatus of some much needed memory, but it had also allowed him to transmit data to his squad mates once more. His original transponder had been fried during the initial EMP surge when the Prophet of Regret had entered slip space over New Mombasa, hindering him from transmitting data to his teammates. Now, he was able to establish communications once more. "Hey, Gonzo, do you copy?" He said, puffing on his cigarette as he did so. Tobacco had been outlawed by the UEG nearly a century ago, but some Outer Colonies had once produced if, so they'd become quite a precious commodity, especially during the war era. "Smith and I've been compiling our resources, and we're ready to establish a makeshift camp if need be. Can you see the stars yet? Use your astronavigation data to determine where the hell we are... and while you're at it, see if you can locate any nearby settlements."

Gonzo could barely hear over the howling wind and horrible knocking of hail flying into his helmet's visor, great scratches beginning to line it. And even then, Render had began to transform into static, the transmissions sent through VISR compromised by the severity of the storm. The cigarette he had held between his fingers covered in insulated rubber that left a light smoke trail behind him had almost been torn from the tight grip of his fingers. And with that, Gonzo began to barely be able to see anything but white, only feeling part of his boot suspended in air, lurching above a cliff edge. He struggled to regain balance but had fell... Only to land two feet from the ground, covered in snow, a red tattered banner in the wind above him and a small overhang nearby. Further in the distance, Gonzo could see bright lights shining from the stark white storm and blackened walls. He crawled to the underhand, regaining posture and prying sleet from his helmet. The static had only worsened, now only a faint buzzing coming from Bender's part. Gonzo sighed, white frost blowing from his mouth, and took the rocket launcher from his back. He stepped from the overhang and faced in the direction of the Pelican, the storm billowing behind him, feeling the weight of the M41 in his hands before pulling the trigger. An explosive launched from the chamber and propelled through the storm and upwards, after a certain point exploding from air pressure. Gonzo raised a hand over his head to protect from the falling debris, a slight grin crossing his face. Hopefully that had been a beacon to Bender and Smith to beckon them forward.

Render heard the explosion before he could see it, and ran outside of the Pelican hold to snatch the binoculars away from Smith. In the distance, he could still make out the remnants of flaming debris, though his vision was confused by the pertinent wall of snow. For a moment he felt his heart racing in his chest: loud noises could cause avalanches, but after the telltale grumbling of an avalanche was nowhere to be seen after 30 seconds, he walked back towards the hold. Render had already stripped the Pelican of most of its valuables already, and his rucksack and bandoleer were backed to the brim. His pack was filled to the brim with a PP-16979/AM-Sh charger and several BA-53635/PLMD batteries, which could be used to power nearly anything that they desired... though they were intended for the W/AV M6 G/GNR "Spartan Laser" that he has strapped over his back. Since he had lost his knife in New Mombasa--buried in the control panel of a doomed Scarab platform--he'd placed his old VISR package inside of the empty sheath on his left breast. He'd taken up listening to old audio logs, and even his own combat logs, during his spare time. On his left thigh he had holstered his M7/S SMG, and on his right, his M6C/SOCOM. Finally, he had fragmentation grenades, spare ammunition, and a biofoam canister all tied up on the bandoleers on his chest. By all measures, he looked like a true warrior, a demon from a strange metal hell, and by all means, he was. Though he was ready to relocate already, he would rather that Gonzo report back to the ship, instead of forcing him to leave the craft unguarded. Though it was stripped of its valuables already, it was still a refuge in a storm. He threw a burning neon flare on top of the Pelican, and hoped that Gonzo would see it.

Gonzo knelt in his overhang, watching the storm, seeing a red flare lost in the storm, pushed away by the strong winds of the blizzard. Nonetheless, the smoke from where the flare was shot was obviously in the direction of the Pelican. It was at this moment that Gonzo realized the rocket he had sent into the air had only alerted Render of possible danger and not Gonzo's discovery. With a grimace, he looked around. The ledge overlooking the mysterious structure sitting at the heart of the storm was a campsite at once, surely, with the burnt firewood of a hearth on the ground and a tent of matte green cloth ripped by the powerful gusts. His VISR had been flashing red for some time now, warning of breaches to the rubbery insulant sheen that Gonzo had worn to stave off frostbite. A shiver beginning to wrack just muscles, the youngest of the team looked at the dying flame of his cigarette and tossed it into the old firewood. Only sparks and light smoke came from it first, but the smallest of flames began to dance from it and soon a large fire had roared upwards. The snow surrounding it acted as a barrier for the flame to expand and consume, and huddling above it for warmth and foregone strength. After a few brief yet invigorating moments of respite, Gonzo took a long, ragged sigh and stepped over the short drop, stumbling towards the Pelican once again and to regroup with Bender.