Jeep Gladiator Snorkel Novels & Stories

Each one stacked neatly atop the other, marked only by numbers and cryptic symbols. "What the hell is this place?" Vargo muttered, almost reverently. I moved to the nearest crate, my curiosity overriding my hesitation. The old wood creaked as I pried the lid open. Nestled within, surrounded by foam and cloth, was a sniper rifle unlike anything I'd ever seen. Sleek. Matte black. Modified beyond standard military specs. I reached in and lifted it carefully. Its weight was solid. Cold. Deadly. "The Viper-X," I read the label etched along the barrel.

I love those types of jeeps, they’re my favorite. It’s a Mercedes Wrangler, class G63. The car is covered in black matte coating, with the Gladiator X tires. The windows and windshields are so clean, it looks like there’s no glass on it. The car sat beautifully in the runaway, it’s the perfect sight. I stood in front of it and stared at those beautiful headlights before reaching to touch the car, but jumped back when I heard a threat from behind me. "Touch it. You lose an arm"

He stepped from the soft sand onto the Glass Sea—the mile-wide crater of smooth, solidified obsidian. "Let’s dance, you robed psychos!" Jack bellowed over his external speakers. He didn't run. He blitzed. Using his thrusters to glide across the slippery, mirror-like surface of the glass, he accelerated to ninety miles per hour. The reflection of his black-and-camo mech streaked across the ground beneath him. The Ascended cultists spotted him too late. They opened fire with stolen surface-to-air missiles.WHOOSH. WHOOSH. "Too slow!" Jack laughed. He engaged his mech’s magnetic clamps on one foot, performing a high-speed drift on the glass that would have been impossible in a tank. The missiles

The convoy moved like a line of black beetles across a sheet of white paper. They had three vehicles. Modified Arctic "Snow-Cats"—tracked all-terrain transports with reinforced plating and mounted floodlights. Jack drove the lead vehicle. Catherine was in the passenger seat, manning the navigation. Marcus was in the back, checking the charge on the heavy plasma cannon they had salvaged from the Snowpiercer. "Visibility is zero," Jack said, squinting through the windshield. The wipers were fighting a losing battle against the snow, which was coming down horizontally. "This isn't weather. It’s a defense mechanism."

"Whoever is inside knows how to shield it." They reached the top of the debris pile. The cargo bay doors were jammed open, revealing a cavernous, dark maw. Standing in the center of the opening, backlit by the flickering blue emergency lights inside, was the Sniper. He—or she—was wearing a patchwork suit of hazmat gear and leather armor. A gas mask with a single, glowing blue eye-lens covered their face. The sniper rifle was lowered, but not safetied. It was a kinetic weapon—an old-school slug thrower, not an Admin energy rifle. Illegal. Untraceable.