Agent made his journey through the mountain and finally got his training done with his high masters. Just something didn't feel right to Agent, something felt off. His body ached all over, but he had no idea why. Agent started his journey to the Vault, and with no radios around he has no idea what he's going to see. Agent made a few stops along the way before actually heading to the Vault. His first stop was going to Radio City for a drink and to hopefully catch up with some old Family members...unfortunately that was not the case.
*The bar was musky and smelled of cigarette smoke. Agent walked through the bar and took a seat on a stool*
"I'll take some of your hardest liquor." Bar tender: We've got a bottle of ol' No. 7, will that do? "Yeah that'll be fine..." Bar tender: You want some cola to go with it.. "Yeah sure, why not."
*The bar tender pours Agent's drink*
Bar tender: So, what brings you to Radio City. "Well, I'm just hear to hopefully meet up with some old 'Family' members" Bar tender: Ah, well you've come to the right place..but unfortunately the members you knew aren't here in Radio City. I'm assuming your name is Agent. "Don't you ever say my name out loud, you hear me?"
*Agent slams his pistol on the bar counter*
"Another round for the whole bar, on me"
*He says out loud to the bar. You can hear screams of cheer from out side*
Bar tender: How will you be paying for that?
*Agent puts the amount of tabs to pay for everyone's drinks*
Bar tender: That's a lot of tabs my friend. "Sure is...but it looks like I'll be leaving"
*Agent finishes his drink and starts to leave the bar*
Bar tender: Hey Agent, I just thought I'd tell you this before you left. "And what's that..." Bar tender:....be careful when you get back to your Vault, you might not like what you find when you get there...
*Agent ran out of the bar in a hurry*
Hours have past: *Agent took a vehicle from the bar and drove to the Vault that he called home. Once he reached the Vault he noticed that the door was open. Agent hopped out of the vehicle and ran into the Vault. Seeing Ghost in a bloody mess, and no arms. His best friend lying there dead, Agent didn't believe he was dead. Or at least he didn't want to believe that Ghost was dead...*
Agent: GHOST!! No no no no no no no! That son of a bitch!! Mr. Zebediah is going to pay for this, you hear...
*Agent picked up Ghosts lifeless body*
Agent: I promise you he will get what's coming to him. He WILL suffer, he will PAY! That man will die in the name of Ghost...
*Agent fell to the ground and twitched all over the floor clutching his body. Agent finally knew why he felt off....he was mutating.*
The familiar phrase uttered from Dash's mouth was muffled by the click of the bolt on his old sniper rifle. This was the Third time tonight the old thing had jammed and Dash was on his last nerve. In frustration he threw the gun across the floor, and there was no doubt in his head now there was more than just a broken bolt.
He walked across the room and pulled the stubby form of the Heatmaker out of its metal case, loading the clip and cocking the bolt. At least it still worked. The silenced rifle had always been one of his favorites and was very resistant to jamming.
He sat down and stared through the Heatmaker's scope for what felt like hours. The night had been long and there were few small game critters out. It had been this way for more than two weeks. With winter coming and supplies short, it was more important than ever to gather food. However, it was apparent that all of Greyfell knew this too, and now just seeing a squirrel was a rarity.
A sudden noise startled Dash, and without warning he fell out of the chair he was sitting in sending him sprawling to the floor.
"What the bloody..."
He picked himself up and found himself staring at the face of a big orange cat. Nothing strange about it. No mutations, no big teeth, no weird markings. Just a big, furry orange house cat. It mewed at him hoarsely and proceeded to enter Dash's barn. Bewildered and confused, Dash set down the Heatmaker and followed the giant orange fur ball over to the fireplace. It curled up and was asleep within moments.
Dash pondered this new guest. How was this animal not affected by the radiation? Was it sick? Did it have diseases? Should he throw piss at it?
Snow had began to fall outside, and the sounds of the night began their daily chants. Dash closed the window and laid down on his bed staring at this surprise friend.
Ah well, he thought, hunting will just have to wait until tomorrow.
And with that, he fell asleep.
Desyc Son of Metkras ur Desi-Rah Edit
5/30/2325 "Forget Denver" Edit
If I can, I’m never going back to Denver. It was my first time dealing with the Novus Repbulic, while not enemies. They need to take better care of their borders. I stopped in a little bar outside of the town. I got into a bit of a gambling fit. There were these 3 guys who asked me to a game of skulls. I felt kind of lucky that night, and if anything Spaz was waiting in its holster, and I could easily have shot them down.
What I didn’t know was I had just fell into a slaving sting, and they rigged the game so I would owe them so much money they knocked me out.
I wasn’t prepared for it, I had just played ten rounds of skulls, lost 6 of them, and had flubbed my way through the four wins. Wins that I think they gave to me, just to keep me thinking it wasn’t rigged. Or who knows, maybe I really wasn’t that lucky. These three big guys tried to grab me and I got into a fight with them. I was able to fend them off for the most part, until this big guy came in, he was a Ghoul, big, mean, and ugly to boot and hit me over the head with an old bikeshaft.
Next thing I know I wake up in a caravan. I’m tied up to a pole with three other people. I start causing crap, screaming, yelling, profaning at all of these freaking guys. A couple of the other captives look at me like I’m nuts. One of them though looks at me with this eye, I could tell in his eye I had a chance here to do something.
We’re travelling for a few hours and they stop at a gorge. They hung us above the gorge and went to sleep. There was only one guard, and he was dozing off. I started talking to the guy. Found out his name was Glenn, he was full of piss and vinegar, and my first thought was “man, I think we have a chance of getting out of here now.”
I started untying myself from the pole. He did the same, and we snuck up behind the guard and silently dispatched him. We took his weapons and started killing all of the slavers, except for one. We pulled their smallest member aside, held him out over the gorge, I threatened to shoot him with Spaz.
I placed only three bullets in the gun. I spun the barrel, and held it to my head. I shot, it was empty. I opened it up, and spun it again. I pointed the gun at him, fired. It was empty. He caved, and told us who he worked for, some random slaver that was trying to expand his reach out into the west. Some Chicago plebian, that I had never heard of. We put him back on the ground and Glenn kicked him, told him to get out, and tell his boss, Kasm stays free you bupkie bump.
Upon doing so we, gathered some tabs, and supplies, grabbed the other survivors and sent them on their way. Me and Glenn traveled together until we could find my sister Delilah, we traveled then for a week, got to know each other. He was a fine musician, and I hope that this guy keeps fighting the good fight.
If I ever got caught again like that, I’d have a few new ideas. I appreciate a guy who can work under pressure.
All I can say is, I’m never going back to Denver.
I am worried about D’ Clot. He seems to be getting antsy, I believe he knows the truth. He has convinced Dormak-Thar to take him on a hunting trip, I’m afraid it is a trick to see if he can get the truth out of him. The boy is just not ready, nor do I think he will be ready when the inevitability of my step-father’s death occurs. Clot is the true heir to the clan’s legacy.
A blood symbiote since birth, his powers have been unprecedented, a full blooded ghoul, and it’s apparent by how quickly he learns things. He is an alpha through and through. He is too young for this.
I do not want to see the clan fall apart. The days of old when the Vul-Thar led a clan of almost 500 members. We were the strongest. We held such power in the north. Now we are the hunted. With the Children pushing against us, and the Legion expanding their control we keep getting pushed further and further south.
I see it in the Thar’s eyes, fear. He speaks as though there is nothing to fear, saying we’re going south to make new connections. He has sent me on various scouting trips of various difficulty. Denver was the most frustrating.
The family thinks I’m a maniac, but Thar knows I’m intelligent. He trusts me. He has asked me for my opinion on many occasions. I have my outbursts, but I am much like Rasputin. I am the strength behind the throne.
The only way for our family to survive is to trust the humans. To move further south and to escape the treacherous reach of the Children of Father Night.
I just hope that Dormak does not fall for D’ Clot’s trap. It has been 14 years, and with each passing day I can see the worry in the Thar’s eyes. He is aware of the curse. No Thar has lived over 10 years since Degger Vul-Thar. I don’t believe that Clot intends any harm of getting him alone, but I just can sense nothing good can happen from it.
I am worried what will befall the clan if Dormak dies. I am worried about this hunting trip, but I know there is no convincing Dormak not to go.
D’ Clot is his son. I just don’t want to see mother lose another husband.
All I can do now is get back to work and worry about the formation the surviving families will go. There are several places I have scouted ahead that we can go to. Radio City and the surrounding areas are on the list.
I suppose once they get back from the hunting trip this can continue.
Draco stares at the night sky over Kaa. It felt great to be back under the sky of the place he called home. He started thinking back to memories of his old friends, the last day they were together before he left. Remembering the promise he made to them. The promise he was unable to keep.
After a few moments, he sighs, and looks down at the papers in front of him. He spoke with Trask earlier, coming up with no leads on Pax, other than someone fitting his description being spotted....several months back.
Draco curses under his breath, scratching his head the way he does when he's stressed. "I already new of this, dammit." He crumpled the paper and slam it on the ground, cursing* "Another dead end. There has to be something." He lays back in the grass, staring at the stars* "Come on, please. Give me something. Anything." He close my eyes, going over what he has, piecing the information together.
He sits up suddenly, and scrambles through the papers and maps again, and find a small town about 20 miles east of Kaa. He smiles for the first time in the past week of being gone, and look at the sky. "Thank you." He stands up, gather the papers, shoves them in his bag, and rushes to his pueblo and gathers his walkie. "Trask, you there?" He answers back. "Yeah, what's up Draco? Find anything?" Draco look at the map, thinking. "I think so. Meet me in Ashtown, I'll meet you there soon. I think I found someone that may help." "Copy that. See you then." Draco places the walkie on his belt, and heads out of Kaa. He turns back and stare at the mesa, knowing this will be the last time in a while he would see it again. He takes a deep breath. "I'll keep my promise this time. I'll be back."
He heads for Radio City.
Journal Entry 2, December 21st
So it's been a few days since I got back, and not much has happened. I didn't go out of the chapel much, mainly just stuck around planning. Yeah, I plan a lot now. All that keeps me busy really. I saw Aria and Sparrow, they stopped in when they heard I returned. Talked for a while, caught up with everything going on. I asked them to meet me later in the week for some hunting, so we'll talk more then.
Hopefully Zeth will be back beforehand, I'm getting a bit concerned. According to Weiland, he hasn't heard from him in almost a month. Hope everything is ok. Then again, if anyone can survive, it's him. Also talked to Nix the other day. She's doing well, hanging around RC at the moment, like I figured. She's still trying to search for Pax and the others. I don't blame her. I hope we find them. After the incident at the Wa*mat with Rid….I'm not sure I can handle seeing something like that again. I do hope she gets good news, though.
I spoke to Trask. He's looking for his sister at the moment. He already sent Ajax, Zephyr and Cici out looking for her. We both agree she's probably all right, she can take care of herself. I think he's just annoyed that she hasn't checked back in with him. Not surprised, to be honest. Trask needs to chill, which is ironic considering how laid back he actually is. He asked to help me find her, but I declined. I told him I have a lot on my plate, but as soon as I figure these things out, I'll join him on his search. He didn't seem very happy about that, but it's not my concern right now. Like I said, enough on my plate.
It's been relatively calm around here. I find that very ironic considering it's Greyfell and normally it's anything but that. They say there's always the calm before the storm, and considering the place we're in, I wouldn't be surprised if that were true. Then again, I could be getting paranoid…..I almost laughed at that. Huh, that would've been the first one in the past couple of months. I don't do that much anymore. I barely smile. I guess I have good reason to, considering what I've been through recently. I hope, after all of this s**t blows over, I can finally move forward. Until then, I have to keep working. Hopefully I find him soon. Or he finds me.
Elliott Herschell Edit
Another shiver runs down his spine in between the coughing fits. Miserable was the first word that came to mind when Elliott thinks about the sickness coursing through his veins. Stupid is the other. He had a perfectly good RadX in his hands, and he gave it up willing simply because he was told to nevermind the fact it was for his partner. Apparently, she was more valuable to his client than he was. At least know he knows where he stands in their eyes. His safety always came first, and here he's already screwed his number one rule up. Elliott thinks he's getting soft, and getting soft only gets you killed. Something he's already well on his way to.
He's freezing on the outside, but it feels like fire on the inside. Everything is churning inside his chest and stomach, which is never a good sign so he moves to sleep on his side so he doesn't risk choking on his own vomit as he sleeps. The quick motion was a mistake and the overwhelming dizziness that crashes over him in rolling waves that has him emptying what little there is left in his stomach much like he had expected it to do.
This isn't what he signed up for. Hell, he hasn't even been paid yet. What kind of mercenary doesn't get paid?
Him, obviously. Elliott was never meant to be a grifter let alone a mercenary, but what kind of nomad is there in a cruel world like this after the rest of their clan is brutally murdered? One that would be joining the rest of them shortly if he's perfectly honest. He took a chance with the military, but there was too much bad blood between them and Elliott decided it was better to take his chances on his own. It wasn't until recently that he thinks about that particular group was only using being military as a front, and was nothing more than a group of grifters. It doesn't do anything to quell his resentment towards the military, however, as he knows better than to give them the benefit of the doubt.
He lets out an annoyed sigh just before his body is racked with violent tremors. He's starting to sweat which tells him he managed to break the fever, but the bitter taste building up in the back of his throat indicates that the worst is far from over.
It's going to be a long night, but he needs to get some sleep if he's going to want to do anything about his current situation. There's also a dark part of him that knows that come tomorrow he'll do whatever it takes to put things right for himself again. Then there's another and darker part of him that wishes he won't wake up so he won't have to.
Emile walked up to the entrance of Greyfell and felt a level of tension in the air, as he made his way through Greyfell he could see all that had been changed. He made his way back to base camp or the only place that he can call home for while on his journey he found the remains of his mother his sister in the wasteland. He saw standing in the distance Captain Pancake who Emile had grown to not only see him as a captain, but as a friend. Pained by the loss of his only family.. He was happy to return to Greyfell to his new one. "Cap'n! It's great to see you again!" Emile could sense something was troubling him... "Load up and be ready." Captain pancake told him.. Emile did not even need to ask what it was, because he knew already knew. It's Greyfell Emile thought to himself with a slight grin as he was in the legionaries armory grabbing his weapon that had the name "BIG PAPA" carved into the side of it. Emile chuckled as he put a fresh clip into his gun. "I'm home."
So, where do I begin? Well I guess I'll start from the beginning of it all...well no I'll start with my name. Hi, my name is Ghost..most people just call me Ghost though. I'll explain how I got the name as well. Well it all started when I was just a wee little mutant in a small village called Area 51. We were a poor village and we didn't have much for homes. The homes were made out of scrap metal and existing bunkers that were there. We didn't have much and we so far out of the way from a trade road so we didn't have very many supplies ado most of us scavenged for our supply. All leading up to one day a group of raiders came through out town and killed everyone living there, everyone but me of course. I ended up running so far a came upon a Legion outpost, although I saw it I didn't go to close to the area since I knew I would be killed on sight. So basically I was stranded out in the wasteland, but one day a man came from the base to go explore. Instead of going out to go find supplies he found me and smuggled me into the base. From there I learned out to use a gun and I learned to fight. I was taught English, learned to read, and write...it went down hill from here though. At the age of 15 the Legion knew that my "father" was harboring a mutant in his home and stormed the place. They killed him and once again I was on my own, in the wasteland..filled with ghouls..and humans that might want to kill me. While wondering in the wasteland I found out I had a bounty on my head and over heard a group of people talking about a person that looked EXACTLY like me. I heard them keep repeating Ghost and pointing at me, so I just gave myself the name Ghost seeing as I had no other name. After leaving that place I found the man who put the bounty on my and it turns out it was that outpost of Legionairs that I grew up in. So I went back to that base and slaughter each person and their families. I survived 5 years in the wasteland I finally found a place of my own to live in. A Vault...now I didn't like the idea of a vault but I needed a place to stay, but I was alone in this Vault. I was greeted at the door with a rifle pointed in my face. The man stood 5 foot and 8 inches..he said his name was Agent 491, he didn't know much about the wasteland. He seemed a little new as well, but this story isn't about him it's about me...he offered me a place to stay as long as I could get any information about anyone in the wasteland. I said no problem and he gave me a tour of his house and I found some rather strange things there. Like for example..a skeleton next to a box of puppets and his trophy room filled with head from mutants an ghouls. We need up becoming great friends...he even found a nearby city called Greyfell and asked if I had any info on the people living there. I said I've only heard of two people there, Nix and Reaper. I told him as much as knew about them...he came home one day and said he joined their group and got himself a new name. His new name was Fore, it was a funny name but I never told him that. Well that's my story, there's not much but that's how I remember it. Now Fore is on a "soul searching journey" and I'm in a Vault all alone. Jeez what a friend he is...
Gremheart, Remi Edit
His story, is not one he's proud of. Everyone has a story, every day that goes by is just more ink to the paper, as if time itself is just a book still being written. His story was full of hatred, but when a band of mutants and ghouls slaughter your family, hatred is inevitable. He learned to kill quickly, and became very good at it. Soon he was slaying anything that wasn't human, simply for being alive. His actions brought pain and fear; his name travled far, spreading anger and hatred like a plague. Yet still he couldn't replace the love that was taken from him, the love for his family. Hatred wasn't enough. He was going down a path that would inevitably destroy him......until he met Her. Though he was stubborn at first, she slowly replaced his hatred with a different kind of love, one he never felt before. Despite that she was one of Them, he was entranced by her purity and kindness, traits he never thought They were capable of. A new leaf was turned, and his eyes opened to a world that was so much more than "black and white". She showed him this, invoking a change in him. A new chapter has started, and even though the past cannot be unwritten, he hopes to keep that chapter closed. Still, Grimlock is a name that brings much infamy, perhaps it's time for a new one. ~Remi Gremheart turned to his newfound love as she asked him "Are you ready for this?" His answer was simple "only if you are."
A mercenary mutant for hire. Feared for his bloody side. Quick, quiet, deadly. Takes on anything that gives a challenge. Knows the land better than most. Can pickup your movements from miles away. Can make the lies truthful.. But he didn't start as a force to be reckoned with. In the year 2308, a young pup was born in a Nalli clan known as Lupus. Larger and broader than most other if not all clans. They were renowned for their ruthlessness to any raiders, trespassers, or ghouls. But this young puppy was smaller than the rest of his kin. He was more built for lighter packs and shorter journeys. But looks can be deceiving. Growing up, he was constantly tasted like the runt. Anything the men of the clan didn't want to do, they sent the pup to do it. He never sick or in anger or lashed out complaints, he did the jobs obediently and without hesitation. But the name that makes him feared was obtained through one winter. 13 years of age and looked like an average size human, the pup was the only healthy male in the clan. With reluctance, the elders said that he must hunt or we die. The armoury was Truly what was described by all of the hunters and scavengers of the clan. Armour of all sizes and materials. Guns that ranged from pistol, to sniper, to mini guns. Swords and knifes of all shapes reasonable. But only being allowed to choose three weapons made the joy all the better. For he knew that those weapons would only be his. But it also made his joy change. The pup scrolled the walls with his eyes for what seemed like hours till he finally found the combo he wanted. Sniper, Revolver, and sword. Guns loaded, sword sharpened, and full of energy, the pup went out into the canyon ready for his title to come. Even as he left though, the sick hunters still teased him saying he'd be lucky to even find one red stag big enough to feed him. But he knew that he was going to prove them wrong. The next morning he returned with two large red stag on his shoulders, tired and winded. The pup threw the two in the skinning hut and started to exit the camp again.”Where exactly are you headed?” one of the elders chimed as he exited his hut.”To get the rest, send some of the healthier men.” The pup then left and turned as he heard the cackling of 4 of the best hunters in the clan follow him down. Still making fun of him.But that changed immediately. The pup took them to where 18 dead red stag lay.”Grab 3 i can only get two at a time.” The pup then proceeded to lift the two largest red stag on his shoulders.’Let's go i want to be by the fire tonight. He then started to walk back up to the camp. But the hunters were still laughing,”Now are ammo is as large amount smaller than what it was.” One of them chimed.”From your blind shooting.” the pup retorted calmly. After that day, he no longer was considered the runt. Nor was he told less of anything but as high respect as the elders. And the name that has given him great fear today, Hunt. Now 15 years of age. Hunt was the youngest leader in the clan and about as wise as his elders. Through troubled times were coming. A bandit leader had been captured by the clan and now death threats had been sent. But these threats were taken with gains of salt. Night had fallen and hunt was out hunting like he would on these nights. He was returning from the hunt when he looked up to see a large cloud of smoke bleeding into the night sky. Dropping his kill, he rushed to the cliff where he could overlook the camp. But the sight he say was gruesome. His whole clan was being slaughtered by fearsome raiders. Blood soaked the hardened soil. Screams of agony could be heard. Hunt fell to his knees only knowing one thing. He looked down again and saw something that sparked his rage. His mother was being beaten and her eyes were being gouged out. Hunt stood and drew his sword.A fearsome howl came forth and he lept off the cliff and drove his sword into a raider. The others turned to see their fallen comrade and started to charge towards Hunt. Another howl came from him. And a slaughter commenced. By 1 in the morning, the last raider skull left the blade of Hunt. He went over to his mother and wept. Her dying breath gave way to these words.”Rebuild us.” And with that, she was gone. Hunt gathered up his weapons and supplies he found useful. And headed out into the waste. He soon wandered for a year before he found a friend. He worked alone. Would do anything for money to keep him alive. He soon got the nickname head hunter. but he soon found a friend. A contract said that a red haired man, insane, but freindly, was worth 10 tabs. Small but useful. Hunt waited in a tree till nightfall and lurked the floor of the dead forest, and found the man asleep. Heb was about to pull the trigger when he saw something shiny. He looked on the man's wrist and saw as watch of pricteen condeition. Hunt was about to touch it when the man came to life and shouted,”My watch shall not be infected by you.” Hunt shouted,” i only wanted to look at your nice watch!” The man got off him and looked stunned.” you like my watch?” He asked. “yes i do.” The man laughed and started to dance with joy.” I'm divvy!! Thank you so much” He smiled and hunt got up and smiled with him. Hunt seemed to like his joyous but brutal nature. He also liked that he was a lone wolf and wouldn't mind working with him. So Hunt found a friend in Kasm.n And then we begin.
Joseph emerged from the trees into a clearing, dimly lit by a single firelight that stood defiant in the black of night. From the dim orange, he could make out what seemed to be a few ruined buildings scattered about the area. Joseph approached the fire, and noticed an elderly man sitting just at the edge of clear view. As Joseph cautiously stepped closer, the old man spoke up. "Does it call to you, too?" The old man stated, clear at Joseph, but didn't take his eyes off of the burning logs. Joseph was taken aback, not only at the sudden comment, but how accurate the man's prediction was. "What is this place?" Joseph asked, while slowly getting closer to the fire. "What, this rundown pile of wood? This used to be a village for some mutant folk." The old man continued staring into the fire, as though he were talking to it, rather than Joseph. "What happened to them?" "Pull up a stump, and I'll tell you, kiddo." Joseph found a spare stump in the flickering light, and set it up. As he sat down, the old man began telling the tale of a group of mutants that set up a little village, and for the most part, thrived. Several years later, the Legion began harassing them, trying to peacefully evict the villagers, until it turned to violence. The whole time, Joseph was entirely captivated. Sometimes, his focus would break from the old man, only to fully visualize the quarrels between the villagers and the Legion. "...so then they just decided to give up and leave." Joseph was brought back to reality. "Where did they go? When did they leave?" Joseph asked, attentively. "When? About a year ago. Why? I don't fuckin' know. I wasn't here at the time, I just liked to sit back and watch the fireworks." The old man smiled, and then let out a bit of an unsettling chuckle. The effect was only amplified by the dimness of the campfire. "Well, if the Legion wanted this spot so bad, why aren't they here now?" "Last I remember, it had something to do with 'too many lives lost' or some shit like that. A bunch of military pansies, if you ask me." Joseph got up from his stump. "Well, that was a great story, but if there's nothing here but stories and ruins, then I should be going. But while I’m here, would you have anything you’re willing to trade?" The old man continued to stare into the light. "Sorry, all I gots is the clothes on my back, and this fire." "Oh. Well, good luck out here." Joseph began trekking back the way he came, into the trees. A few steps later, the old man spoke up. "When you get back there, things will be MUCH different." Joseph wheeled around, only to find darkness. The moon was full, and he could see that there was no campfire, and no old man. He jogged to the spot, and found no evidence anyone but Joseph had been there recently. Nature had retaken this clearing long ago, and the only path was one that led from the forest, to where he had spoken with the strange man. Confused and frightened, Joseph ran back into the woods, hoping to get as far away from this place as quickly as he could.
Logan steps from inside the old hut by the lake. He stretches, and smells the fresh lakeside air. He reaches in, and pulls out his duffel, shoulders it. He reaches back in again and pulls out his trusty rifle. He shuts the door behind him, and starts walking along the shore to the lake.
He stops on the beach near a rickety looking boat laying on the shore. He tosses his duffel into the boat, lays the rifle into it as well before pushing it out onto the lake. He lets it float out for a bit, then jumps in. He grabs a paddle and paddles out into the lake, then into a river flowing from the lake. Logan pulls the paddle from the water, and lays it across his lap as the boat floats with the currents of the river. He reaches into the duffel, and pulls out a device that can only be described as a mini computer of sorts. He taps on a few keys, and a holographic map of the area appears. He takes note of his position, shuts down the map, then taps a few more keys. He then speaks.
"Audio log, day 34. I have just left the old hut by the lakeside, and am now continuing down the river back in the direction of Grayfell. The search has been somewhat fruitful, but it is almost time to get back to my home and my Roughnecks, whatever is left of them. I will make another progress report later."
Logan hits a button, then closes the computer, and stuffs it back in the duffel. He sighs, then proceeds to put the paddle back into the river, to add some more speed to his travel. Now, unbeknownst to him, there is movement in the tree line along the shore shadowing Logan.
The body laid lifeless under the moon’s heavy light. The way the night’s aura reflected so perfectly off of each edge made it surreal. It had been here for a few days now, left to fend for itself against the hot sun and cold nights, left here to fight the dirt and the flies off of it’s almost plastic-looking skin. The now mutilated face was no longer enough to indicate that this was, in fact, a member of the legion. All that’s left to show for it was his bloody camouflage attire and his legion-branded bag and gun. He was locked, now, in a state of artificial happiness. His lips were cut to reach ear to ear, though the new ‘smile’ reflected something much darker. It was all too much for the watchers to bring him back.
Mtume stood nearby, judging the scene. His face was straight, absent of the usual grin. He nodded, lifting himself from the wooden post he had been leaning against. With a silent shuffle, Mtume dredged through the moon’s glow over to the body. Moments went by with him looking over the horrid sight. He then took a knee beside the shell of a legion member.
“Your body died here,” Mtume spoke to the corpse. He pulled his blade from one of his many belts, and held it above the body. With his other hand, he lifted the dead man’s right arm. “Your legend will not die here.” Mtume put the sharp edge of his machete against the legion member’s trigger finger. With a few quick passes, it was removed from it’s hand. Mtume rose once more, standing and eyeing the piece he had collected, before taking the blade to it again.
Mere moments later, it was stripped of it’s flesh. The finger was no more than it’s bones. Mtume pulled out his mortar and pestle, dropping the bits of bone into it. With a few clicks and a few cracks, Mtume began grinding the contents of the bowl. He turn to walk away, but stopped briefly to think. He turned back around and spoke, “And to answer your question; No, I never got the chance. Maybe someday.”
With that, he was on his way.
Nephilim stared into the pool of blood at his feet, hunger rising within him. He saw the reflection of the beast he was today. He hadn't always been like this. Though he hardly remembered what it was like before, nor did he dwell on it. Except today, which had been his anniversary in his previous life. No matter what memories he lost he could never forget HER. Her visage was clear in his mind even to this day. With thick black hair and piercing eyes in contrast to her soft, almost angelic face. When he wasn't being hired out for a job to protect a caravan or rough someone up, they spent their days together...and most nights. He had a good set of "skills" and he put them to use, and she let it go at that. "Gwen," he said aloud. The name still had meaning to him. He could feel his temperature rise as it escaped his lips. She was truly the best thing that ever happened to him. At night he would stare into her eyes and whisper what sweet words he could to express his love, and at the same time questioning what he did to deserve someone so perfect. They were true soulmates. When the night terrors started she was his rock. Twisting, turning, and screaming into the night he would open his eyes and there she was staring back at him. Her piercing eyes cut through the nightmares eradicating all torment, for the moment. He winced thinking back to it. If he had known what was going to happen he would have left the moment the terrors began. Alas, he had been too weak to see the inevitable. Whispering voices started to take root in his ear. There sat a devil on each shoulder inciting paranoia, anger, and bloodlust. He succumbed to the the voices. Let them dictate his every action, a slave trapped in his own body. He could see the drain he was having on her. The effect of tending to his madness wore on her young face. He fought back the voices for a small time and did his best to be the man he once was. Trying to make up for the pain he caused even a little, he planned a surprise. A bouquet of flowers. Her favorite meal. A song he had prepared to sing to her. All to celebrate their anniversary. They met in a secluded spot in the woods in the middle of the night. They laughed and sang while reminiscing of the past years they had spent together, the good times not the bad. It was the best either of them had felt in a long time. But it was quickly spoiled. Without warning he suffered another fit. The voices reached out from the dark with murderous intent as if their sole purpose was to spoil his happiness. He blacked out. To be honest even he isn't sure what happened. He woke up, hands drenched in blood and a wet coppery taste in his mouth. Looking down he saw the empty cavity that had been her abdomen. He noticed her face was looking up at the night sky. That soft, angelic face still frozen in terror. He cried and screamed over her broken body. Her name raging against the still silence of the night. After the blazing hot pain came a mind numbing chill. Something broke in him, most likely his humanity. After that he went on a rampage of murder, torture, and cannibalism. He played the part of the monster he knew himself to be. When the Children, his brothers, found him he was a former husk of what he had been, they took his raw murderous power and shaped it to fit into their plans. Made him a true proponent of the Children of Father Night. Since then the voices control have loosened with the help of his brothers and for that he will always be grateful. He may still be a murdering psychopath, but he's a murdering psychopath in control. So as the memories of his beloved Gwen run through the Nephilim's mind he takes a glance down at the broken body at his feet, thanks his Father for the blessing, and digs in.
Pancake, Francis Edit
(Dedicated to Zach H)
Francis stepped out of the small cooridoor, and into the darkness of the room. Despite the darkness, he could make out every form with the red and blue lights that flashed from the ceiling. As the light mixed around his body, he tapped at the holster, semi-concealed under his black canvas jacket. He searched the room and glared at the cages filled with dancers that hung from the ceiling. Of all the places in the world, he hated this one the most. Worse, its location sat right in the middle of the "paradise" the Legion had created. He could hear the wimpers of pain and fear from the cages above as he made his way through the club. He felt confident that no eyes would recognize him in his jeans and jacket. In fact, his info broker didn't recognize him either. A tall, lankey man stood behind the bar, flirting with a random teenager that shouldn't have been there. Francis cleared his throat at the man, only to get a short response of a middle finger in the air. Francis slowely rolled his eyes and drew his revolver, slamming in onto the counter. He cleared his throat one more time, this time making it clear he was annoyed. The man turned and his eyes grew wide. "Frankie, old buddy, how's it been!" the man humored. "I'm not here for a chat, Kisto. What do you have." The man smiled for a second before retrieving a glass and pouring an unlabeled liquor inside. "Can't I just invite my old friend for a drink? On the house." He slid the glass over to Francis, who stopped it, but dared not drink it. Kisto continued. "You know, of all the soldiers who come through here, I like you the most. The rest of these guys are frauds; claiming to hate mutants, but then they come in here and can get off to them. Its despicable. Not you. You like mutants and love this place." Francis scowled. "I hate this place. Youre a slaver, Kisto. The only reason you aren't dead is because I'm not done with you." Kisto smiled and threw his arm around Francis. "See! Honest and clear. Thats how I like them!" Kisto moved away from the counter and towards an employee door. Francis followed close behind, keeping his hand on his revolver. As they walked through the halls, Francis found a string of cells, each holding an occupant. Kisto stopped at one cell and waved his hands like he was revealing the trick to his magic show. "You're trying to sell me a slave?" Kisto shook his head. "Yes and no. This one is special. Not too far back, I bought her off a slave driver from the wastes. She was broken and close to death, so I figured some sadist would love to buy her from me..." Francis made a show of gripping the handle of his gun more tightly. "...but then I noticed her name. Lily Baker. I believe one of your officers was named Eli Baker until he went looking for his sister, Lily?" Francis let his eyes grow wide. "How did you know?" Kisto smiled. "I know a lot, remember? Just be happy I'm loyal to you." Francis opened the cell door and stepped inside. The girl perked up, and scurried to the corner. She began to wimper and cry as Francis stepped towards her. "Please, I havent done anything wrong," she cried in a low voice. Francis knelt down and tilted his head. "You look just like him." Her face showed the confusion the rattled through her brain. "Eli never stopped looking for you." Her eyes teared up and she leaned into Francis' s chest. ... "Its not much, but this is the best I can do on my salary." Francis handed the keys to Lily after he swung open the door. "Have a look around for a while. Unfortunately, I have to report to General Key, so I can't stay and help you settle in. When I am home, I'll be two doors down, and in between us is Mrs. Gletcher. She'll take you shopping later when you're ready." Francis looked at the shell shocked girl who currently stood marveling a lamp. "I know it's a lot to take in, and I wish I could do more for you, but I'm needed elsewhere." She turned and looked at him. "Why? Why did you do all this for me?" She pleaded. Francis frowned as he thought of his reason. "It was my first promise to Eli. It now stands as my last. Its good to know I never let him down." She hugged him one last time before he left.
The snow fell lightly, dancing with the wind. It danced right down in front of Francis’s face. It mocked him and he knew it. Curses slipped from his lips as the cold air nipped at his nose and ears. It reminded him of the reason he’d offered to take on Wild West. He hated the bitter cold, but it’s what happened in the bitter cold that bothered him. Soldiers froze. Young men who weren’t wearing the right coat or clothes would freeze in the dead of night. Their natural surrounds would overtake them, and then they’d be gone. His eyes sat wide as he thought about the reason he was here. A hand was placed over his gaping mouth to keep his terror a little less noticeable. It was his fault, just as it always had been. “I’m sorry, Eli. I broke every promise I made you.” Eli Lily was gone. The young apprentice lost his life. Just like the soldiers before him, the natural surrounds of the disgusting hell hole got the best of him, and in the moment it counted, he froze. Eli was gone, and Francis was powerless to stop it. He agreed to take the 137th to prevent exactly this. “It’s a shame,” Marcus Hanke softly stated behind Francis. “With as mighty as that flag is, it shouldn’t fly so low.” Francis looked upon the German Bundesadler, mark of the Department of Expansion and more closely, the original 137th Regiment. It flew at half mast for the fallen brother they now moved. A body was carted from the truck and lead to the inside of the medical facility. After several minutes of watching the motionless flag, the pair made their way inside to speak with the final coroner. Inside, they were met by a stout man, of his late 50s. He wore a white coat the blended in with the rest of the facility: cold and white. “Captain, so good to see you again. It’s been ages!” the man greeted Francis with delight. “I would have preferred longer,” Francis whispered, but shook the man’s hand politely none the less. The doctor lead Francis into a long office with a mahogany table sitting in the middle. Several glasses of whiskey sat in the center, and the farthest chair was faced away. A figure occupied the chair, sitting motionless as he watched the snowfall. “General,” Francis acknowledged. The man stood up and walked over to Francis. “Good to see you, old friend. I wish you were visiting Nordstuhl under less tragic circumstances,” Key offered. “Key, it’s good to see you too.” Both Francis and Hanke saluted swiftly before easing and sitting in the chairs. “Now be frank with me, Key. What’s the reason you wanted to bring a fallen brother up here? There’s no saving him.” Francis said in a mildly disgusted tone. Key sighed and took a sip of his drink. “We may not be able to save his body, but we can save what made Eli, well, Eli. We’ve found something incredible.” Francis shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said, irritated. “We opened a vault shortly back. You see, these Canadians didn’t fill their vaults for war like the US did during the End War. We find all kinds of technology that further the advancement of humanity without the use of a military.” Key set his drink on the table. “We found a device that will bring the dead back to life, in a sense.” Francis shook his head in disbelief. “You wanna play god and raise the dead?” Key chuckled. “Don’t be silly Francis. If there was a god, whatever created the ghouls would have played him a long time ago. Eli’s body won’t be back, but his mind will. This device, it figures the brainwaves and electrical signals the brain would be sending. It will replicate them and map them. We can create an Artificial intelligence.” Francis leaned back and ran his hand over his face. “So you know this device works?” Key grew anxious momentarily before speaking again. “Not necessarily. We need a first subject.” “You want to use my soldier to test this?” Francis pushed out of his chair and slammed his hand against the table. “Now calm down, Francis! Your boy is the first one with no family to reject this offer. All he had was you, and you can save his memory.” Francis sat back down and hunched into his chair. After several moments, Hanke spoke up to offer an alternative. “I’m sorry, General, but I believe we’ll be leaving n-” “Do it,” Francis said. Key gently shook his head and glanced at the doctor. The man left the room, leaving a heavy atmosphere behind him. Upon closing the door, the stout doctor removed a thin device with an antenna attached to the side. He tapped on the device several times and put it to his ear. “Colonel Kato? It’s been approved.” “Do you have the override file?” “Yes, sir. It’s ready,” the doctor said holding up the small flash drive. “Good, make sure no body knows that you’ve erased the soldier’s data. It’ll be nice to see what that bastard is up to now.”
A segment from the Lost Journal; I'm headed East once more. I've finished what needed doing. For all that I am 15 years of age and feel like an old woman. I've seen and done, and survived more than most will in a life time. Or two. I suppose such was my gift, an my curse. I was given a second chance and I hope that I made Mama proud. My one remaining prayer is to make it there, and away again, in time. Just one more day. I can feel it in the ache I'm my bones. The way my muscles pull taught and barely manage a withering release, each step harder than the next. My head aches and buzzes, the same as the rest of me. I should reach Greyfell in just a few more days. I hope that somehow, someway, I've made a difference there, for the better. I hope that I gave them a small fraction of what they've given me. I hope Nora keeps her bracelet. I hope she'll remember me. I hope they remember my words. Mama always said to mind them, for they came with great power that could either tear apart a kingdom or build an empire. She was a woman of few words, and when she spoke, people listened. And though she rarely spoke, her actions revealed volumes and to this day I can remember nearly every word she spared for me, each a tiny gift. I had hoped to be like her one day, but my story has already persisted several chapters further than intended. Just one more day, one more page, please.
Raven Mocker Edit
Wren: 13-14 years old
Wren ran down the small path that led to her group's camp. On the way, she saw that her father and Dart (her oldest brother) were gutting animals for the meal that night. She recognized one of the animals—it was the rabbit she had caught earlier that day.
“You better clear out all of the guts on that rabbit,” she called after Dart. “It's mine.”
Dart laughed. “You caught this?”
“You know, most girls your age shouldn't be so obsessed with hunting,” Dart teased. “Shouldn't you be off with the women in the kitchen?”
“Hey,” Wren snapped. “If you don't like my hunting, then you have no right to eat the food I bring home.”
Dart looked up and dangled part of an intestine in front of her. It made a squelching noise as it swung back and forth.
“Ew!” Wren yelled, and backed up to avoid the guts.
“See?” Dart taunted. “You are such a girl.”
“You're so tiny too—just like a real wren.”
“Dart! That's enough.”Both Wren and Dart looked up to see their father (Ezekiel) standing over them with a disapproving look.
“Sorry,” Dart mumbled, and busied himself with gutting the animals.
Ezekiel knelt down beside them and looked at Dart sternly. “Do you know why I named your sister Wren?”
Dart shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Because looks can be deceiving,” Ezekiel answered. “Look at her pigtails. Her bright appearance. You think she looks out of place, Dart? That she doesn't really look like a hunter? Or a scout-in-training, for that matter?”
Dart stole a glance at Wren before saying “A little, sir.”
“And yet Wren's tougher than most of the girls around here,” Ezekiel continued. “She knows a lot about the world despite her age.”
“There's a fable behind Wren's name,” Ezekiel said. “One day, a long time ago, all of the birds decided to have a flying contest. Whoever flew the highest would be declared the winner. Now, who do you think won the contest?”
Dart was silent for a moment. “Well, the obvious answer would be a falcon or an eagle.”
“You're close,” Ezekiel said. “The eagle did have the largest wingspan and would have out-flown everyone else, but it was actually the wren that won.”
“Wait, how? It's so small,” Dart argued.
“And it was its size that helped it win. Before the contest started, the wren climbed onto the eagle's back. Since it was so light and so small, no one saw it and called it out. The contest started and the eagle naturally flew above everyone, bragging about its huge wingspan. But then, when the eagle began to get tired from flying so high, the wren leaped off of the eagle's back and began flying around. The eagle was too exhausted to try and fly higher than it, so the wren was proclaimed the winner.”
Wren grinned smugly at her brother, who looked like he had been put in his place. “See? Wrens are cool.”
“Indeed they are,” Ezekiel answered. “So if you see a person that doesn't look like they're worth much, don't ever think about underestimating them. That person could be the one that brings you down one day.”
“Yes sir,” Dart replied. “Sorry, Wren.”
“It's fine,” Wren answered. “Just don't make fun of me again. I'll beat you up!”
Ezekiel smiled, but he laid a firm hand on Wren's shoulder. “Now, there's no need for that.”
"Father, I can't." Xavier broke into tears, wishing that the previous hours never existed. He tried thinking of diffrent ways to heal his father, to possibly ease the pain. But it was inevitable, he had to put him out. Letting him suffer would be inhumane. "Xavier, look at me", his father demanded with the blood from his wounds mixing with his tears. "You will carry the Paladin name.. doing this, you can stop the-" pain steadily increased throughout his body. Xavier could see this. He ripped the cross necklace from his chest, holding it in his hand praying for forgiveness. Looking down at his own hands, he held his gun, loaded with a single bullet. "Son you have nothing to worry of, you will still carry my name, and with that, I will always be with you." Xavier came closer to his father, hugging him. For one last time. Standing back on his legs, the earth seemed to crumble beneath him. But he knew had to do. Drawing the gun took nearly every bit of muscle strength he had. Xavier pulled the trigger. The first man he ever killed, was none other than his father.
File: 063-A10-DOT Archive: "USAF airmen final conversation"
Note: Transcript - Original in audio
*Office of Science and Research*
*Damage to recording. No set time. Record begins at audio start.
00:00:03 US airman 1: "Sir, I have an incoming message from the Pentagon."
00:00:28 US airman 2: "I'll get to it with the rest of the paper work this afternoon. Just forward it on to my computer."
00:00:44 US airman 1: "Can do. Would you like over night shipping, or the standard 5 day?" *laughter in background*
00:01:09 US airman 1: "Shit. This might be urgent. They sent it again?"
00:01:14 US airman 2: "Pull it up for me? If it's that important, I'll just skim it on here."
00:03:37 US airman 2: "Son of a bitch..."
00:03:42 US airman 1: "Russia didn't. They declared war? I know things have been bad, but they aren't that stupid, right?"
00:04:07 US airman 2: "God dammit. Michaels, go get me a phone. I need to confirm this" *Rushed footsteps*
00:04:36 US airman 1: "What was NATO's input?"
00:04:45 US airman 2: "Doesn't say, they just want the launch codes prepped. This could be bad, Criter."
00:05:01 US airman 1: "Shit, what do we do?"
00:05:09 US airman 2: "Not panic."
00:05:26 US airman 1: "You're right Park. It's probably just another Cold War."
00:05:41 US airman 1: "Here. They need you to call Coltswell. Key codes can't be activated without the General on duty."
00:06:04 US airman 2: *Muffled noise. Presumably phone call* "Understood, General. Yes Sir. I'll see to it immediately."
00:06:23 US airman 1: "Got 'em?"
00:06:31 US airman 2: "I've gotta link them to the terminal in his office. He doesn't want anyone responsible for nuclear war except him. I don't blame him."
00:06:42 US airman 1: "I still don't think it'll come to that."
00:06:54 US airman 2: "We have to be ready for anything."
00:07:08 US airman 1: "It's the US military. We're barely ready for lunch. What the fuck are we supposed to do about nuclear war?"
00:08:12 US airman 2: *Phone ringing* "Lieutenant Park." *Muffled noise*
00:08:53 US airman 2: "No..."
00:09:02 US airman 1: "Park?"
00:09:09 US airman 2: "Michaels, Lorenzo, I need a visual of our skies now. They're tracking 7 high velocity objects that are glowing hot. Criter, Rossen, ready anti - air ballistics. I don't want these things touching the ground."
00:09:28 US airman 3: "El - Tee, I've got confirmation that these are warheads. They are Russian made."
00:09:59 US airman 1: "Park? Anti- Air is ready, but that'll still leave a lot of fallout." 00:10:05 US airman 2: "Fire."
00:10:08 US airman 1: "Sir...:
00:10:10 US airman 2: "Fire! Drop those fucking Commie Nukes out of that sky."
00:10:16 US airman 1: "Yes sir. Firing Anti- Air Ballistic missiles."
00:11:01 US airman 3: "Five hit, Two miss. We still have two nuclear Warheads falling."
00:11:12 US airman 1: "I can't lock onto those, Park. They'll hit before I can reach them."
00:11:31 US airman 2: "How many phone lines are open right now?"
00:11:35 US airman 4: "Nine?"
00:11:42 US airman 1: "Why sir?"
00:11:48 US airman 2: "Call your families. You might not get the chance again."
00:11:53 US airman 1: *Frantic shuffling* "Stepanie? Take Mandy and get out of here. Go north. Go somewhere." *Less audible phone calls taking place in background*
00:12:19 US airman 1: "Please. Just go. don't even pack. Just drive."
00:12:42 US airman 1: "Stephanie, please. I love yo..."
Booted feet touch the earth, a small nose smells the air, bright blue eyes stare at the never ending green forest as a female deer mutant treads across the underbrush to dryer land. She wears mostly green and black blending her lithe frame in the trees. On her hip rests a pouch filled with anything she deems valuable, a feather, a shiny stone, a shell, and more. On her wrist a bracelet with a metal deer head, eyes shining with the stones placed into them. A very vain piece of jewelry but it reminds her of her father.
Her eyes spot something shiny in the riverbed and she picks up another piece of glass. She loves glass the most, especially those that have been polished by the stream and resemble a pebble. Pieces that are too small or too big she tosses back in, waiting for the next individual to pick it up. Pieces she likes she will place around her tent floor when she sleeps, thinking of them as protection from spirits if any are in the area.
She sees so many spirits, those who have died in the war and refused to go on to eternal life. She has also seen those who fail to die, and come back as monsters far more terrifying then her brethren. Her scars carry a reminder of those faithful encounters with one of the undying. Her back carries a deep scar from a scratch, on her chest a hole from when one tried to stab her. These scars make her wary and by doing so all the wiser.
Beyond the camps and shelters she hides in the forest. She will come upon a path that leads to civilization but deter from it back into the forest. It has always been that way for Isi. Always avoiding anyone, human, mutant, or ghoul. But eventually the flow takes time to become a single road and that is where her story begins.