Meet Me in the Wasteland (Patreon Extreme)
The air was arid and hot, carrying with it winds of radiation and a history of forgotten battles. With hardly any bit of green, the desolate wasteland stretched on and on for miles. Wreckage dotted the landscape in the form of massive pieces of mech soldiers that once stood forty feet tall, their bodies all but partially buried beneath sand. Through years and years of neglect the course wind had scraped away nation insignias and bleached the color from the various kinds of debris.
Nothing grew in this area, fewer things resided within. Depleted Uranium from turrets and the aftermath from nuclear strikes made the air toxic and not many thought to stay for long within its potent atmosphere. Despite the harsh climate there were copious amounts of activity. Armored cargo lines drove their routes through the landscape as the biting climate warded off most pirates looking for an easy payday. Crime was rampant as well, no one ventured into the wasteland to investigate. As such was the case.
Trailing a cloud of sand and dust wove a large black truck, armored place and grid work was welded all over its body and external weapons were propped on metal limbs alongside targeting cameras. Instead of wheels it housed four track assemblies, allowing for easy maneuvering among the dunes and mech trash. A bright red wolf skull with knives for eyes was painted across both doors, the allegiance for where it came from being obvious.
The vehicle hoped and skittered around, the cab was airtight and the armor came with lead sealing that allowed it to stay for hours within the wasteland's most dangerous areas. Having rode for about two hours, the vehicle came upon a very flat area of ground that had another, much larger machine settled on its terrain.
The truck slowed as it came closer to the machine, of which turned out to be a massive tank that had been reclaimed and restored from the old war. It had a main turret as well as several affixed rocket pods and external guns that were not apart of its original design. More armor had been welded to it in several odd places as well as barbed wire strung across its large form.
Set on the front of the tank was a massive X shape of welded together girders, and stuck to it was a female snow leopard in a state of bloody undress. Chains and wire held her firmly to the metal frame, her body slumped with exhaustion as she had likely been there, baking in the hot, radioactive environment all day. Her limbs were spread out on the arms of the shape, her body forced to be exposed. Her clothing was ripped and pulled apart from her form in places, both breasts hung free and the remains of her shirt hung around her midsection.
Her pants were ripped at the crouch to purposely expose her hairy vagina. Her arms and legs were covered in dried blood were the wires had dug in all along the the time that she was forced to ride out on the front of the vehicle and then wait. Her head hung limply like she had given up, though her gaze turned to see the familiar vehicle come to a stop a few yards away. Suddenly she became more animated, a fear struck mask holding her visage and for the first time in many hours she began to struggle again.
The snarling engine of the truck was cut and the heavy door to its driver side popped open. Out stepped large doberman, his body adorned in a leather jacket and tattered bluejeans. Over his shoulder and down his sleeves were some chrome spikes, some of them covered in dried blood. Strapped to his chest and close to his right shoulder was a large, serrated knife firmly wedged into its sheath. Over his muzzle was a large gasmask, not perfect, but more than adept at filtering the toxic dust of the region. He began to slowly step closer to the tank. Behind the plastic visor of his mask he and the girl locked eyes, hers still rolling in terror while his smoldered in fury.
Before he had come too close, the top hatch of the tank popped open and a wiry mongoose hopped out, wearing a similar styled gasmask. With nothing more than a dirty white tank top and cargo pants, the new comer climbed down a makeshift ladder that ran along the vehicles side and dropped to the ground. He approached the larger dog with a skip in his step, hoping in a carefree way as he advanced and even dancing a little as if he were listening to music. A large purple mohawk on top of his head seemed to defy gravity as it would swing and bob with the rest of him and not lose volume.
The doberman grinned as he watched the display, the mongoose even twirling a time or two and snapping his fingers, of which were clad in thick white gloves. With a clap of his paws had made a quirky side step the rest of the way to the dog, holding his paw out for a shake. With a chuckle the canine accepted the gesture firmly. He was much smaller than the canid, his body thin where the other's was muscular.
"Never fail to amuse, Rockson," the Doberman said, his deep voice muffled a bit from behind the mask.
"When life gives you. No meaning to live. You have to. Make your own!" The mongoose said and gave a shake of his backside. "Oooh. Your girl noticed you," he pointed out by twirling and giving a hip thrust in her direction.
"So I see," he replied and took another glance at the constrained individual. She hadn't stopped trying to yank at her restraints and as a result fresh blood began to leak from her wounds.
"Now my half. Of the deal. Is complete!" Rockson continued to say as he stepped in place and waved his arms out at his sides.
"What's my motto, Rockson?" the Doberman said with a smile as he dipped a paw into the pocket of his jacket.
"'Mr. Cransten. Keeps. His. Word'!" the mongoose replied and did a spin kick in the air before striking a pose on the landing.
Read the full story here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/meet-me-in-7919741