Wasteland Dreams - Prologue
Oh! The muse is a frail and fickle bitch! She cometh at the most in-oportune of times, whispering words of genius and pure poetry into one's ear, only to desert him when he has at last procured the tools of the scribe and is ready to cronical that which she speaks! Alas, the picture in the artist's mind is always so much grander than that which he sees fit to write down in ink and stone, yet the picture, the ink, and the stone is all that I can give!
Oh! If only I could show you! Make you see that which resides in the wild and wierd waters that are the deepest, darkest corners of my mind! It flits and flutters like so many moths before the torchlight's glow. Yet do not weep, for while the tale I tell now may be a pitiful mockery of that which calls my head home, it is still mine, and I niether love nor loath it the more for being so.
Seriously guys. I had thought the muse had deserted me, never giving me a complete thought or story for these past few months. God, has it been that long? It has, hasn't it?
No matter, what I'm trying to say is this; two days ago, my mus returned with a vegeance, practiaclly screaming the words and paragraphs of this latest story of mine into my ears, and look what came out!
"......"
"What came out?" you ask? Welll.... Erm....This did!
It came to me as I played a game I just bought last week called, "Fallout 3", and I felt I just had to write it!
The beginning part is a blend of the opening cutscene for the game and my own words. "The Enclave", "Brotherhood of Steel", "Ghouls", "Vaults", and the character of Sentinel Sarah Lyons are all property of Bethseda studios and their associates, and I do not own any of them in any way, shape, or form.
Oh yeah! "No Kiddies Allowed" Notice thingie: Sorry folks, no sexy time in this chapter, but if I get enough feedback, I may just make this into a series. Then you crazy kids.... I mean!-Guys can get your porn fix out the wazoo. It does contain some pretty graphic violence and language; however. So if such things offend you, please begin averting your eyes now.
Well? What are you waiting for? Avert them! *Le Arnold Swartzineger voice* Avert them now!!!!!!
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Wasteland Dreams - Prologue
War.
War... Never changes.
Since the dawn of humankind, when our ancestors first discovered the killing power of rock and bone, blood has been spilled in the name of everything from God, to justice, to simple, psychotic rage.
In the year 2077, after millinia of armed conflict, the destructive power of man could sustain itself no longer. The world was plunged into an abyss of nuclear fire and radiation. A bomb was dropped, a great, terrible bomb, then another, and then more and more, until the entire Earth burned. But it was not, as some had predicted, the end of the world. Instead, the apocalypse was simply a prologue to another bloody chapter of history. For man had succeeded in destroying the world.....
But war?
War never changes.
In the early days, thoousands were spared the horrors of the halocaust by taking refuge in enormous underground shelters know as "Vaults", but when they emerged, only the hell of "The Wastes" was there to greet them. The sprawling, irradiated ruins of what was once the Capitol of that "Great Democracy", that "Rock of Peace", the ruins of the Capitol of the United States of America. Washington, District of Colombia.
All, that is, except the residents of Vault 101. It was here that a hero was born. A "Ranger of the Wastes". The "Last, best hope for humanity". A man whose Mother sacrificed her life to give him his. A man whose Father sacrificed his for a cause that seemed impossible under even the best circumstances, never even seeing the fruits of his labors come to bear. A man who sacrificed his own life; not only so that the wishes of his Mother and Father might be fulfilled, or that their deaths might not be in vain, but also so that all people might benefit from their mission and its goals. So that all humankind might "Drink freely of the fountain of the waters of life.
But what of those not considered "human": the "freaks", the "mutants", the "mistakes of nature"? What of those not considered "normal" by human standards? Aren't they alive too? Haven't they had to suffer through the same (and in some cases, even more) struggles that mankind has? Indeed, is not mankind the cause of both of their plights? Does not everyone deserve this gift of the last, great hero, this basest of needs?............
Water.
Pure, fresh, and clean, for all people, not just the select "normal" group. Perhaps this is what the Ranger and those he called his friends wanted, but it is not what happened. For though the Ranger and his family's "Project Purity" succeeded in it's goal of purifying all of the waters along the river once known as the Potomac, his sacrifice left a void in leadership that needed to be filled.
And it was, by a group known as "The Enclave". A group who, despite having its leader killed and its headquarters demolished by the Ranger, rebounded quicker than anyone could have thought possible, and once again seized control of the D.C. area and Project Purity, restricting the flow of purified water so that it could be bottled and rationed out at heavily gaurded checkpoints to those deemed worth by the Enclave's standards.
The Enclave, a para-military human-supremacist group masquerading as the remains of the United States Government, used propaganda and fear to spread their message of hate and bigotry. Their goal; to seek to destroy all mutants and "Ghouls"; humans exposed to radiation so intense that it warped and decayed their features, destroying their bodies, but at the same time granting them a longevity that escaped even the most long-lived "Smooth-skins" as the Ghouls like to call them.
While the Enclave sought to eradicate these groups as well; it was a third faction that they abhorred more than any other. A race that was not even a genetic deviation from human, but something (at least in the Enclave's eyes) far more wicked and disgusting.
The furs.
The furs were a (althuogh the Enclave wouldn't like to admit it) sentient people consisting of various animals exposed to an irradiated pathogen known as the "Forced Mutation Virus" , or F.E.V., that caused radical (and often-times, violent) changes to occur within the bodies of the infected. The most common of which resulted in a larger, faster, and stronger creature with what little higher thinking functions they had once possessed stripped from their minds to make way for the extra bulk the virus created.
A second, less prevalent strain of the mutation did the exact opposite. Increasing the size the cognitive and problem-solving sections of the brain to the point that coherant paths of thought and speech became plausable, and even possible. A side-effect of this particular strain caused the subject to under-go physical changes that led to the infected taking on varying degrees of human resemblance. Although this was not always the case, as some subjects (although only very rarely, and most often in mid-sized species such as cats and dogs) gained the advanced thought processing and speech abilities, while retaining their more "feral" looks, often resulting in what some furs jokingly called the "Holy shit! A talking dog!" syndrome. Most furs; however, ended up stuck somewhere between a man and an animal. Some seeming almost human except for the fur, muzzle, and tail, with others taking on a more "werewolf"-ish appearance.
The Enclave did everything in their power to try and exterminate every fur they could find. Using Vertibird attack transports and advanced weaponry and robotics to wipe every town, camp, and rundown shack that contained even a single fur off the face of what was left of the Earth. They had nearly succeeded, too. That is, until another faction, known as "The Brotherhood of Steel", intervened.
The Brotherhood of Steel, or "Order" as they liked to call themselves, was a group of pseudo-knights and technology worshipping scribes, rumored to be the last of a group called "The U.S. Marine Core", that sought to gather and archive every piece of pre-war tech that they could get their hands on. They were not; however, as callous and uncaring as the Enclave; following a strict code of morals that dictated every Brother of the Order do his utmost to help and accomodate any civilian in need, no matter what their appearance or social status. In fact, if their was one thing in the Wastes that the Enclave actually feared, it was the Brotherhood. Needless to say, when the Order found out about the furs and their plight, they sent as many troops as they could spare to aid them in their desperate struggle against the Enclave.
They could not have arrived at a more opportune time.
The Enclave had just begun its final assault on the last remaining Fur Stronghold. In reality, a series of delapidated hovels and lean-tos barricaded using various pieces of scrap-metal and other junk scavenged from the wastes. The Furs put up a valiant effort, but it seemed all-for-not. That is, until the Brotherhood arrived in classic "hero-of-the-day" fashion, swooping down in their stolen or salvaged Vertibirds and driving back the Enclave with minimal casualties.
If their were any stronger emotion than gratitude, the furs would have had to find something higher even than that to express their thankfulness to the Order. They took everything they had (what paltry amount that was) and offered it to the Brotherhood as payment. The Brotherhood naturally declined; instead taking them to the Citidel, a fort built in the ruins of was had at one time been the U.S. Military base called the Pentagon, and from there offering to open trade with them, help rebuild their settlements, and protect their people in the same way they did with all of the peaceful residents of the Wastes, human-or-not. Thus the alliance between the furs and the Brotherhood was born.
The furs took to wasteland life fairly well (That is, as well as any group could take to Wasteland life), branching out to take up residence in other settlements and creating so-called "mixed-towns". Named as much for the mixing of species as for the mixed feelings each species had about the towns' existance. Some even joined the Brotherhood, where they were accepted with open arms. Not that all the members of the Brotherhood had hearts as white and open as a plain covered in fallout snow, but the dregs of animal instinct which many of the furs posessed were a welcome addition to any fire-team.
The thing that put the furs on the map; though, was the Trade Caravan. Not one of those little deals with one or two merchants and a handful of bodygaurds. The Caravan was, for lack of a better word, absolutely massive! Hundreds upon hundreds of people, both fur and human, all traveling, trading, and selling their wares to the numerous settlements which dotted the Wasteland, and flanked by full regiments of Brotherhood troops the whole way.
The Caravan was more than just a traveling shopping mall. It was a county fair, three- ring circus, moving science lab and hospital, and roving center for the arts, all rolled into one gigantic package! But above all else? The Caravan was a family. Not just to those who traveled within its ever-moving walls, but also to every man, woman, child, fur, and Ghoul that called the Wastes "home".
The Caravan was a chance to get away from home, to forget about all the crap that most Wasteland residents had to deal with on a daily basis. A place to feel safe and happy amongst a company of people who seemed genuinely glad just to see that you were having a good time. It was a place to find comfort for the greaving, joy for the saddened, and love for those who had lost all hope that such an emotion could even exist in such a time and place. A place of fragile, budding new relationships and fiery, passionate old ones. A Gypsy Carnival of a size and scope the likes of which the world had not seen in over two-hundred years. Where love, life, and the pursuit of happiness were not only accepted, but celebrated.
Not to say that life in the wasteland was all rainbows and sunshine. It wasn't. The Caravan seemed to be a bubble of happiness and joy in the vast and sprawling hell-hole that was the Wasteland. To quote one famous, yet anonymous Wastelander, the Caravan was "an Oasis-on-wheels in an otherwise dank and desolate existance".
It is here that our hero's story begins. Or rather, here that our story begins. Our hero's story began quite a few years prior. On a dank, desolate plain in an equally dank, desolaate existance. I suppose, for the story's sake, we shall begin there.
***
"Where the hell is the Caravan?" the male canine shouted, struggling to be heard over the howling of the wind, "Shouldn't we have reached them by now?" The gust picked up further, blowing the mutt's cowboy-style hat from his head and sending it scittering off across the dusty terrain. Thick, ill-looking clouds covered the grey sky in a thick blanket, casting a dusky light on everything they touched.
"I... I don't know," his compatriot yelled back. the tabby cat was dressed in a smock similar to that of a doctor or scientist, his long coat-tails fluttering in the stiff, hot breeze. He unfurled a large piece of parchment, lifting it to his be-spectacled eyes and staring intently. "The map says we should have been there-"
"Would you forget about the god-damn map?" the first exclaimed. "All it's done is gotten us more fucking lost than we already were to begin with!" He went over to the cat, grabbing the sheet of paper from his hands and ripping it into tiny pieces, before letting them go to drift away in the roaring draft.
"Now what did you go and do that for? the cat shouted, moving as though to chase after the escaping pieces. "It helped us find the Vault well enou-"
"Be quiet!" A third voice interjected, amplified over the comm system in his helmet. The iron-clad figure looked about, assualt-rifle raised and ready in case of an ambush. The four other Brotherhood knights followed suite. "I thought I heard something."
"Relax," the cat replied. "We're furs, remember? If anything were out there, we'd know about it way before your pitiful human senses ev-"
"I'm not just a human. I'm a human _ soldier _." The knight shot back. "Besides, there are things out here that can fool the instincts of even the most adept fur."
"Spare me the ghost stories, We've all heard of the 'Great, mighty Bortherhood knights! Capable of feats that escape even the most -"
"Harold, shut-up!" A female vioce replied, the owner of which was a brown and white collie that moved from her place behind the other canine to confront the tabby.
"What for? So you can tell us all how 'important it is to comply fully and with out question to every order the Brothers give us'?"
"Let my wife speak, Harold" the male dog growled threateningly.
"Okay, sure! Whatever you say, James! You're the boss, after all!" the cat said quickly, gulping to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.
"What were you going to say, Haley?"
"I heard it too," she replied. "It came from over there". She pointed to a rock formation about a hundred yards ahead, one of several dozen that sprinkled the desolate plain.
"Speed, go check it out," the lead Brother ordered, pointing to another knight with a sniper-rifle strapped across her back and a bloddy handprint adorning the area where her heart would have been under her armor.
"Roger that," she said, moving off so as to scout ahead.
"Whatever you do," the canine told his wife, "male sure they don't get this," he touched his hand to a pack on her back, "and especially this," his hand moved to a bundle cradled in her arms."
"I'd die before I did," she replied.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he chuckled back.
She gave him a more serious gaze, "If anything happens, I just want you to know that I-"
He kissed on the lips, hard, pulling away only when niether could hold their breath for any longer. "I know," he whispered into her ear, "I love you too."
"Sir," Speed called from up ahead, "I don't see any- huuurk!!!!"
Something detached itself from the shadow of the rocks, moving so fast that only a faint blur betrayed the fact that it even existed. It connected with Speed, hitting her with all the force of a varsity football linebacker, but with the acceleration of a cheetah on steroids. It pinned her to the ground, and for the first time, the expedition got a clear look at what the beast actually looked like.
The creature was huge! At least eight foot tall. Bipedal, but by no means to be confused with anything human, ghoul, or fur. It had a large, wicked-looking set of jaws filled with even larger and more wicked-looking teeth. Which it used to rip straight through Speed's neck armor and into her throat. It's spindly arms and legs appeared much to long for its body, and each limb ended in a set of razor-sharp claws, which it used to scratch and gouge at Speed's torso. The creature lifted its head from the female knight's still twitching body, jaws covered in gore and dripping with dark, crimson blood, and let out a low, gutteral growl at the surviving members.
"Oh shit- Deathclaw!" one of the Brothers screamed, priming his minigun and opening fire at the creature, causing it to take flight once more, bullets chasing the trail of dust it left on the ground as it moved. It didn't run away from them; however. Instead, it turned and set itself on a collision course with the lead Brother, tackling him and sending them both rolling across the dirt.
A second monster jumped from a rocky crag to the left of the group, and right on top of another knight, gnashing at his face as he tried to fight it off with the side of his rifle.
"Two?" the tabby exclaimed, "Deathclaws don't hunt in packs!" This; however, did not change the fact that a third monster had snuck up behind them, taking a swipe with its claws and sending the feline's head, shocked expression and all, flying from his body even as it fell, dropping to the dirt below like a pile of bricks.
"Shit!" the male dog yelled, pulling a revolver from a holster on his waist and hitting this latest threat directly in the right eye, a ribbon of greenish gore exiting the back of it's head along with the metal slug. Despite how devistating the wound appeared, the creature only flinched slightly, letting out a high, keeening whine and backing off a short distance.
It, and two other monsters that he slunk out from the rocks, began to circle the two furs, biding their time while their kin took care of the remaining Brotherhood knights, who had somehow managed to separate themselves from the canine and his wife, and, despite their valiant efforts, found themselves overwhelmed as more and more creatures poured in from the surrouding wastes.
The strobe-like flashing of weapon-fire, screams and shouts of the Brothers, and the growls and keens of the monsters as they continued to attack, created a hellish and confusing atmosphere as the three closest deathclaws continued their circling path around the two.
"Hide the files in the blanket," the male said under his breath.
"But how could they kn-"
"Just do it. There's more to these things than meets the eye, " he growled.
She did, taking them from the pack on her back and placing them into the bundle, which began to squirm and and wriggle while she did so.
One of the beasts gave off what sounded almost like a low, beastial chuckle from somewhere deep in its throat. A twisted, perverted immitation of a smile passing its mangled muzzle as it ran its tongue along its chops, steaming strings of pink-tinged drool falling to the dirt as it did so.
"Now hide the baby in the rocks," he said slowly, eyes never leaving the monster as the circled.
"What! No!" she clutched the bundle tighter to her chest.
"Listen to me," he replied calmly. "We're not making it out of this alive, I know that much, but the baby might. They're after us, not him. They might not even know he's here. Now... Please. Do what I told you to and hide our son and our work, so that these... these whatever-they-are's don't get them." His gaze darted to his wife, a desperate, pleading look in his eyes.
"I-I.... Alright," she said, taking the bundle, which had begun to cry softly by now, and placing it in a crevice in the rocks where she hoped the monsters couldn't reach.
"Okay then," he sighed, seeming to resign himself to whatever fate awaited them, "On three." He raised the revolver again, aiming it right between the injured deathclaw's eyes.
"One...
"Two........
" Three!"
He opened fire, and time seemed to slow as thick, acrid smoke and roaring flame spewed from the end of his pistol. He emptied all six rounds into the monster's head, which exploded into a fine, greenish mist. Brain-matter and bone-shards flew through the air as it's body collapsed, falling cold-dead with limbs splayed at unnatural angles.
He reached for his gun-belt, fumbling for more ammunition, when something hit him across the back of the head, and a flash of red-and-white light drowned out everything his vision. There was a loud scream, a rustling sound, and a sharp pain as his head connected with something hard, and then everything went black.....................................
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0:600 Enclave Standard Time. The next morning
Brotherhood Sentinel, Sarah Lyons removed her helm, wiping the sweat from her brow and surveying the scene before her with a look of intense contemplation. Something was wrong here. Well... something besides the all coagulated, congealing blood and mangled body-parts strewn across the rocky terrian.
At first glance the attack seemed to be consistent with a routine (if suc a thing could be called routine) deathclaw mauling. All of the bite and scratch marks matched up to what they'd seen in similar attacks, and if that wasn't enough, the dead deathclaw with the missing head laying close by certainly was. Upon closer examination; however, several anomalies seemed to pop out at the knight.
First, was the sheer scope of the carnage. No single creature, not even a deathclaw, could do this much damage without help. That was impossible; though. Deathclaws were solitary hunters, known to rip out the throat of their own children over the corpse of a single half-rotted brahmin rather than share it. They'd sooner resort to cannibalism than form hunting packs.
Second, was the fact that there were still bodies there to be identified, no matter how savaged and torn they may have been. Deathclaws were not picky, often eating their prey bones and all, only leaving the parts that would have been toxic to them behind, and the things that were toxic to a deathclaw could be counted on a single hand.
Sarah frowned, picking up what she thought was just an empty gauntlet, but the arm which fell out as she did so proved that assumption incorrect. She grimiced in disgust. No matter what anyone told her, she still hadn't gotten over the sheer _ gross-ness _ of the aftermath of conflict.
"Ma'am," A metallic-sounding voice (filtered through a similar Brotherhood helmet to the one she possessed, no-doubt) called from somewhere up ahead, "I think I've found something!"
"Well bring it back here so I can see it!" she shouted back.
"Uh, Ma'am?" the Brother replied, 'I think you're gonna' to want to see this for yourself."
The Sentinel gave a miffed sigh, but began to walk towards where the knight had been speaking from, path zig-zagging slightly as she did her best to skirt the worst of the carnage.
"Well?" she asked with an exasperated tone, "What is it that I needed to see so very bady, eh Brother Hammer?"
"Shh!" he said sharply but quietly, removing his helmet with one arm while cradling something carefully within the other, as though it might break at any second. Sarah couldn't tell what it was though, as he had his back turned to her, "You're gonna' wake him up!"
"Whose him?" Sarah whispered, confused but curious. She moved to Hammer's side, peering over his shoulder so as to see what he held better.
"You gotta' admit," he whispered back, voice tinged with as much awe as it was amusement, "For a genetic freak, he's kinda' cute!" Hammer turned, showing her the blanket he cradled in his grasp, and the tiny, fuzzy lump snoozing soflty within.
Sarah was amazed; not only by the fact that the infant had survived the brutal attack, but also that anything so small, so frail, so heart-wrenchingly innocent could survive in such an inhospitable world at all.
"Where'd you find him?" she asked softly, stony exterior momentarily shattered by the sight before her.
"Sleepin' in a hole in the wall," he replied, "Never would have even seen him if he wasn't snoring so loud."
Sarah shook her head, mental shield returning as she began to think like a soldier once more, "We've got to find someplace to drop him off. Someplace safe."
"Aww!" Hammer whined, "Why can't we keep him? I've already thought of a name for him and everything!"
"We're not keeping him!" she said sternly, "It'd be too dangerous. A baby traveling in a lightly armed recovery detail." She frowned as Hammer's face fell. "And even if we did keep him, we're never calling him Little Hammy."
"That's not what I wanted to name him!"
"No?" she questioned, cocking an eyebrow quizically.
"Okay. So it was what I was going to name him! So what?" he sniffed, turning his face away from her so she couldn't see it. It was odd, but Sarah almost thought that Hammer was crying!"
"Look, Hammer," she said soothingly, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You have to think logically. Where's the best place for him? Is it with us?" She paused to let him think for a second.
"No," he replied, shivering slightly, "No, I guess it isn't."
"Good man! " she said warmly, giving him a pat on the shoulder, "I'd thought you'd gone soft on me for a second there! Now, where's the safest place we can drop him off?"
"There's that Caravan," Hammer said, "It's only a couple miles to the East of here. We could drop him off on our way back to the Citidel."
"Then I guess that's what we're gonna' do." she said. "Now give the little guy to me. I'll take care of him, but I need you to go gather the holotags off of our brothers, and anything else that might be of value."
"You're sure?" he asked with a little hesitancy.
"I promise. On my word as a Knight of the Order!" she said sincerely, raising an arm to her breatplate and thumping it once in the customary Brotherhood salute.
"Alright Little Hammy" Hammer said to the tiny bundle, "I'm gonna' say bye bye now, but I'll see you later, 'kay?" He hugged the litttle fur to his chest as tightly as he dared without hurting the fragile little thing. It would have almost been comical had it not been so touching. The big, supposedly "hardened" soldier clutching a tiny infant to him as tears began leaking from the corners of his eyes.
He handed the baby over to Sarah, waving farewell one last time as he rounded the corner.
"Well, well, well buddy," she said softly to the tiny babe, "You've turned out to be one hell-of-a little miracle, haven't you?" The diminutive fur yawned lewdly, opening its eyes and blinking up at her drowsily as it squirmed slightly in the tight blanket. "You're gonna' get far in this crazy thing we call the worl, and I'll bet money you're gonna' do some great things. You know why?" she tapped him lightly on the nose, causing him to blink and cross his eyes as his largely un-tested vision tried to focus on the finger, grabbing it with one tiny hand that was hardly able to fit around the entire thing.
"It's 'cause you're lucky," she chuckled, wriggling her finger in his light, but still strong grasp. "You hear that little guy. You're a lucky one, and in a world like this, luck is worth twice its weight in gold!
"And you know what else?" she asked the babe, leaning down as though to share a secret, "Gold hasn't even existed for two-hundred years!"
And so they went, the miracle babe and steel knight, walking on with the setting sun at their backs and a strange, permeating sense of warmth in their hearts, at least on Sarah's part, that is. Maybe she was right. Maybe this child would be great. Maybe he would be the next great hero. Maybe he would be the next great tyrant. Maybe he'd be a nobody, nameless, faceless, just another voice in an already teeming and discordant crowd, but for right now, none of that mattered. Names, faces, and titles could come later. Greatness would come with age. For now, the simple fact that he was alive was enough to fill Sarah's heart with joy. For in ther world of the Wasteland, just living was a feat far greater than many, if not all, people of times past could claim.
'For now, let him live,' she thought to herself, 'For now, let him dream. Maybe... In a world like this... Living and dreaming will be enough to make him great........'
End.
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Well.... that's........ That's something, right there.......... Yep.
Oh! Oh yeah! Uh.... Tell me what you think! Please?...................