Post-Pro

Post Radio Prologue

Post Radio
–PrologueIn waves of fire and rain, the earth succumbed to terror and machine fueled man cast down their brothers and in eternal reign, doomed us all. The bombs fell like tears from the sun and spread plague after plague across the nations. A smoke filled sky staring down on the Deserted.

Shades? Check. Balaclava? Check. Medical supplies and ammunition? Check. Gun?
A groan escaped my lips as I grimaced not having a firearm. Two years of training only to find myself unarmed and ill prepared in the center of an Armageddon’s ghost town. An impenetrable wall of smoke stained clouds and a gray sun stared down at me in a bitter mocking tone.
I glanced down at my watch.
Twelve thirty. Plenty of time to reach Dallas ‘fore nightfall.
I buttoned up my coat to the neck and watched my breath swirl and dance in front of me. “Another cold day to regret another man’s choices.” And with that, I stepped off the edge and plummeted to the ground, landing hard on the cushy ash below. I stood, shook the soft chalky powder off and noted it was even softer than last week.
It was as if the bombing was just the beginning. It seemed the land was in a constant decline to its innermost core. Like something was slowly poisoning it day by day. The degradation of the earth was frightening to the few that noticed. Most of the population, which according to best estimates is around twelve thousand worldwide, is blissfully unaware of the new corruption, as they struggle to survive against the old one.
I delved deeper into my thoughts as I often did while I walked, my only escape. The land all seemed the same. Plain, featureless plateaus of dirt and ash, the landscape dotted with the occasional hill and petrified tree. Rocks and pebbles littered the wasteland among the random detritus and items long lost. Tufts of scrap and tattered remains of clothing blew in the dank wind. Every breeze smelled of death and created a zephyr of dirt that stung the eyes.
I pulled my balaclava over my nose instinctively under my eyes and tightened the bandana on my head. My patched and stained jacket rustled like dead grass in the current.
Wind’s picking up, must be getting late. I checked my watch and cursed. Nearly four thirty. I tore myself from the safe depths of my consciousness and quickened my pace. The day never lasted the same as before with spontaneous sunsets and irregular lunar cycles. Tonight was expected to be the third solar eclipse this month.
Speaking of which, what month is it? I racked my brain as I walked; cursing my memory for not retaining such vital information when I recalled I didn’t know what day it was the week before the bombs fell. A ping of regret shot through me like a sniper round.
I flinched. Just then a loud pop resonated across the barren wastes to my ears.
A gunshot. I stopped where I was and surveyed my surroundings, taking it all in with a practiced eye. All was silent for the passing three minutes. Then, another round. I heard a whistle then voices.
A group? I must be closer than I thought. It wasn’t the longest walk from Burleson to Dallas, but one as dangerous at any. The wildlife had somehow survived much better than the human race, and due to what is assumed to be radiation, have grown up to quadruple their previous sizes. The Texas Remnants as it was now named was renowned for its giant wolves and various predators and luckily I haven’t encountered one.
Yet.
I quickly sped up the non-existent trail I had implanted into my brain and peaked the hill. About forty yards away was a small group of four men and a single woman. The eldest held an old rifle in his hands, propped to fire again, a grey heap several feet away. They approached the heap and prodded it with a baseball bat, then backed away and cheered.
Hmm, must’ve been hunting. But what did he..? Suddenly the grey heap leapt up, and in an astounding bound, descended on the group snarling and roaring between bites. The group scrambled in panic, the men scattered. Trying to get away from the beast, the eldest with the rifle dropped the bullets with trembling hands as he attempted to reload. The woman screamed and fell beneath the nearest man next to her as the beast caught them. The scene was silent in an instant.
The ground was a deep scarlet as the ash absorbed the spilled blood and blew like a mist in the wind. The bodies lay strewn about, the monster abandoning them. It was then that I noted its size. It was an immaculate bear, limbs as large as dinner tables and a head the size of a large television. It stormed off, trash-can-lid sized paws pounding into the dirt in strides capable of overtaking one of the destroyed vehicles scattered about in their prime.
I descended the hill slowly and scanned the area for threats. After a quick evaluation, I decided to inspect the scene. The bodies were still now, no twitching or convulsing. A cold aura seemed to envelope me as I entered the dead’s presence. Their eyes were glazed and pale as they stared through the veil of death, their faces contorted with the stricken fear of oncoming peril.
I rummaged through their pockets and found a few sticks of gum, a box of matches and a half empty bottle of water. I pocketed the matches and gum, placing the water in my bag. It was then I heard a sob. I turned on my heel quickly, alert and ready, only to see nothing. The dead remained and the surrounding devoid of life. I stepped over to the old man who had the gun. I crouched beside him and closed his eyes, reaching into his jacket. A small crinkled picture of a young man and woman stood forever smiling. Their embrace was warm even on paper. I placed it in the old man’s cold hand and continued my search.
Seventeen bullets within his pocket and a single .44 round in addition to the two he dropped came to nineteen in which to arm myself. I pocketed them and looked up into his blue eyes.
Instantly I was frozen.
Hadn’t I just closed his eyes? I leaned in closer to inspect him when he blinked, a single tear sliding down his wrinkled cheek. He began to cry slowly, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. He stared me straight in the eye, remorseful and infinitely fallen. His mouth creased and his lips squared.
“Dead.” He breathed, barely a whisper. “They’re all dead. Because of me. I tried. To feed us. But. It. It.” He trailed off then, a husky trembling in his throat as he shed his last tears. I remained silent; my only respects, and memorized his last words as he gripped my hand.
“Defend them all.” And with that, he slipped into another world, the rifle slumping from his shoulder to my hand in his icy grip. I left his hand upon his chest and lifted the old rifle.
It was heavy and made of solid mahogany, adorned with scratches and knicks. Claw marks and a variety of imperfections covered the firearm from barrel to stock. An eight round magazine ejected from the bottom but was bent and jammed from what appeared to be a bullet striking it.
What has this Old Rifle been through? I was sure it was older than me, I being 24 before the world ended. I loaded four of the .357 rounds and checked the open barrel sights.
Good as far as I can tell. I slung the Old Rifle over my shoulder beside my rucksack and checked my watch. I cursed loudly and kicked the dust, swirling in the elevated breeze. I looked out from the peak of the next hill and saw the first outpost of Dallas about two miles away. I looked back at the exposed corpses behind me and felt my heart slow as darkness engulfed the miles and miles of death and devastation I had traversed these long, last two years.

 

Star Wars : Imprisoned

Wrote this one as an exercise on Hooley’s behalf.STAR WARS: IMPRISONED

“Hey, kid. Hey.” A coarse voice called across the small cell. “What’re you in for? I bet you got caught trying to steal something eh? Bloody humans, always trying to take things they think they deserve. I swear you’d think..”
The voice rambled on in the near pitch black darkness, droning in the silence among the occasional rattle of chains. The human turned from the inobservant speaker and laid his head in his hands, trying to ignore the dark stone walls and vibro-bars that surrounded him. He took a deep breath and nearly gagged on the stench of filth that hung in the stale air.
How the hell did I end up here? He said he had it, that he’d done it a hundred times before. I should never have listened to him.
“Never can trust a jedi.” He said quietly to himself.
“What was that?” A deep bass murmured just a few feet away. The human hadn’t seen him when he entered and jumped in surprise. “So it’s a jedi’s fault you’re in here eh? Me too.”
The human remained quiet, eyes lowered to the stone floor. He shivered at the cold. The planet Me’ernen was predominantly swamp with humongous ocean-sized bogs covering eighty percent of its surface. The little land remaining there was chilled from the wind that rode the waves and had forced the occupants to accommodate it in their infrastructure. Having no mountains or great rock deposits, the cities were made of wood from the various trees that surrounded the area and were built up atop one another; the wealthy being higher in the warmer air.
The prison however, was underground and freezing in the darkness. Only a single lantern illuminated each block. It was just enough light for him to see his breath swirl and dance in front of his face.
“What’s your name, human?” The deep voice asked politely, a soft edge in his tone. “I’m Throck, a Zabrak from Dathomirian.”
A few moments passed in silence as he attempted to find his voice.
“Jordan.” He said slowly. “Human obviously. From Alderon.” He added nervously.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Throck said with heavy sarcasm. “How’re you liking the Me’ernen hospitality?”
“Oh, it’s just bloody fantastic. Free room and board, two square meals a day, and a roof over my head? Too good to be true.”
The Zabrak boomed a throaty laugh, chuckling deeply. Across the cell the coarse voice was still going on about obtrusive humans.
“Your friend doesn’t seem to know no one’s listening.” Throck commented.
“He’s no friend of mine.”
“Surely you didn’t come here alone? Me’ernen is a tough place.”
“No, I came with a friend of mine, Otis. He—“ Jordan cut himself off suddenly as he realized what he was about to say. “He has a lot of family here. Gave me a place to stay.”
Throck noted the hesitation but dismissed it. “That’s good. All too often we have offworlders show up here expecting to usurp these backwater bumpkins only to end up here or floating belly up.”
Jordan looked over in the darkness at the shape that was Throck. From what little he could tell, Throck was tall and broad, possibly overweight, or maybe just built to fight. He weighed the pros and cons in his mind before speaking.
“How’d you end up here?”
Throck shifted off in the corner and tugged at his chains to loosen them on his wrists. “I got a call a few months back to come here for a job. Easy pickings. Just had to show up, receive a single item and pay, then head back to Dathomirian. So I found a crew to give me a ride and I made it here within the week. I met a man named, Feren, and told him my business. He looked me up and down and smiled. Right then and there I knew it was a mistake to come.
However the credits were too appealing and I stayed. They gave me this little metal case and a satchel of credit chips. Then told me to get on my way soon as the suns were up.
I never got the chance.”
Jordan inhaled suddenly as he realized he’d been holding his breath and leaned forward, intrigued.
“What happened?”
There was a rumble in Throck’s chest, like a growl, primal yet sentient. The thought made Jordan’s spine tingle.
“Jedi.” He spat. “That’s what happened. They stormed my ship in the night and stole the case, claiming it was evidence in a series of murders and I was under arrest for smuggling! Can you believe it? Next thing I know, I’m in chains sitting in an interrogation room aboard one of their cruisers.”
Jordan swallowed hard at the way the conversation had turned. “Didn’t they give you a chance to clear your name? To testify?”
“Jedi don’t care about Zabrak. They think we’re all lining up to be Sith. Every time I tried to open my mouth, it felt like a rope was tightening on my throat. A few more hours of me being ‘resistant’ and they tossed me in here without any official charges. No one knows I’m here either, they told my contact I had left with the shipment and payment to the Korriban system. Now I’m labeled a traitor and thief back home. And here I am rotting.”
Jordan sat for a while, stunned, silenced by the unfair treatment of the person just a few feet from him. He couldn’t believe such a thing was possible by the order everyone he had grown up with looked to for protection and order. His head was swimming with doubt and he was fearful his faith would be shattered before long.
“So how’d you end up in this cozy little ghetto of ours?” Throck said after a few minutes in silence. His resonant voice echoing softly off the thick grimy walls.
Jordan remained silent for a while longer as he worked out a censored version of his tale.
“I guess it all begins back on Alderon. My friend Otis and I had always wanted to be..helpful. To give back to those who had raised us orphans. So we trained here and there to become..helpful.” He swallowed as his dry throat constricted. “We left Alderon after a few years and travelled to a few small planets, mostly desolate with small populations.”
“Which is why you came here.” Throck stated.
“Exactly. So, we came here and started looking around for things to do, people to assist with whatever matters they needed attending to. And before long we met a man named Alfren who claimed his house had been robbed. We checked out the area and found it crawling with ‘thieves’.” Jordan said and motioned the quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “When all was said and done, Alfren pulled a pistol on us from behind and things..escalated. Alfren’s group arrived and reported us to the authorities as murderers. There were no thieves, just a rival gang who needed to be put down.”
“Where’s your friend, Otis then?”
Jordan opened his mouth to reply when a sudden glow of green illuminated the dark cell as a lightsaber flashed into life with a zap like electricity.
“I’m right here.”

Star Wars : Imp…

 

Star Wars: The Time to Nerd Out

A flash of light in the darkness illuminated the room in a sudden freezeframe camera shot. The Mandalorian was there, pistol held just overhead, the door between us closing as the switch was smashed, sparks from it scattering across the floor and fading into the darkness. Back within it, I reached for my lightsaber at my belt.
The cool metal of the handle chilled my hand as I gripped it. The weight was perfect, exactly to my specifications: heavier near the pommel to fight off the bouncing of the blade upon impact, wider near the top to protect my fingers, and just weighty enough to feel secure that it could take a fall. I wiped the sweat from my brow with my off hand as the blade erupted from the handle in an instant.
The soft blue glow cast eerie shadows along the walls as I passed them, checking each corner slowly to be sure we were alone. The Mandalorian and I. The soft vibrations of my weapon brought a sense of security with it that surprised me.
I approached the door and knew it wouldn’t open again after that laser shot. Instead, I held the saber aloft, perpendicular to my body with my main hand holding the pommel, and slowly pressed it into the door. The metal began to glow and bubble, eventually smoldering a molten orange that bubbled and boiled around the shimmering blue beam of light. I pressed forward until the blade sunk through to the other side and began to pull to the right and then back down about two feet across.
A moment’s hesitation later, and I was staring at a new, though much smaller, door within a door. I pressed my hand to it and closed my eyes, listening intently not with my ears for any sign of life.
Darkness, no, a hallway with a light flickering in and out of life. Several metal crates piled on the side and an overturned table. Numerous small bolts and tools beside a decrepit droid that was rusted and covered in holes.
I began to recede back into the confines of my mind when something caught my “eye”. A flicker of movement in the dark. The light flashed back on and sputtered, revealing nothing new. It went out again. That same motion in the back of the hallway returned and vanished as soon as the light appeared.
I pulled away from the door and focused on my empty left hand until it felt hot. I could feel it stinging and tingling as if it had fallen asleep or had a thousand tiny insects crawling about it. Sweat grew in my palm as I clenched it into a fist.
Then I had it.
I thrusted it forward so fast it was a blur to my own eyes. Instantly the heat dissipated and collided against the roughly hewn door with the sound of a muffled explosion. A sort of whoompf as the kinetic energy displaced the air between it and the door, then a loud metallic scraping as the heavy chunk of metal hurtled down the hall and crumpled everything within the room against it.
I stepped through slowly, lightsaber ready, and quickly leapt over the debris. No sign of a body. No sign of anyone being here at all. I cursed and entered the next room. Within it were a dozen generators, all the size of a small room. The whirring and monotonous drone of the machines were long gone here. These had not seen life in decades. Dust covered the floor here and hung in a sort of fog, swirling behind me as my cloak dragged over the floor silently.
The ceiling was low with numerous support struts stabbing into it seemingly at random. Whoever built this place must have been in quite the hurry. I returned my focus to the room and passed the generators one by one until I had found the center of the room. Sure enough, there was a small cot surround by crates of supplies and random food detritus.
Someone is here.
The emergency lights that covered the ceiling in even intervals shut off with the echoing sound of laughter.
Damn.
I looked about the room, staring into the darkness and saw just that. Only the few feet around me were illuminated from my weapon. I waved it about to shed some light but found nothing. The laughter grew slightly louder now.
I gripped the handle tighter.
“Velcome, Mastuh Jedi. I vas oping to ave a visituh.” The voice cooed. It had a distinct accent that was difficult to identify and a clicking noise behind it. “It isn’t often we ave guests.”
“We?” I inquired in an attempt of bargaining.
“Oh yes, Mastuh Jedi, my family is ere. You will meet dem soon enough.”
“And what would you have me do?”
It laughed a wheezy laugh and coughed before replying. “Feed.”
As soon as the words were said, multiple voices rose from the surrounding blackness. High pitched squeals of delight among a cacophony of guffaws. I turned toward the sounds with my saber raised. A sharp pain twisted in my back from behind and threw me off my feet.
I rolled across the ground and into one of the generators. I stumbled and turned back around, waving the lightsaber like a torch.
Only the dark smiled back.
I reached to my back and felt a small hole in my robes, sticky and warm. I grimaced and wiped my hand across my pantleg. I scanned the darkness again and waited. A few sniggers called quietly out to me.
I turned abruptly the other way and swung. A loud scream filled the air as the creature crumpled to the ground in a heap. I looked down on it quickly before backing away.
It was short, maybe a meter, with a thin bird-like head and reptilian body that walked on its hindlegs. It wore clothes but without further inspection I couldn’t tell whether or not it had weapons. However I did get a good look at its long, jagged beak; the end of which glistened with moisture.
Several yells echoed throughout the room.
“E got is, now you’ll get yers!”
I turned toward the voice again and leapt forward, somersaulting over the speaker and lashed out low. A meaty thump hit the ground just after I did. I approached it to see the headless creature convulse then still. I backed away until another sharp pain shot through me. I whirled about and swung too late. Then another as I was turned away struck me. I swung side to side as if waving off a bug in a feeble attempt of fending them off.
I can’t see a damn thing, I’m the only light around here.
Just then I flicked the lightsaber off and sat quietly. I felt my way to a corner and leaned against it, crouched. The skittering of talons and laughing called out to me. I remained still and reached out with the force, feeling my way about the room. The generators sat still and cold, taking up the majority of the space, meanwhile a few flickers of life bobbed about between.
A sudden movement caught my eye a few feet away and I lashed out, slicing the creature in half. Instantly I returned to the dark, weapon holstered, and waited. Sure enough, a second jumped out from the shadows. I pushed off from the wall and swung my hips about in a swivel until the back of my boot landed squarely against it’s thin neck. It cracked audibly, so fragile, until the back of its head hit the shoulders.
I reached out again and saw several more of them funneling their way toward me, somehow knowing where their siblings went. I pulled back from them when a faint glow simmered within one of the generators. I reached out again and inspected the invisible aura.
Heat.
Calculatingly, my brain worked to resolve this issue. The building was abandoned, practically quarantined, and decrepit. Completely devoid of anyone else.
Except for one.
I shrugged and waited, sensing their movements until I was sure of their positions. Suddenly I leapt from cover and jumped into the air spiraling, and using my momentum, threw my saber in a tight arc that swirled into the generator without slowing and passed through in a shimmering shower of sparks.
The wind hit me first.
It blew my hair back and pressed me against the wall, soundless and invisible. Then the fire came to view. The light was immense in the black room. The flames leapt out and licked against the other generators until they too caught and erupted, each reaching out with great tendrils of writhing inferno. There was a split second of sound, one like crushing metal, then all was silent.
I just sat and watched as the explosions shook the entire foundation and blinded me with a white glare. They were beautiful in a way, dancing across the ceiling and passing from one fire to the next. Mesmerizing. I don’t know how long I sat there or what it was that left me know it was time to leave. Maybe it was the large slab of ceiling that plummeted beside me. Or perhaps it was the growing flames that began to consume the floor and walls.
Regardless, I was running. Lightsaber flashed back to my hand and tucked safely into my belt, I was sprinting through halls and rooms alike, barreling over tables and crates and anything else in my path. My focus was on my breathing only. The world around me, still silent, was a blur as I willed myself faster and faster, knowing the complex was coming down behind me. I could feel the reverberations in my feet the few times they hit the floor.
A small glint of light in front of me, like a piece of silver, shone for a brief second. A rush of sound like a waterfall brought me back as the grenade exploded a few feet ahead of me. The impact was jarring but I don’t remember what the explosion itself looked like. But I will never forget looking up and seeing my reflection in the mask of that Mandalorian.
I looked scared. Frightened even. My eyes were wide like a child’s and my mouth turned down into a grimace. I had never felt so vulnerable before. The training had come so easily, so swift like I was meant for this. But the reality, if this was real at all, had hit me as hard as the grenade.
Shaken, I remained frozen as it reached down and gripped my collar. It pulled me closer to its helmet and said in a muffled and nearly robotic tone:
“Gotcha’.”
Then it was too much. I closed my eyes and screamed, terrified and angry at the same time. Not caring if it was truly his fault or if it was my master’s, no one had prepared me for this. None of us were. How could they be if I was top of our class? Were all of my friends and fellow students doomed to die like this? It was too much. I could feel the anger rising in my stomach and churning. A warm sensation that brought every feeling to a vibrancy I had only experienced in dreams. The definition in which I could see the burning room and my assailant who towered over me was astounding. So focused, crystal clear, even through the smoke. I stared back into the eyes I couldn’t see and roared defiantly.
The Mandalorian hit the wall with a resounding crunch as the cement broke against it. Debris and random items like screwdrivers and holotapes among rocks and cement pieces blasted away from me. Me, lying in a small clearing where even the smoke had been repelled. I rolled onto my shoulders and kicked onto my feet, reaching for my lightsaber.
What the?
An all too familiar zapping noise like static buzzed across the room. I looked up slowly to see the Mandalorian, armor and helmet now scratched and dented, wielding my lightsaber. Instinctively I reached out for it. It flew toward me willingly but pulled my enemy forward with it. The Mandalorian pulled against me, its magnetic gauntlet holding the weapon firm.
I held to it fast, struggling to free my weapon from its grasp. I could see the scrapes the armored boots were leaving behind on the floor as the soldier heaved itself away from me. The way the Mandalorian used its other arm to pull back the one I was tugging against seemed almost comical, as if it were fighting to keep from impaling itself on some suicidal notion.
Just then I felt the flames’ heat growing behind me to the point of being unbearable. I pushed away instead from the extended lightsaber and watched in grim satisfaction as the sudden shift in direction caused the lightsaber to flip back so suddenly it spun as if on an axis in the palm of the metallic gauntlet and bifurcated the Mandalorian longways.
As if automatically, I approached the body and switched off the gauntlet, took my blade back, and strode away. I knew it was just the adrenaline keeping me up right now and I needed to escape before allowing myself to risk going into shock as I looked myself over for wounds.
I resumed my run into the dark corridors and hallways, running up and down stairs and even through a few windows, until I was certain I was close. There was no possible way for me not to be. I memorized the way I came in to specifically avoid getting lost. But here I was, trapped in a burning complex, possibly injured, with no guide or direction as where to go.
Slowly, now walking, I could feel the energy ebbing from my limbs as the adrenaline faded and was soon replaced with anxiety. My heart hammered in my chest and sweat coated my filthy limbs. I shrugged off my singed and bloodied cloak and more or less collapsed. Pins and needles coursed through my arms and legs and sharp pains shot through my chest and out my back like lightning.
I cringed and grasped at whatever it was that was causing the intense pain, but dared not look. Not yet. I had to take my mind off of the pain so I began looking around the room. A small hallway filled with rubble and damaged goods, a large slab of metal indented in the backwall. I froze. The metal slab was rough around the edges and covered in areas that looked like frozen water that had bubbled up. I examined it closer and instantly realized my mistake.
The door I had hewn through wasn’t the way out but the way I had chased the Mandalorian back from the entrance to where I was now.
Even after you’re dead you’re trying to kill me.
I heaved myself to my feet, staggering and limped away down the adjacent hallway, to a sort of hatch which I had left open earlier. The ladder was bent and hard to reach but eventually I hauled myself out and slid down the rust covered incline of the complex until I was face first in the grass.
It took me by surprise how good the grass felt against my skin. Cool, slightly damp, an exquisite cushion compared to the rigid confines beside me. I breathed in deeply and felt the soft grass stiffen and whither until it was rough and crunched beneath me. I opened my eyes to find it all black and decimated as if charred.
That was when I realized the pains were gone. No discomfort, no pins and needles. I was healed. I rubbed my hands across my chest and back and found not a single sign of the battle.
But the grass, the one comfort I had had out here, the first thing to greet me and be a sign of life, was dead for it. Plain, common, old non-sentient grass. Something I had taken for granted my entire life had become the closest thing that cared about me and I had killed it to better myself when it was already doing that without such a costly price.
A gripped the dead grass in my fingers and watched as it blew away in the wind.

Star Wars: The …

 

The Debt All Men Paid – Prologue

This one is a spin-off I started from Hooley’s story The Debt All Men Pay. Mine is within the same story in the beginning and parallels his, then was planned to move off into the future; hence the past tense version of the title.The booming grew louder and louder as we climbed the staircase, panting and sweating inside our Nanite Armor. I could feel the stone steps rumble and quiver beneath my feet, whether in fear or of repercussion. The red fire escape door stood at the end, the very top of the two hundred and thirty-eight story skyscraper in downtown. I was the first in the group, throwing open the red door and taking point on the roof, glassing the surrounding buildings through my sniper rifle. All was in Hell just as it should be so I waved the others on.
They filed through, covering the perimeter of the roof and returning fire only. It was all a blur. Shooting in every direction at enemy drones too far to see clearly open sighted and awaiting the big bug we knew was coming. But it seemed to appear out of thin air despite its immense size and girth. A large creature covered in head to tail in scales and spikes stood, crawling by belching acid from its serrated gullet and squealed at an alarming frequency, hundreds of windows shattering in unison. We looked to our Gunnery Sergeant, Gunny Steeles, for orders.
Steeles bellowed at us from behind his visor, even behind the black glass I knew his face was purple and that vein bulging on his forehead. I followed after him down the stairs as the Shrieker screamed in pain. The sound made my eyes bulge, slowing me on the stairs in which I tripped and fell an entire flight. Now the last man coming down, I sprinted outside to witness the Shrieker’s attack. I stepped out from the skyscraper’s dark lobby to the bright sunlit street.
Something small in comparison and gray hung from the Shrieker’s spiked back, moving and writhing with something. I peered through the scope of my rifle and dropped my gum onto my chin.
York?
There hung York, his right arm impaled on the spike, blood oozing from his armor, his left arm pulling at his chest. He ripped his grenade belt from its fasteners and slung it into the beast’s open mouth. Just then York fell, thudding into the ground with a smack and laid motionless.
All went silent. Then, in a great flash and deafening boom, the Shrieker exploded casting gore across the block, acid raining on us with the sound of a thousand footsteps. Steeles roared through our intercom, barely audible, and began dragging an unconscious York, a small piece of metal in his back. I saw the building behind the smoldering remains shattered and crumbling, great heaps of glass and metal plummeting to the road. All around us was chaos, the sounds of our running and breathing masked by the constant drone and rumbles from the destruction behind. We threw ourselves through the door, back into the dark lobby, and sat in wait.
Steeles was furious, dumbfounded, by York’s course of action. He rambled on and on about the stupidity countering his courage and mumbled to himself every few minutes. The rest of the recruits lounged about, exhausted and terrified, myself being no different. I was just another F.N.G. as Steeles called me, a number. SD-thirteen-oh-eight,’ Private First Class’ Crew, eight-hundred first Squadron.
I had it memorized by the second day of Boot and knew it by heart on the third. They prepared us to fight to the death and to die in a fight, in either order, but it was nothing like this. Nothing could have ever prepared us to fight something like the Grell. Let alone a Shrieker. No, Boot was nothing more than being stripped of your name, life, and freedom, and being given a number, rank, and squad. I had been assigned Sniper Drone-thirteen-oh-eight and told to forget everything but my training and my new brand, which was tattooed on my inner left wrist and on the back of my neck.
Real hard to remember that.
We sat impatiently, awaiting orders and the culmination of the rotting building outside. Steeles and our medic, Daringer, continued to buzz around York checking his arm and back and shaking their heads, all while muttering to each other with visors raised to cut off radio chatter. York was still out like a broken light bulb and appeared to be crippled in impact foam. But it was his arm and back that held the most attention. Both were already scabbed over and healing from the nanites in our armor, but remained open to the elements, torn straight through the armor itself.
A small, mousy recruit beside me said to leave him here, sparking Steele’s legendary rage yet once again. I lifted my visor to put my gum back in my mouth and set it back over my face to muffle their talking. At least those with their visors open. The others held a private conversation discussing whether to follow Gunny or to leave York and him here to be bait. I remained silent, knowing the pros and cons without debate.
Pros; we leave without attracting the infrared Seeking Grell.
Cons; we commit treason and make an enemy of Gunny.
I choose the Grell.
I lifted my visor once the conversation grew tedious and the uproar of the volcano that is Gunny was over and now simmering. I waited patiently as I had learned in sniper training and tried to control my breathing, counting my heart beats and taking account of my limbs for any damage.
Nothing but a few new dings and bullet holes in my armor so far. Thank God for the new models and their magnetic bullet repelling plates. I surmised as I scratched at a long thin scratch down my arm. Slowly, the men began to pull into rank and separate as Steeles commanded. I pulled back out of my thoughts and into the room.
“Crew, you and these three,” He motioned at Darian and the two men beside him, “Go downstairs to the generator and turn the power back on. Now, before the bugs come in after York’s exposed body heat!”
I stood immediately and pulled an about face to the back of the lobby. An old rusted door stood in the far corner, chain holding it shut. I gave it a swift kick and it flew open, banging against the cement wall on the other side, revealing a dark room smelling of mold and mildew.
“Here we go, boys.”
I stepped down the grimy stone, descending into darkness as the temperature grew colder and colder. I flicked on my visor’s night vision and loaded my Magnum Raider, all nine bullets in the revolving chamber glowing slightly. I relished the weight of the revolver, assuring me, as I walked deeper into the abandoned hospital basement.
Everywhere I looked revealed dripping brick walls and old cleaning items covered in thick fuzzy mold. Numerous empty cans littered the floor and floated in the half foot of black, stagnant water. We splashed through it slowly, eyeing this way and that in a V formation. Someone had to put the chain on the door to keep something out, or in.
The ripples of something ahead shook and quivered around my shins.
Just then a brief flash of light sparked the midnight basement, an intense boom echoing off every wall and surrounding us in a disheartening chatter. A bullet whizzed past my head, the vapor trail in the drenched air visible. I thanked God once again for the water-proof armor and threw myself into it, leaning low against the wall. The other followed suit and hid behind random mid-sized objects.
I opened fire, each shot a concussive boom across the basement. The dark water was cast in a festival of light with each shot like that of the lake during the fourth of July long ago. The flashes of gunfire behind me moved closer and closer and I knew we were pressing forward. I stood and walked swiftly, firing and reloading into the darkness ahead with a practiced liquidity.
The firing ahead ceased and all fell silent, the surprisingly large basement stirring only with the ripples of the dank wastes. A red tint was found in the blackness and the corpses of several grubs were half submerged, staining it yet more. We passed them, cautiously and grimaced as the water grew deeper and deeper until we were wading waist deep in it. Over a dozen corpses floated around us in the pitch black, only for our night vision could we press on.
We continued through until we were midway into the room, the two dozen corpses gliding by on all sides. Up ahead to the far right were several steps ascending from the water, another door atop them with the words Generator Room written in red words. The first sign of hope seemed to illuminate the drowned cemetery.
Time stopped.
I turned my head, the numerous grubs exploding from the water in seemingly frozen torrents and splashes. I looked at them, eyes wide and coal colored above their flat scaled face and open mouth revealing fangs and two tongues. Their armor was soaked and made of what appeared to be a natural metal like tungsten. They had great arms and stood at seven feet tall with powerful strength and stamina. Their pale skin looked like paper yet stood as tough as leather, three fingers as large as bratwursts gripped a more sentient version of our common weaponry, small changes and tweaks and a crude paintjob like that of mud.
Then my instincts took over and brought back time, causing my head to swerve to the side, a hailstorm of bullets in its place, and leaped into the water, submerging completely and kicking wildly to make as much distance between me and them.
My head swelled and my mind raced, frantic thoughts slowing me and panic numbing my limbs like dead weights. I sank and gasped for air, swallowing what last lungful my visor held in an emergency, and watched the pretty lights dance in front of me.
But even as I was ready to disappear into darkness and drift away, a hand ripped from my solitude, bursting through the surface. I coughed and sucked in the damp air, hearing once again the sounds of warfare. Gunfire and roars met my ears, drowning out any thoughts I once had. I instead once again followed my instincts, pulling my magnum out and mindlessly allowing my body to perform its functions.
I snapped to and fro, firing single rounds into each dark figure, reloading in one movement and walking forward slowly, ignoring any rounds that glanced off my armor or impacted with a thud. I shrugged off the bruises and pushed forward as what my mind told me were enemies dropped into the crimson water.
What seemed like a second later, the delusion was over, my mind suddenly cleared. I stumbled and looked about, the ruby water raised to my chest from the number of bodies. I swallowed hard and turned to my comrades.
They had a few bullet holes each but none penetrated. I was sure beneath their visors all were giving me the same incredulous expression. But I had no time to explain nor did I have an answer in which to do so. So I waved them on and ran through the water as fast I could, suddenly exhausted. I burst through the door dripping blood not my own and sighed as the generator sat covered in cobwebs as if it had never been activated once. I pulled the lever down with more force than necessary and scowled as it rumbled to life with a shaky start.
“Well,” I said curtly, “ power’s on.”

The Debt All Me…

 

The Shepard – Prologue

 

In the event of discovery, this note should be burned or digested.

January 2nd, 2010

No contact from deployed teams. New York City has begun evacuation despite the fortifications being made.

March 19th, 2010

Military begins quarantine of New York and orders all operations through the city be shut down, and all work diverted to constructing the Wall.

August 14th, 2010

The Wall successfully separates the city from all surrounding states, leaving it open to only Lake Ontario. New York descends into a depression. Only three thousand people remain in the city with little work other than the most basic of things.

September 11th, 2010

Police forces disband as crime and rioting grow to unparalleled proportions. More and more sightings of the Mob appear as the body count rises.

November 1st, 2010

The Mob and its descendents of organized crime take over the city and run its entirety through the Black Market.

December 24th, 2010

The two largest Christian chapels are destroyed through arson, over six hundred people inside.

December 29th, 2010

Ex-Sherriff Joseph Walker finds the remnants of his police force and gathers volunteers for a new team.

February 1, 2011

The new team, called “Walkers” begin the first opposition directly enacted against the Mob’s operations with a raid on their still developing slave the Walkers to seek the New York Resistance’s assistance. 

–NOTE: Battles rage almost daily between the Alliance and the Mob’s new formation as Liberty’s Tears, and leave the city war torn as more and more firepower and weaponry is found.

The Shepard – P…