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Credits:
All images have been selected from Google Search. I really have no idea who the actual source is, but if you see a pic you recognize and know who get's the rightful credit, let me know so I can give them that.
The story line has been inspired by Fallout the video games, and the Steampunk genre.
...Will add more if I think of any. e.e
Posted: Wed Jun 17, 2015 10:40 pm
This story is set 2240 in what was once known as Chalmette, Louisiana USA
The fallout occurred 220 years ago in the year 2020. Tensions rose between the Middle East, the US, and China to the point that war erupted on a far more larger scale than the previous squabbles in the Middle East. China dispatched armies to invade the west side of the US, finally bringing war to the American homeland after catching and publicly assassinating an accused US spy. They also dispatched armies to the Middle East, with Russia as their allies. The US responded with force, keeping the Chinese armies at bay, but destroying most of California and it's civilians. Americans rebelled against the massacre of California, and civil disobedience rose at an alarming rate, causing fear driven riots as the Chinese pushed their front lines further into US territories. India was the first to be bombed after a civil rebellion resulted into the murder of several Chinese and Russian troops. Like dominoes the countries fell into themselves, when the US took their chance and bombed the east half of China. China returned the favor, wiping the eastern seaboard of the United States clear of all life. Civilians were alarmed in all countries as the four warring countries let bombs fly at an alarming rate ravishing the northern half of the planet. Radiation rose into the atmosphere, while gunfire and war tore families and countries apart. Bomb shelters, and fallout vaults were closed in the year 2025, and what was left of humanity waited underground for the world to become livable again. The war was over, but the world had changed. The weather became harsher, and the creatures mutated and conjoined, becoming more dangerous than anything that used to live on the planet before. When people prematurely left the safety of their underground shelter, they too were mutated by the potent radioactivity that infected the air, water, and earth. Their minds melted into insanity from the pain of their bodies warping into the ugly beasts of their former selves. When it was safe to leave the vaults in the year 2200, the remaining humans were met with the corpse of Mother Earth, and the life that was left on her became maggots eating what was left of her rotting flesh.
Characters with their own story, background, and permanent place in the rp. They can be identified as characters with their own posting style. Main Characters can die, and their future in the rp may or may not be limited depending on the direction the rp is going. I will sometimes get lazy and use just one character's posting style to follow their pov and move the story along.
NPCs are characters that do not have their own posting style, and their actions and speech are solely controlled in Main Character posts. They have the potential to become Main Characters. They also have the potential to be a lasting character throughout the story without becoming a Main Character.
Wastelanders are referred to humans who have not become mutated beasts. There are various types including, but not limited to: Scavengers, Raiders, and Socialites. These three are the most common. Wastelanders can also be referred to as descendants of the past civilizations who do not fall into any sub category.
Mutations are any organism such as a dog, human, fish, ect. that has been warped in appearance due to excessive amounts of radiation from the nuclear catastrophe that victimized the planet. The come in a variety of 'races' so to speak, and are often dangerous, blood thirsty, and mean beasts. Some 'races' also have the abilities to form a loose society among themselves.
The Vaults are the bomb shelters created to shelter survivors from the impending nuclear fallout. They have been opened at various times since they were closed in 2025. Those who opened them before the year 2200 have succumbed to becoming poisoned or mutated. Many of these Vaults still have people or creatures making them a home, but community is survival for them. Outsiders beware.
The night had passed quickly - quicker than Cyrus had expected since last night his parents finally died. First his father, and his mother a few hours later. His grief kept him awake, outside on the rickety roof of their dying house where he observed the starless sky. The clouds above looked like smog obscuring even the dim glint of the moon. He had taken their bodies out back with the help of his brother and laid them to rest under the tattered blood stained sheets they had died on. Cyrus's heart ached, but honestly it was about time they died. They had be growing sicker and sicker, and became more of a burden to care for this past year. It was obvious they were going to die, but yet he had wasted food and water on them that him and his brother would need. He had come to the decision weeks before that once his parents finally passed, he would take his brother from this place and find somewhere better to live. Everywhere couldn't all be desolate wasteland and death, and Cyrus was becoming determined to find it, especially now while he sat up getting ready to wake his brother up if he was sleeping and start packing what they had. The sun was rising earlier than usual the past week so it must be around the beginning of the year. Which was fine - they wouldn't be able to travel if winter was close at hand. He treads carefully across the old, decaying roof of their once grand house until he reached the side where a landslide had filled up a massive mountain of rubble. It was easy to climb up and down, and once he and his brother had even slid down it on boards for some much needed fun.
Once inside the house he found his backpack and began packing. Two old blankets, four bottles of water, one large bottle of water that was half empty, a few cans of vegetables, 3 cans of soup, and 1 can of peaches. He had some old clothes, but they were loose and heavy now, and would trap heat something fierce if he wore them during the summer. He packed three shirts, 1 pair of jeans, and an old hoodie anyway, for early preparation of the harsh winter that would follow the harsh summer. Bugs outside began to come alive, buzzing, and even cicadas sounded rhythmically in the petrified trees that surrounded the house. Cyrus grimaced - he hated bugs. They were yet another danger, but they also had the quality to be a nuisance at the same time. He picked up what was left of the several cans of bug spray they had stocked up on naturally having been born and raised in the bug infested South, and made a short decision on whether it was worth bringing; it was, he packed it in a side pocket. He moved on to his knives, packing his large combat knife on the side of his pack where it would be easily attainable should he need it immediately, but packed 3 smaller ones in the pockets of his pack. Two knives, one for each boot were left, and his dad's old machete, which was blood stained and rusty, he hooked to his belt in the sheath. He stood, hefting the pack on his shoulder.
"Asher!" He called, not too loudly. "Wake up! Get ready to go!" He moved his pack over to the doorway and dropped it gently, looking around and listening for signs of his brother. The house was old, falling apart and creaked when the wind blew. The place was drafty nowadays, and much of what made the place beautiful had rotten away, such as the pale rose colored wallpaper his mother always used to be fond of. Gaping holes were in the walls of some of the rooms upstairs, but luckily the basement was secure enough that when it got cold enough they had been able to hole up down there to stay warm and alive. Cyrus sighed softly, leaning against the wall next to the front door with his pack against his feet. The heat from the sun was already invading the morning air, and sweat had begun to trickle down the back of his neck. He was going to miss this place despite how miserable it had been lately. He could remember his childhood clearly surviving through the Fallout, and searching for 'home', and even though the bombs had dropped somewhere in the North around DC, the entire east side of the states had been ravaged by the consequences. 200 years later, life mutated, the environment became harsh, and nearly unlivable to standard organisms. It was the west he wanted to go towards. If the bombs dropped in the East so long ago, maybe the West had a chance... It was logical wasn't it? He never heard of bombs dropping there, but it was very possible. There wasn't exactly something that could broadcast conditions in other parts of the country so there was no telling how much damage the states actually endured. His eyes drifted out of focus while he waited for his brother and he analyzed the possibilities of what they would encounter there. Cyrus just hoped to God that something was out there worth living for.
Asher had barely moved from his parents' sides all night, and it was only when dawn began to break from behind the dense toxic smog above that he stood up. The night was a sleepless one, and he hated seeing his parents dead underneath the disgusting sheets they died on. There wasn't much else they could do, and through the night Asher went through many thoughts and many emotions if only to cope with their deaths. The end wasn't much brighter, and on some level he had ended up admitting to himself that his parents were better off dead. The sickness they each carried ate at them in a painful deteriorating way until they were just ghosts of their former selves. It was painful to watch them die, but now that they finally did, Asher seethed with anger at the unfairness of their deaths. They didn't deserve to die... they didn't deserve to suffer like they did... and he even began to harbor resentment for his older brother who had stopped looking for a way to help them... and then just let them die like this. He couldn't even find a way to bury them, and the fuel they had Cyrus claimed they would need; that their parents would understand. Asher cursed under his breath, tears welling up in his eyes before he knelt down and punched the hard dirt ground next to his mother's withered form. His choked back an angry scream, and then sat back down pulling his knees up to his chest and embracing them for comfort. He didn't want to leave...
"Asher! Wake up! Get ready to Go!"
Asher blinked, opening his eyes. His mind was groggy, and his eyes blurred a moment before focusing on the dirty sheet covered corpses in from of him. He must have fallen asleep, but not for very long because his head had that heavy feeling from needing more sleep. His brother's words finally triggered a coherent translation in his weary mind. It was time to go. The kid stood up stretching lethargically, and without sparing a glance to the dead he turned back into the backdoor of his childhood home. He could remember the house being huge once when he was small and his parents brought him and his older brother here to settle. He couldn't remember anything else before it, but Cyrus used to tell stories of when they had all traveled to seek out a home so his mother could give birth to Asher. It didn't happen like that unfortunately, and they didn't find this place until Asher was two. It was a safe, secluded area, and not much danger passed through, but things changed about 3 years ago. That was when herds of mutations began to pass through in search of the scarce food left, and storms of acidic rain that the house was barely able to sustain through began occurring. Inside, Asher avoided the room he could hear his brother in, waiting, and went to his bedroom on the first floor. Inside was all that he ever had. He picked up his backpack already half full of some cans of food, and a t-shirt and shorts. He picked up his ratty old blanket and began to fold it into a tight, compact square before sliding it expertly into the biggest pocket of his pack. He gathered up the rest of his clothes that he had, a couple of knives, and his goggles and leather helmet. Standing up, his bag full, he slipped the goggles around his neck and the two knives he hooked to his belt that barely kept his pants up lately. He was losing weight more than usual, unable to really choke down any food, and although Cyrus was concerned he didn't know the half of it. Asher hadn't told him about the two sores on his right side having appeared a couple of weeks ago; or that they only seemed to be getting worse. He was afraid to tell Cyrus about them because they were frighteningly familiar - they looked like the sores his parents' had developed. Hopefully he was wrong, but deep down Asher's stomach held a heavy black knot of twisting fear. He met his brother out on the front lawn which consisted of dirt and patches of dry yellow grass. The sun was already beating down on them even though it had barely risen.
"Ready to go." He muttered, looking down like a forlorn puppy. They were headed West, to a city or something, but Asher wasn't paying too much attention when Cyrus was explaining it a week or so ago. All he could think of then was his parent's impending deaths, and all he can think of now are his parents being dead, and his own impending death. The sores on his side began to itch from the heat, but Asher stopped himself from scratching at them too much. He wasn't trying to make them worse or have his brother notice. His mind then began to wander to what would become of him in the future if he ended up becoming weak, and lifeless, burdening his brother as their parents had burdened them. He hated the thought of it, but solutions were few at the moment. His mind had became lost as it played different scenarios of his own death from the sickness that stole his parents, to him showing his brother the sores, or even of him with Cyrus when they decided what they were going to do when Asher wasn't able to so much as walk anymore. It wasn't like they had a home anymore, so it would be dangerous for Cyrus to be held back out here. His parents were dead and he was next; what kind of luck was that?
The sun caused the horizon to blur with waves of heat, and it was still so early in the morning. The moon could still be seen now in it's crescent shape hovering just inside the heat waves in the distance. There were dark green clouds shifting above in wisps and thick fluffs as they moved with the air traffic in what was left of the atmosphere. Cyrus slipped on his goggles and instructed Asher to do the same, waiting for him to do as told before heading off West. New Orleans would be somewhere in this direction, so he had heard from the occasional and rare friendly survivor traveling passed their home, but the last one was years ago. Sweat beaded up on the back of his neck, and slipped down the sides of his face, and his feet stepped firmly onto the hard dry earth beneath him. His brother was following quietly, head down, but Cyrus couldn't think of anything to say to console him. The older boy knew the grief Asher was feeling, and yet there was nothing to be done, but get through it. He slipped off one of the straps of the backpack from his shoulder and swung the heavy pack around to his front so he could unzip the pocket where he stored the canned food. Through all that had happened the past few days he had almost forgotten about breakfast. They wouldn't make it long forgetting to eat out here. Asher heard and noticed Cyrus rustling around with his bag, and even though he was curious, he dropped his eyes back to the ground where he watched his worn boots tackle the cracked dirt beneath them.
Finding what he was looking for, Cyrus pulled out the can of peaches, his mind considering his brother's sadness. Sweet things were supposed help with that right? Zipping the bag up, Cyrus shifted it back onto his back, and looped his arm through the strap before focusing on opening the peaches. Luckily this was a rare easy open top and he quickly popped open the tab and pulled back the tin lid.
"Here. Eat this." He said a bit roughly as he reached back and handed the can over to Asher. They hadn't gotten very far from home, but it was already getting smaller, and the waves of heat were beginning to dance around it. Around them was nothing much more than a wasteland with petrified trees, dried grass, and a lot of dirt. His eyes looked around the landscape searching for decent shade up ahead or danger beside or behind them. Mutations had been lurking more and more, probably sensing fresh meat somewhere near, but they also seemed to be migrating somewhere. The first herd of mutations he had seen were beastly looking things that walked on two legs, but had engorged, bulbous bodies and holes for mouths with rows and rows of sharp tiny teeth. They probably stood about six feet and there were approximately 15 of them. That happened almost 3 years ago. Since then all kinds of mutations had passed through, some just three or four, and others in packs of 10 or more. Cyrus had moved his parents and brother down to the basement while he stayed above to keep watch inside the ruins that they lived in on these occasions. His father then was still able to walk, move and talk, and he had speculated with Cyrus and Asher on these these unusual occurrences. There wasn't much else he could do though, because by that time their father had become weakened, and scrawny. Perhaps more and more surviving organisms were becoming mutated, or they were drawn to a 'queen bee'... or they were massing for an attack on something; but these were after all, only speculations. Cyrus wasn't anymore knowing than he was three years ago, but if any time was a good time to find out, now would be it. Of course Cyrus didn't exactly have a death wish, so he avoided the direction the mutations were always headed in, which was North. With his head down, Asher followed Cyrus, but even as withdrawn as he looked the young boy also kept an eye out on their surroundings. Despite his grief, getting gnawed on by a mutation wasn't on his bucket list.
His brother still hadn't taken the can, so Cyrus stopped and turned around to face his brother. "You need to eat breakfast, Ash. Stop trying to starve to death." Cyrus gave him a pointed look, referring to his brother's recent loss in appetite and weight.
Asher jumped as his brother's voice invaded his thoughts, and he looked up to see Cyrus holding out a can of peaches. The sickly sweet smell mingled with the thick heat around them and turned Asher's stomach over. He wasn't hungry, and certainly not for that, and he wasn't sure if he could really choke anything down right now. His stomach was telling him no, but his brain was urging him to eat for survival. The battle between the two, and then the sticky smell began to make him nauseous. So instead of accepting or denying the offer of food, he dropped his eyes to the ground and slowed his pace to further himself from the sick smell. His brother however wouldn't have it, and stopped in front of Asher, turning around to lightly chastise him.
"I'm not really hungry Cy." He muttered in response, not looking up but coming to a halt himself. "I don't feel good." His slight nervousness caused his hands to rummage around for the pockets in his baggy pants so he could hide his hands. It was a habit when he couldn't hide his whole self. He just wanted his parents back.
"Do you remember that old record player dad found for mom?" He asked, changing the subject as subtly as he knew how, and also because an image of her dancing had faded into his mind. Cyrus only frowned at first, knowing that just because Asher wasn't hungry didn't mean he shouldn't eat. They didn't exactly have the luxury of choosing to starve. Before he could say anything though, Asher's change of subject froze the words in his throat, and he could feel his heart clench inside of him painfully.
"Do you remember how happy dancing around and listening to those records made her..." Asher looked up at Cyrus, tears welling up in his glimmering blue eyes. His bottom lip trembled as his heart felt a painful throb. An image of her dry, sunken face came to his mind's eye with her parched flaky lips, and the soft noises that sounded as if they scratched the inside of her throat. "It's not fair..." His voice chokes and he drops his gaze again, letting the tears fall to the ground at a steady rate. "Why did they have to die like that... and we just left them out on the dirt."
The grief and guilt from all his combined thoughts of last night rose up, and all of his memories and resentment filled him like a balloon of emotion. Asher clenched his fists as his tears became a steady stream. "I can't remember her damn smile, Cy... this isn't fair." Finally a sob wracked through his body and came out of his mouth in a heart wrenching groan. His legs became too weak to hold him up so he sunk down onto the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest, cradling his legs for all the comfort it was worth. The memories of his mother and father before they became sickly and dead were few, and fading fast, and all Asher could do was rage inside at the injustice of what had become of them.
"I don't want them to be dead like that! This isn't ******** fair!!" He growls, knocking his head on his knees. He also didn't want to die like that either...
Cyrus lowered the can of peaches, his eyes on Asher as the kid broke down and confided in him. His gaze darkened, and his frown became all the more deeper at the mention of their mom in a semi-happier time. He did remember her dancing, and making them dance. It was almost embarrassing if it hadn't been the best thing in the world to see the woman smile. She was definitely the one who made the best of things, and he remembered how she cried over the damn record player when it had broken. Music was her life, but even without it, she had always found a way to make life all that much better. It was hard to remember her in a time when she wasn't frail, sick, and ghoulish. Hard to remember her really at all. At the end she had become not much more than a living corpse, barely eating, no emotion - no tears or smiles, and she couldn't even talk right; only making these dry muffled groans. His father had met the same fate. With a sigh, and trying hard not to remember his father reduced to crumbling dry flakes of human flesh as well, Cyrus put a firm hand on his little brother's shoulder. Even though Cyrus was holding up a lot better than his brother, he could see it was taking more of a toll on the kid than he had expected. He knelt down as Asher crumpled to the ground, folding up against the uninvited tragedy that had come into their lives. He couldn't find the words for his brother, but right now despite his brother's grief, all he could think of was being out in the open and vulnerable. This was a dangerous time and place for Asher to break down like this. Cyrus looked around uneasily to check for danger nearby, but the landscape around them was empty so he turned back to focus on his grieving brother.
"Listen Asher, and listen carefully." He said, voice firm. "You need to quit thinking like that. They're dead and we're moving on. There is no room for this kind of weakness right now, so I'm going to need you to swallow those tears and chin up." He placed the can of peaches down next to them. "We've only got each other now, so let's not waste time becoming-"
Without warning a thick sudden pain struck the side of Cyrus's head, and instead of seeing his brother, he vision went black and he could hear his name being screamed as if from far away. Lying on the dirt, disoriented, and his head throbbing, another sharp pain connected with his side, doubling him over into a groan. His ears were ringing, and the danger around them kicked his adrenaline in overdrive as his vision cleared. The first thing he noticed were the mutations against the toxic green tinted sky standing over him. Four of them looming about, and one of them had a struggling Asher, beaten and bloody. Before another brutal kick from an ugly, warped looking foot connected, Cyrus rolled quickly away, and used this chance to get on his feet. His machete had been ripped off his belt and lay yards away where they had thrown it, so instead he knelt down and pulled out the knife in his right boot, holding it up and waiting. The creatures were disgusting, and varied in heights between 5'5" to 5'7", with arms and legs far too big for their body and bulging with vein riddled muscles wrapped in thick orange skin. Their legs were short, stocky, but their arms were disproportionately long while their bodies seemed too small and lanky for their limbs. They were covered in sores, and their heads were almost perfectly round with shiny black eyes as big as Cyrus's balled fists. They each held twisted looking grins showing the glimmering rows of black, sharp teeth, that cut across the middle of their face.
"Let him go." Cyrus growled, his body tense with his knife raised in defense. He was still seeing white spots from the blow to the head. The mutations only responded with gurgling, screeching sounds that must have been laughter to them, but it only grated on Cyrus's nerves. He prepared himself to attack the nearest one when one of the tallest stepped up, ceasing the gurgling. It spoke in Cyrus's language, but it's accent was atrocious in Cyrus's opinion.
"Come with us. Slaves now." It said, waving an arm as if to add a bit of flourish to his demands. Cyrus's eyebrows furrowed, his dark blue eyes glaring at the mutations. The mutation that spoke fell silent as if giving Cyrus a moment to consider what he had said, but Cyrus was only considering their chances of getting out of this skirmish alive. The chances weren't good, but if they had planned to eat them Cyrus figured that would have happened, starting with his brother who was helpless in their clutches. Slaves... what would mutations want with slaves if anything other than to eat later. Cyrus was confused, but it didn't seem he had a choice. He straightened up and lowered his knife earning a creepy grin from the one that had spoken. This one was apparently the leader as it immediately directed the other two, gurgling in a language Cyrus couldn't understand. These two immediately came over to Cyrus, who tensed up from mere instinct, but it was futile to fight back. One knocked the knife from Cyrus's hand and grabbed him from behind, holding him tight. Cyrus, struggling hopelessly, immediately regretting the decision to surrender.
The sound of a gun shot, muted by the morning heat echoed in the air around them. One of the mutations started to scream, dropping Asher in the process as he reached up and held the wound gushing a disgusting orange goop that CYrus presumed was his blood. The mutations that held him tightened their grip as they watched their fellow monster bleed out. Cyrus looked around for the source while Asher struggled to make as much distance as possible from the creatures that were holding him. Before one could advance on the escaping child, another gunshot rang out and pierced Asher's attacker. The shot was a bulls eye to the thing's brain, giving it no room to scream as it fell from the wound. The leader of the mutations let out a gurgling war cry, but the mutations holding Cyrus wanted none of it, and released him quickly before scattering back into the wasteland. Cyrus confused, and bruised stumbled away from his captors, and watched as three more gunshots rang out, felling the leader and his cowardly minions.
"Cyrus!" Asher cried, trembling as he tried to make it over to his brother. Cyrus wasted no time running over to Asher, kneeling down over her and looking around. There was no one near with a gun, and this only confused Cyrus.
"Shh..." Cyrus tried to sooth his brother, waiting for a bullet to pierce one of them. Instead voice called out for their attention. It was deep, gruff, and when Cyrus looked up he matched the voice to a tall burly man, golden pistol in hand. Cyrus frowned, the heat blurring his vision. He was getting thirsty.
"What do you want?" He asked sharply and the man only smiled.
"Now is that any way to thank someone who just saved your life?" He asked and then shrugged. "Well I didn't, but my man Alan did." He motioned to a hill several meters away where Asher and Cyrus could just make out the black blip that must've been Alan. Cyrus wasn't convinced however and stood his ground.
"Who are you?" He asked.
"I'm a friend, so calm down champ." He replied. "My name's John Wesker, and it is your lucky day kids." He holstered his weapon as he spoke, while the two boys merely stared at him. Cyrus had a distrustful, wary expression, but Asher seemed completely dumbfounded at this man's candid attitude.
"Will you help us?" Asher began, but Cyrus scowled at him, and cut off what ever else his little brother was about to say.
"Why did you save us? What do you want?" The man only frowned a bit and motioned towards the backpacks and weapons scattered around behind them.
"Only to help, now get your things and follow me." He told them. Cyrus was practically appalled by this man's assumption that they would just follow him, a stranger with a gun no less, into the wasteland, but Asher had other things in mind. He immediately broke away from Cyrus's protection and scrambled up on his feet before heading off to get his backpack.
"Asher, what are you doing?" Cyrus asked angrily, standing up and turning slightly.
"We should go with him Cy." Asher replied hauling his bag onto his back and dragging Cyrus's much heavier backpack towards his older brother. Cyrus crossed his arm, steadfast and stubborn in his decision not to trust this man.
"We're not going with him." He told his brother who only frowned at him.
"That's stupid. He can help us find the Sanctuary. Remember? That old guy about a year ago was talking about it." Asher explained. Cyrus did remember that man. He'd told them specifically of a Sanctuary for surviving humans built before the bombs dropped more than 200 years ago. He'd be lying if he hadn't considered that a place to look for, but common sense told him that even if it did exist, there is no way it would still be around after all this time.
"That's not enough to just go running off with someone who took down 5 mutations. We don't stand a chance." Cyrus argued, but Asher only shook his head and he handed Cyrus their dad's old machete.
"What choice do we have? We'd be dead already if he really intended to kill us, brother." Was Asher's reply. The old man behind them had waited long enough, and stepped up causing Cyrus to tense and clutch his machete defensively. John didn't pay any attention to him however.
"I'm not waiting for you old maids to get yer s**t together." He told them. "Come on if yer comin'." With that said, John turned on heel and headed back towards the hill that Alana had been on. Cyrus couldn't see the black dot anymore, and this only made him more uncomfortable, searching the horizon for the sniper.
"Yea! C'mon Cy!" Asher exclaimed, almost happy at the idea of having more people around. He'd never really known anyone but his mom, dad, and brother, or the occasional traveler, and he was pretty excited to know about the man's interesting gun. Asher passed Cyrus by, and because he felt he had no other choice, the boy followed his little brother and the strange John Wesker.
As they walked, Cyrus keeping pace with his brother, although hesitant as his brother gained on Wesker, trying to walk beside the older male. They walked for a full 10 minutes while Cyrus scanned the horizon in front of them, seeing nothing ahead that could possibly be a destination.
"Where are we going?" He finally asked warily, trying to find this 'Alan' as well in the distance. The sniper was no where to be found.
"We're headed to my camp. It's not too far from here, probably just another several minutes." John replied. Cyrus looked him up and down from behind, taking note of his dirty worn cowboy boots, and the folds of clothing that looked like they were made out of leather. His hat was wide brimmed and tall, keeping the sun off of his face efficiently. It was Asher's turn to poke a question at their rescuer.
"That's a cool gun, Sir!" He said exuberantly finally making his way about a foot in front of John and turning around to walk slightly backwards, keeping pace with the man. Cyrus only furrowed his eyebrows at this, almost jealous of the happiness Asher was exhibiting because of John. "Where did you get it?"
John Wesker laughed at the kid's behavior and put his hand on the butt of his gun, but kept the weapon in it's holster. "This here is Jenna. Made her mah-self." He responded proudly. "She's an Old Vic Particle Beam Aether Pistol." Both brothers could even swear he glanced down slightly to admire the weapon even with his large hand covering it.
"Oh, that's cool!" Asher replied, falling back into normal step slightly behind the man. He was extremely awed, but didn't have much else to ask - although one question did come to mind. Could he hold it? - But he was too nervous to ask that. The man intimidated Asher as much as he impressed the boy. Cyrus followed behind, keeping pace a few feet behind Asher, with nothing much more than a moody scowl on his face.
John had been correct about the time it would take them to get to his 'camp'. The brothers could see just 8 minutes out the rise and fall of small buildings and tent-like structures surrounded by glimmering silver walls. The cam was made up of mere silhouettes for much of the walk, but soon after the details started to appear. Asher finally settled back nervously next to his brother as they came upon the camp which had tall metal walls rising up around the entire perimeter. A few people were stationed on top of the walls looking down with odd looking mounted guns, which glinted bronze in the harsh sunlight. Cyrus resisted taking off his goggles to get a better look, knowing better at this time of day.
"Hey there John!" One of the men called down, the gates already opening to let them in. John waved up to them with a grin.
"Hey, I brought company!" John called back up, with a full burly armed wave of his own.
Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2015 3:16 am
~ Chapter 2 ~ (Also maybe)
Once inside the camp the two brothers were floored. There had to be at least a population of 50 people if not more in here. The buildings were small to medium in general height terms, and looked as if they could be packed up and taken on the go if needed. There were many gadgets that neither of them had ever seen either...
((Ugh... just if you're reading along... give me minute. Will finish Chapter 2 when I have just a bit more time and ambition.))
