Post by thatfallout3guy on May 2, 2012 19:21:19 GMT -5
Chapter One
The Land of Death
'It'll be fun, they said. You'll be done before you know it, they said. You need to figure out your worth somehow, they said.' These were the thoughts of the boy that sat alone in the corner of a small transportation vessel, heading through the vast vacuum of space to an unknown destination. He was young, only twenty years of age. His face was clean shaven, and had a smooth, personified innocence. His hair was neatly kept and short, with his bangs not even reaching his brown eyes. It had a dark black color.
Looking around the ship didn't do much to help his mind clear. It was small, and cramped, barely managing to hold the fifteen people that were placed into it, and no windows for them to see the empty nothingness that was space. They were all around the same age, having been sent on this trip for the same reason as the lone boy; to show their worth to their home, the Olympus.
They spoke all around him, but he couldn't hear them. His lack of interest drowned out their conversations. The boy leaned his head back and stared into the ceiling, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the small, dim light that illuminated the scene. Suddenly, an electronic "ding" was heard, and the boy jerked his attention to the intercom near the entrance to the transport vessel.
"Attention passengers of flight 101," a monotone voice, what sounded like a recording, spoke from the speaker above, "We will be entering the atmosphere of the planet Morterra and landing momentarily. Thank you for your patience." Sounds of excitement were heard from all passengers, save for the young boy that sat alone in the corner. He knew nothing about this Morterra place, nor did he care. He wanted to be back home, to be back on the Olympus.
The group had gathered their belongings from the small compartments above their seats, and eagerly awaited the opening of the main doors in order to into this new land they had been placed on. All but that one young man, of course. He still stood in the corner gathering his bags, purposefully taking as much time as he possibly could to avoid leaving this transport ship. 'Maybe it'll take me back if I waste enough time?' The thought was naive, and was most-likely selfish of him to even consider something like that, but it was simply in his nature.
With the sound of air hissing, and steel grinding against steel, the door to the transport vessel slowly began to open, and light started to trickle in onto the faces of the eager young passengers. The boy hadn’t managed to waste enough time, however. Instead of procrastinating any further, he simply grabbed his bag and dragged himself to the back of the group, anticipating the view that was soon to greet them.
The door slowly, but surely slid open completely. The bright light that greeted them was blinding, delaying them the sight of their new surroundings for a few more moments. Finally, as their eyes adjusted, they saw... nothing. A vast, empty, dead wasteland was displayed before them. An eerie brown shade of dirt, dead trees and other forms of dead plants, and the occasional pile of rubble and ruin stretched before them as far as the group could see. Their faces turned from expressions of eagerness and excitement, to those of confusion and disappointment. They gradually began whispering among themselves as to what was going on, before they were interrupted by a loud, sharp whistle.
A man at the front of the group stood with two fingers in his mouth. He was fairly plain like most of the others, his hair blonde and his face full of excitement. He removed his fingers from his mouth, and grinned.
“Now, come on! Did we really come all this way to be dissuaded by our first impressions? Sure it’s not a spa, or some grand vacation destination, but we can make do! They gave us all enough food to last a week or so, and we can set up shelter until we find civilization! We just gotta keep our spirits up gang!” He exclaimed in an overly cheerful tone. ‘Of course there’s going to be an optimistic leader. Does this mean I’m stuck with the role of the cynical one of the group?’ The lone young man thought to himself. The cheers and faces of agreement of all the other passengers gave him his answer.
The man up took a step forward, placing his foot onto the ground. Thankfully the ground wasn‘t as hostile as it looked. After not being swallowed whole, or turned to dust by the sun, he determined that it was safe, and exited the transport ship. The others in the group began to do the same.
The leader raised his hand to help block the sun as he motioned for the others to follow him. Looking around to scan the area, he was met with much of the same thing. More dirt, more dead plants, and more desolate, barren wasteland. Finally looking to the left of the ship however, he saw something that piqued his interest. A group of silhouettes marched towards them, too far away for the group to make out any features, or anything similar. The leader rose his arms into the air, as if greeting the group, "Greetings, inhabitants of Morterra! We come in peace to your planet! We come to spread the glory of the Terran Starship Command!" He exclaimed in an over enthusiastic tone as he grinned to greet the new arrivals. His greeting was met with a single "bang". The leader's body suddenly fell limp to the ground, blood trickling from the fresh bullet wound in his head.
The rest of the group stared, paralyzed by the horror of seeing their leader drop before them. The young man was all but paralyzed, however. He bolted back into the ship, running to the far end, and cowering in fear. He pressed his hands over his ears, but that didn't help to drown out the noise. From outside, he could hear automatic gun fire, followed by the screams of agony. He tried drowning them out, pressing harder and harder against his ears with both hands in a vain attempt to ignore it, trying desperately to get his mind off of what was going outside. Their screams, the gunfire, the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach that he was going to die, they were all he cared about. After a moment of frantic thinking, he finally noticed something. The gunfire had stopped, and a chilling silence hung in the air. He didn't know how to react. Should he investigate? Should he just wait? Should h- "You alright, kid?" A rough older voice asked, coming from the entrance to the ship.
The boy sat there, frozen in fear from the voice that echoed through the small ship and into his ears. Hearing a sigh, the boy slowly turned his head, and saw a man standing in the doorway slowly fading into view. Because of the lighting, the boy was only able to make out a basic silhouette. The man stood at around 6’4, and wore a sort of cowboy hat. At his side was a curved blade with several holes placed where the blade curve near the pointed tip, stretching to around only two feet, and dripping with what the boy assumed was blood.
“They didn’t cut your tongue out, did they?” The man asked in a tone that was half serious, half joking.
The boy simply shook his head from side to side, “N-no. They never came back inside the ship...”
“Good. I got ‘em all then. Name’s Malcolm, by the way.” The old man responded, taking a more easy, and friendly tone.
The boy opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself just short of saying his own name. He despised his name. He had tried to change it before, but he had never been given the chance. One word popped into his head almost immediately, something he had heard in class long ago that seemed to fit the situation almost perfectly.
“Fallout,” the boy replied, “My name is Fallout.” Malcolm let out a small laugh.
“Not a name you hear everyday, I’ll give your folks that.” Malcolm said as he sheathed his blade into a holster on his side. He signaled Fallout to come closer with a quick hand gesture before he spoke again. “Come on, kid. I’ll get you somewhere safe. You might wanna shut your eyes though, I’m sure you don’t wanna see your friends like this.”
Friends? They weren’t his friends. He barely knew these people, but he didn’t care enough to point that out. He only cared about getting to wherever this Malcolm person was going to take him. Where was this place? Would it even be safe? ‘He might just be living in a shack in the middle of nowhere. At least this ship has a steel door...’ Fallout thought to himself.
“You coming or not, kid?" Malcolm asked, somewhat impatiently with his tone of voice, "Town‘s a hell of a lot safer than this ship.”
Snapping back to reality, Fallout shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “Right, sorry. I have a lot on my mind right now,” he responded apologetically before standing and rushing over to Malcolm’s side, shutting his eyes before he could get a better look at the man. Suddenly, he felt his hand being grabbed, then released as it now rested on Malcolm’s shoulder.
He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know who Malcolm was, or even his intentions. There was something that hung on Fallout’s mind as they began to walk however. He couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t dead. Maybe he was special or something? There had to be some reason he didn’t end up like the rest of those kids.
Right?
