Northern Fringe

[CrazyNick]

okay so here it goes. Full of speeling mistakes and gramtical errors.

this takes place on the west coast between Washington and B.C.
It is just an experiment for me

The rain is just starting. It's begging as a light sprinkle will turn to a harsher storm in only hours. In the past, these would have been welcome. Now they are just another source for concern. The tainted seas make acid rain that only the plants seem to be able to ressist. Not finding or making shelter in a storm is like suicide, just slower. It's easy to reason why the plants adapted to the rain so quickly. The west coast has always been a wet area, and the devestation only made things worse.

The sun breaks through the ominous clouds and a hand carefully removes a bark door from a house carved directly into a large tree. "Hey Rick!", you yell to your best friend also emerging from his wooden prision across a large boardwalk, "what did you say these trees used to be called?""Fir trees dumbass. I've told you a dozen times or more. You learned the rules in only a day, why does it take so long for you to remeber one name?", he retorts. You scratch yourself and stretch out all the creaks from the cramped room. "Funny, the don't look hairy to me. And they don't make you do a Rain Patrol if you recite the name of your tree incorrectly." ,you say as Rick joins you for your morning jog around the complex. The air has a acidic tase as the rain evaporates. The scientist's say that the soil pH level became more basic so that when the acid rain began, the plants had no trouble accepting the sudden change. As you and Rick round the 3k marker a Klaxxon begins to Sound. "All Beta And Foxtrot personel report to deffensive staions immediately. Hostile mechanized units detected", The disambodied voice calmly states. "Shit that makes it an even 10 for this month alone. Don't these robots ever learn that this forest is 'haunted'" ,you fume. "Bah!", Rick spits out, "that Mumbo Jumbo only works for the remaining civilians and tribals. These robots can't change what they do." Well at least we get sniper practice you think to yourself. And It looked like such a nice morning.


You feel your neck burning, a small burning that gets worse with each passing drop that falls. You awake with a start and reach for you canteen to wash off your neck. Stopping in the nic of time you remeber the basic training given to recruits and rub a patch of dry dirt on your neck. The pain recedes but as it does your memory does not come back. Questions fill your mind increassing in frequency and urgency. Who am I?, Where am I?, What is this i'm wearing? How did I know that water would make the acid worse? What basic training did I get? The fear rises in your throat like bile and you start to panic. "Calm down", you reassure yourself, "I need to stop and think." But what good will thinking do when you can't think of anything. The loop goes around in your mind untill something foreign creeps in on the edge of your mind.

You take a seat on a log under a leafy canopy as you acess this new memory. I'm part of an army. We are rivals of the Brotherhood (whoever they are) and the government of Canada (is this where I am?) put us in charge of leading a army to do long range recon with the west coast when communtications broke down. We took over the forest that was growing over a city once known as Vancouver. Our regiment had become seperated in a large rockslide crossing a range of mountians known as the "Rockies" We are believed to be the only survivors. We had been recruiting from the local populous to make ourr journey back when we were sieged by waves of robot attacks. And not those pansy Mr.Handy bots that we took out with sledge hammer's, but combat robots, expertly equiped.

"I have to find Rick!" a part of your mind screams. but the rational part of your mind wonders "who is Rick?" It hits you like a super sledge. "FUCK FUCK FUCK! those damn robots ambushed us. Those sneaky bastards do learn!" you yell to yourself. With a start you get up and head back in the direction of Comand. The familiar sites trigger new memories to come back one after the other. As you rush by you home you skid to a stop. A torrent of memories comes rushing back to you. A quick detour brings you back to your house and you rifle through your meager possestions. "A HA!" you exclaim to nobody in particular. The object you cradle in your hands is presious indeed. A Plasma Pistol. Banned by command because they didn't want the technology getting into the whrong hands you had sneaked it along for hunferds of kilometers in the bootom of your pack with 4 extra clips.

The Comand center is mostly ruble when you get there. Large tanklike bots little the area mingled with soldier and robot corpses alike. You venture inside the shell of the building for Rick was a Weapons technician in charge of maintaining and designing guns. you rush to his sector only to find it largely undamaged. A vice grips your leg and you jump and bring your weapon to bear on - a bearly alive tech. He looks into your eyes and starts to explain what went down. "They took everything and everyone sir! *hack* Ug, Anyone who put up a fight was shot. *gasp* they just grazed me sir I'll be fine......" You examine his chest to find a hole where his liver should be. The wound auterized and stopped bleeding but he had seconds left. "Did they take Rick?, you question. The tech nods weakly, "they are taking hime to the island...." he gasps out. "What island? they're hundreds of them along the coast!" you shout. the tech grabsd your shoulder and proclaims, "not a island, THE island" and promply dies. You lay him gently on the floor and as you get up you feel the cold, unforgiving, metal barrel of a gun at the back of your head


Part 1 of 5(?)

[Ghetto Goose]

I made it to "speeling mistakes," then stopped reading. Fix it first.

[CrazyNick]

that was intentional. Joke having a typo of spelling. Ha ha. no?

[CrazyNick]

Fixed Version

The rain is just starting. It's begging as a light sprinkle will turn to a harsher storm in only hours. In the past, these would have been welcome. Now they are just another source for concern. The tainted seas make acid rain that only the plants seem to be able to ressist. Not finding or making shelter in a storm is like suicide, just slower. It's easy to reason why the plants adapted to the rain so quickly. The west coast has always been a wet area, and the devastation only made things worse.

The sun breaks through the ominous clouds and a hand carefully removes a bark door from a house carved directly into a large tree. "Hey Rick!� you yell to your best friend also emerging from his wooden prison across a large boardwalk, "What did you say these trees used to be called?� “Fir trees dumbass. I've told you a dozen times or more. You learned the rules in only a day, why does it take so long for you to remember one name?� he retorts. You scratch yourself and stretch out all the creaks from the cramped room. "Funny, they don't look hairy to me. And they don't make you do a Rain Patrol if you recite the name of your tree incorrectly.� you say as Rick joins you for your morning jog around the complex. The air has a acidic taste as the rain evaporates. The scientist's say that the soil pH level became more basic so that when the acid rain began, the plants had no trouble accepting the sudden change. As you and Rick round the 3k marker a Klaxon begins to Sound. "All Beta and Foxtrot personnel report to defensive stations immediately. Hostile mechanized units detected", the disembodied voice calmly states. "Shit that makes it an even 10 for this month alone. Don't these robots ever learn that this forest is 'haunted'“, you fume? "Bah!� Rick spits out, "that Mumbo Jumbo only works for the remaining civilians and tribal. These robots can't change what they do." Well at least we get sniper practice you think to yourself. And it looked like such a nice morning.


You feel your neck burning, a small burning that gets worse with each passing drop that falls. You awake with a start and reach for you canteen to wash off your neck. Stopping in the nick of time you remember the basic training given to recruits and rub a patch of dry dirt on your neck. The pain recedes but as it does your memory does not come back. Questions fill your mind increasing in frequency and urgency. Who am I, Where am I? What is this I’m wearing? How did I know that water would make the acid worse? What basic training did I get? The fear rises in your throat like bile and you start to panic. "Calm down", you reassure yourself, "I need to stop and think." But what good will thinking do when you can't think of anything. The loop goes around in your mind until something foreign creeps in on the edge of your mind.

You take a seat on a log under a leafy canopy as you access this new memory. I'm part of an army. We are rivals of the Brotherhood (whoever they are) and the government of Canada (is this where I am?) put us in charge of leading a army to do long range recon with the west coast when communications broke down. We took over the forest that was growing over a city once known as Vancouver. Our regiment had become separated in a large rockslide crossing a range of mountains known as the "Rockies" We are believed to be the only survivors. We had been recruiting from the local populous to make our journey back when we were sieged by waves of robot attacks. And not those pansy Mr. Handy bots that we took out with sledge hammers, but combat robots, expertly equipped.

"I have to find Rick!" a part of your mind screams. but the rational part of your mind wonders "who is Rick?" It hits you like a super sledge. "FUCK FUCK FUCK! Those damn robots ambushed us. Those sneaky bastards do learn!" you yell to yourself. With a start you get up and head back in the direction of Command. The familiar sites trigger new memories to come back one after the other. As you rush by you home you skid to a stop. A torrent of memories comes rushing back to you. A quick detour brings you back to your house and you rifle through your meager possessions. "A HA!" you exclaim to nobody in particular. The object you cradle in your hands is precious indeed. A Plasma Pistol. Banned by command because they didn't want the technology getting into the wrong hands you had sneaked it along for hundreds of kilometers in the bottom of your pack with 4 extra clips.

The Command center is mostly ruble when you get there. Large tank like bots little the area mingled with soldier and robot corpses alike. You venture inside the shell of the building for Rick was a Weapons technician in charge of maintaining and designing guns. you rush to his sector only to find it largely undamaged. A vice grips your leg and you jump and bring your weapon to bear on - a barely alive tech. He looks into your eyes and starts to explain what went down. "They took everything and everyone sir! *hack* Ug, Anyone who put up a fight was shot. *gasp* they just grazed me sir I'll be fine......" You examine his chest to find a hole where his liver should be. The wound cauterized and stopped bleeding but he had seconds left. "Did they take Rick?� You question. The tech nods weakly, "they are taking him to the island...." he gasps out.�What island? They’re hundreds of them along the coast!" you shout. The tech grabs your shoulder and proclaims, "Not an island, THE Island" and promptly dies. You lay him gently on the floor and as you get up you feel the cold, unforgiving, metal barrel of a gun at the back of your head

[CrazyNick]

Fixed Version

The rain is just starting. It's begging as a light sprinkle will turn to a harsher storm in only hours. In the past, these would have been welcome. Now they are just another source for concern. The tainted seas make acid rain that only the plants seem to be able to ressist. Not finding or making shelter in a storm is like suicide, just slower. It's easy to reason why the plants adapted to the rain so quickly. The west coast has always been a wet area, and the devastation only made things worse.

The sun breaks through the ominous clouds and a hand carefully removes a bark door from a house carved directly into a large tree. "Hey Rick!� you yell to your best friend also emerging from his wooden prison across a large boardwalk, "What did you say these trees used to be called?� “Fir trees dumbass. I've told you a dozen times or more. You learned the rules in only a day, why does it take so long for you to remember one name?� he retorts. You scratch yourself and stretch out all the creaks from the cramped room. "Funny, they don't look hairy to me. And they don't make you do a Rain Patrol if you recite the name of your tree incorrectly.� you say as Rick joins you for your morning jog around the complex. The air has a acidic taste as the rain evaporates. The scientist's say that the soil pH level became more basic so that when the acid rain began, the plants had no trouble accepting the sudden change. As you and Rick round the 3k marker a Klaxon begins to Sound. "All Beta and Foxtrot personnel report to defensive stations immediately. Hostile mechanized units detected", the disembodied voice calmly states. "Shit that makes it an even 10 for this month alone. Don't these robots ever learn that this forest is 'haunted'“, you fume? "Bah!� Rick spits out, "that Mumbo Jumbo only works for the remaining civilians and tribal. These robots can't change what they do." Well at least we get sniper practice you think to yourself. And it looked like such a nice morning.


You feel your neck burning, a small burning that gets worse with each passing drop that falls. You awake with a start and reach for you canteen to wash off your neck. Stopping in the nick of time you remember the basic training given to recruits and rub a patch of dry dirt on your neck. The pain recedes but as it does your memory does not come back. Questions fill your mind increasing in frequency and urgency. Who am I, Where am I? What is this I’m wearing? How did I know that water would make the acid worse? What basic training did I get? The fear rises in your throat like bile and you start to panic. "Calm down", you reassure yourself, "I need to stop and think." But what good will thinking do when you can't think of anything. The loop goes around in your mind until something foreign creeps in on the edge of your mind.

You take a seat on a log under a leafy canopy as you access this new memory. I'm part of an army. We are rivals of the Brotherhood (whoever they are) and the government of Canada (is this where I am?) put us in charge of leading a army to do long range recon with the west coast when communications broke down. We took over the forest that was growing over a city once known as Vancouver. Our regiment had become separated in a large rockslide crossing a range of mountains known as the "Rockies" We are believed to be the only survivors. We had been recruiting from the local populous to make our journey back when we were sieged by waves of robot attacks. And not those pansy Mr. Handy bots that we took out with sledge hammers, but combat robots, expertly equipped.

"I have to find Rick!" a part of your mind screams. but the rational part of your mind wonders "who is Rick?" It hits you like a super sledge. "FUCK FUCK FUCK! Those damn robots ambushed us. Those sneaky bastards do learn!" you yell to yourself. With a start you get up and head back in the direction of Command. The familiar sites trigger new memories to come back one after the other. As you rush by you home you skid to a stop. A torrent of memories comes rushing back to you. A quick detour brings you back to your house and you rifle through your meager possessions. "A HA!" you exclaim to nobody in particular. The object you cradle in your hands is precious indeed. A Plasma Pistol. Banned by command because they didn't want the technology getting into the wrong hands you had sneaked it along for hundreds of kilometers in the bottom of your pack with 4 extra clips.

The Command center is mostly ruble when you get there. Large tank like bots little the area mingled with soldier and robot corpses alike. You venture inside the shell of the building for Rick was a Weapons technician in charge of maintaining and designing guns. you rush to his sector only to find it largely undamaged. A vice grips your leg and you jump and bring your weapon to bear on - a barely alive tech. He looks into your eyes and starts to explain what went down. "They took everything and everyone sir! *hack* Ug, Anyone who put up a fight was shot. *gasp* they just grazed me sir I'll be fine......" You examine his chest to find a hole where his liver should be. The wound cauterized and stopped bleeding but he had seconds left. "Did they take Rick?� You question. The tech nods weakly, "they are taking him to the island...." he gasps out.�What island? They’re hundreds of them along the coast!" you shout. The tech grabs your shoulder and proclaims, "Not an island, THE Island" and promptly dies. You lay him gently on the floor and as you get up you feel the cold, unforgiving, metal barrel of a gun at the back of your head

Reson for so many typo's - Fingers numb from cold

[vendetta]

The scientist's say that the soil pH level became more basic so that when the acid rain began, the plants had no trouble accepting the sudden change.

Interesting, but unfortunately impossible in reality. Neutralisation of acid/bases is not really reliable in the real life. Lots of factors involved, so not that easy to be done.

I'm part of an army. [. . .] The government of Canada (is this where I am?) put us in charge of leading a army

What army?

Reason for so many typos' - Fingers numb from cold

Anyway, I think you do have some good writting skills, I've managed reading it through without stopping... Keep it up.

[CrazyNick]

thx vendeta. I haven't named the army for two reasons. 1) Keeps the readers in suspense 2) Any name/acronym I come up sounnds dumb. Ya after reading that tree part I remebered Chem 10. Acid + Base= nutral solution + salt, so therfore all the plants would die cause salt kills plants. It made sense to me at the time. So in explanation they are MUTANT TREES!

[Ghetto Goose]

You might want to fix it again.




So it doesn't suck so much.

[Megatron]

Put something in about a giant cloud rolling towards a bunker and somebody shooting a minigun at it while screaming.

[CrazyNick]

Part 2 of 5(?)

You hear the gun cock and close your eyes for the inevitable. You see red for a split second as the gun whacks you on the top of your head. “Ah son of a BITCH!� you yelp in pain. As you turn towards you assailant you freeze. You’re Regiments C.O. You almost hoped for a robot. At nearly seven feet tall and around pounds of 250 pounds of muscle many people believed he had been art of a branch of the FEV experiments taken from American bunkers. He was a real hardass through and through. “What the fuck is that weapon soldier? All forms of energy weapons have been prohibited! I ought to kill you myself but since your one of the lucky survivors I think you could come in handy as a meat shield.� he barks at you. He slowly, almost regretfully lowers the Desert Eagle Mk.13 from your head. A weapon powerful enough to get trough even power amour at close range, you wouldn’t have anything left of your head had he fired. He looks at you and slyly says, “Tell you what maggot. You give me that gun and I’ll let you live.� You immediately hand over your pistol, grip first. “What did you mean lucky?� you question. But you already know the answer. “BAH� he snorts, “I should say that you were the only lucky one besides me. Here you might need this, and be careful with it. It pucks one hell of a kick.� And hands you his palm sized cannon. He starts waling away and you have to race to catch up. You head to what’s left of the armory and the C.O leads you to a metal clad door set into the stone floor. He brushes off the dust and rumble and puts his palm into the reader. He leads you into the restricted area. The C.O swift and purposeful strides fill you with dreads. You know he has practiced for this for a long time. “SIR! What are our objectives?�
“What’s that shithead?
“SIR, what is our current and future objective SIR!�
“Now, stay alive. Later, kill all those fuckers� And with that the C.O walks to another door. After a voice check you’re leaded to a locked elevator which requires a palm scan, retinal scan, voice check, and DNA sample. After this you are subjected to the fastest downwards elevator ride in the history of mankind.
After a sudden stop hundreds of meters down a concrete shaft you both exit the left and step into a well lit white room. You nearly faint from surprise. In this white room there a rows upon rows of weapon racks lined with everything from covert action silenced Walther PP7’s to H&K 50. cal miniguns and tons of munitions for all. After these lay rows of armor racks with fully optimized Power Armor and Combat Armor.
In the back are Prototype arms and armors such as a CD/Vinyl launcher, cloaking devices and energy shields. The C.O laughs at your amazement and invites you to take what pleases you and throws you a combat travel backpack. You leap into action with abandon taking a rare Desert Eagle Mk. 19 experimental, a 50 cal sniper rifle (meant for taking out enemy vehicles), two Colt Super .38’s a M19 assault rifle, a dozen plasma, frag, and EMP grenades, and a sawed off Remington Range-master classic for intimidation. As you riffle through several racks of armor to replace your battered combat jacket you stumble upon something special. The report of this unique armor is on the door and it reads as such,

The new Burthen Advanced Stealth and Tactics Recon Armor or ASTRA for shot in nothing less then incredible. Its protection of advanced polymers and treated nano-fibers allow for complete body coverage with no areas under guarded. The nano technology allows for wounds that do get to the wearer to be healed 20 times faster than normal and reduces anything less than major trauma to but a scratch. Its electro fiber outer layer allows for a chameleon type camouflage the makes the wearer all but invisible to the naked eye. The special fibers can repair themselves and the only thing that can damage the suits ability to function is the disruption or destruction of the control center which is implanted within the body of the wearer. This brings us to the major drawback of mass producing this suit. Major surgery is required to get the control center and output nerves implant within the body of the wearer. This process is dangerous and the survival rate of the volunteers was only 64%.

At the reading of the last sentence you feel almost heartbroken but you read on.

The Suit has another capability besides protection. Its ability to increase the survival rate of the wearer by almost 400% in areas with nearly no food or water by use of recycling systems in the suit make it even more depressing to axe. This Armor will never see it into full combat use. The only possible options for this armor is a museum, or for special army covert operations in desert of jungle environments.
Signed By General Grant Evious

Seeing as the suit is light for its abilities you stuff it in you pack and make your way to the power armor, perhaps later you’ll find a doctor crazy of good enough to perform the surgery listed within. The C.O looks over your shoulder and shakes his head.
“You every think you’ll be able to wear that shit your wrong� he says as he starts to equip he personalized power armor.
“Might find a good doc. The details for the surgery are in the diagram of how to put on the armor.�
“Ha likely the doc will kill ya�
“From what I read the suit is worth the risk�
The C.O just laughs and plunks the custom helmet on his head. An image of a wolf’s maw had been cunningly etched and painted onto the helmet making it quite fearsome.
“Before you ask I’m gonna tell. This outpost was constructed long ago, most likely prewar. The previous army sent here to command the west coast of the old provinces built most of what you see here now. They were much better equipped for than we were. These rooms are only known about by two dozen people and can only be accessed by less than half of them. They are our bunkers of equipment and information. I’ll show you something but only if you never mention this room to anyone as long as you live. Good.�
He leads you to a railing with a small control panel beside it. Over the railing is an inky blackness. The C.O flips a switch on the panel and you gasp in horror. Like some sort of twisted garden are crops of body’s in cyro tubes.
“These are all the people our government deemed necessary to continue the human race. They are set to awake in another hundred years or so when they believe most of the radiation will have gone and the world returned to what it was before the war. These bunkers will build everywhere, a subdivision of the great vaults that litter mountainsides. These repositories were built to store what they would need when they woke.�
You are lead back up to the fading light of the surface world. The C.O throws you a pair of night vision goggles. “Ya might need those in a bit. We’re gonna be walking through the night.�
“Why’s that?�
“More robots about.�

What will happen next? Will they stumble upon more robots? Will we finally learn the protagonist’s name? Will I finally name the army he’s in? Will I stop asking rhetorical questions? Find out on the next episode of Northern Fringe

[CrazyNick]

i'm getting tired of writing. If anyone wants I will finish up the series. The one i'm working on move's much faster than the last one. *shudder* like an episode of DBZ there. But i'm getting sick and losing all energy.

[Thor Kaufman]

keep on writing, then, it rocks

[CrazyNick]

I won't be posting next episode for a day or two. I've quarantined myself untill i'm no longer violently ill

[ApTyp]

Is he dead?

[vendetta]

I won't be posting next episode for a day or two. I've quarantined myself untill i'm no longer violently ill

I think he meant that he won't be posting again. It's an euphemism.

[Naked_Lunch]

4 8 15 16 23 42

[CrazyNick]

lies, propaganda. I'm back. No mere disease can stop me! the reason I haven't posted in a while is cause I just got over a pretty nasty case of Strep throaght, and I also got Indigo prophecy and Fable.

There is hope tho. The next part is about 75% done and is way better than the previous ones.

[ApTyp]

God have mercy on our souls!

[S4ur0n27]

You'd think at your age you'd have learned not to read the Fan Fictions.

[ApTyp]

Me?