A Fan Fic excerpt: The California Golgotha
Posted: Wed Jul 11, 2007 4:55 am
Hey, this is an excerpt from a short Fallout-based fan fic I'm currently working on in my spare time. I know it's not a whole lot, but I was wondering what you think, or if you're interested in me releasing some more of it.
***
...I’ve rehearsed the movement countless times, but now I’m feeling blindly on my hip for it, fumbling for it, fighting with the latch on the leather retaining strap until it finally breaks free with a subtle pop. I yank the .44 revolver out and feel its reassuring weight in my hands as I train it on the figure, waiting with paranoid intensity for something�anything�to happen. Seconds pass into the realm of an eternity as nothing happens.
“Hey, pal, we’re with the Brotherhood, so I’d advise you to quit playing dumb before I put some more insurance in you," Church barks from behind the relative safety of his shotgun.
No response issues from the stranger and with a hopeless sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I think, it's a goddamned Mexican stand off.
I quickly glance over my shoulder at Church as if searching for some sort of guidance, but find only its glorious absence.
We take several small, hesitant steps in the figure’s direction.
“You hear me, motherfucker?�
Still nothing. The wind breathes hot and heavy across the back of my neck, turning beads of sweat into an electric cold.
My fingertip dances along the handgun’s trigger, once ridged but now worn smooth after eons of use and abuse. The gun begs to be used. For a moment, I consider putting all six rounds into the man like Church had been saying: Insurance. When staring down the eyes of the unknown, it’s strange how fear can single-handedly drive you to mindless, visceral, violence. It makes you charge blindly into the maw of that impossible beast, firing wildly, squeezing the trigger over and over�even after the gun clicks down on empty. More people get killed by doing this than from freezing, putting on a stupid face, and doing absolutely nothing.
And so, without so much as a parting gift, the overwhelming urge passes.
I can feel Church periodically looking at me out of his peripheral. He inches forward as reluctantly as I do. Except he’s shouldering a Mossberg 590 riotgun, fully-loaded with a homemade blend of 12-gauge buckshot and robust metal shavings.
I hear him quietly breathe, “I don’t like this at all.�
I suddenly feel naked and exposed. It’s the sensation of being watched. I spin around, checking behind us and finding nothing. I scan the rooftops. Nobody. My eyes drop down to the windows, smashed out years ago and now only gaping mouths of jagged glass teeth and darkness.
“You’re not the only one,� I reply...
***
The story follows the experiences of two Brotherhood soldiers. One is a young and relatively inexperienced initiate with fears of failing those he has come to depend on most. The other is a grizzled veteran who has become jaded by a job that--for him--has become less of a noble calling and more like a meaningless life of violence.
Yet what begins as a simple training assignment quickly encroaches on the downright bizarre as the two find themselves knee deep in one of the Wasteland's biggest secrets: The California Golgotha.
Any input on this would be greatly appreciated!
***
...I’ve rehearsed the movement countless times, but now I’m feeling blindly on my hip for it, fumbling for it, fighting with the latch on the leather retaining strap until it finally breaks free with a subtle pop. I yank the .44 revolver out and feel its reassuring weight in my hands as I train it on the figure, waiting with paranoid intensity for something�anything�to happen. Seconds pass into the realm of an eternity as nothing happens.
“Hey, pal, we’re with the Brotherhood, so I’d advise you to quit playing dumb before I put some more insurance in you," Church barks from behind the relative safety of his shotgun.
No response issues from the stranger and with a hopeless sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I think, it's a goddamned Mexican stand off.
I quickly glance over my shoulder at Church as if searching for some sort of guidance, but find only its glorious absence.
We take several small, hesitant steps in the figure’s direction.
“You hear me, motherfucker?�
Still nothing. The wind breathes hot and heavy across the back of my neck, turning beads of sweat into an electric cold.
My fingertip dances along the handgun’s trigger, once ridged but now worn smooth after eons of use and abuse. The gun begs to be used. For a moment, I consider putting all six rounds into the man like Church had been saying: Insurance. When staring down the eyes of the unknown, it’s strange how fear can single-handedly drive you to mindless, visceral, violence. It makes you charge blindly into the maw of that impossible beast, firing wildly, squeezing the trigger over and over�even after the gun clicks down on empty. More people get killed by doing this than from freezing, putting on a stupid face, and doing absolutely nothing.
And so, without so much as a parting gift, the overwhelming urge passes.
I can feel Church periodically looking at me out of his peripheral. He inches forward as reluctantly as I do. Except he’s shouldering a Mossberg 590 riotgun, fully-loaded with a homemade blend of 12-gauge buckshot and robust metal shavings.
I hear him quietly breathe, “I don’t like this at all.�
I suddenly feel naked and exposed. It’s the sensation of being watched. I spin around, checking behind us and finding nothing. I scan the rooftops. Nobody. My eyes drop down to the windows, smashed out years ago and now only gaping mouths of jagged glass teeth and darkness.
“You’re not the only one,� I reply...
***
The story follows the experiences of two Brotherhood soldiers. One is a young and relatively inexperienced initiate with fears of failing those he has come to depend on most. The other is a grizzled veteran who has become jaded by a job that--for him--has become less of a noble calling and more like a meaningless life of violence.
Yet what begins as a simple training assignment quickly encroaches on the downright bizarre as the two find themselves knee deep in one of the Wasteland's biggest secrets: The California Golgotha.
Any input on this would be greatly appreciated!
