The Fold
Posted: Thu Oct 24, 2002 6:42 am
BTW-this chapter is unfinished and most likely contains numerous gramatical errors. I just wanted to see wether it is remotely worthy of editing and completing.(EDIT) removed useless sentences-
THE Fold
by Valdis
CHAPTER 1
4:00 in the afternoon was a time of hassle, worry, haste and even fear for some of the people who took residence in the fairly large city of Titane. Many people felt hassled, worried, hasted and terrified in the city of Titane at 4:00 in the afternoon mainly because night time was the most dangerous time to be outside, and away from the safety of . The reasons for those feelings were simple: raiders enjoyed the cool temperature of night, and even more relished the cover that night's black, desolate shroud gave them. Many of the creatures that inhabited the wastelands enjoyed being able to travel without worrying about humans. You could probably guess that the people of Titane, in the westernmost edge of California, far away from such huge cities like that of Proves, Gilder, Crieanne and Gonder would have many superstitious beliefs that were more important to them than the rebirth of human innovation. These people had never heard of T15B powered armor, or SkyCranes, or Malkonis 345.21 Pistols or anything remotely similar to the type of technology that people of today would expect in 2159. They had vaguely heard of such things, and these were people that only believed what they saw(and when they saw it, ran from it).
"Normal" people would think of these people as fools, unfit to breathe the same air as them, let alone share the same land(which, unsurprisingly they did, being the desperately shabby people they were). Unfortunately, this trend of thought, of dismissing any of these "savage" people's warnings like they were rubbish, would be many of their undoing. It slowly became 4:01, and in a flash, they ceased to exist. It was 2079. It was afternoon. It was the end of the world. For them, at least. One thing everyone was surprised to see was a new star forming in California.
They died, of course. They met the lonely, bitter angry black void with not a feeling at all.
Surprisingly enough, only 80 years would pass before people would come out and wander across the twice-destroyed land of California with the same feeling that the people before them felt in their last moments. The feeling of utter lonliness. Of totally destroyed hope and of expectations of a desolate wasteland to live in. They would come out expecting to see the dead lands of a once-happy civilization. Somehow, their expectations would change drasticly, but not after many years of depression, hardship and death.
But this story has nothing to do with these people and their expectations, at least not in the supernatural aspect.
Chapter 2
The smell of sour milk, gasoline, fried eggs, crap and burning refuse combined greeted the senses of Jose Vasquez as he slowly forced himself up and out of "bed". Unfortunately for Jose(and the small rodents that lived with him), "bed" was a 70 year old rotten mattress, complete with a strange "green crud" and rusty springs. It was what Jose's friend Daniel would call a "miner's nightmare". Jose ambled towards a ruined desk, where most of his coins were stashed on top of. Jose never slept without his clothes on, for plausible fear of hepatitus, rabies and death. Jose pulled out a battered and beaten drawer out of the desk, throwing it across the room where it smashed into 17 pieces. Inside the desk was his hunting rifle(no label), ammo, canteen and sunglasses. And Jose was not called "Jose". He preferred to be called "Razor". And he wasn't Mexican, by the way.
He bashed the door clear off it's hinges, leaving it broken in the streets of Bander. Razor stowed his ammo in his pack, which he then put on his back. He reached in his pocket, took out a badge, and stuck it on his leather jacket. It said "WASTELAND RANGER__#29910"
The merciless sun hung in the sky with no clouds to block its penetrating rays. It was 12:01 pm. The smell of sour milk almost pushed him back as he smelled it a few seconds later. There was a sound of creaking wood, then 3 seconds later it became a sound of breaking wood. A minute later, Razor looked at the pile of decayed wood that was his home. Many rats scurried about, searching desperately for shelter. He walked off to the west, where there were the sounds of machinery and iron pounding iron.
It took Razor a few seconds to realize where he was. This would prove to be quite an effort, seing as he had the worst hangover in his life. He then remembered where he was, then remembered that his house had just fallen over. Then he realized he had patrol duty at Herling, a shit city 20 miles south. Then he realized that he had the worst hangover of his miserable life. Then he started walking east, where far down the streetways he saw the huge city gate. The gateway to hell. He saw that the gate was closed for some reason. Not only was it closed, but a huge, rusted-but-sturdy girder was in it's way. Razor looked to the northeast, where he saw that there was a huge black cloud forming above a fire that was burning the pub. Then he saw the empty vehicles of the Neighborhood Raider Clan(this is what the local raider guild was called). The owners of those vehicles were walking straight towards him, shooting peasants as they made their way towards him. Razor took out his hunting rifle, and aimed it at what he thought was a raider's head. He was wrong. The piercing arrow of death missed the raider's head, then hit one of the vehicle's tires, blowing the tire to hell. This made the raiders pissed off.
And as if Razor's day wasn't bad enough, he felt the cold end of a shotgun barrel on the back of his head.
This put Razor into a trance. Soon, all reality faded into glorious oblivion, all felling bleeded away into the swirling vortex of infinity as everything went black.
When Razor woke up tied to a metal pole that was located in a dark, smelly and humid room, Razor wondered what the hell was going on.
And it looked like the person tied up next to him was wondering the same thing.
T~B~C
THE Fold
by Valdis
CHAPTER 1
4:00 in the afternoon was a time of hassle, worry, haste and even fear for some of the people who took residence in the fairly large city of Titane. Many people felt hassled, worried, hasted and terrified in the city of Titane at 4:00 in the afternoon mainly because night time was the most dangerous time to be outside, and away from the safety of . The reasons for those feelings were simple: raiders enjoyed the cool temperature of night, and even more relished the cover that night's black, desolate shroud gave them. Many of the creatures that inhabited the wastelands enjoyed being able to travel without worrying about humans. You could probably guess that the people of Titane, in the westernmost edge of California, far away from such huge cities like that of Proves, Gilder, Crieanne and Gonder would have many superstitious beliefs that were more important to them than the rebirth of human innovation. These people had never heard of T15B powered armor, or SkyCranes, or Malkonis 345.21 Pistols or anything remotely similar to the type of technology that people of today would expect in 2159. They had vaguely heard of such things, and these were people that only believed what they saw(and when they saw it, ran from it).
"Normal" people would think of these people as fools, unfit to breathe the same air as them, let alone share the same land(which, unsurprisingly they did, being the desperately shabby people they were). Unfortunately, this trend of thought, of dismissing any of these "savage" people's warnings like they were rubbish, would be many of their undoing. It slowly became 4:01, and in a flash, they ceased to exist. It was 2079. It was afternoon. It was the end of the world. For them, at least. One thing everyone was surprised to see was a new star forming in California.
They died, of course. They met the lonely, bitter angry black void with not a feeling at all.
Surprisingly enough, only 80 years would pass before people would come out and wander across the twice-destroyed land of California with the same feeling that the people before them felt in their last moments. The feeling of utter lonliness. Of totally destroyed hope and of expectations of a desolate wasteland to live in. They would come out expecting to see the dead lands of a once-happy civilization. Somehow, their expectations would change drasticly, but not after many years of depression, hardship and death.
But this story has nothing to do with these people and their expectations, at least not in the supernatural aspect.
Chapter 2
The smell of sour milk, gasoline, fried eggs, crap and burning refuse combined greeted the senses of Jose Vasquez as he slowly forced himself up and out of "bed". Unfortunately for Jose(and the small rodents that lived with him), "bed" was a 70 year old rotten mattress, complete with a strange "green crud" and rusty springs. It was what Jose's friend Daniel would call a "miner's nightmare". Jose ambled towards a ruined desk, where most of his coins were stashed on top of. Jose never slept without his clothes on, for plausible fear of hepatitus, rabies and death. Jose pulled out a battered and beaten drawer out of the desk, throwing it across the room where it smashed into 17 pieces. Inside the desk was his hunting rifle(no label), ammo, canteen and sunglasses. And Jose was not called "Jose". He preferred to be called "Razor". And he wasn't Mexican, by the way.
He bashed the door clear off it's hinges, leaving it broken in the streets of Bander. Razor stowed his ammo in his pack, which he then put on his back. He reached in his pocket, took out a badge, and stuck it on his leather jacket. It said "WASTELAND RANGER__#29910"
The merciless sun hung in the sky with no clouds to block its penetrating rays. It was 12:01 pm. The smell of sour milk almost pushed him back as he smelled it a few seconds later. There was a sound of creaking wood, then 3 seconds later it became a sound of breaking wood. A minute later, Razor looked at the pile of decayed wood that was his home. Many rats scurried about, searching desperately for shelter. He walked off to the west, where there were the sounds of machinery and iron pounding iron.
It took Razor a few seconds to realize where he was. This would prove to be quite an effort, seing as he had the worst hangover in his life. He then remembered where he was, then remembered that his house had just fallen over. Then he realized he had patrol duty at Herling, a shit city 20 miles south. Then he realized that he had the worst hangover of his miserable life. Then he started walking east, where far down the streetways he saw the huge city gate. The gateway to hell. He saw that the gate was closed for some reason. Not only was it closed, but a huge, rusted-but-sturdy girder was in it's way. Razor looked to the northeast, where he saw that there was a huge black cloud forming above a fire that was burning the pub. Then he saw the empty vehicles of the Neighborhood Raider Clan(this is what the local raider guild was called). The owners of those vehicles were walking straight towards him, shooting peasants as they made their way towards him. Razor took out his hunting rifle, and aimed it at what he thought was a raider's head. He was wrong. The piercing arrow of death missed the raider's head, then hit one of the vehicle's tires, blowing the tire to hell. This made the raiders pissed off.
And as if Razor's day wasn't bad enough, he felt the cold end of a shotgun barrel on the back of his head.
This put Razor into a trance. Soon, all reality faded into glorious oblivion, all felling bleeded away into the swirling vortex of infinity as everything went black.
When Razor woke up tied to a metal pole that was located in a dark, smelly and humid room, Razor wondered what the hell was going on.
And it looked like the person tied up next to him was wondering the same thing.
T~B~C