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| Bellum omnium contra omnes; WW1 based PA World | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 5 2011, 12:53 AM (433 Views) | |
| Gasmasked Mook | Dec 5 2011, 12:53 AM Post #1 |
Vault Dweller
  ![]](http://z3.ifrm.com/static/1/pip_r.png)
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First of all, this has nothing to do with the Kindly Ones. It is just a piece I wrote while (of all things!) browsing for a steampunk mod for Empire Total War. Instead, I found this: http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showthread.php?t=235863 It was sadly never finished but some of the concept art and trailer really gave me the inspiration bug and I sat down and wrote this off the top of my head. Information on the background was quite sparse so I made most of it up. Not sure what to do with it or even really what it is but I hope you enjoy it. -0- Unity Half of a woman’s beautific smile gazed down on the huddled group of great coated figures, the other half torn away. Beneath her faded visage, the words: “Why aren’t YOU at the front?” stood out in accusing red. The incessant rain had caused some of the paint to run and gave the woman false tears of sludgy black. “Listen,” one of the figures breathed, his voice raspy through his respirator, “we’ve got Libbies from here to next Solday and the Lieutenant needs them cleared out before the storms get to serious. The basic plan is to loop around the buildings here and clear them out block by block. The cowards’ll run no doubt and second platoon will be ready to mop up when they do.” The others nodded in empty assent. Autorifles were slung and the group began to tramp towards their objective. The cobblestones were slick with rain and strewn with rubble from the broken buildings but were a great relief from the clogging mud of the ashwastes. Rain was a good thing usually. The water absorbed the worst of the chemicals from the frontline and washed away a lot of the gummy toxic residue that accumulated everywhere, especially near the O-Zones. But after a while, the rain could gain some of the caustic nature of the chemicals it diluted and cause ugly blistering burns on unprotected skin. Here, caught between O4 and O5, the rain really never had a chance to get rid of the stuff and over the years had built into a substance almost as fearful as the Libertarians’ bullets. As they marched, there was a flash of some bright colour in the distance and moments later the odd shriek of a flare. Us or theirs was the unspoken question and the man who had spoken previously removed a pair of worn binoculars from a stained leather pouch, sheltering under a dripping overhang to protect the delicate instrument. As he searched for the flare’s origin, the others cast nervous glances around the empty street. A large poster stretched across some of a building’s empty windows: a line of resolute soldiers with Unity printed below in bold white. Someone, a Libby perhaps or a NonCom, had daubed the words: Liberty, Fuckers! in crude foot high letters. Smaller posters littered the bottom fringe, proclaiming patriotic slogans like “Support UniArm for a perfect tomorrow”, “Remember the Zone War” and “Together, we strive”. The smaller ones were put up by children, Zone Rats who would risk the bullets and shells of the Libertarians for the fistful of extra ration coupons that putting up those posters would give them. “I see something!” The man’s hissing voice sent a thrill of terror through his fellows. Gloved hands tightened on their autorifles and their masked heads all turned towards the end of the street. Slowly, through the curtains of driving rain, they began to make out shapes advancing towards them. The group separated with veteran swiftness, taking up firing positions on both sides of the road and behind piles of broken bricks and rubble but careful not to lose sight of their leader who directed them with rapid movements of his right arm. Two of the group carefully unwrapped small rattle shaped objects from their protective rags and held them ready to throw. The rain slackened slightly and the figures suddenly became more distinct. The leader’s arm dropped. The muffling nature of the rain had little effect on the gunshots which rang out as clear as freshly cut glass. Two of the figures slumped immediately while the others halted in that split-second paralysis that afflicted even the bravest. As the more even-headed enemy recovered and dived for cover, the two men threw their rattles down the road where they detonated in deafening explosions of furious light. Smoke hid the figures for a moment before being dispersed by the rain to show an untidy collection of ragged shapes fallen on the road. Some of the shapes were far too small to be a single man but the rain hid the blood well. With infinite caution, the group moved forward, rifles still in their shoulders. The Libbies were infamous for their suicide bombers. As the shapes became more distinct, the leader noticed one of them was still producing strained rattling breathes through its respirator and he finished the dying man with a thrust of his bayonet. It was only after the adrenaline faded somewhat when they noticed there was something odd about the dead figures. Their tattered clothing bore no resemblance to Libby uniforms and some of them were far too small to be full grown adults... “Refugees.” “If they are, they’re probably Libbies who think they can come crawling back. That or workslaves from The Collective. We did them a favour.” The assent was again, universal. Unity had tried to help the misguided fools and they had turned away. It was a lesson that had been hammered into them, all the way from their days in UniEd. Some people were beyond redemption. “Poor fuckers.” -0- Happiness through Peace Peace through Strength Strength through Unity |
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| Inkwell | Dec 6 2011, 05:45 PM Post #2 |
Toenail cutter / Tin can licker
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Intresting! |
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| mattblackgod | Dec 8 2011, 04:30 PM Post #3 |
Big boss warlord dude!
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Nice stuff. |
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