Some Fallout based Fiction...
Not finished, though will be. Hope you like it, and would especially like some citique on the descriptivity of the piece (as thats all I generally look for in writing
Or was it just the ever present radiation?
Thought Kane grimly, with gritty fragments of dark amusement at the caustic like crust that reacted bitterly with his armaments. His bulky pauldrons restricted his movement to a small degree, though not to the extent that he couldn`t reduce a mutant to a smoldering mass of charred flesh and melted bone within mere milliseconds. Through the complex array of pipes, ducts, secondary tubes and main ventilation shafts that bored through the reinforced plastic of his re-breather - like ravenous tentacles with cruelly hooked ends would eagerly puncture through watery eye sockets and rubbery cheek flesh, devouring clogs of brain matter through their needle-brimmed mouths. Past the purposely darkened lenses, monofiltering dangerously harsh levels of UV from the raging sun, though only casting harsher shadows over his pallid skin, as his unblinking dank blue eyes drably viewed the sheer nuclear wasteland with little thought, the frothing landscape that was once a-
Well, still a barren tundra of nothingness, little better than today in resources, albeit a little more hospitable and less polluted...
, Joked the captain wryly to himself, his booming laugh resounding deep within the recesses of his lead-lined mind.
Radiation of all sorts was constantly gnawing at his Power Armour. Their struggle vain though ever-present as they hungered to mutate his bodily cells and corrupt favoured organs. Amongst lethally high levels of other chemicals: severe concentrations of substances bearing extreme acidities or alkalinities, built up into piles of slag that oozed a chemical aura of Benzene, Sulphur and constantly surrounded by the intermediate levels of Carbon Monoxide; shallow lakes of hydrochloric acid which would often boil up, only to be rained down with contemptuous ease, stripping bleached skin from bleeding muscle tissue and said flesh sloughing from cancerous plied bones.
It truly was hell, with the multitude of unspeakable chemical pollutions branded with the ever vigilant and deathly sigil of the Sun, as it scorched the sands of the Mid-West.
Kane sourly viewed the desolation for a final, uncaring time. He turned his sweating brow from it and descended yet again into the cavernous holds of Bunker Epsilon
one of the Brotherhood of Steel`s underground fortresses, though homes was a more apt term to describe the subterranean lairs of the somewhat zealotic technological cult.
The feotid air, crisp and dry, sweat stained and riddled with particulates of carbon and acidic phosphates. Stale to that of the outside, though reduced of its radiation content hundredfold, was mercilessly pumped from corroded, and still functioning air coolant systems. These pre-dated machines powered by the lifeblood of the bunker: the glassy field of hexagonal plates, shimmering, almost blinding, as they converted the sweltering heat and constant light energy of the desert into a tappeble source of electricity.
Kane strode past a ventilation shaft with barely a flicker of imagination. Its caged nub rusted and decaying, as if it too was biological, carbon-based, or any other over detailed way to describe a supposed biomechanical construct. His steel-shod boots crunched on dirt and metallic dust, multicolored salts, as they reacted violently with the acidic rain. The cacophonous beat of his tall boots upon the clammy floor was blatant testimony to his professional, and well-augmented, almost rhythmic march. Gradually furthering him deeper into the complex, the air more dense and rancid, in turn provoking the paltry air-coolant systems to greater their output, though obviously to little noticeable benefit.
Finally, to a chorus of roving colours, a blank series of strobing lights, flickering as if broken, and his march came to its death; the hulking steel barricade gilded with trenches of wires, and proudly displaying the heraldry of the Brotherhood: a noble and ever so righteous sword piercing a graceful pair of angelic wings to a background of cogs. Its untimely existence, blocking his almost God-like passage of entry. Several claxons whirred immediately, summoning the random lights spontaneously to all converge upon his face - or mask - like a voracious pack of banished spirits. Dually deciphering and precisely recording his ashen features and obsidian-black plates, simultaneously comparing the split-second information to that within their own data banks, deep - a lot deeper - within the citadel, almost to the level of the scribes and tech-adepts.
''... I swear Aenoton you insolent churl, that if I ever wield any plasma or high-explosive yield weaponry, you’re damned gate will be the first to taste it. Your insufferable body secondary to that....’’, he mumbled irritably, his words only audible to he, lost under the tumultuous tide of the air-conditioning units. Minutes passed by, as if to goad him to his tempers fine edge. His brow furrowed, its chalky surface creasing, his gloved fingers fingering his holstered Berretta with ecstasies fervor.
Tempting, you son-of-a-bitch, but I shalt not be the one to dare the Elders wrath
..., musing to himself, the latter half of his threat imbued thought joined, as if on-cue, by the mechanical whine of many chimes, the undulating grating and guttural roaring of the steel gate parting twice-fold, as it awkwardly slid past the sand flooded floor. The bestial groan ended abruptly revealing the largely forbidden corridor of steel, chrome and other petty plastic and carbon compounds All furnished with equally functional metal alloys that plastered to the distinctly triangular tunnel like a chitinous shell.
He was sure he could hear a faint and rasping cackle from one of the broken mike-systems. Stripped of most of their functional leads to be recycled for the greater needs of the Bunker or just plainly severed from time and nuclear corrosion, but still, relaying every whim and twisted, spittle-drowned word of Aenoton, one of the Brotherhoods more audacious, though still as tome-concerned, knowledge thirsting and all-together wretched Scribes.
Haven`t edited it for spelling much too... XD!