Post by Sour Candy on Apr 11, 2017 21:25:59 GMT -5
(This is a short story I oddly enough decided to write while listening to the Crysis 3 theme.)
(Warning: TWs ahead)
Not everything can be so easily avoided.
The ash billowed around the squadron as the winds picked up in the Ash Tundra. The soldiers held their ground, the ash blowing over their helmets and armor. A flag flapped in the winds, bearing an image of wings with a sword through the center and triple gears in between, the symbol of the Brotherhood of Steel. They held their laser rifles at the ready, preparing for an attack at any moment. "Enclave moving in fr.....eavy weapons sighte....oceed with cauti..." Communication signals were weakened by the intense ash storm.
Then it happened, almost all at once. Bullets flew, lasers flashed, plasma launched. The Enclave had advanced on their position, and in full force. No time to call for reinforcements. No time to run. Even more ash flew up into the air as one of the soldiers hit the ground with a deafened thud, his armor melted and scorched. Another soldier cried out in pain, this time from the opposite side. Both sides were losing men.
Then, almost as soon as it began, it became silent once more, save for the sounds of the heavy winds. One final brother remained, though he was motionless on the ground. Alarms sounded and lights flashed in his helmet. A shot of plasma had melted through his armor. Slowly looking up, he watched as Enclave soldiers clad in X-02 power armor walked up to him. They looked down at them, looking emotionless with their dark, ash-stained helmets. Surprisingly, one stepped out of his armor, the metal plating folding outward in the back to allow him to step out. His face began to be bombarded with ash as he stepped towards the soldier, a shining revolver in hand.
He knelt down to the soldier, looking into the visor of his helmet. "This nation is no longer yours," the Enclave commander said in a bitter tone, before standing up and pressing the cold metal barrel of the revolver to the Brotherhood soldier's exposed chest and pulled the trigger. He convulsed in pain as the bullet struck deep into his chest; something important had definitely been shot. His vision was dulled from the pain as he watched the commander climb back into his power armor. Without another word, the squadron turned and disappeared into the ash.
Blood poured down from his wound and over his armor, coating the symbol on what was left of his chest piece in the crimson liquid. His body felt too weak for him to get up, he simply lied there, staring upwards as ash began to cover his visor. Even if he could make it to the radio, it would be useless; all that could be heard was static. Communications had been knocked out in the fight. Ash mixed with blood. Pain mixed with fatigue. The soldier knew he was breathing his final breaths, and soon his body would be vandalized by the wildlife that called this harsh land "home". Home....that word echoed in his mind over and over. A place he belonged. A place he wished to be.
A place he would never return to.
His body began to grow cold, and he began to grow more and more tired. Soon, his breathing stopped, and all that was left was the frantic beeping of his armor's alert system and the billowing winds.
Sometimes you learn the hard way that death is inevitable.
(I honestly don't know what actually compelled me to write this...also, I'm not looking for criticism, just felt like writing :P)
(Warning: TWs ahead)
Not everything can be so easily avoided.
The ash billowed around the squadron as the winds picked up in the Ash Tundra. The soldiers held their ground, the ash blowing over their helmets and armor. A flag flapped in the winds, bearing an image of wings with a sword through the center and triple gears in between, the symbol of the Brotherhood of Steel. They held their laser rifles at the ready, preparing for an attack at any moment. "Enclave moving in fr.....eavy weapons sighte....oceed with cauti..." Communication signals were weakened by the intense ash storm.
Then it happened, almost all at once. Bullets flew, lasers flashed, plasma launched. The Enclave had advanced on their position, and in full force. No time to call for reinforcements. No time to run. Even more ash flew up into the air as one of the soldiers hit the ground with a deafened thud, his armor melted and scorched. Another soldier cried out in pain, this time from the opposite side. Both sides were losing men.
Then, almost as soon as it began, it became silent once more, save for the sounds of the heavy winds. One final brother remained, though he was motionless on the ground. Alarms sounded and lights flashed in his helmet. A shot of plasma had melted through his armor. Slowly looking up, he watched as Enclave soldiers clad in X-02 power armor walked up to him. They looked down at them, looking emotionless with their dark, ash-stained helmets. Surprisingly, one stepped out of his armor, the metal plating folding outward in the back to allow him to step out. His face began to be bombarded with ash as he stepped towards the soldier, a shining revolver in hand.
He knelt down to the soldier, looking into the visor of his helmet. "This nation is no longer yours," the Enclave commander said in a bitter tone, before standing up and pressing the cold metal barrel of the revolver to the Brotherhood soldier's exposed chest and pulled the trigger. He convulsed in pain as the bullet struck deep into his chest; something important had definitely been shot. His vision was dulled from the pain as he watched the commander climb back into his power armor. Without another word, the squadron turned and disappeared into the ash.
Blood poured down from his wound and over his armor, coating the symbol on what was left of his chest piece in the crimson liquid. His body felt too weak for him to get up, he simply lied there, staring upwards as ash began to cover his visor. Even if he could make it to the radio, it would be useless; all that could be heard was static. Communications had been knocked out in the fight. Ash mixed with blood. Pain mixed with fatigue. The soldier knew he was breathing his final breaths, and soon his body would be vandalized by the wildlife that called this harsh land "home". Home....that word echoed in his mind over and over. A place he belonged. A place he wished to be.
A place he would never return to.
His body began to grow cold, and he began to grow more and more tired. Soon, his breathing stopped, and all that was left was the frantic beeping of his armor's alert system and the billowing winds.
Sometimes you learn the hard way that death is inevitable.
(I honestly don't know what actually compelled me to write this...also, I'm not looking for criticism, just felt like writing :P)
