Post by Korski on Jan 5, 2011 20:25:01 GMT -5
Gale force winds ripped across the Wastes, offering respite to none. Strong winds were common enough in the Wastes and the barren landscape contained little to slow its advance, but the winds on this day exhibited a ferocity that was rare. The sandstorm that resulted inherited its terrible trait. It blocked out sight and sound. Any gaze met with a shifting wall of earth and nothing could be heard over the deafening howl of its fury. Few could survive within its presence for long without seeking shelter. Yet, despite this, something could be seen moving against the unrelenting current of sand. A silhouette of a lone man, wrapped in rags, silently trudging onwards through the storm.
* * *
He had been searching for hours without result and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure these conditions. The sand was an aggressor of the worst sort; it forced its way into every opening, took advantage of even the smallest breach in his leather-clad defenses. His skin had been rubbed raw in many places where only a sliver of it was exposed. The cloth scraps he had securely fastened to the majority of his body, to protect himself from the worst of the onslaught, danced wildly at the mercy of the winds and often attempted to pull him deeper into the storm. Only his unnaturally blue eyes peered out from the wrappings and those too were shielded by goggles of his own design, able to detect the heat signatures of anything that had a habit of giving them off. They glowed with an eerie crimson hue against the backdrop of the storm as he scanned the area around himself for the hundredth time. But it was no use. There was no sign of the others.
Panic set in as he began to accept the thought that he may never find them. Where would he go? What would he do? Without the security and guidance of his tribe, the Wastes seemed all the more hostile. For a moment he felt ashamed of himself. He was a nomad after all; he should have a whole repertoire of skills under his belt that would make survival in this painfully familiar environment easy enough. He should… but he didn’t. While the others were soaking up the knowledge of the keepers, he was fiddling with the scavenged junk he came across in their travels. His was a world of capacitors, gears, pistons and circuitry and there was little room left in his head for lessons in how to safely remove the poison glands of a dune thresher or where exactly to carve a hole in a razorspine plant to extract its nutrient-rich juices. He recalled the disapproving looks that the keepers often gave him and couldn’t help laughing. It looked like his indifference had finally come back to bite him in the end. But then again, you didn’t have to be a survival expert to know to seek shelter in a sandstorm. And that was on the top of his agenda.
While his goggles weren’t picking up any signs of life, he could still use them to see the outlines of any nearby natural formations that could serve as cover. He just hoped that some divine force out there was feeling generous with the good fortune today. It took a couple indeterminate spans of desert trekking but, sure enough, just as what little light remained began to fade, he spotted the ghostly presence of a series of what seemed to large, jagged rocks jutting out from beneath the sand. They protruded at a near horizontal angle, giving them the appearance of massive, ruffled scales. One could imagine them being attached to some great beast buried beneath his feet. Imposing imagery aside, they would serve the nomad’s purposes adequately and he breathed a sigh of relief. He would beat this storm yet.
Pushing forward against the stinging waves of grit in one last labored dash, he closed the distance between himself and the rocks and was glad that they hadn’t turned out to be some fevered delusion born of desperation. Feeling around in the failing light, he found the underside. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled underneath his temporary haven, finally out of the storm and just now realizing how exhausted he was. He rolled onto his back, sprawled out across the soft sand, and gazed up at the ceiling of stone—which he carefully scrutinized just to make sure he really wasn’t sleeping on top of an ancient, wrathful desert creature—and wished he could see the stars. He found a certain peace within himself whenever he was graced by their presence and he let his mind wander amongst them, envisioning all the wonderful new worlds that must surely reside beyond them. With a sigh, he removed his goggles, placing them into a small pack at his side, and let his head loll to the side. The winds seemed to be slowing; the sand swirling past him was entrancing and he felt his eyelids grow heavy and close. Sleep came easily.
And through vivid dreams, relived the events that had carried him here…
…He was traveling along with tribesman Dotrii on a routine gathering trip. It usually involved hunting packs of docile Galvarra, a skittish avian creature, and curing the meat so it could be stored for the migratory season. It was commonly a one-man job and neither had spoken to the other since they left. He was trailing Dotrii, watching his expertly crafted bow and quiver bounce gently against his back with each step. Dotrii turned his head slightly.
“Since when are you so interested in the hunts? I’d think you’d be nose-deep in your bits of scrap if you weren’t up to something.”
It was obvious that the hunter had been brooding over this predicament. He would have to proceed carefully. “I just wanted to see how one of our most accomplished gatherers does his work,” he replied innocently. “I was thinking of becoming one myself.”
He didn’t enjoy lying, but there was no other way to leave camp without raising suspicion.
Dotrii snorted, clearly skeptical. “Save your empty praises for another. Just keep quiet and stay out of my way. I’d rather like to forget you were here.”
“Fair enough,” he said sullenly. Dotrii never much liked him.
The landscape shifted around them and now they were near the entrance of a valley; steep walls of weathered stone towered over them on either side. The ground in this region was cracked and crusted, devoid of water. Dotrii crouched down and examined the dried soil. He drew closer and peered over Dotrii’s shoulder as the hunter traced his fingers along the ground, lifted them to his nose and sniffed the fine dust. He hadn’t seen or smelled anything out of the ordinary, but the hunter clearly did as he nodded sharply in confirmation and rose to his feet. Dotrii drew his bow and nocked an arrow.
“The Galvs are close. Be quiet, do as I do, and we may get through this with little trouble.” He began to creep quietly into the valley.
His companion surveyed the area. It looked to be near the right place. “Actually, I think I’m going to set off on my own from here.”
Dotrii stopped and spun around. “What?”
“I think it would be a good way to test my skills. The keepers are always lecturing us, but I’ve never gotten the chance to put any of their teachings into practice. Maybe I’ll try my hand at tracking. There’s bound to be another pack of Galvarra nearby, right?”
Dotrii stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Oh and I know the way back, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“You sure about that?” Dotrii smirked. “Camp is southeast from here.” He pointed behind his companion and a little to the left.
“Of course, southeast,” he repeated none too convincingly. “This way I won’t get in the way of your hunting.”
“Fine, if you think you’re up to it, go out alone and try to prove yourself or whatever it is you think you’re doing. As long as it gets you out of my hair.” He started back into the valley again. “Just don’t get yourself killed!” he shouted back, with a tone of annoyance.
He nodded and walked in the opposite direction, pleased with his success in separating himself from Dotrii. Now he could search for his anomaly.
He had been the only one left awake the night before when he saw it. While studying the trajectories of the ancient satellites that criss-crossed the sky, he caught sight of a magnificent emerald green flash of light from the corner of his eye. With his attention fixed, he stared out into the veil of night and wondered if he had imagined it until the light flashed twice more, just on the horizon, only a dozen or so miles from where they were camped. He remembered that tomorrow’s gatherer would be heading off in that direction and devised a plan to tag along. Curiosity was always a vice of his and who knows what he might discover? A great find could improve the lives of the tribe, gaining him the acceptance he had craved for so long.
The world subtlety rearranged itself once more and he found himself in open desert near his presumed destination. A gentle wind had begun to blow. He was sure that whatever he had seen had to be close-by… maybe. The nomad could see no sign of any sort of impact anywhere. He wasn’t so sure anymore. Had it been a dream?
“No. No, I was awake,” he said aloud. “I had to be.”
Giving up wasn’t an option for him at this point, especially after having to deal with sour Dotrii. He opened a small pack that was tied to his waist and removed a pair of goggles from it. It was a long shot, but maybe he could detect the possible elevated heat signature of an origin point over the sweltering heat of the Wastes. Donning the eyewear, he searched desperately for deviance in a sea of orange. His diligence went unrewarded. There was nothing.
Defeated, he hung his head low and rubbed his temples in frustration. Why was everything so hard for him? Now he’d have to return to camp with nothing to show. Hell, he didn’t even learn how to track the damn Galvarra. Anger welled up inside him, but it quickly subsided. There was nothing he could do about it other than start making his way back home. He looked up at the sun through his goggles to determine which direction was west. Putting his back to it, he turned to the right a little and began his long southeastwardly trek. He knew how to tell direction at least; he wasn’t that inept.
He decided to make one last sweep with the goggles as he walked. Turning, he surveyed the landscape.
“Come on, give me something here. Just— ” he stopped abruptly. Something passed through his field of vision.
“Interference?”
He turned back and didn’t believe his eyes. Through his goggles, a kaleidoscopic array of colors danced before him. Swirling and churning, pouring into itself, it was beautiful. He slowly removed his goggles to view it with his naked eyes. He had never seen anything like it. It looked like waves of heat moving of their own accord. A transparent oval of shimmering, fluctuating energy just a few feet taller than himself. Unable to restrain himself, he timidly reached out to touch it. He was only a few inches away now and he hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. Closer and closer until his finger finally made contact. There was a moment of silence.
Then, like a bellow of outrage, a massive torrent of sand erupted out of the impossible thing, swallowing the nomad. He tried to scream but there was no time. It was burying him alive. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He was nowhere now; lost. Trapped in a tomb of absolute darkness. Forever alone… no, something else stirred within. He could feel another presence within the black. It reached out across an infinite expanse, drawing ever closer. It wanted to take him. It wanted to rip the life out of him. And it would succeed…
…He awoke with a gasp.
Still lying on his back, he was drenched in a cold sweat despite the stifling midday heat. He groaned and pushed himself up with his elbows, settling into a cross-legged position. The sandstorm had subsided and a clear blue sky was its welcome replacement.
“I don’t know if my heart can take any more of those twist endings,” he laughed to himself hoarsely, breaking into a coughing fit. His mouth was as dry as cotton.
The nomad felt around beneath the rags on his left side until he grabbed and pulled out a canteen. Quickly unscrewing the cap, he brought the opening to his lips and took a few hurried gulps; he closed his eyes as he felt the refreshingly cool liquid pour down his throat. Satisfied, he replaced the cap and returned the canteen to its place beneath the rags. However, satisfying one need made him painfully aware of another.
He was hungry; no, he was starving and he couldn’t afford to gorge himself on his remaining water. There was no telling how long he’d be out here and if anything were going to get him, it’d be dehydration. Now, more than ever, he would have liked to remember the locations of all the hidden delicacies of the desert, but his memory refused to cooperate. In retrospect, he really should have brought some food with him; it was no use beating himself up over it now though. Just as he was about to get up and take a look around, something moved in his peripheral vision.
He looked down at the shaded area beside him and spotted a large, black beetle burrowing out of the ground. He couldn’t identify the type—maybe an Obsidian Leryl or a Mirrorback—but it didn’t matter. This was a meal crawling right into his lap! As he mused over his good fortune, the beetle began to scurry away. The nomad refocused himself and made a mad grab for his breakfast. He missed and the beetle sharply changed course towards open sand, out of the shade of the protruding rock. He frantically crawled after it, mistakenly grabbing handfuls of sand in its wake. Seeing the need for a drastic change in approach, he made a last ditch effort and lunged towards his elusive quarry with outstretched hands. Landing on his belly with his hands clasped together in front of him, he could feel the bug scrambling to break free from within. He jumped to his feet, beetle gripped firmly between thumb and forefinger, and held it out in front of him, grinning devilishly.
“Gotcha!”
A sound akin to an avalanche amplified ten times over tore through the air around him; he jumped just as the sand did from the resulting shockwave and dropped his catch in the act. A quick instinctive glance of disappointment at the beetle as it scurried away was all he had time for, as the giant plume of black smoke billowing out from beyond the rocks demanded his attention. The wail of sirens followed soon after. Awestruck and with ears ringing, he took a few tepid steps, which quickly turned into a jog, towards the cluster of stones that blocked the source of the explosion. The nomad jumped onto one of the stones and climbed up to the lip, reflexively recoiling as he saw the jagged cliffside waiting for him on the other side. But down below in the valley, a few miles out, was a sight that left him speechless.
A sprawling, dilapidated metropolis surrounding a pristine citadel swarmed with activity. The city was encased within a wall of discolored and corroded steel, wordlessly conveying a dislike of outsiders. The walls connected to an enormous metal gate that looked to be around a good half-dozen feet thick; ornate designs covered its face in stark contrast to the rest of the barrier. He couldn’t quite make them out from here. One of the structures near the wall was in ruins, producing the cloud of smoke. He could hear shouting from the same area. The city was as appalling as it was strangely alluring.
He had never seen a place anywhere near as large as this in his life and he suddenly felt a child-like giddiness overtake him. Not only was he saved from a slow, painful death out in the Wastes, but now also had the chance to explore something completely foreign to him. Another pleasant thought crossed his mind. Maybe the rest of his tribe had come here too in search of shelter! Too excited to remain still any longer, he slid down off the rock and began to search for a safe place to climb down to the valley below.
As he searched, he felt the heat cooking him alive from within his rags and realized he really didn’t need them anymore. He hastily unwrapped the coverings around his head first, revealing his short, black hair and suntanned skin. His hair dripped with sweat and hung down messily over his face, slightly obscuring his sapphire eyes. After he removed the rest, he could immediately feel the dry air moving through his clothes and cooling his skin. Underneath the rags he wore fitted garments made of animal hide and thin, but resilient, cloth. On his shoulders, chest and the backs of his hands were strips of dark brown protective leather covering; beneath the chest coverings, he wore a weathered beige cloak that flared out slightly around the legs. Straddling the nomad’s waist was a belt from which a small equipment pack and canteen pouch hung; the belt supported his thin, light brown leggings and a pair of well-worn, darker brown boots completed the ensemble. He decided to leave the hood of his cloak down.
“Much better,” he exhaled with relief, leaving the discarded rags on the ground.
Feeling his usual freedom of movement return, he ran alongside the rocky cliffside until he found a suitable opening he could use to lower himself down. He peered over the edge, mapping out a relatively safe path, and turned his back to the precipice. With a firm grip on the rocks, he carefully began his descent.
An hour later, he had finally touched down in the valley. The sirens from the city had silenced themselves during his descent. The climb down was challenging and he nearly lost his footing a few times, but he survived with little more than a few small cuts and bruises. But all of that meant little to him right now with the strange city now easily within walking distance—or running distance—as he had broken out into a near sprint towards his presumed salvation. As he ran, the ominous steel walls loomed before him and, for a brief moment, he felt the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction. He shook away the feeling and focused on the muted sound of his feet connecting with the sand, the sound of his blood pounding in his ears, anything to distract him. Before long, he found himself not far from the gate.
It had seemed large from the cliff, but up close it was impossibly huge. The ornate designs he had seen before depicted what looked like the sun shining down directly overhead a tower, which he presumed to be the citadel, and the tower shining in return. Whatever it meant, the citadel certainly hadn’t been shining when he saw it. On top of that, he couldn’t even see a way in. The only other thing outside the wall was a small, abandoned looking building off to the side of the gate. Maybe the disturbance inside was worse than he thought. Upon entry, it was clear that the building was truly empty, but what was inside pleased the nomad all the same.
On the walls were racks of weapons he had only seen as pictures in his books. He admired the sleek design of the ion rifle, the compact and reliable e-pistol and his eyes went wide as he discovered a mag-cannon within a footlocker on the ground. What he wouldn’t give to be able to take them apart and examine their inner workings. His gaze shifted to a table pushed up against the wall under an open window and to the items upon it. There were two cups filled with an unfinished liquid he couldn’t identify, another e-pistol and a small square board with interconnected triangles on it. He touched it and it sprang to life, displaying holographic images of odd-looking people. Was it some kind of game? Suddenly, he was roughly jerked backwards and he let out a cry of protest.
Landing awkwardly in the sand outside, he turned around to see two men standing over him suited up in full, black combat armor. One was wearing an equally black helmet with the visor down and the other taller one was not. The latter had closely shaven brown hair and a muscular build with an unsightly scar across the crease of his mouth that gave him a permanent scowl. His armor was aesthetically modified with symbols in a way that insinuated he was of higher importance than his helmeted partner. They both had their hands on their holsters and neither looked happy.
“Well look what we have here,” growled the scarred man. He appeared calm, but his eyes smoldered with an inner fire. “The gatehouse is strictly off limits to everyone but Monolith staff. That goes double for civvies.”
“And you sure ain’t with the fine forces of the Monolith security chapter,” the helmeted one chimed in, grinning.
“I’m sorr-”
“Shut up.” The scarred man cut the nomad off. “I find it suspicious that while those rebel traitors launched their biggest terrorist attack yet, we just happen to find you rummaging through the gatehouse.”
The nomad was too scared to speak and the man drew closer, leaning over him.
“But now that I look at you,” he continued, “you don’t look like a citizen. In fact you have the look of one of those sun-addled wastelanders. If that’s the case, where’s the rest of your tribe?”
The nomad gulped nervously, swallowing his fear. “Well, um, I was out gathering supplies when a sandstorm hit. I got turned around and couldn’t find my way back to camp so, when I heard the explosion,” he flicked his head towards the city, “I found this place.”
“Ah. So you’re just a lamb separated from the flock, is that right?” He smirked at his own remark. “What’s your name, drifter?
“It’s Sid,” the nomad replied.
“Well, Sid, welcome to Dark City.”
* * *
He had been searching for hours without result and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure these conditions. The sand was an aggressor of the worst sort; it forced its way into every opening, took advantage of even the smallest breach in his leather-clad defenses. His skin had been rubbed raw in many places where only a sliver of it was exposed. The cloth scraps he had securely fastened to the majority of his body, to protect himself from the worst of the onslaught, danced wildly at the mercy of the winds and often attempted to pull him deeper into the storm. Only his unnaturally blue eyes peered out from the wrappings and those too were shielded by goggles of his own design, able to detect the heat signatures of anything that had a habit of giving them off. They glowed with an eerie crimson hue against the backdrop of the storm as he scanned the area around himself for the hundredth time. But it was no use. There was no sign of the others.
Panic set in as he began to accept the thought that he may never find them. Where would he go? What would he do? Without the security and guidance of his tribe, the Wastes seemed all the more hostile. For a moment he felt ashamed of himself. He was a nomad after all; he should have a whole repertoire of skills under his belt that would make survival in this painfully familiar environment easy enough. He should… but he didn’t. While the others were soaking up the knowledge of the keepers, he was fiddling with the scavenged junk he came across in their travels. His was a world of capacitors, gears, pistons and circuitry and there was little room left in his head for lessons in how to safely remove the poison glands of a dune thresher or where exactly to carve a hole in a razorspine plant to extract its nutrient-rich juices. He recalled the disapproving looks that the keepers often gave him and couldn’t help laughing. It looked like his indifference had finally come back to bite him in the end. But then again, you didn’t have to be a survival expert to know to seek shelter in a sandstorm. And that was on the top of his agenda.
While his goggles weren’t picking up any signs of life, he could still use them to see the outlines of any nearby natural formations that could serve as cover. He just hoped that some divine force out there was feeling generous with the good fortune today. It took a couple indeterminate spans of desert trekking but, sure enough, just as what little light remained began to fade, he spotted the ghostly presence of a series of what seemed to large, jagged rocks jutting out from beneath the sand. They protruded at a near horizontal angle, giving them the appearance of massive, ruffled scales. One could imagine them being attached to some great beast buried beneath his feet. Imposing imagery aside, they would serve the nomad’s purposes adequately and he breathed a sigh of relief. He would beat this storm yet.
Pushing forward against the stinging waves of grit in one last labored dash, he closed the distance between himself and the rocks and was glad that they hadn’t turned out to be some fevered delusion born of desperation. Feeling around in the failing light, he found the underside. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled underneath his temporary haven, finally out of the storm and just now realizing how exhausted he was. He rolled onto his back, sprawled out across the soft sand, and gazed up at the ceiling of stone—which he carefully scrutinized just to make sure he really wasn’t sleeping on top of an ancient, wrathful desert creature—and wished he could see the stars. He found a certain peace within himself whenever he was graced by their presence and he let his mind wander amongst them, envisioning all the wonderful new worlds that must surely reside beyond them. With a sigh, he removed his goggles, placing them into a small pack at his side, and let his head loll to the side. The winds seemed to be slowing; the sand swirling past him was entrancing and he felt his eyelids grow heavy and close. Sleep came easily.
And through vivid dreams, relived the events that had carried him here…
…He was traveling along with tribesman Dotrii on a routine gathering trip. It usually involved hunting packs of docile Galvarra, a skittish avian creature, and curing the meat so it could be stored for the migratory season. It was commonly a one-man job and neither had spoken to the other since they left. He was trailing Dotrii, watching his expertly crafted bow and quiver bounce gently against his back with each step. Dotrii turned his head slightly.
“Since when are you so interested in the hunts? I’d think you’d be nose-deep in your bits of scrap if you weren’t up to something.”
It was obvious that the hunter had been brooding over this predicament. He would have to proceed carefully. “I just wanted to see how one of our most accomplished gatherers does his work,” he replied innocently. “I was thinking of becoming one myself.”
He didn’t enjoy lying, but there was no other way to leave camp without raising suspicion.
Dotrii snorted, clearly skeptical. “Save your empty praises for another. Just keep quiet and stay out of my way. I’d rather like to forget you were here.”
“Fair enough,” he said sullenly. Dotrii never much liked him.
The landscape shifted around them and now they were near the entrance of a valley; steep walls of weathered stone towered over them on either side. The ground in this region was cracked and crusted, devoid of water. Dotrii crouched down and examined the dried soil. He drew closer and peered over Dotrii’s shoulder as the hunter traced his fingers along the ground, lifted them to his nose and sniffed the fine dust. He hadn’t seen or smelled anything out of the ordinary, but the hunter clearly did as he nodded sharply in confirmation and rose to his feet. Dotrii drew his bow and nocked an arrow.
“The Galvs are close. Be quiet, do as I do, and we may get through this with little trouble.” He began to creep quietly into the valley.
His companion surveyed the area. It looked to be near the right place. “Actually, I think I’m going to set off on my own from here.”
Dotrii stopped and spun around. “What?”
“I think it would be a good way to test my skills. The keepers are always lecturing us, but I’ve never gotten the chance to put any of their teachings into practice. Maybe I’ll try my hand at tracking. There’s bound to be another pack of Galvarra nearby, right?”
Dotrii stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Oh and I know the way back, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“You sure about that?” Dotrii smirked. “Camp is southeast from here.” He pointed behind his companion and a little to the left.
“Of course, southeast,” he repeated none too convincingly. “This way I won’t get in the way of your hunting.”
“Fine, if you think you’re up to it, go out alone and try to prove yourself or whatever it is you think you’re doing. As long as it gets you out of my hair.” He started back into the valley again. “Just don’t get yourself killed!” he shouted back, with a tone of annoyance.
He nodded and walked in the opposite direction, pleased with his success in separating himself from Dotrii. Now he could search for his anomaly.
He had been the only one left awake the night before when he saw it. While studying the trajectories of the ancient satellites that criss-crossed the sky, he caught sight of a magnificent emerald green flash of light from the corner of his eye. With his attention fixed, he stared out into the veil of night and wondered if he had imagined it until the light flashed twice more, just on the horizon, only a dozen or so miles from where they were camped. He remembered that tomorrow’s gatherer would be heading off in that direction and devised a plan to tag along. Curiosity was always a vice of his and who knows what he might discover? A great find could improve the lives of the tribe, gaining him the acceptance he had craved for so long.
The world subtlety rearranged itself once more and he found himself in open desert near his presumed destination. A gentle wind had begun to blow. He was sure that whatever he had seen had to be close-by… maybe. The nomad could see no sign of any sort of impact anywhere. He wasn’t so sure anymore. Had it been a dream?
“No. No, I was awake,” he said aloud. “I had to be.”
Giving up wasn’t an option for him at this point, especially after having to deal with sour Dotrii. He opened a small pack that was tied to his waist and removed a pair of goggles from it. It was a long shot, but maybe he could detect the possible elevated heat signature of an origin point over the sweltering heat of the Wastes. Donning the eyewear, he searched desperately for deviance in a sea of orange. His diligence went unrewarded. There was nothing.
Defeated, he hung his head low and rubbed his temples in frustration. Why was everything so hard for him? Now he’d have to return to camp with nothing to show. Hell, he didn’t even learn how to track the damn Galvarra. Anger welled up inside him, but it quickly subsided. There was nothing he could do about it other than start making his way back home. He looked up at the sun through his goggles to determine which direction was west. Putting his back to it, he turned to the right a little and began his long southeastwardly trek. He knew how to tell direction at least; he wasn’t that inept.
He decided to make one last sweep with the goggles as he walked. Turning, he surveyed the landscape.
“Come on, give me something here. Just— ” he stopped abruptly. Something passed through his field of vision.
“Interference?”
He turned back and didn’t believe his eyes. Through his goggles, a kaleidoscopic array of colors danced before him. Swirling and churning, pouring into itself, it was beautiful. He slowly removed his goggles to view it with his naked eyes. He had never seen anything like it. It looked like waves of heat moving of their own accord. A transparent oval of shimmering, fluctuating energy just a few feet taller than himself. Unable to restrain himself, he timidly reached out to touch it. He was only a few inches away now and he hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. Closer and closer until his finger finally made contact. There was a moment of silence.
Then, like a bellow of outrage, a massive torrent of sand erupted out of the impossible thing, swallowing the nomad. He tried to scream but there was no time. It was burying him alive. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He was nowhere now; lost. Trapped in a tomb of absolute darkness. Forever alone… no, something else stirred within. He could feel another presence within the black. It reached out across an infinite expanse, drawing ever closer. It wanted to take him. It wanted to rip the life out of him. And it would succeed…
…He awoke with a gasp.
Still lying on his back, he was drenched in a cold sweat despite the stifling midday heat. He groaned and pushed himself up with his elbows, settling into a cross-legged position. The sandstorm had subsided and a clear blue sky was its welcome replacement.
“I don’t know if my heart can take any more of those twist endings,” he laughed to himself hoarsely, breaking into a coughing fit. His mouth was as dry as cotton.
The nomad felt around beneath the rags on his left side until he grabbed and pulled out a canteen. Quickly unscrewing the cap, he brought the opening to his lips and took a few hurried gulps; he closed his eyes as he felt the refreshingly cool liquid pour down his throat. Satisfied, he replaced the cap and returned the canteen to its place beneath the rags. However, satisfying one need made him painfully aware of another.
He was hungry; no, he was starving and he couldn’t afford to gorge himself on his remaining water. There was no telling how long he’d be out here and if anything were going to get him, it’d be dehydration. Now, more than ever, he would have liked to remember the locations of all the hidden delicacies of the desert, but his memory refused to cooperate. In retrospect, he really should have brought some food with him; it was no use beating himself up over it now though. Just as he was about to get up and take a look around, something moved in his peripheral vision.
He looked down at the shaded area beside him and spotted a large, black beetle burrowing out of the ground. He couldn’t identify the type—maybe an Obsidian Leryl or a Mirrorback—but it didn’t matter. This was a meal crawling right into his lap! As he mused over his good fortune, the beetle began to scurry away. The nomad refocused himself and made a mad grab for his breakfast. He missed and the beetle sharply changed course towards open sand, out of the shade of the protruding rock. He frantically crawled after it, mistakenly grabbing handfuls of sand in its wake. Seeing the need for a drastic change in approach, he made a last ditch effort and lunged towards his elusive quarry with outstretched hands. Landing on his belly with his hands clasped together in front of him, he could feel the bug scrambling to break free from within. He jumped to his feet, beetle gripped firmly between thumb and forefinger, and held it out in front of him, grinning devilishly.
“Gotcha!”
A sound akin to an avalanche amplified ten times over tore through the air around him; he jumped just as the sand did from the resulting shockwave and dropped his catch in the act. A quick instinctive glance of disappointment at the beetle as it scurried away was all he had time for, as the giant plume of black smoke billowing out from beyond the rocks demanded his attention. The wail of sirens followed soon after. Awestruck and with ears ringing, he took a few tepid steps, which quickly turned into a jog, towards the cluster of stones that blocked the source of the explosion. The nomad jumped onto one of the stones and climbed up to the lip, reflexively recoiling as he saw the jagged cliffside waiting for him on the other side. But down below in the valley, a few miles out, was a sight that left him speechless.
A sprawling, dilapidated metropolis surrounding a pristine citadel swarmed with activity. The city was encased within a wall of discolored and corroded steel, wordlessly conveying a dislike of outsiders. The walls connected to an enormous metal gate that looked to be around a good half-dozen feet thick; ornate designs covered its face in stark contrast to the rest of the barrier. He couldn’t quite make them out from here. One of the structures near the wall was in ruins, producing the cloud of smoke. He could hear shouting from the same area. The city was as appalling as it was strangely alluring.
He had never seen a place anywhere near as large as this in his life and he suddenly felt a child-like giddiness overtake him. Not only was he saved from a slow, painful death out in the Wastes, but now also had the chance to explore something completely foreign to him. Another pleasant thought crossed his mind. Maybe the rest of his tribe had come here too in search of shelter! Too excited to remain still any longer, he slid down off the rock and began to search for a safe place to climb down to the valley below.
As he searched, he felt the heat cooking him alive from within his rags and realized he really didn’t need them anymore. He hastily unwrapped the coverings around his head first, revealing his short, black hair and suntanned skin. His hair dripped with sweat and hung down messily over his face, slightly obscuring his sapphire eyes. After he removed the rest, he could immediately feel the dry air moving through his clothes and cooling his skin. Underneath the rags he wore fitted garments made of animal hide and thin, but resilient, cloth. On his shoulders, chest and the backs of his hands were strips of dark brown protective leather covering; beneath the chest coverings, he wore a weathered beige cloak that flared out slightly around the legs. Straddling the nomad’s waist was a belt from which a small equipment pack and canteen pouch hung; the belt supported his thin, light brown leggings and a pair of well-worn, darker brown boots completed the ensemble. He decided to leave the hood of his cloak down.
“Much better,” he exhaled with relief, leaving the discarded rags on the ground.
Feeling his usual freedom of movement return, he ran alongside the rocky cliffside until he found a suitable opening he could use to lower himself down. He peered over the edge, mapping out a relatively safe path, and turned his back to the precipice. With a firm grip on the rocks, he carefully began his descent.
An hour later, he had finally touched down in the valley. The sirens from the city had silenced themselves during his descent. The climb down was challenging and he nearly lost his footing a few times, but he survived with little more than a few small cuts and bruises. But all of that meant little to him right now with the strange city now easily within walking distance—or running distance—as he had broken out into a near sprint towards his presumed salvation. As he ran, the ominous steel walls loomed before him and, for a brief moment, he felt the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction. He shook away the feeling and focused on the muted sound of his feet connecting with the sand, the sound of his blood pounding in his ears, anything to distract him. Before long, he found himself not far from the gate.
It had seemed large from the cliff, but up close it was impossibly huge. The ornate designs he had seen before depicted what looked like the sun shining down directly overhead a tower, which he presumed to be the citadel, and the tower shining in return. Whatever it meant, the citadel certainly hadn’t been shining when he saw it. On top of that, he couldn’t even see a way in. The only other thing outside the wall was a small, abandoned looking building off to the side of the gate. Maybe the disturbance inside was worse than he thought. Upon entry, it was clear that the building was truly empty, but what was inside pleased the nomad all the same.
On the walls were racks of weapons he had only seen as pictures in his books. He admired the sleek design of the ion rifle, the compact and reliable e-pistol and his eyes went wide as he discovered a mag-cannon within a footlocker on the ground. What he wouldn’t give to be able to take them apart and examine their inner workings. His gaze shifted to a table pushed up against the wall under an open window and to the items upon it. There were two cups filled with an unfinished liquid he couldn’t identify, another e-pistol and a small square board with interconnected triangles on it. He touched it and it sprang to life, displaying holographic images of odd-looking people. Was it some kind of game? Suddenly, he was roughly jerked backwards and he let out a cry of protest.
Landing awkwardly in the sand outside, he turned around to see two men standing over him suited up in full, black combat armor. One was wearing an equally black helmet with the visor down and the other taller one was not. The latter had closely shaven brown hair and a muscular build with an unsightly scar across the crease of his mouth that gave him a permanent scowl. His armor was aesthetically modified with symbols in a way that insinuated he was of higher importance than his helmeted partner. They both had their hands on their holsters and neither looked happy.
“Well look what we have here,” growled the scarred man. He appeared calm, but his eyes smoldered with an inner fire. “The gatehouse is strictly off limits to everyone but Monolith staff. That goes double for civvies.”
“And you sure ain’t with the fine forces of the Monolith security chapter,” the helmeted one chimed in, grinning.
“I’m sorr-”
“Shut up.” The scarred man cut the nomad off. “I find it suspicious that while those rebel traitors launched their biggest terrorist attack yet, we just happen to find you rummaging through the gatehouse.”
The nomad was too scared to speak and the man drew closer, leaning over him.
“But now that I look at you,” he continued, “you don’t look like a citizen. In fact you have the look of one of those sun-addled wastelanders. If that’s the case, where’s the rest of your tribe?”
The nomad gulped nervously, swallowing his fear. “Well, um, I was out gathering supplies when a sandstorm hit. I got turned around and couldn’t find my way back to camp so, when I heard the explosion,” he flicked his head towards the city, “I found this place.”
“Ah. So you’re just a lamb separated from the flock, is that right?” He smirked at his own remark. “What’s your name, drifter?
“It’s Sid,” the nomad replied.
“Well, Sid, welcome to Dark City.”