Going down to the wasteland
Stan crawled back to consciousness, and the first thing he knew was that his head hurt like a motherfucker and he needed to sneeze.
He forced his eyes open and squinted, trying to adjust to the sun's glare.
"What the hell...?"
Trying to massage his headache away, he hauled himself to his feet. The raven-haired teen checked himself over on instinct, only to discover that he was wearing a blue and yellow jumpsuit with brown boots. It seemed familiar, but he couldn't place why.
"What the fuck am I wearing?"
The strange device on his left wrist stood out more than his outfit. It looked like someone had fused a watch with a television, and he could make out the faded word 'Pip-Boy' engraved beside its small screen. He tapped the dusty display and turned the nob on its side, curious whether the gadget was even working. The screen flashed to neon-green life.
"Well that's new," he muttered to himself, "I hope this thing can tell me what happened and why I'm here."
He messed with its controls more, flicking between two of the Pip-Boy's screens—a blank map and a small list of radio stations, and then directed a frustrated growl at it. "Well that's useful. I don't know where I am but at least I have music!"
Stan scanned his surroundings. The ground was dry and dusty with patches of dead grass and stretched on for miles. Trees freckled the landscape, dark and barren of leaves. The silhouette of a small, oddly shaped building in the distance caught his attention, with a winding, dirt road leading to it.
Better than nothing.
"I hope there's someone there that can help me." He mumbled, and started on his way.
Stan arrived at his destination quicker than he expected. It was a retro-themed diner, a large sign on the roof, attached to a large red rocket declaring 'Red Rocket Diner'. On the door was a small cardboard sign that said 'formerly known as Shakey's Diner'.
"Hello! Is anyone here?!"
No reply. Stan knew the place was abandoned and went in, eager to get out of the dry heat. Inside, the air was dusty but considerably cooler, and he made a beeline for the kitchen hoping to find water. The first fridge he raided had a full bottle and he snatched it up, practically tearing the cap off.
A soft growl behind him nearly caused him to inhale the water.
He turned around slowly, expecting a wolf or a Doberman or some other vicious thing that wanted his throat.
The growler was a small, light and dark brown dog— a crossbreed stray of staffy and something else that appeared more sad than angry.
Luckily, for the mutt, the human who he was growling at was an animal lover.
"Are you thirsty boy? Is that it?" Stan asked. The dog's eyes flicked between him and the bottle as if in answer.
"Just give me a second." He grabbed a nearby bowl from the counter, emptied the rest of the water into it and set it down in front of him, aware that the dog was still growling and his eyes were studying the teen warily.
"Here you go, boy."
The mutt studied him for a moment more, then stopped growling and plunged his face into the bowl with perked ears and a wagging tail, lapping up the water in minutes. He looked up at Stan, tongue lolling out of his open mouth in a goofy doggy-grin.
"See I'm not that bad." Stan told him. He crouched down to pet the content dog and the wagging tail sped up. Only then did Stan notice the blue studded collar he was wearing.
"You don't seem to have a tag. I'm going to call you... Sparky!"
The dog seemed to grin again and Stan smiled back, petting his new friend and relieved to have company. Sparky jumped up and licked Stan's face, then skittered to the door, turned and barked twice.
"You want me to follow you?" Stan asked. "Alright."
The mutt charged out of the diner and the two of them headed back onto the road, going east.
"I hope you know where you're going." Stan said to Sparky as they walked down the road.
Stan and Sparky walked for what felt like hours but soon arrived on top of a hill with a wooden sign next to the road. The sign had 'South Park' painted on it in bold letters.
He gave the partially ruined town an apprehensive glance.
"God, I hope this place has people."
Stan followed Sparky around the town, taking in the sights of all the damaged shops and houses. Gunfire cracked through the ghost town's silence and Stan jolted.
"Okay, Sparky, I think we should get going." He whispered. The sound of a gunshot was never a sign that the one who had caused it was friendly.
A hot breeze flashed past his right ear.
"Jesus Christ!"
A bullet hit the ground in front of him, leaving a dent in the road. Sparky barked angrily as Stan turned to see a group of people holding guns dressed in dirty clothes covered in pieces of armour made from scrap.
"Dude, what the fuck?!"
He whirled around and bolted. Sparky ran ahead and the only thing Stan could do was follow him and resist the urge to check if the group of hostiles had given chase. Soon his lungs were burning, his muscles were screaming at him, and worse still, the shouts and war-cries of his pursuers drew closer…
"Hey!"
Like divine intervention, someone called to him. He could make out a figure flailing at him from the upper window of the nearby boarded up elementary school.
"Quick, dude, get in here!"
Heavy doors dragged open, and Stan didn't need to be told twice. The doors slammed behind Stan and Sparky as soon as they were inside, and he leaned over and tried to get his lungs to obey him again. "Th-thanks."
"No problem," a male voice said from behind him. He turned to see two male teens that looked to be the same age as him.
"My name is Butters." The boy who had spoken had short, blond hair wearing a teal T-shirt covered with a torn, brown leather jacket, dark green pants and dirty sneakers.
"This is Craig." he continued, pointing to the boy on the right who was wearing a tattered, dark blue chullo hat with a yellow puff ball on top, dark blue long sleeved shirt, pants, boots and fingerless gloves. He responded with flipping off Stan with no facial expression.
"That's not very nice, Craig," Butters scolded. He twitched a crooked smile back at Stan and fiddled with his hands, as if embarrassed for Craig's display. "S-sorry bout that, Craig gives everyone the finger. I-it's kinda like a reflex... I think."
"Ah ha..." Stan wasn't sure what else to say.
"Craig, what have I told you about doing that to new people?"
Stan turned toward the new voice to see another teen. This boy wore a tilted cowboy hat with a green strap wrapped around the top, strands of long, curly red hair peeking out from the brim. He wore a long, light brown leather coat, and an orange and yellow vest underneath with a green scarf tucked into it. A belt with useful-looking pouches attached to it was fastened around his waist and held up his black pants. Brown boots peeked out from the pant legs.
Craig responded by flipping off the red-haired man who returned the gesture.
"My name is Kyle," the boy said, offering his hand in greeting.
"Oh, my name is Stan and this is Sparky." Stan shook Kyle's hand, then looked at Sparky sitting by his side.
"Who the hell were those guys?" Stan asked Kyle.
"Those were Raiders. They have been attacking our base for the past week." Kyle answered.
"Why?" Stan asked.
"They most likely want our supplies or base." Kyle said with a sigh. "What are you doing above ground anyway?"
"Why would I be underground?'
"Because you're wearing a vault suit and Pipboy so you must be from one of the vaults."
Stan raised a brow. "A vault?"
"How do you not know what a vault is?" Kyle replied, confused. "They're underground bomb shelters designed by a company called Vault-Tec to protect people from the bombs 200 years ago."
"He doesn't have a number on his back." Craig pointed out to Kyle.
"That's just weird. If you're not from a vault then where are you from?" Kyle continued asking questions.
Stan shrugged. "I don't know that part either. All I know was that I woke up in the middle of nowhere with a headache and dressed like this. I only really remember my name and a few random, useless things. Everything else is hazy."
"Wow. That must suck, dude." Kyle said. His tone was surprised and a little sympathetic.
"It's okay. You're with friends now." Butters said, gently patting Stan on the back. Stan looked at the blond, confused.
"You should meet the rest of our team." Kyle said. He led Stan into a nearby, rundown classroom, leaving Butters and Craig to guard the front door.
"Stan, this is Tweek and Token." He gestured the last two teens as he introduced them.
Stan's immediate impression was that someone had replaced Tweek's internal organs with a motor boat engine. He sat in the corner of the room, twitching and jittering and tugging at his messy, blond hair. The moss-green T-shirt he wore wasn't buttoned up right. He wore one fingerless, leather glove on his right hand, brown pants and mismatched sneakers. Stan would have asked where the other glove was, but he had a feeling the poor guy wouldn't even be able to handle the simplest of questions.
Token was harder to read. He was African-American, had short, dark brown hair and wore a purple jacket with a yellow, capital T on the front, black pants and dirty, red sneakers.
He shot Stan a smile and casual wave. "Hey there."
"Hey." Stan replied waving back.
"H-hi! Gah!" Tweek stuttered, looking at Stan like he would've eaten him if he hadn't followed Token's lead.
"Um, hi." Stan replied. He directed an inquisitive glance at Kyle, who shrugged.
"Yeah. Tweek has a bit of an anxiety problem. I think it has something to do with all the Nuka Cola he's been drinking."
"How long have you been here?" Stan asked him.
"About ten days. We first came here, thinking we might be able to set up a shelter for ourselves and others who need it, but then the Raiders showed up. We tried to sneak out at night but there was a Streisand Death-claw that randomly comes out at night."
"A what?"
"Death-claws are huge lizards that can easily hold a grown man in one hand." Kyle explained. "They've got horns, big claws and thick skin. They're crazy strong and vicious. The Streisand one is easy to spot. It's bigger than a normal Death-claw and has long, blond, greasy hair."
Stan gawped at him. "Wait wait wait, you're telling me that there a like mini Godzilla's running around?"
Kyle shrugged. "Pretty much."
"What the fuck, dude?" Stan commented.
"Yeah, it's pretty messed up," Token added, "but that's what radiation does to animals. We don't have much ammo to fight it or the raiders so we're stuck here".
"If you managed to escape all of this crap then where would you go?" Stan asked.
"I was thinking we could go to this cul-de-sac I heard of that's on the edge of town. Apparently it used to be a raider camp so it already has walls built around it. If we could get there we could add some more defences to it and make it our home" Kyle answered.
"Ngh I-I wish we were there already!" Tweek chimed in from the corner of the room.
"What weapons do you guys have?" Stan asked.
"Craig has a shotgun that has four bullets left, Tweek has a pipe pistol with eight bullets, Butters has a metal baseball bat and Token has a rifle with three bullets." Kyle answered.
"What about you?" Stan asked Kyle raising an eyebrow.
Kyle sighed. "I have a flame thrower but it's almost out of fuel so if I use it it's not gonna last long"
"Ok that's pretty badass. Why doesn't Butters have a gun?" Stan asked.
"He... he's not exactly the best shot." Token sighed.
"That's putting it mildly." Kyle commented.
"OH GOD WE'RE GONNA DIE!" Tweek screamed, tugging at his hair.
"For the last time Tweek we aren't going to die!" Kyle snapped back.
"We just need a plan." Token added.
Stan held his chin, looking at the ground, thinking. And grinned. "I think I know what we can do."