I own Petty Officer Melba S. Mann, Admiral Dieter Unger, Seaman Oscar Schenk, Starthuat, Starthuat's army, and Elder Porras, all else to Bethesda
A/N..
Hiya! I'm back!
New rating too, this one is darker than the other one.
Also, since we're moving into unfamiliar territory, I'll be stepping up my game and describing things more, so updates will go down as a result.
So, welcome back and Waring: crying, use of language, implied death, rotting ghouls, fire, and monsters pulling women ( I think that's everything)
Rate and Review and Enjoy!
May 2278
Run. Keep running. Don't look back. Gotta get to the ships. Petty Officer Melba S. Mann thinks to herself as she runs cover to cover. Her short black hair sticks to the back of her sweat covered neck. Peaking around a building, her brown eyes dart from left to right. How did things get so fucked?!
The day had started out as any other. Petty Officer Melba Mann rose at 0600 hours that morning, taking a shower, and slipping on grey jogging pants, a white shirt, and her Brotherhood holo-tags. It was another beautiful irradiated day in Havana, Cuba. Brotherhood soldiers and seamen were training in the yard and those who were not training were either milling around the radio or delivering supplies around the base. Looking off in the distance, Melba Mann smiles at the Old World ships being refurbished back into working order, with the Brotherhood flag flapping lazily in the air, on the top masts of the battleships.
How could the world descend into chaos in just three hours? Melba asks herself, snapping back to the present. The smell of charred corpses hangs in the air, black smoke bellowing into the air out from the burned out buildings. Walking amongst the death and destruction in the base there are Ghoul sailors with barnacles running up and down their arms, with water-logged assault rifles. When they turn their backs, Melba runs to the next cover, her holo-tags clinking together softly. One of the sailors turns around, as if hearing the clinking, growling softly. After a few moments, with Melba holding her breath, the Ghoul shrugs, turning back around, catching up with the group.
Looking up, Melba sees that she's a few meters from the battleship. Sighing in relief, she rushes forward, tripping over a body half-way there. Hitting the ground hard, several Ghouls snap towards the sound, growling and gripping their assault rifles tighter. Their irradiated barnacle covered tongues snake out of their mouths, rubbing up against their dry lips. Before they can rush towards her, a larger monster pushes them out of the way. Staring wide-eyed up at the towering seven foot armoured covered monster, Melba's mouth drops open and she screams as it reaches down, painfully tangling it's claws in her hair. She pulls as the armoured fist, her legs flailing wildly against the sandy ground.
The monster dragged her across the camp to a Ghoul. Looking up and around the monster, Melba can see that the Ghoul must in charge. Dressed in an Old World service blues, the captain's hat sits at an angle, looking as if it would fall off if a strong wind blew. The left cheek was gone, rotted away and a barnacled tongue threatens to fall out. Resting a hand on top of the sword at tied to his belt, he looks down at Melba, coldly considering her, like a piece of meat. Kneeling down next to her, his rotten fingers grip her chin, forcefully turning her head to face his. Tears leak out of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. The Ghoul notices the holo-tags, releasing Melba's chin and grabbing the tags. "The Land Steel," he grounds out, ripping the tags from around her neck. The Ghoul jerks his chin forward, to the mass of waiting ghoul sailors. The monster nods, whipping its arm forward, flinging Melba at the ghoul horde, releasing its fist, throwing her into the ghoul. Her screams fill the air, as the ghouls descend hungrily upon her.
Looking through a pair of binoculars, Admiral Dieter Unger of the South-Eastern division of the Brotherhood of Steel sighs and looks at the smoke bellowing from their bases in the Caribbean. Dropping the binoculars and setting them on a small table next to him in Fort Point in the remains of the Florida Keys, he runs a gloved hand through his blonde hair. Admiral Dieter Unger stands 5 foot 8 inches out of his power armour. Looking down at his military casuals, he closes his eyes, muttering a small prayer of guidance. Opening his green eyes, he looks back up at the smoke he sighs softly, turning his head to the side, calling out in a thick German accent, "Seaman Schenk!"
Seaman Oscar Schenk runs forward a pencil and paper in his hands, snapping into a salute, "Yes, Sir!"
Unger turns to Schenk nodding his head, "Transcribe a note. 'To Elder Porras, bases in the Caribbean have been destroyed. Unknown enemy is to cause. No survivors.'"