Living on Borrowed Time
Chapter One: Introduction
By PolarNegetiveZero
I'll be honest here; I wasn't expecting my morning to go like this. Wake up, possibly late and in a rush, jog to my ramshackle mess hall, grab a can and drink it before doing my daily rounds. I also imagined my day would go along the lines of normal. You know, as normal as I could be before the world went to shit. Might 'a gone and found a few other scavvies (That's an abbreviation for Scavengers, as we're known by actual teams and Clans) and done a training, maybe not. I might not ever know, since my track is destroyed and my engine is damaged. As you should know, Churchill Mark One's don't get ANYWHERE with damaged engines. This is regardless of the fact that, whether I'm facing downhill or uphill, I go absolutely no-where.
Oh yeah, I'm a tank. Not a very common sight from where I'm at, since everything is totally shy and the woods around me are completely devoid of life other than plants and trees. It's a little unnerving, seeing random trees and bushes that are actually green instead of bushes that are black or yellow. This place is nothing like The Gorge. Oh yeah, the place that I scavenge from is called the Gorge by Clanners. Guys like them aren't ever nice. Doesn't matter who you meet, they'll be either assholes or liars. It depends on your preference. Me, I prefer the assholes. At least they don't try to kidnap and sell you to slave-tanks. They'll be straight up with you, and even then, not all of them are this way. But it's better to assume than wonder. Scavenging taught me that. This kept me alive through my lower tiers. I'm not even that high a tier, only tier 5. I'm teetering on the edge of 5 and 6. I like my tier 5 chassis, but the 6 gets a better health-pool, increasing my chances of survival and gives me a better gun. But it'd be like trying to start my engine for the first time: It'll be hard to adjust and get used to.
Enough of thinking, it's time for action. I open up my optics, and move them around the terrain a bit. There are STILL no animals. And just when hope is on the horizon, Murphy strikes again. Oh, you don't know Murphy? He's that son-of-a-bitch who waits until exactly the right moment to fuck you over and demoralize you. I fucking hate Murphy. But, he does what he wants, and I'm just trying to get by. After I move my optics around a bit, I swivel my turret, the thing creaking without any grease for a while. But I used all my internal grease to keep my engine from overheating and killing me in my sleep. I might even be able to move around with it in a bit. Huh, maybe I could make it to those smoke-things-whatever's. There might be a Clan that'd take pity on a lone Scavenger like me. Hey, I might be a-
There's a bird perched on my 75 mm gun.
Why-What? That's…well, damn. I swivel my gun around a little more, eventually giving the bird the message: Hey, dude, stay off of my gun. I need it. The little bird flew around me, and settled on top of my turret. I groaned inwardly, hoping that he didn't mark me with his foulness. Thankfully, Murphy was going to leave me enough alone. The bird made a nest on top of my Commander's Cupola, but he didn't – or she, I can't tell – didn't crap on me or anything. That's the best I can hope for, right?
So, I kept moving my turret around until the creaking noise stopped whenever I turned a little, only when I turned a lot. I tried moving my tank, and felt surprised when my engine thrummed with energy. Must've drunk more gas last night than I realize, but in this situation, I ain't complaining. I gave my engine a nudge, and it moved my right track forward, but it spun me left, making me remember my damaged track. Shit. I thought this thing would fix itself overnight! This posed me a problem. If I used my grease to repair my track, I might overheat my engine and basically kill myself via fire. Or, I can stay here until I convince myself to go along with the original plan except with a whole lot less gas.
That last sentence was enough for me to focus my grease on my track, trying to ignore the small whine my engine gave when it realized it was on its own for now. I give a test call on my radio, sending out a simple signal. "This is a scavenger, checking position. Is anyone there?" I decided not to use my name on a whim that someone might try to insinuate knowing me from before and get me killed. I waited about half a minute, and then began getting impatient, checked on my track and grease levels.
Well, shit. Grease levels are lower than I expected, but my track isn't badly damaged and looks brand new. I focused the remaining grease on keeping my engine cooled and me alive. I guess that's one way to stay alive. I tried sending a burst of speed to my tracks, and was astonished by how quickly they responded after having been greased up again. Not to self; Grease tracks every so often for responsiveness to improve. I sent a message to my engine telling it to get us moving, and it gave all it had, sending us moving to a pace that steadied out at 15 kph.
After about a minute of travelling with focusing on trying to find some sort of landmark, I became bored and let my chassis do the thinking for me so I could concentrate on something else, like remembering my past. I started as a Medium One, an okay tank by many standards. I only used the upgrader once I'd spent about three training matches with the other Tier I's. At that point, I was fully upgraded and hungry to move on, to become better, to TANK more. It was in everyone's blood, from the day they are brought into this world to the day they are forced out – Whether by sickness or cannon-fire – We all live to move up the tiers until we are tier 10, the best of the best. I moved to the Medium Two, and then the three. This was the point that I'd been kicked out of my original team, because I was just so ugly-looking. Looking back from the present, I can see why they thought I looked stupid beyond all belief, but I was a child back then, not a relatively-experienced Heavy as I am now. When I hit the Matilda, I became a happier tank again. That Quarter Pounder mark Ten B was the best gun I'd ever had. It sucks that I can't find any other tanks that use it.
After the Matilda, I became a Churchill. Being stock as a Churchill Mark One was living hell. The stock turret might be more armored, but it had a TERRIBLE gun selection. I had the choice between the same howitzer you get on the Cruiser II, and the same gun I'd had on the Medium. I used the howitzer, as it gave me a chance – A very small one, mind you, but a chance all the same – and eventually made it to where I am now.
Which reminds me, where the hell did Murphy send me?
To note to everyone whom is reading this, I think of this as an experiment, to test the waters of the writing community and see if it's warm enough for me. If it isn't, then I back off and go back to being a reader. If it is, and people start to like my stuff, then I'll debate with myself about continuing. Until that point is hit, I'll keep experimenting with this kind of "kind-sorta-not-really" writing.
Wrote at 11:45 to 12:22 AM whilst waiting on my World of Tanks 9.8 download, so that's why it's a Tank thing. Nyeeeeah.