Author's Note
Well, just recently got back into FanFiction. Since my last run at writing here, I've been participating in a roleplaying sight, . Very fascinating. I'll be sure to post some of the stuff I've written from there onto here when I get the chance. In the meantime, please enjoy reading this unfinished, and largely unedited draft of a story I meant to post a long time ago and, just, well, never got around to it. If it makes you question whether or not I am even fit to write, well, I don't blame you. But then again – every author hates his own work.
Set in the post-apocalyptic remains of Vancouver, Ashes to Ashes epitomizes the struggle of personal ambition against the lifelong loyalties of friends, family, and faction. Follow the tragic story of Janus in this Macbeth typology set in the unforgiving and unforgettable backdrop of the Fallout world.
CHAPTER I
MksThe sun was rising over the distant horizon when the patrol finally reached it's destination. The darkened, broken hulks of the metropolis' skyscrapers was silhouetted against it, casting an ominous shadow over the frozen streets of the city, in which the contingent of men sulked. They moved as a unit, methodically, almost robotically, checking each other's corners as they neared the enemy camp. They kept close to the grey concrete walls of the buildings, which themselves were in an essence apocalyptic, with bullet hulls, blood stains, and meaningless tribal graffiti covering every inch of them. It was a despondent setting, but for Janus the urban ruins of the Van, and more specifically the island town of Stanley, were home. A home that had recently come under threat by a group of raiders from the north, called the Blazers. Named for their obsession with energy weapons and fire, the Blazers were the largest threat faced by the Stans in the latter part of the 22nd century. But today, that was going to change.
"Hold up," Janus instructed, and his men obeyed, keeping their eyes peeled and their rifles at the ready.
"What is it, Janus?" Jacob's co-commander, Strabo, asked as he slowly crouch-walked towards his lifelong friend. Janus had taken out his binoculars and was peering past the edge of the building and into the adjacent street that ran perpendicular to the one his men were lined up in. "Dozen guards," he said. "Looks like a patrol. Laser pistols, couple Recharger rifles plus a Flamer." The Blazers were obviously expecting an attack from the Stans, and had heightened up patrols in their captured sections of the Van.
"Shouldn't be a problem," Strabo said, taking a step forward into the street only to be pulled back by Janus. "They won't," he corrected, "but the noise we will create will attract every Blazer from here to the waterfront. And that would be a problem."
Strabo sighed. "You have a point. So what's the plan?"
He pointed to the manhole five feet behind him.
"You can't be serious..."
Janus waved him off. "Don't worry; you won't be going in the sewers, I will. I'll take a fourth of our number with me, and try and sneak past. You keep the rest of the men here, and distract that patrol. With any luck they'll call for reinforcements, leaving the Stadium open for assault."
The abandoned hockey stadium in the city was the Blazers' main base of operations, converted from a ruin to a massive fortress of concrete and rebar. It was an easily defensible position, with only four natural entrances - three of which had been blocked off by the Blazers when they had first inhabited the building in the spring of the last year.
"So...we're the bait?" Strabo asked.
"No. Your the distraction."
"Yes, exactly. The bait."
"Wanna switch jobs?" Janus asked. "If the freezing, molerat-filled sewers of the Van appeal to you..."
"Alright, alright," Strabo said, conceding defeat. "But I keep the minigun, and the snipers."
"Agreed," Janus replied, nodding to some of his men, who joined Strabo's contingent. That left a bit left than two dozen in Janus' company. "It's not like sniper rifles are great for use in a sewer anyway."
"Give us ten minutes in the sewers before you start firing, alright? Ten minutes."
"Okay, ten minutes. Good luck, Janus."
"You'll need it more than me."
Janus slid off the cover and climbed down the rusted ladder, landing with a splash in the freezing water below, which came up to his ankles. Goosebumps immediately popped up all over his skin, and he shivered as he exhaled, watching his breath in the frozen subterranean air. He shuffled forwards to make room for the rest of his men, blowing air into his hands as he tried to warm them. He had a pair of cut out socks on his forearms that came down to his hands, and while it helped keep his arms warm it did absolutely nothing to comfort his frostbitten fingers.
"Cold as hell down here," Janus noted to his men, stating the obvious. He checked his Pip-Boy, and the thermometer read a chilling -15 degrees Fahrenheit. Janus whistled, partly in shock, partly in acceptance. That was damn cold, even for the Van. He turned on his Pip-Boy light, and slung his carbine, favoring instead his .45 pistol, on which he attached a suppresser. His carbine was a pre-war weapon he had found in the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, a semi-automatic, scoped one that took 5.56 mm ammunition. He had found it packed quite a punch, and what it lacked in rate of fire it made up for in accuracy and sheer stopping power. His .45 was less of a rare find, and wasn't in the best of condition, but it worked.
Janus led the way in the sewers, his pip-boy light illuminating their path. His Pip-Boy was uploaded with maps of the Van, including it's sewers, by default, and for that he was thankful. The wrist-worn Personal Information Processor (Pip-Boy) had more than made up for it's price in caps since he had bought it a few years back from a Seattle merchant, and the maps of the British Colombia/Oregon area had proven extremely helpful. These sewers were like a labyrinth. It was relatively silent save the splash of their boots in the water and the dripping condensation from the ceiling. Or so, he thought. A rumble shook the tunnels, and Janus immediately looked upwards, and listened.
The faint cracks of gunfire, mixed with the sounds of energy weapons discharging. "We've got to hurry," he instructed his men. "Strabo has begun his attack."
The men double timed it, relying on Janus' Pip-Boy for guidance. No one questioned if he knew the way - they were too loyal for that. He had grown up by these guys, and all of them were essentially blood brothers. They would have followed him anywhere and everywhere. Though part of it was probably that he had the map.
Janus was running now, and could feel himself wearing out in the cold, damp, sewers. Running underground, where the air was humid and chilled, it almost hurt to breath. It was extremely tiring, almost to the point of exhaustion -
The pain shot through his leg, and he cursed as he fell to one knee in the water. A gunshot rang out a moment later, than another, blowing the head off the mutated insect. "Fucking hell," he cursed, shaking his leg, trying to get the pain go away. Radroach bites weren't particularly fatal, but the diseases they carried and the high possibility of infection made them a serious problem. When this was over, he would have to see the town's doctor right away. Furthermore, the bite was in his ankle; the cold water lapsing on it made it sting even more, and we began jogging with a slight limp as the foot began to go numb.
"Here it is," he said, double-checking his Pip-Boy and pointing to the ladder up ahead. He took hold of the cold, rusted metal bars first, testing their strength, before hauling himself up. "One at a time," he ordered. "We don't know how many of these bastards decided to stay home."
He climbed the ladder two rungs at a time, in a hurry to get off just in case it did decide to give out. Reaching the top he carefully removed the pothole's cover, sticking just his head out into the street, and gazed around. There was an abandoned Nuka Cola truck between him and the Stadium, thank god. Perfect for hiding his men as they got out of the manhole. One by one, the two-dozen followers climbed out, each assisted by the one before him. "Okay," he said. "This is it. We get in there, and we kill every last one of them."
Janus peeped his head around the corner of the Nuka Cola truck. Ahead, six guards armed with laser rifles stood watch over the main entrance, which was a mosaic of wasteland materials adorned with spikes, heads on stakes, barrels of fire, and a rather well-designed gate system. Janus motioned for half of his men to go right and told the rest to follow him. He sprinted into the open before sliding into cover behind some pulverized concrete and rebar, unslinging his carbine and sighting in. His target wore a metal motorcycle helmet, and so he loaded an armor-piercing round at the top of his clip before sighting in again, holding his breath, and pulling the trigger.
A sharp crack echoed through the street and Janus watched with satisfaction as his target flew backwards. His bullet had missed his original target, and instead of piercing the helmet the round had tore into his chest, but the result was all the same. His target dropped to the ground, landing in a pool of his own blood. The other guards unslung their weapons and began looking for the culprit - to which a hailstorm of lead from Janus' compatriots answered their quest.
The enemy guards attempted to flee, but their friends inside of the stadium had already shut the massive metal gate. Instead they simply dropped their weapons and ran. The ramparts surrounding the entrance came alive with angry Blazers as they tried to defend their fortress. It was a battle of lasers versus lead, and the gun-trotting Stans had the edge. The accurate marksmen, armed with trail carbines and brush guns, fired round after deadly round, covering the advance of the main force, which was armed mainly with shotguns and SMGs, for use in close range.
"Get the C-4," Janus yelled over the gunfire, as he reloaded his carbine. One of his men slung a backpack full of plastic explosive towards the gate, and hit the detonator. The explosion knocked Janus off his feet and blew the air from his lungs. His ears rang like bells as he groaned in pain of being to close to the explosion. But the gate was gone - and thankfully, he was unhurt. Janus rolled over and was helped up by his men, just in time to see an adjoining wall of the fortification fall to the ground, trapping two Blazers underneath.
The Stans rushed through the debris of the once-impressive bastion, and into the stadium itself. Janus had never been inside the Stadium, and was rather shocked to see what the Blazers had done to the interior. Small huts had been created in the stands, surrounding a central tent that had the faded U.S. Air Force logo on all sides. In front of the tent a large truck lay, apparently refurbished by their owners. This had all been constructed within the grounds, within the safety of the Stadium's concrete shell which surrounded the village on all sides, including vertically. But no Blazers were to be found. "Keep your eyes peeled," he instructed. Janus approached the central tent, nervously fingering his carbine.
He threw open the tent's flap, and was not prepared for what he saw. A large computer processor lay in the center, surrounded by terminals and electronic equipment that looked military in nature and rather fragile. Electrical wiring covered the floor to the point where Janus had to watch his step to not trip over them. The gentle hum of two generators in the back of the tent, which was about 25 by 25 meters in size, gave the entire scene one of even more complexity and contributed greatly to the scientific feel it had.
Janus approached what he guessed was the central console, out of curiosity, and looked at the display. In bright blue pixelated letters, he read:
U.S. AIR FORCE – COMMISSARY AI PROTOTYPE "HOLIDAY"
TYPE YOUR NAME TO BEGIN.
What the heck? He thought. He hesitated, then pressed the central key. He stepped back as the machine hummed with electricity. The generators in the back began whirling in protest to keep up with the demand for power. Sparks flew from somewhere in the right side of the room, and then the entire tent went dark. Only the blue computer screen was alight.
/ .HOLIDAY .JANUS
/ Hello, Janus.
The underscore symbol was blinking, which Janus recognized as asking him to type. He was bewildered at how this computer could know his name, but even more curious.
How do you know my name?
He typed, hesitated, and pressed Enter. He thought for a second the machine was broken when suddenly a reply appeared on the screen.
/ Because I know everything.
What do you know? And what are you?
/ As for me, well, I am an artificial intelligence. And I know that your friend and compatriot Strabo has been victorious. The 'Blazers,' as you call them, are in full retreat. And that your wife fears you are dead.
And how could you possibly know that?
/ In time, I will tell you. But first I have something very important I need you to do for me.
Why would I help you?
/ Because I can return the favor. I can make you the most powerful man in the Oregon territory.
user_janus_1.23.2277 How?
user_holiday_1.23.2277 With the location of the greatest weapon ever created. Something that was designed to end all wars, by destroying the enemy's ability to wage it. It has been preserved, and protected, all these years, by an underground vault, safe from the nuclear fire that scorched the earth two hundred years ago.
user_janus_1.23.2277 And what is the favor?
user_holiday_1.23.2277 Download this server's database into your personal information processor. And hurry. Time is of the essence.