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"I never had any opportunity to grow up in a vault, none of us in this country did. The only country who knew that we were going to need them were going to be partially to blame on destroying the world. See I'm not from the US of A, I'm from a country where even when the whole world is cat-fighting over what scraps are left, our government still has the nerve to pretend nothing is wrong. Well whatever is left of our government anyway, they threw out the term "Long Live the King" a bloody long time ago. I'm from England, the remaining Scots to the north are the biggest patriots on this nuclear planet, they were not hit badly by the great war, only a madman would go into their highlands. I don't hear much news of Ireland, but I can tell you one thing, London is shot to shit."
As he sits up on the cold metal floor the room spins making him want to go back to sleep, he presses on through the rising vomit in his throat to sit up fully. He cant remember much, just screams then silence, its all the world seems to be full of. As he looks up he hopes to see the photos he has pinned to the ceiling above his bed, but no, there seems to be sky and lots of it. He closes his eyes and tries to remember what happened, then as he start to come around he hears a woman's voice, he turns in expectance but a blank expression stares back at him. She's pretty, he'll give her that, but she's not who he wanted it to be.
As he swallows the saliva in what is an already dry mouth he realises he's wearing rags, as is she. What makes it worse is that they're chained together, ankle to ankle. He stares at the cast iron trying to remember, he can hear her in the background trying to get his attention.
Then she succeeds, "hey" she whispers, "are you okay" in a tender Irish accent.
He chuckles to myself, "on top of the world", she doesn't hear what he says.
"What?" she whispers yet again.
"On top of the world" he yells in a sarcastic manner like he always does, by god he's been told he's good at it.
"Shhhh!" she urges, "or they'll hear you".
Before he can query her to who would hear him she questions, "who are you anyway and how is your luck as bad as mine to end up on here".
"Me?" He questions rhetorically, "I'm Dave, and I am one unlucky son of a bitch."
6 months ago
He looks out onto the fields of yellow and brown, hoping they had some use. He puts his scarf and hat on while preparing himself mentally. As he buttons up his heavy jacket he's am saying to myself "you have to kill them all, it's the only thing left to do." As the people of which he refers, have took the three people in this whole god forsaken world that he cares about. They may be the self proclaimed 'new order' of government, and may have cleared the rural areas of ghouls. But they say that all is fair in love and war, and if they kill his father in war, murder his mother and steal his lover; he just sees it as them raising the bar. He want to hurt them, as they have hurt him. He's not going to kill them, he's going to do everything in his body to make them suffer. Once he does that, he's going across the pond to hang the man that started this all, to hang the man that created the organisation to kill the king. He's going to kill Alistair Tenpenny. He throws his bag over his shoulder and leaves his barricaded home knowing that a long journey is ahead of him, this is not a suicide mission although it seems that way. Although his mother and father are dead, there is still a chance that she is alive, that my love is alive, that Lily is alive. If she isn't, then everybody in his way better be ready, because then it becomes a suicide mission.
