The Scourge

2255

Emric awoke uneasily from his drunken slumber and rose from his soiled mattress, leaving behind congealing pools of sweat, blood and various other bodily fluids on the material which was by now so dirty it was in danger of one day getting to it's filthy feet and walking off into the distance of it's own volition. Stretching his stumpy body, Emric looked through the empty shell of a window that glared out from the ruined skeleton of one of the remaining skyscrapers in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, which was by then simply know as 'The Pitt.' An apt name and to the point. Emric was probably the most important person residing in that twisted den of filth and inequity, but you would not have thought it were you unfortunate enough to meet him.

Emric was not a tall man, reaching no higher than 5'5 from the ground. He was not what you would call 'classically handsome,' in the sense that he was about as attractive as the underside of a bridge. He hid his rapidly increasing baldness under myriad different scavenged caps and bandannas, but his visage was so unsightly no mother who ever birthed could have brought herself to love it. Deeply pockmarked, scarred and stained by the environ in which he lived, his face would occasionally be illuminated by an evil grin filled with many black and broken teeth. His dark eyes were long tunnels of misery that none enjoyed journeying down.

Nor did Emric possess many of the skills that you would think were necessary to survive in the post-apocalyptic world. He was a terrible shot with any sort of firearm, he was far from intelligent and his personality could be best described as 'shit.' Indeed Emric lacked any form of redeemable quality save for three:

He was fearless (or had 'Balls the size of Deathclaw Eggs') as he himself once put it.

He was talented with a knife.

He had a great love for cruel and unnecessary violence.

Numerous men, quite a few women and a surprisingly large number of children had all pursued attempts on his life, and the vast majority of these people had suffered unpleasant fates. Emric revelled in regaling his stories of revenge and torture to any who would listen. His own personal favourite story followed Emric on the night when he had been set upon by a club-wielding young couple whose wooden shack Emric had begun to loot.

In full view of said young couple.

It is a mark of just how imbecilic this man was that he was altogether surprised when the two lovers attacked him for his actions. His idiocy appeared to have finally caught up with him, but in a rare moment of ingenuity Emric seized a nearby milk bottle and smashed it over the man's head, before stabbing the girl in the face with the jagged remains. Fishing out a length of surgical wire, Emric proceeded to bind the two and rape them both, in front of one another. He then calmly smoked a cigarette and stubbed out the butt in the young man's eye, before leaving them to bleed to death. If Emric had a new audience for his tale, at this point he would select one of them, turn to that person and exclaim "LIKE THIS!" before repeating his cigarette 'trick' on the poor unfortunate.

Emric was a thoroughly unpleasant person, as you may have gathered. But thoroughly unpleasant people like Emric suited the Pitt circa 2255. The Pitt had no real order or authority, merely a chaotic mess of gangs that struggled against one another for dominance. Emric had quickly gained a reputation as a fearless psychopath and was assimilated into a rape gang known as The Foxes. After spending some time integrating himself with his fellow gang members, Emric performed a coup by gutting the leader of the gang with a serrated knife. The rest of The Foxes were either cowed or impressed at this act of ultra-violence and decided to make Emric their new leader. It is unclear whether Emric performed the disemboweling in full view of the rest of the gang because he wanted them to see his actions or because he was simply too brainless to consider the negative effect his actions could have had on his health. The Foxes began to rise in prominence as rumour spread of their insane leader, who came in the deep night and left none alive...

Life for Emric consisted of his doing whatever he felt like. A spot of torture here, a splash of rape there, and if he felt like it, a dabble of intravenous drugs to help him pass the time. This was his routine, every day, day in, day out.

Except for this day.

Because as Emric looked out of the fissure in the wall that once held a pane of glass, he saw something he was not used to seeing.

He saw nothing.

Nary a soul on the streets below him. But from across the destroyed city there came a distant roar of noise from which he could not identify any recognisable sound, and a great smoke was rising from the old ruins of the Steel Mill. Emric was ready to write it off as some sort of everyday conflict which had escalated, until an explosion that can only be described as gargantuan shook the very stone upon which he stood and a great mushroom cloud rose high into the sky, almost blinding his small and watery eyes as he looked upon it. A split second later, he felt an unbearable heat cascade over him and stumbled backwards, his eyes and throat burning.

Once he had regained his composure, Emric wasted no time in arming himself to the teeth with every blade he had, reluctantly retrieving an Assault Rifle and a few clips of ammunition as he did so. He then began the long descent through the burnt-out shell of the colossal building which he used for shelter, calling out to the Foxes residing there as he did so.

Emric and around fifty of his followers reached the ground floor and crept like their namesake across the silent and dilapidated lobby towards the entrance. They were armed decently, having scavenged weapons from their conquests in the past and building themselves a small armory. The Foxes had taken this building and fortified it long before Emric had joined their rabble, identifying it's naturally defensible position and huge area of space in which to reside. The front door was barricaded with makeshift barriers, including the shells of automobiles and various desks and chairs they had found while stripping their home of parts. The Foxes had fashioned a gate out of the front door of one of the cars they had used and they halted near it, listening.

There was something different about the screaming today. These were not the normal screams of despair from The Pitt's unfortunate victims. These were harsh screams, like battle cries. The rattle of gunfire was still distinguishable, but now it was being overwhelmed by the unmistakable whirring of Energy Weapons. Occasionally there would be another explosion and a little dust would fall from the ceiling above their heads, settling like snow on their shoulders and hair. They waited for a while longer, hearing the rumble of conflict get closer and closer.

Then, suddenly, they could hide no longer.

Emric was readying himself to meet whatever new threat was approaching just as he heard the unmistakable whoosh of a Missile Launcher being fired near at hand. Before Emric and his men could react, they were flying through the air in a flash of white-hot light and pain.

Emric crashed with an astonishing velocity into the wall at the far end of the lobby and collapsed to the ground like a rag-doll. His vision was obscured by smoke and dust and there was a ringing in his head which rendered his hearing distorted. All that he could hear was uncomfortably loud. He tried to move his arms and legs, reacting to a survival instinct he had been previously unaware of, but found that he could not. The reason for this became clear as his vision cleared slightly and he examined his body.

His entire right flank was covered in black-coloured blood. His arms and legs were positioned at strange angles, their bones poking from the skin. One of his ears lay on the ground beside him.

Emric wanted to scream, but found his body would no longer respond to the commands he was giving it. He felt it turn icy cold, and dimly recognised that his life was ebbing away. Through the battle-smoke he could distinguish figures stirring feebly, their screams of pain echoing horribly in his head. Other shapes, large and bulky, moved through the gloom. The unnatural darkness was periodically illuminated by red flashes of light issuing from the guns these figures carried with them.

Emric's eyes closed slowly before snapping open again, as one's eyes do when the onset of long sleep is near. Dull fear lapped at him as one of the hulking outlines filled his vision. Emric had assumed they were robots and was surprised to hear a human, albeit metallic, voice issue from the helmet which the man wore. He was dressed in some sort of armor, and carried a Missile Launcher on his back with apparent ease. He was obviously military.

"Whoa! This one's in bad shape. And I'd say he's the leader, too! Lots of good toys stuck to him." The soldier appeared to consider him for a moment. "I almost feel bad for you. What's your name savage, if you can talk?"

Moronic and defiant to the last, Emric summoned the last of his strength and spat blood at his assailant. The soldier jumped back, and laughed. Emric gurgled horribly, starting to choke on his own blood.

Another man dressed in the metal armor approached. He cradled a Gatling Laser in his arms, and spoke to the Launcher-wielding soldier.

"Alright Turnbull, that's enough. Put him out of his misery. Lyons says fan out and keep looking for clean kids. Rendezvous at the South Tenth Street Bridge," he said, before jogging from the room into the street outside.

"You got it, Williams," Turnbull called, watching his companion go. When Williams was gone, he drew a Laser Pistol from his hip.

"Well, my superior says to put you out of your misery. You're lucky, because you look like a special kind of scumbag and I'd enjoy leaving you here to die slowly. But orders are orders. Goodbye, savage."

Sharp pain roared through Emric's broken body, and he felt a peculiar sensation spread rapidly through every particle of his being.

As Knight Captain Turnbull of the Brotherhood of Steel jogged out into the devastated streets of The Pitt, all that remained behind him was small pile of ash.