[1916]

By: A Laughing Wolf

Please Read The Following Before Continuing

Disclaimer: this story is based on the visual novel: The Smoke Room, and includes many characters from the game. Please also note that this DOES NOT follow any particular route in the game as of now, but includes characters from all routes. Meaning that relationships between characters may be different from what they are in the original game.

This story takes place almost a year after the events of the game and is meant to act as a fictional standalone title in the Echo universe, but is tied to "The Smoke Room's" sequel "Echo", and will not include anything revolving around Echo's curse and the experiences of Samuel in the original game. Echo's curse has been lifted in this imagined and fictional outcome. This is mainly due to the author's lack of access to the game itself, as well as for the overall convenience of the reader, for the sake of maintaining an easily followable and direct plot and the fact that it is not the intended direction the author wishes to go with this story.

All characters except my OC(s) do not belong to me, they belong to their respective owners at Echo Project. No copyright infringement is intended, this is purely a work of fan fiction.

Warning: Also note that this story's structure and writing will almost always be in third person and will not contain any explicit scenes involving sexual activity, but will have mentions of such things, as well as including explicit mentions of war and death. It is advised and heavily recommended that viewers of this story are at least over the age of 18, due to some of these mature themes.

The characters in this story are all strictly anthropomorphic for obvious reasons, if anthropomorphic characters make you uncomfortable, then we don't recommend reading this story, but encourage you to try to make this an exception. For as previously stated, unlike the source material this story will not include any sexual scenes in the slightest, for that is not the author's intention while writing this story. The sole use of anthropomorphic animals is also strictly by the author's choice.

Note: the parrentises after dialogue in different languages is a direct translation to English. For example "spricht hier jemand Deutsch? (does anyone here speak German?)" Please also note the parentheses are not bolded, this is only an example.

Extra note: the current title of this story "1916" is a placeholder until the author actually comes up with a more creative name, please understand that this may take some time, for unfortunately the author is not very creative when it comes to naming things.

There are currently about 100 more pages worth of this story right now,and it is still very much a work in progress, but it would be deeply appreciated if readers could leave feedback on this work, whether it be explicit or not, any kind of feedback is appreciated.

Please do keep in mind that I do not consider myself at all to be a professional writer, this is simply a large hobby of mine, so please excuse some things that may be considered as odd when reading this, I am open to any constructive criticism or feedback, and please leave a review or comment to give said feedback.

Thank you for reading this story, and if on the small chance that anyone affiliated with Echo Project, The Smoke Room, or EchoVN is choosing to read this, I am greatly honored and inspired by your works and hope that you enjoy this adaptation of your amazing games, as well as the concept taken with its main character. Kindest regards: A Laughing Wolf.

Also apologies for so many disclaimers and notes.

Prologue

Echo, Utah, 17th of June, 1916.

The small town of Echo had a couple hundred inhabitants, which wasn't much compared to other cities and towns across the midwest, but for a mining town, almost a thousand mammals was a lot. Because of its large number of inhabitants, it had practically all of the essentials for a town and was vastly popular in the western U.S It had saloons, various bars, a train station and a plethora of other buildings that were commonplace across the state of Utah.

Many of the folks in the town were miners, pioneers or in a lot of cases, immigrants who believed it was a fresh start for them. Overall it had become a fairly normal western town, that was very odd for being situated out near the middle of nowhere.

The saloon of this town was always noisy no matter what time of day it was, it wasn't surprising with it being the most popular place to go. But among the loud chatter and ongoing poker games where it seemed like everyone had someone to talk to, a German Shepherd sat alone at a table.

The canine only stared down at the wood in front of him, doing nothing but that, looking up on occasion but that was only for a second, he had been sitting there for roughly an hour now in complete silence.

He tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically out of boredom as he just stared into space, listening to the loud piano playing a few feet away.

"Scheisse . . ." He cursed to himself lowly as he shook his head and finally looked up at the saloon around him, resting his palm on his head. He didn't know what to do, not at all . . . He was finally here and yet there were so many things still wrong, so many things to worry about, too many if he had to be honest.

He knew he looked suspicious already, and he had just gotten here mere hours ago, it wasn't a good look to say the least.

But the shepherd was thirsty after traveling for so long, and given that he was in a bar, he might as well get a drink. So he rose from his seat and turned his head to the bar, grabbing a briefcase and pushing the chair in behind him.

He walked over to the bar table and watched the bartender, they were a large hare that was currently serving the other customers seated in at the table. He watched the hare's ear twitch as he noticed the shepherd walking toward the table.

As he took a seat on the bar stool and put his briefcase beside him, the hare turned to him and spoke with a flat voice "what'll ya get?"

Friedrich opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, he couldn't speak even a little bit of English nor did he understand it much "ah . . . Ich nehme ein bier (I'll have some beer)" the shepherd said in German, giving the bartender a sort of apologetic look.

"What now?" the bartender asked in clear confusion, the shepherd shook his head as he tried to speak again "bier . . . Ich nehme bier (beer, I'll have some beer)" he repeated and pointed to the kegs behind the hare. This seemed to get through to the bartender, as they turned around and grabbed a glass.

"Danke, kamerad . . ." He replied as he was given a glass of beer, he gripped it in his hands as it sat on the table and sighed before dragging it over and taking a drink.

As he drank, he could see some mammals looking at him in the corner of his eye, some of them were a few seats away from him, it made Friedrich worried but he continued.

He watched the bartender look at him as he put the glass down, he looked at the floor with a flat face, holding his glass as he did.

"You just blow in from somewhere?" They asked suspiciously, he looked up and nodded "ja, Deutschland . . ."

The hare nodded as well, and that was as far as the conversation went. Friedrich wanted to ask if there was a place he could stay, but it was obvious he wouldn't be able to, it seemed like nobody around here spoke German.

It made him sigh in frustration as he looked at the bartender "spricht hier jemand Deutsch? (does anyone here speak German?)" he asked, holding his hand out in front of him as the bartender raised one brow in silence, the shepherd shook his head at this.

"Scheisse . . . das ist alles, was ich habe (this is all I have)" he said, pulling out ten Imperial German papiermarks and putting them on the table. The bartender grabbed and inspected them "your German . . ." he nodded "Figured as much, if you're looking for work then go ask some of the miners, we could always use more of 'em" the hare explained as he took the currency.

Friedrich took a moment to decipher what they had said, but figured it out and nodded, giving the hare a smile "danke, uh . . . Sprechen sie Deutsch? (Do you speak German?" he asked as his ears pricked up.

The bartender looked confused though, confirming what he had suspected, Friedrich was just getting hopeful at this point, so he got up and began to leave.

As he walked out with his suitcase, Friedrich looked down the dirt road and scratched his head. It was already getting dark, he didn't have anywhere to stay, he had nothing to do, but at least he was in America . . . That was all that mattered. He got away . . .

He began walking along the street, looking up at the American full moon in awe. He finally achieved the impossible, and got away with it too, he wasn't dead or in prison for what he did, he had crossed the Atlantic for this . . . And he wasn't going to waste his freedom by just standing around.

There were so many things he needed to do. He needed to find somewhere to stay, get a job, learn English, and most importantly . . . Not get caught. If anyone found out who he was, the American government would send him back to Germany, or even worse . . . To Britain.

But where could he go? Surely Americans wouldn't just let him in somewhere so easily, he grumbled as he thought about it.

He didn't even know what type of buildings were used as houses in America. He then noticed a white furred mountain lion walking along the same side of the road, seemingly towards the saloon. It seemed they had noticed him too, for they were looking at him as they passed by.

"Entschuldigen sie mich! (excuse me)" he shouted as he rushed over to the mountain lion, who stopped abruptly and looked at him almost offendedly.

"What?" They asked as he stopped in front of them "Kennen Sie einen Ort, an dem ich übernachten kann? (do you know a place where I can stay?)" he asked as politely as he could, trying not to raise any suspicions.

The lion looked at him confusedly, "what are you even saying?" they asked flatly "bitte, ich bin Deutscher (please, I'm from Germany)" he said trying to explain with his hands, though the mountain lion didn't remotely understand it "sorry pal, you've got the wrong guy" they said before continuing to walk. Friedrich only watched as they walked away, sighing angrily and shaking his head as he too began to walk again.

Eventually after multiple similar encounters, he saw a large coyote in a pair of overalls standing outside of a building.

He walked up to the mammal and made a weak wave "entschuldigung, Ich brauche eine bleibe . . ." The coyote did not answer immediately, looking at the shepherd for a second before responding "das hotel liegt in dieser richtung (the hotel is that way)" their German was iffy but he understood it clearly and let out a sigh of relief "danke!" he said happily before beginning to rush over in that direction.

"Warte! (wait)" they demanded from behind Friedrich as he turned "seit wann sind sie hier? (since when have you been here?)" they questioned walking over.

"ein paar Stunden, Ihr Deutsch ist gut (a few hours, your German is good)" the coyote nodded "Ich dachte mir (I figured)" the conversation ended from there and Friedrich hurried over with his suitcase.

He was very glad at least someone could understand him here, he just had to make sure he didn't reveal himself or say anything incriminating.

As he walked into the "hotel" he was told about, he was greeted by a doe behind the counter "r-room, p-please . . . ?" He asked in very broken English and a very very thick accent as he placed 20 papiermarks in front of the deer. The few words he knew seemed to be enough though, as they gave him a key "room 25" they said flatly.

Friedrich unlocked the door to the hotel room and quickly locked it behind him, rubbing his head as he walked over and sat on the bed.

He looked at the windows as he grabbed his suitcase, making sure nobody could see him, and when he was sure of that, he opened the suitcase for the first time since he was in Europe.

Friedrich took his stahlhelm and uniform out of the suitcase, putting them beside him, both the trousers and top were neatly folded despite being covered in dried mud and blood from France.

He grabbed his gas mask and put it next to the folded clothing, it was still in excellent condition, he just hoped he'd never have to use it again, swearing that if he ever saw a green cloud of smoke or anything even resembling gas, he'd put it on immediately and without question.

He slowly put each piece of his unassembled Gewehr 98 next to him as well, laying them out in order across the bed, ready to be reassembled again, only for the moment. Friedrich then grabbed his C96 pistol and bayonet from the corners of the suitcase. The C96 had about 10 full stripper clips of 9 millimeter parabellum rounds in the suitcase with it, with ten bullets in each, which was more than enough for now.

There was also what appeared to be a flag under his bayonet and C96, but he did not take that out of the suitcase yet, leaving it folded as he continued.

He got up and stood in front of his uniform and weapons and opened his hand, revealing an Iron Cross 2nd class in his palm, awarded to him for exemplary bravery. Every single item in front of him revealed his secret . . . That he wasn't exactly an immigrant.

No . . . Friedrich was a German soldier . . . Ever since 1914 when the war began, he was one of the first to pass through and invade Belgium and then march into France. He had been in the German Army a few years before the war started, as a matter of fact. There were very very few mammals like that left, most didn't even survive the first year in France.

He was very optimistic at first, but he soon bore witness to the horrors of trench warfare, and the new instruments of death that were fielded on the frontlines, the machine guns, the artillery, the gas . . . After being sent to Verdun and fighting for dear life for over three months, before being sent back to the frontlines in May, he couldn't take it any longer, he left. He was a deserter . . .

He didn't have much of a family to return to except his mother, and it pained him greatly to imagine her weeping for him, but there wasn't much of anything to return to even if he survived, desertion was the best option for him if he wanted to live.

Usually the Imperial Army shot or arrested deserters, but he was very lucky and managed to slip away as they went over the top.

He somehow slipped onto an allied ship headed to New York as a stowaway and remained there for days before arriving in America, constantly evading capture and detainment, all for the sake of escaping hell on earth, and starting again.

He had shot and killed so many other mammals, he had watched his comrades die right in front of him, getting blown to fragments by artillery, and mowed down by machine guns, he knew it was only a matter of time until he was next.

Now he was in America, nobody knew who he was, what he was before, only that he was German, he wanted to do everything to ensure nobody finds out, because if they do, the Americans will send him back, not as an immigrant but as a Prisoner Of War. He couldn't have all of his luck and effort amount to nothing like that . . . He'd rather die.

He spent weeks traveling across the country and heading west, mainly because it was what most mammals told him to do, landing himself in a supposed mining town just on the edge of a desert, one of the last places they would think to look for a deserted German soldier, but he was still worried.

He needed to make sure that not ANY American knew about it, if they did, they'd report him to the police. He had to make sure he didn't do anything suspicious or incriminating, or he would most likely be found out and assumed as some kind of German spy.

He grabbed his stahlhelm and held it in front of him, inspecting it for any dents or scratches, any new ones at least . . . Friedrich fiddled with the chin strap as he put it on his head and held in a shiver, but it came out nonetheless.

He stared into nothingness with his helmet on, it was only supposed to be for a second, like a moment to reflect, but he kept it on for much longer. The shepherd stood up suddenly and turned around, grabbing the disassembled rifle from the bed.

The Gewehr was the standard issue bolt action rifle of the Imperial German Army, he had figured it was near impossible to sneak across the Atlantic with it, without taking the risk of disassembling it and breaking it that is.

All of the rifle's components now laid on a small table in the hotel room below a weak electric light, he looked at it tiredly before beginning to assemble it again, hoping it wouldn't be faulty or broken.

He was trained to operate the Gewehr though and knew how to assemble and disassemble it with ease, so it was rather quick until he was done. He was just worried that spending weeks in a suitcase would break a component or two.

Though it seemed to him that nothing broke, nothing was missing, not even some of the springs and tiny parts. Unlike the C96, he had many many rounds for his Gewehr, maybe around a hundred if he had to guess, this was mostly a result of scavenging the battlefield in France for ammunition and hiding it in his pockets, so if for any reason someone was looking for trouble, he'd be prepared.

Though he wouldn't be able to just carry his rifle around, that would give him away immediately, he was just glad that it was functional.

He held the rifle in his hands and gazed at it, pulling the bolt back and aiming at the window, making sure he hadn't lost his sense of aim when he left the battlefield, he was glad he hadn't.

Friedrich hid the rifle under the bed after unloading it and grabbed his C96. The C96 wasn't standard issue for the army, the P08 was, and for good reason, it was just simply more reliable in almost every aspect.

Despite this though the C96 was still a very unique looking gun, he always saw it as far too boxy for the trenches, mainly because of its large box magazine and iron sights, German troops nicknamed it the Broomhandle. It looked very . . . Fashionable, if you could even call a instrument of death fashionable.

The C96 was a bit easier to conceal though, even with it's odd design, and was just as reliable as the Gewehr with its ten round magazine and stripper clips, and fired much faster than the Luger P08, he would be able to react quickly if someone wanted trouble.

After pushing the clip into the pistols magazine and putting it in the drawer of the night stand beside the bed, he turned the lights off and finally was able to lay in a proper bed for the first time in over two years.

It felt so nice . . . Far far far better than sleeping on a cloth cot in France. There weren't any gunshots, no artillery, no screaming, no bitter sweltering heat, he didn't have to fear getting killed in his sleep . . . How could such a simple thing feel so heavenly?

With the comfort of laying on a proper bed, Friedrich fell asleep without even realizing it . . .

AN: There are more chapters already written for this story, but they are being reserved for a later time. If you enjoyed reading this prologue or have some feedback, I encourage you to please let me know via Tweet or any other form of communication like comments, it would mean so much to me. Until next time, seeya.

Kindest regards: A Laughing Wolf (AKA FatassGrizzly)