Chapter 7: Change is rather permanent

So, I've been re-reading some of my stuff and I found why that last two chapter "felt wrong" to me.

I was losing my direction, essentially. I was allowing it to become unorganized and chaotic.

Now with the problem found, I mean to fix it, so, my writing style will change.

I had looked at my other story Invicta and I found how different my writing style is for that story compared to this one, it's strange really.

Hopefully, this chapter does not feel as misdirected as my earlier chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout or Avatar: The last Airbender

XXX

I didn't mind the cold, most of the Enclave didn't either, ironically it was heat that bothered us the most. The tireless winds of cold sea air, the crashes of freezing cold water upon the Oil platforms sides, soaking any unlucky guy in its wake. Those unneeded baths here and there while growing up made us pretty resistant to it. It wasn't much of a problem, it was actually beneficial in the overall picture of things as it stopped many of us from using the water heater, which at the time, was slowly breaking down. Preferring to dry up by a cozy thermal heat dispenser. The only problem I had with them "ocean showers", as we called them, was when I didn't have head protection, my hair would always would be a big mess afterwards, would take almost an hour to get it fluffy again.

" The endless struggle of keeping an afro" Jose said to me once after one of those infamous "ocean showers".

A smile stretched across his lips at the memory.

I still remember those days when we were children, innocent, ignorant, vulnerable. We met each other on the first day of primary school along with Juan, Jose's cousin. We became fast friends, the bestest of friends, almost brothers.

He paused, looking at the picture frame on his small night stand. Three young teenage boys, smiling, laughing. At what seems to be party and the birthday boy being himself.

I think we're more like brothers now than we were ever before. We still protect each other, watch one another's backs, and, at times, we still play the occasional video game.

A small laugh escaped his lips at the thought.

But now, after everything that has happened, after all the despair and the loss. Being there for each other has become much more important than before.

I remember Juan's wailing with tears, screaming for his mother, father and sisters.

"Mariana!, Monse!, Papa!, MAMA!" he winced at the memory, his words booming inside his head. Akin to forgetting you had your music on max volume and you had put on headphones before turning the music on.

I cried for my mother, and for my brothers, both older, my father had died several years before from cancer. I had found him in his bed one morning, I still remember how cold he was when I tried to wake him, thinking he was just sleeping. My brothers, Cole, 9 years older and Tyrese, by 12. Oh how they would tease me about some of the girls in school being interested me or how they would take me on a "Brothers Night Out" and hang out in one of the two bars on the platform. My mother, my mama, she was an awesome women, best mother in the world. I remember her loving smiles, her warm hugs, and tongue lashings when I did something wrong. Hehe, that women was tough no doubt about it but she was still a good mom.

He stood from his bed, his mind still reminiscing. Over years of constant travel and warfare this was probably the only and first time he had to really think. To think on his life, his future, his past.

He pulled out his military locker out under his bed, its black and gray coloring was faded and cut up after it being almost destroyed once or twice by random raider ambushes on their cargo convoys.

Opening it, he saw some extra military fatigues, his side arm, and personal effects. Rummaging through everything he found a small, half burned, family photo. The bottom right corner of it was burned off, it was miracle that he was able to find it out all the wreckage the explosion caused. He then closed his locker, slided back under his bed before sitting on it itself and stared at the photo.

I was the youngest, the baby of the family, I was supposed to take care of Dad and Mom when Cole and Tyrese would get wifes. I would be watching everyone else pass on giving me the job to be the ever kind and watchful warden of their legacies as they continue to grow on their own.

A tear run down his right eye.

It wasn't supposed to be liked this. I hate it. So many died that day, so many people lost their wives, husbands, brothers, sisters...just-just so many.

A memory flew his mind, a man wearing a blue jumpsuit with a large number 13 on his back walking towards a formerly decommissioned U.S. frigate. He could feel the blood escaping his body, as he and his companies left him there to die.

His hands closed into fists, accidentally crushing the family photo.

The Chosen One

Every man and women that were born on the Oil platform new his name, or at least his moniker, and every one of them despises him. Dream of killing of him.

But now…

His anger left as quickly as it came as he looked at the now crumpled photo. His face grew a frown as he carefully opened the photo to see the smiling faces of his family.

But now...that's not possible. Now that we arrived in this place, this new world. We lost all expects of vengeance and in some parts of myself I hate that, hate that we were sent away. Hate that I will never feel the bastards blood flow through my hands.

Blinking out of those thoughts he looked back at the photo on his nightstand. He grabbed it and thumbed the bearded face of Jose.

However, the rest of me, most of me, was glad that we left that world. Left that destroyed place, left that insanity driven and creating madhouse of a planet. Cause I remember, remember the look Jose had after watching the Oil platform explode, after hearing the screams of our families within the burning complex.

He didn't cry, he was surprisingly calm. He did not show anger, he was surprisingly controlled. He did not show guilt, he was surprisingly content. He did not show grief, was surprisingly carefree and yet he also was none of those things.

It was almost as if Jose, the Jose I knew, left and all that was that remained was his secondary persona, his moniker.

Deathknight

And I, on the same day, become my moniker.

Jackal.

XXX

This is a short chapter isn't it. Like really short and I'm sorry about that but I didn't want to continue from point. Don't worry I won't go off and do not chapter of Invicta after this and this one is really short.

Also I wanted to if this style seems more about appealing than the former one. I think it is.

A full length chapter will come soon enough and it will detail some events that happened to the main character on the Enclave after the destruction of the Oil platform.