Somewhere in Northern Tundra
Lucky Six inspected the makeshift snare trap. "No catch," he mumbled to himself as he sighed disappointedly. He walked past the snow-blanketed building suffering from extensive damage caused by the giant black crystals lodged into it. Quite a sight, if it weren't the common view here. As he hummed "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire," he made his way into one of the few still-standing tall buildings.
The entrance had been pried open with force. He pulled the uneven door open. Walking inside, his boots echoed on the cracked tiles. Climbing up the stairs, he passed through the empty apartment rooms. Reaching the second floor, he stood next to the room in the middle. The weak metal sheet door was fortified with other scrap metals, making it look tougher compared to its frail neighbors.
He pressed against the fortified door, inserted a key of sorts into one of the holes, and twisted it. With a loud click, he pushed the door open. A terrible sound of metal scraping against the concrete floor greeted him, along with a warm but still chilly air.
The room he entered looked like a mess from all the makeshift repairs that had been made. The chaotic assortment of exposed wood and metal in the walls and ceiling made it look cramped despite the expansive exterior.
A makeshift furnace stood next to the door, with a dim fire still smoldering inside. A simple makeshift shelf stuffed with basic building tools and materials, either found or cannibalized from other furniture, lined the wall. One of the shelves held various assortments of black and shimmering orange crystals, encapsulated in glass containers. beneath it were recently made scorch marks. Nearby was a bed constructed from layers of carpet on a stiff mattress placed on top of a wooden frame, separating it from the cold floor below.
In the corner was a table, with a hand drawn map of the surrounding mountain ranges drawn on it, featuring a broken bottle representing the city and a hand-sized crystal next to it representing the eruption zone. On the wall, the star constellation was drawn with markings indicating the date it was created. Many scribbles were written on each star constellation, with the last one expressing frustration "Where is it?"
Lucky Six walked over to the table, where a plate held a single piece of an MRE bar, chopped apart with its plastic wrapping. He took the last piece and placed it in his mouth, savoring the mishmash of ground-down fat and minerals, with a hint of Rad-X lingering as an aftertaste.
Lucky Six left the room and continued to climb up to the rooftop. He sat at the edge of the roof with one hand resting on his knees, gazing at the bleak city ruins below him, which stretched for miles, blanketed in snow. The melancholic state of the ruins almost made him think he was back home, but the sharp black crystals impaling the skyline kept him anchored to his new found reality. The black crystals shimmered with dark orange in the sunlight, making the ruins look vibrantly alive.
As he continued to gaze at the horizon with the sun sailing high above, he chewed on the plastic wrapping of the MRE while humming a tune. For a moment, he thought about heading back inside to stoke the fire so he could warm up.
His eyes caught a movement, and reaching for his binoculars further enhanced with eye optics, he observed the movement with keen interest. It was approaching the northern part of the city. He repositioned himself, squinting at the sun while doing some rudimentary calculations in his head, angling the glass shard.
He saw around thirty men in a group, accompanied by some armored, beefed-up hounds moving alongside them.
They wore thick black coats of some sort under protective vests and carried swords and spears. As they got closer, he could see their features better; some of them had crossbows. The spear he had first noticed resembled a lance, judging by how it was gripped by the wielder. He noticed they wore pieces of protective equipment, and in front of them was what he assumed was a leader, distinguished by a red armband.
The angled glass shard caught a glint of sunlight. He lowered his binoculars. "Seems like local scavengers are coming here to set up shop. Not sure if it's worth establishing a shop here, there aren't even any damn roaches to eat." Deciding to greet the new arrivals, he headed downstairs.
He stood on the outer edge of the northern side of the city outskirts, by what was left of a wall. "First contact protocol, be as friendly as possible." He dusted off his duster and adjusted his clothing.
As he placed his hand on his helmet to take it off, he hesitated. He didn't want to appear intimidating during this first contact. Instead, he removed the Radii from his head. As he sensed the group getting closer, he cleared his throat and did his best to imitate a warm and friendly voice. He walked out of his cover, waving his hand.
The group before him was ragged in their black and gray coats, walking carefreely along the dirt road. "Looking past the wear and tear, it seemed like the coats were military-issued clothing due to how standardized they were." The leader of the group was the first to notice and react to his appearance, raising his hand to stop the entire group in their tracks.
"(English with a southern accent) Howdy there, fellas! Didn't think I'd see someone here. Mind having a little bit of chit-chat?" Lucky Six said as he leaned against the wall in a relaxed posture.
As Lucky Six glanced through his helmet, his expression darkened. His Empathy Synthesizer was picking up increasing hostility from the crowd's body language and stares as they glared at him, gripping their weapons with heightened alertness. 'Well, fuck. That's one way to make first contact. I've seen Legion boys being more welcoming than this lot.'
"(Ursus) You! What's your business here?" the leader of the group yelled at Six. Six didn't understand what the leader had barked out, but he didn't need to know the language to read the annoyance on the man's face. He needed to disengage before this first contact became the last one.
Lucky Six shook his hands and took steps back, trying to de-escalate the situation. Caught off guard by the response, he quickly picked the closest language to what the leader spoke. "(German) Woah, easy there, easy. Just a passerby." As soon as he spoke in German, his Empathy Synthesizer picked up even more intense hostility from the crowd's body language. 'And that was an even worse response than the last one. So much for trying to be friendly.'
Lucky Six assessed the group by how readily they gripped their weapons. He knew what language they had to communicate in now. From this point on, he prepared to speak the only universal human language that could be understood between two parties of which he was particularly fluent. He repositioned his stance toward the leader, bracing himself for what would come.
As soon as the leader's hand neared the saber's grip, a loud crack echoed throughout the ruins. A .45 ACP round punctured the leader's windpipe, causing him to fall to the ground, arms flailing around his neck as he grasped at his bleeding throat. Six's Empathy Synthesizer registered fear and bewilderment from the dying man as he thudded to the snow, painted red with his blood.
Perhaps in Lucky Six's mind, quickly killing their leader would have made the entire group rout and leave him alone, but that didn't happen. As soon as the leader fell to the ground, one of the Ursus raiders shouted, "(Ursus) RELEASE THE HOU—" Another .45 ACP shot blew off the man's jaw before he could finish his sentence. But it was all in vain, the group didn't rout. They were either too bloodthirsty or perhaps used to fighting without a leader. The standoff quickly descended into chaos as everyone in the group started issuing orders, scurrying to gain cover while shouting.
"(Ursus) Enemy caster! TAKE COVER!"
"(Ursus) SURROUND HIM, YOU IDIOTS! RAIDERS, CUT HIM OFF!"
"(Ursus) Kherkov is dead! Fedor is squad commander now!"
"(Ursus) FEDOR JUST GOT SHOT! FOLLOW ME INSTEAD!"
'Great, fucking great' Lucky Six muttered as he realized that despite taking out another somewhat important-looking person, the group in front of him didn't hesitate even a little, instead they started preparing for further engagements.
Lucky Six quickly took cover behind the piece wall as bolts flew past him. He fired some random shots at the shooters from his cover, downing one of them as it blew open their gas mask. Putting the Radii back on, he thought, "More stubborn than I anticipated," as he ran to another wall and fired off his sawed-off shotgun at a group of war beasts, dropping them instantly. The Infected Patrol Unit group scrambled to mount an assault on him, but all it led to was further chaos in their ranks.
Five Infected Patrol footman broke off from the main group and charged toward him, raising their sabers high as they shouted, "(Ursus) FOR THE TSAR!" Their reckless charge allowed Six to take precise shots at them. One fell to the ground as a bullet caved in his forehead. Another two fell, clutching their throats as they bled, and the rest followed their fate soon after. Seizing the opportunity, Lucky Six withdrew from the location to another relatively intact building.
"(Ursus) RAIDERS FLANK! SABERS CHARGE AFTER THE WARBEASTS! CROSSBOWMEN, DON'T LET THAT BASTARD SHOOT!" barked a commanding voice.
He heard multiple war beasts barking, their sounds growing louder. "Seven dogs and twenty-two hostiles to go," he thought as he peeked through the window frame and took out a few of the war beasts charging at the building before retreating to cover as crossbow bolts lodged into the brick wall next to him.
A war beast leapt through the window and lunged at Lucky Six. He quickly pulled out his machete, side-stepping the lunge and gripping the war beast by its collar. He drove his machete into its spine. As the war beast howled in death, another one emerged as it opened it's jaw to bit Lucky Six. He instinctively raised his arm's plating as he let go of the dead war beast and thrust his machete into the second war beast's armored skull, its teeth embedding into his armor. Just as he pulled the machete out of the war beast's skull, an Infected Patrol raider charged into the ruins from the opposite side. Upon seeing Lucky Six, he charged, readying his lance for a horizontal slash.
Lucky Six side-stepped the slash, letting it glide past his armored wrist, and greeted the Infected Patrol raider by quickly pulling up the sawed-off shotgun. The trigger went off, sending a twelve-gauge buckshot shell that blasted eight pellets into the attacker's head, shredding it into a red mist that blanketed the roof. Lucky Six pushed forward as the lifeless body fell to the ground, firing another shell at an Infected Patrol raider who entered after his colleague. The raider dropped his lance and fell to the ground, clutching his head wound in pain. Lucky Six efficiently kicked the man down and thrust his machete into the man's skull as he left the building.
Turning around the corner, he saw three Infected Patrol footman and three crossbowmen advancing toward his location. The crossbowmen aimed their weapons at Lucky Six and fired a volley. In an instant, as the bolts were released, Lucky Six made a quick roll into the nearby debris. The bolts flew past him as he peeked out and fired the last two remaining .45 ACP rounds at the crossbowmen. The first round entered one crossbowman's eye through his hazard gear, causing him to sprawl onto the ground, while the last round hit the chest cavity of the other crossbowman, who slowly fell to the ground, choking and gasping for air.
Lucky Six spun his pistol and holstered it, pulling out a combat knife to pair with his machete. He left his cover and confronted the charging Infected Patrol footman. Lucky Six sidestepped an overhead swing from one footman, kicking his leg and knocking him off balance. Without wasting time, Six chopped into the footman's neck.
Footman next to Lucky Six, instinctively struck at him with his saber. Lucky Six quickly let go of the machete and redirected the strike just in time with his combat knife.
Lucky Six pressed forward, not allowing the footman to recover. He delivered a forceful blow to the center of the footman's chest, knocking the air out of him. Seizing the opening, Lucky Six thrust the knife into the footman's throat as he pushed him into the wall.
Just as he plunged the combat knife into the man's throat, looking back to the crossbow man he saw another volley toward him. He quickly repositioned the man as a shield against the incoming bolt. A barrage of bolts penetrated the man thoroughly, nearly going through it. Lucky Six whistled at the bolts poking out of the man's chest. "Serrated head? Nasty." Lucky Six discarded the meat shield to the side.
His eye narrowed at the crossbowman, who was frantically reloading his weapon with a new magazine.
Before he could decide whether to reload and shoot or engage in melee by weaving through cover, the last remaining footman's charge was interrupted by a conjuration of fire between him and Lucky Six. The footman's attention snapped to the fizzling flames, stopping him in his tracks, and he instinctively tried to move away from the conjured fire, yelling profanities in Ursan.
Lucky Six decided to do the same, as random fire rarely foretold good fortune. This superstition was proven correct when a fiery detonation erupted from the surrounding building moments later.
"(Ursus) Did we get it?!" someone yelled from afar.
Audible groans could be heard from the direction the footman retreated. "(Ursus) YOU PISS-DRINKING MARES, EVER HEARD OF FRIENDLY FIRE?!"
"(Ursus) Eh, if you have the energy to still run your lousy mouth, you're in one piece," the same voice yelled from a distance, followed by more curses from the wounded footman.
Lucky Six used the banter to move toward the source of the yelling. He quickly reloaded his pistol and used the rubble created by the explosion to stealthily sneak past them.
The crossbowman dropped his weapon and grabbed hold of a comrade, gagging on his own blood. "(Ursus) ANTON IS BLEEDING! I NEED A HAND TO APPLY THE BANDAGE!" he yelled, frantically trying to stop the bleeding.
The same voice from afar retorted, "(Ursus) Hey, drunkard, make yourself useful and see if that Lateranon bastard had anything good on him." A different voice interjected, "(Ursus) Wait, the smartass that shot the commander wasn't a Laterano."
Lucky Six entered and peeked from the broken wall on the second floor of the building. There were eight or so people below, four wearing capes with no weapons except for knives holstered on their vests, and the other four were crossbowmen.
One caster looked at another, adorned with antlers, and spoke. "(Ursus) You stupid? A bum-damned nowhere village of yours didn't teach you that all Lateranos have halos on their heads?"
Lucky Six raised an eyebrow. "Did he say Latin?" He quickly dismissed the thought and prepared his VATS.
Taking offense, the caster with antlers angrily responded, "(Ursus) Oi, you damned barbarian, watch your mouth! That bastard clearly spoke in Leitha-" A rapid succession of .45 ACP rained down on the eight-man group. As Lucky Six finished his VATS execution, the surviving crossbowman took cover away from the building and began reloading his pistol.
"(Ursus) HE IS IN THE BUILDING!" "(Ursus) Ursan profanities GRIGOV! CASTERS ARE WIPED OUT!" they yelled in panic.
Soon enough, one lancer and eight footman arrived at the scene, crouching behind whatever cover they could find, quickly followed by the surviving crossbowmen. Their numbers quickly swelled to a twelve-man group.
The last surviving Infected Patrol raider shouted, "(Ursus) THE FUGITIVE WILL DROWN IN HIS OWN BLOOD! READY YOUR WEAPONS, COMRADES! FOR THE TSAR!" The lancer led the charge into the building, the rest following him with renewed vigor. "URAAAAAA!"
Lucky Six peeked from his cover and unloaded his sawed-off shotgun into the charging group before taking cover from the incoming bolts behind the wall. He switched to his pistol and five-shooter revolver, dual-wielding them in each hand. An Infected Patrol raider charged up to the second floor with his lance aimed at Lucky Six.
The .45-70 Gov't cleaved through the Infected Patrol raider's head effortlessly. Lucky Six cycled shots between his pistol and revolver as the remaining footman continued to charge into the gunfire with bloodlust. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and then the last of the footman fell to the ground.
"Eight," Lucky Six mutters.
Lucky Six peeked out of the window he checked off everyone he counted, he released a sigh of relief. "Fucking hell. Did I just run back to a frying pan?" He turned around and surveyed the carnage surrounding him.
After updating his Pip-Boy statistics, he approached one of the deceased and started looting him. From a pocket, he found a food bar of sorts. Lucky Six took a bite, then immediately spat it out. "Raw oat bar? What's the point? Jesus." He quickly takes a gulp water from his canteen and eats the bar. He then found a wallet and opened it to find local currency. Inspecting the clothing, he realized he could really use something for the increasingly cold weather. He reached for the winter hat the dead man wore.
Just as he took the winter hat, he noticed the dead man had a pair of bear ears.
"What in the goddamn…" he muttered. He touched the ear, it was soft and warm. He placed a winter hat on top of his helmet and went to the next dead man, pulling off his hat. It was the same. He continued to remove hats and helmets, each one revealing the same oddity. The caster with antlers had antlers growing out of his head, and the others had bear ears.
"Well, damn. I guess this is the most normal thing considering I'm not on Earth anymore. But, fucking hell…" He rummaged through his vest's pocket, grasping a scalpel with a distinctive shine, He performed an autopsy on the dead ursine man. "Holy damn."
The next thirty minutes were a messy autopsy as Lucky Six examined the dead's extra characteristics with unbridled curiosity. Creating a gruesome scene.
Many hours later
The apartment room he had been in before was now full of looted weapons, each forming its own pile. On the tables lay a set of art units that the casters wore, now being dismantled. The makeshift furnace had a grill on it, and next to it were butchered warbeasts, with their meat in the process of being prepared.
Lucky Six sat on the apartment's roof, wearing a coat with a cloak made from several other Ursus coats, as he smoked a cigar he had found on one of the raiders. Next to him was a plate with a steaming half-eaten roasted warbeast leg. Lucky Six continued to scan the horizon with a pair of binocular, because he found a something radio gear on the squad leader of which made him worried.
And soon enough his worry was justified.
From the horizon, he saw a flying drones emerge first, leading a people dressed in similar garb to those he had fought earlier, marching in unison as they raised a flag with a twin falcon side by side. He slowly lowered his binoculars and muttered, "Fair enough."
well that's chapter 2. Oh welp... there were like like exposition at start but it wasn't needed. For some reason I write when i am sleep deprived so yeah, upload quality and upload rate is gonna be sparratic like my sleep schedule.
It was kinda jancky to write a guy reacting to two moon so i just... tried doing the "Show and not tell" thingy by time skipping. Not sure it worked.
Let's see the reviews...
hm yeah seems normal. Not much to say.
Welp here is AU snippet where he didn't end up in militarized zone that is northern tundra instead a southern tundra. (lucky six in arknight but i am lazy)
Somewhere in south of Ursus
Lucky Six exited the truck with a rather large backpack and waved goodbye. "What good folks, even hired me a truck to bring me out here," he said, pulling a decent-quality map from his coat.
"Hmm, if this map is right, I'm between Ursus and Leithanien. From here, I should head to one of Leithanien's Nomadic Cities and join the convoy to Victoria," Lucky Six mused, turning to survey his surroundings. He spotted a village hidden among the trees in the distance. "Well, I should at least meet the locals and see if they know where the Nomadic City is."
And so, humming "Jingle Jangle Jingle," he strode along his path.
That's all, good day