I do it all for the Glory
Uncertainty is truly a scary thing to behold. Especially when ones life is on the line. Enter, a nuclear wasteland. Savage, brutal, and unforgiving.
A bit of an authors note here. I'm new to writing fanfics on NB, though I did write a few other not-so-serious fanfics, this one will definitely become serious. I hope you find it quite entertaining, and enjoyable. I noticed most people on NB choose to write in a "play" like format, however I chose to write in a novel like format for certain reasons. Please read the whole thing, and thank it if you find it enjoyable and to your taste. Also, this is set in the Falloutverse and not the Narutoverse.
These are the lessons learned by one young man of the name Gregory. Surviving past childhood is truly a remarkable feat. Yet, it seems each passing day is but a mere countdown to ones inevitable demise. At least for most.
Greg, an accomplished scavenger seems to take life in strides, enjoying the serenity of the desolation. With enough harbored resources, he willingly laughs in mockery, scoffing those less fortunate than he. Amid the ruins of cultures and societies long forgotten he makes his claims. Avoiding mutants, and radioactive ghouls, he finds shelter where others have perished.
Yet, there is something in his life missing. A part of him that hasn't been satiated. For, despite his displeasure with the weaklings that dehydrate and die around him, he really wants somebody to make him dinner. He yearned for the opposite sex.
And so, our hero, Greg, is embarking on a journey to find a mate. At force if necessary. And damn, had she better be good looking too.
One Brahmin, check. Enough water to last a week, check. A rifle capable of long range, and ammunition to handle a legion of raiders, check. A vintage magazine depicting women in less than glorious positions for those lonely nights by the campfire, check. “Well, I appear to be all set!” Greg shouted in excitement for the journey that lay ahead.
“Damn, my life is so epic.” words mumbled to a lone wanderer. “Some people voyage for food, some people for clean water. Not me though, no. I'm way too good to be so desperate. I just want me a good looking broad.”
Then, he found tracks. The foot prints suggested people, and they were fresh. Less than a week old which suggested a nearby civilization. Who would have known people would have built up so close to a ruined city rampant with criminals, raiders, druggies, mutants, ghouls, and so much more. Well, he might as well check it out.
The map unraveled and unfolded. He laid it out over a large flat rock, to check to see where a nearby town could be. Lo and behold, company approached.
There seemed to be about four armed guards, and a merchant. “Don't move, just yet, and identify yourself!” This guard shouting seemed to be the leader for sure.
“Well, I'm a scavenger with wares for trade. However, I seem to be a bit lost.” He admitted, unwholesomely, yet slightly true.
The guard eyed him up, young, not exactly a threat except for his rifle. Yet strangely healthy looking for a scavenger, and definitely out of place. “And where exactly are you from, if you don't mind my asking?”
The guard could obviously tell Greg wasn't familiar with the area, and so a small lie might do the trick. “I'm from a town out east, I've been traveling quite a while in hopes of finding a new home. I've brought enough wares with me only to survive, scavenging for more along the way. Not enough to draw attention to myself and warrant robbery.”
The guard seemed to find his story plausible for a moment, before finally accepting it. “Well, we're headed back to town with this merchant. You can gladly travel with us. Town we're headed to is called Ridgeton. It was built on a ridge for easy defense you see.”
“Well, how much further are we? I heard word of this town from my travels. Heard it was prosperous, and had clean water.” Greg wanted to check the credentials of this town, verify it's worthiness.
The guard seemed to check his wrist. He obviously had a watch, a working one would be worth fortunes. As he looked over to the sun setting on the horizon, he began to frown. Apparently his watch didn't work. “We'll make camp here for the night. Town is still about half a day away, and I don't want to get caught in the dark by the Kahns.
And so they began setting up a perimeter. To fit his roll, Greg regrettably rationed the men some water. They serviced they're weapons, distraught with corrosion and rust from the elements and time. Greg's being a reliable bolt action rifle faired reasonably better than the others.
As he finished dripping his oil into the action of the 7mm Winchester Mag, the head guard came over again, with the merchant. “I failed to introduce myself earlier, my name is Richard, and this here merchant is my daughter Elizabeth.”
Daughter? Elizabeth? Score! “Well, sir, I am pleased to meet you, and your daughter.” Before, she had rags rapped around her face, now she let her dirty blond locks hang freely, her blue eyes gazing upon him.
“Well, I'm glad you're on our side, with that rifle of yours. Hopefully your shooting is as good as that rifle.” Richard seemed to growl, with a guttural roar in his voice, obviously displeased with Greg's perky smile towards his daughter.
“I can assure you, I've had plenty of practice in my days, I” Greg was interrupted by a horn in the background.
“Two beeps, raiders. Great, probably Kahns too.” Richard seemed annoyed. “Alright men, let's focus on their primary assault, if we kill enough of them, they'll flee. Then kill off the stragglers”
Richard demanded order, and order he received. His fellow men complied, and began open firing viciously. Greg decided to act accordingly, and prove himself in front of this Elizabeth.
“Oh sweet Elizabeth, gaze upon me as I strike our enemies down.” Greg announced to himself as he slapped in an eight round magazine, and worked the bolt back bringing the first 7mm round, then sliding the bolt back forward to force it into the chamber.
“You say something?” Richard stopped firing for a moment to be heard by Greg.
“No sir, just eager to kill off some raiders and make this wasteland slightly more hospitable so that one day I might settle down with your daughter, er a lady and start a family.” He made sure he fired into the group of oncoming raiders as he said daughter.
“Funny, I could have sworn you said something, about somebody.” And Rick began firing again.
A stray bullet whizzed by Greg's face, leaving a cut on his cheek. It probably would have hit him if the Raiders could shoot their weapons with any real discipline. “I'm a little too preoccupied with trying not to die here to have a real conversation.”
Greg was getting annoyed by these raiders quickly, as they couldn't seem to get the point. Though they seemed to get lucky and take out a man to Greg's right, his head practically exploded. His bottom jaw hanging on in a grotesque fashion, some teeth still intact. Whatever round had collided with his head, must've been a big one.
“I better try to not get hit by one of those” Greg thought aloud as he flicked the deceased man's eyeball off his shoulder.
As the Kahns started realizing their losses, they began a steady retreat. Though some were still hung up on adrenaline, and died accordingly. As such, one of Greg's 7mm rounds deemed itself worthy of ripping out the lung and heart of one such raider, his chest exploding through his back as he collapsed face first into the ground.
The other remaining Kahns soon realized they were at a loss and either attempted to flee, or make a final suicide attack, and all died as planned.
The night wore thin, the scent of blood, and feces (a natural occurrence of dying) was in the air. And Elizabeth was treating Greg's cut on his cheek. “Oh sweet Elizabeth, please be gentle.”
Elizabeth giggled, as she applied a home made ointment over the cut, as well as a bandage.
A disgruntled father decided to chime in, “you done yet?”
“In a moment, father.” Elizabeth finally talked, and by the gods of nuclear war was her voice sexy.
Greg smiled, “thank you for the treatment. Though, we should bury our deceased.” He tried to sound noble, and threw in the 'our' to make himself more like a part of 'their' group.
Rick glanced at his dead comrade, and shook his head, “I'm afraid that would require too much energy that we cannot afford to expend. We need to conserve what we have.”
“Then so be it. Come daybreak, we move out again?” Greg motioned over yonder, the presumed location of the distant town.
“We will. And quickly.”