Fallout 1. Prologue

Note: This is going to be my first fan-fiction story ever. The canon is Fallen Earth, a new MMOG that I am infatuated with. This does not take place in the Grand Canyon area for reasons of 1) I do not know the area well enough to write about it and 2) I think the Post-Apoc forest would be more interesting and is certainly not written about enough. =)

Warning: There will be violence. Will there be sex? No idea. Pry not this chapter.

Rights and Disclaimers: I do not own Fallen Earth or some of the things mentioned in this story. I also do not own the character concept of "Paste" or "Orac Veldin." I do, however, own the concept of "Emelia" - especially when paired with "Spudge" - as per the recent copyright law changes. You cannot copy any of these three characters any more than I can make money off of Fallen Earth's idea.

* * *

Characters

Emelia Walter ("Smudge")

Michael Damon ("Paste")

Orac Veldin ("Orac")

Ann Milch ("Ann")

Sam Green ("Mr. Green")

* * *

The road they found themselves on was as smooth as any could be given how long it had been since there was anyone maintaining them. Compared to some of the roads in the Grand Canyon area, this little strip was a cakewalk, and they were going at a slow enough cant that Spudge was able to take out her armorcraft kit from its place in her pack and work on a new little pet project.

Brief rifling through the kit produced a crochet needle and another dive into her pack came up with the cotton cloth she had already pulled into soft fibers, just big enough to be worked with. Mara's walk was steady and even, despite the debris in the road, and the nag knew very well how to navigate the terrain for her green-haired keeper.

Most clones and humans preferred the motorized transports, but not Emelia. An ATV can't run without its driver being conscious and constantly monitoring the steering wheel, gas, and all other factors involved in running the mindless machine. Horses, on the other hand, could run by themselves, and were not just with minds, but rather intelligent creatures. So when offered to trade up Mara for something else - however many numerous times it had been - Ems had respectfully declined each time.

An hour passed with the group moving along the road near silently, Spudge working tirelessly on her little project while the others thought or did the same. Between the three, she was easily the smallest, and most notably the only woman. She also happened to be glowing slightly, whereas the two boys with her looked as perfectly human as the LifeNet techs could manage. And they really, really did try.

The long silence had allowed the shorter clone to make most of a glove, one with only a few snags, making it a personal triumph for Ems' pride. A few stitches into the next row on the near-complete textile piece found the green-haired clone being interrupted somewhat abruptly.

"Spuuud. Heyyy Spuddie!" called the man to her right, who gently urged his horse to speed up and effectively catch up with her.

"I hate to tear you from yer lovely work there, but do yeh think you can keep your eye on the road?" Paste asked a bit irritatedly, rich voice accentuated by the light drawl it carried. "We don't know what's what along this're stretch, and I won't be happy if I have to clean yer remains off'a it."

Spudge glared at him, the angry gesture made the eerier through the fact it was carried out by completely filmed over eyes. Especially when it was known those blind-looking eyes weren't blind at all.

"If you guys didn't alert me to trouble," she began sarcastically, continuing her yarn work. "Mara would. So what's the big deal?"

Paste sighed heavily at her defiance, having hoped she'd actually just listen for once without questioning it. "Yew don't feel tha?" he asked blandly, voice controlled. "We're being followed, and likely've been since we left the Dam."

It had been a mistake to go to the Dam before leaving, they both knew. The place was infested with CHOTA, better known as Children Of The Apocalypse, and the little group was greeted by a rather bloody fight. Had it not been for Spud's orders to retrieve as much info from the nearly destroyed computers as she could, she wouldn't've gone at all.

"CHOTA?" she asked quietly, knowing the Enforcer would be more prepared to discern that fact than she. He shrugged casually, attempting to give the appearance that they were having a perfectly harmless conversation. But he did drop his voice.

"Not a damn clue, mis'us. But nothing friendly would follow us for so long." Probably true.

"All the more reason," Emelia interjected a little childishly. "To keep weaving as if I noticed nothing, wouldn't you say?" She stuck her tongue out at him, conveniently forgetting she was a few years older.

* * *

Ann Milch was running very late. She was supposed to have met a group of clones before they left for the North to give them supplies and more details, but an influx of deaths had prevented her from leaving the LifeNet facility on time. To remedy this, it was ordered she follow the group and eventually join them. If the land was habitable, she was told, then she must find a place to make a LifeNet facility for the clones and to start creating a civilization out of the wilderness. This, of course, meant she had to go rough it with the clones. Ugh.

As much as she loved clones - and really, no one else was more enthusiastic about piecing back together the quasi-humans and giving them another chance to die - she really wasn't looking forward to having to leave the relative civility of her home at the LifeNet hub. Not to mention she was a scientist, not a fighter. But, despite both of these things, Ann found herself in a Dune Buggy, transporting equip and supplies across the continent to a dead zone. Double ugh.

The only saving grace of the trip was the amount of 'modern' convenience she was allowed to bring with her. The little buggy was stuffed full of as much equip as she could find use for, not to mention food and extra clothing. She had dug up some old geologic maps of the area they were headed, and was discouraged to discover it was a much colder place. Maybe the war had changed that. The woman hoped so, anyway.

This was another reason why Ann was sent after the clone group. It was unclear if the explorers knew how chilly things might get, and because of this uncertainty, the bug had several changes of clothing, mostly unisex and unfitted. One of the clones was supposed to be good with textiles, so tailoring shouldn't be a problem.

Okay, Ann thought to herself, taking a moment to look into the rear view mirror, focusing briefly on the brown eyes that met her. Let's recap the plan. There's a three-clone team heading North that I am pursuing, and another team going to be dispatched in a few days. The main objective is to find a habitable area of the land, the second to build a LifeNet hub in it, and the third to civilize it and prepare for an influx of settlers. Am I missing anything? She groaned loudly, searching her mind for anything that wasn't in that list.

This assignment was going to be a long one.

* * *

Mr. Green was hastily packing, rousing the Vistas who volunteered for the trip. When word had gotten out that a group of clones had decided to make the Northern land hospitable for colonization, the farmer knew immediately that Vistas had to be sent to follow. Who else was going to make sure the vile Techs didn't rape the land? That was the thought, at least.

So the afternoon found Mr. Green hastily packing along with a small camp, trying to recover lost ground with great haste. Tents were folded, cookware secured, and all in all it was a rather clean pick-up, much to the pride of Mr. Green. These Vistas were farmers, and usually stationary, for sure, but it was glad to see they could still pick their lives up at a moment's notice.

After he was satisfied his horses were packed properly, Sam called for one of the younger men to handle the mares while he attended to last minute business. The walk took him a ways away from camp, but he thought it was well worth it. Just beyond the nearest tree line, out of sight of others, the Vista stopped, waiting for his guest to show herself. A few moments went by before the woman came into view, appearing as if she had been through a year's worth of Hell.

"Does all go well?" she asked plainly, attempting a sort of Olde English. Of course, since it had been literally hundreds of years since that was a common language, she failed rather miserably. "Are you ready to leave?"

"We are," he replied mildly, folding his arms over his chest. The pose was naturally dominating, but the woman didn't even flinch. "I'll send word periodically, track our progress through scouts."

"Good," replied the crazy-woman coldly, sizing him up in oddly green eyes. "We've sent a spy to keep us informed on the enemy. He's been paid well enough to keep his mouth shut." Or what would be well enough in the eyes of the CHOTA, Sam thought briefly, considering is unusual and infrequent business partner. And that may not be very well at all.


	2. Former Glory

Note: It took forever for me to get the inspiration to write the second chapter, but here it is! Enjoy!

The green-haired Tech crafter was done with her glove project, two other projects started after, and half way through making a new bag before they stopped for the night. Sighing, she gently nudged Mara into stopping with her heels, quickly stowing away the new project and dismounting. Orac Veldin, who had already dismounted and did a quick perimeter sweep, was starting to kick up a fire while Paste went in search of a food or water source, leaving Spud to pitch the tents. This was all fine by her since, out of the three of them, the woman was pry the only one who could.

After getting up the sorriest-looking pieces of cover one could ever hope to see, the irradiated woman went fishing for a compass to check if they were on the right track. Her clone collar had recorded the amount of miles they'd traveled, but didn't have a needle magnetically attracted to North. Satisfied with the information she found, the woman spread a map out on a stump nearby, ignoring the fact that it was colder here than in Arizona.

"How far off are we?" asked the no-nonsense Enforcer tending the fires near the woman's stump. "We aren't," came the tired reply. "According to this map, we're 5 miles shy of 'Portland' -- a decent 150 miles or so from our destination, if the calculations are good." Which meant at least a day's travel still, if they didn't want to kill the horses.

"Well, that's not bad," he commented, somber-looking ice blue eyes staring at the fire. "Mean's we're close, at least. I figured we were way off by now; this road's twisty." And not only was it, but the pavement had long ago given up the battle for territory that it had once waged with the local plant life. "Is it colder to you, too?"

Theoretically, they had all known it was possible the temperature up North was vastly different than that down south. But contact with the North had been completely cut off since the war one-hundred and fifty years ago, leaving many in the south to wonder if the rest of the country even existed still. So the three clones, though having been warned, were ill prepared for the night's chill, Paste's lament being a soft reminder to this fact.

He'd come back with two rabbits, the sight of which made Emelia find some paper and a pen. Before he was allowed to skinned them, she examined every inch, making notations as she did.

"There," she said with a cat's satisfied grin. "That's all I needed. I hope your cooking does these specimens justice." A scientist through-and-through, the wiry middle-aged female had taken this assignment for the simple pleasure of scientific discovery -- and notoriety.

* * *

Ann was barreling along in her little terrain-ready car, not really paying attention to the surroundings much except to put on a coat as it got cold. She hadn't stopped at all since leaving the LifeNet facility in South Burb, and the sun was starting to set. The goal was to reach them before they started their next trek out, the car being much faster than their horses.

There was a shadow up ahead that looked odd to her, and as the Technician got nearer to it, she realized it was a person. Stranger still, though the person had all the trimmings of traveling a distance, they had no horse. The blond pulled over in front of the man, stopping him from moving further. "Want a lift?" she asked calmly, surveying him. His looks and clothes told her he was a Traveler, and a rather poor one at that.

"Thanks," he muttered almost bitterly, thin accent not quite audible. Grumbling to himself, the man got into the buggy, pulling his hat over his eyes; probably attempting to hide his face.

* * *

Seattle lay in an odd disarray of ruins, the forested wilderness having made a strong claim for the buildings. Many of the things that were once thought to be forever now lay broken in the streets. Oddly enough, the hardest hit areas of the city were the more recently developed ones: the paved roads were torn up by the roots of trees that had taken claim over the many skyscrapers while only bits of weeds poked through the cobbled stones of the less traveled roads.

Pike Place Market still stood, however, and was even used, though the land was reclaimed by those who rightfully felt they owned it. One tribe of Native Americans claimed all of the city for themselves, citing their involvement in settling the land. For awhile, that theory held, and even was upheld by the other tribes.

But now the Chinook are at war with the Puyallup Indians, who seem to not be satisfied with claiming the whole of Tacoma. Such is the natural way of things when food is scarce. As scarred and changed as the salmon now are, they still run, and the thickest, richest run is still at the old dam in Seattle for the return trip to spawn.

But few were concerned with that today, as it was no longer spawning season for the remaining fish, and that was usually the only time the Puyallup came gunning for the main port of call. That wasn't to say there weren't people needing treatment, however, as many of the wildlife had mutated into nasty creatures from the Shiva virus, and there was still gang violence despite the times.

This found Poiple, as the young Native liked being called, tending some rather nasty spider bite victims. Like most of the arthropods, the spiders here had grown in extreme proportions, and many of them went from web-sitting to outright hunting for their food. Soon enough the young woman was covered in blood from those who made it out missing limbs. By the looks of the attack, the victims had run into a recluse.

One of the victims brought in was unfortunate before arriving: his flesh had begun to dissolve from the spider's venom well before he was found, so he was only alive for a moment or two after being put on a stretcher. However -- and this the medic would note when her mind was more clear -- the remaining victims, though appearing to have been bitten, did not display symptoms of the famous spider's venom.

Though the Market, itself, was closing with the dusk, the once-restaurant and bar that now served as an infirmary was bustling with activity, and remained so for the rest of the night as Poiple and the other medics worked non-stop to keep the death count low.

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And there's chapter 2! Or is it 1, technically? xD


End file.

Fallout, Horror, Sci-Fi