ALTRRD
Cursed Reality
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NOTES
Somewhere Bored in Class, United States, Late 2024
This story is a version of a sci-fi story I've been building since 2020, but for this adaptation I thought, "Hey, what if I deleted 40 years of story and instead they nuked the world!" So... yeah. This story takes place in an alternate- and cursed- reality outside my other works. That's not to say a lot of this isn't canon to all versions of my story- obviously the world never ended, and there was never a Pure Creation deposit in the ocean, but everything else is pretty true, which is nice because it's allowed me to finally give Evie a backstory.
Anyway- I'm gonna stop talking like you've heard this story before, because like 10 people have. There's gonna be a bit you don't understand... but I hope I've explained enough down there to at least make the story somewhat coherent.
Also, this is my first time really trying a first person perspective, and also I suck at writing dialogue, and also also it's really my first time writing an actual (recent/good) detailed story- I usually just do summaries of lore and such, and also also also this is like the longest thing I've written in a while... so if you have any advice or feedback GIVE IT TO ME. NOW. WELL NOT NOW AFTER YOU READ A BIT.
SPECIAL THANKS:
To the story directors: Astro/Luminous, Emerald, Ozymandias, Kyle
To the executives: Luis, Shark, Marcy, Andrew, Kyle, Llama, Red, Weldman, Elf, Jade, Emerald, Chris, Jodie, Charlotte, Architect, Cam, Glass, Astro/Luminous, Ozymandias, E, Achilles.
To the inspiration: Poke, DylanHyper, Pinewood Builders, Innovation Inc, The Protectors of Bloxburg, The Destroyers of Bloxburg, The Frost Family, The Mysterious Family, Portal, Remember Me, Stranger Things, Lost in Space, Resident Evil, SCP, Red Dead, obviously Fallout, and many more.
ALBERT
Somewhere above the Starry Eyes Desert, British Columbia, Canada. Early 2012:
Eight years ago, the world ended. The Pacific War of 2004 was a ridiculously massive dispute between the nations of the world- all looking to find a rare material found deep in the seabed of the Pacific Ocean, something it's first discoverer, Dr. William Fisher, called Pure Creation. It was said to be the blood of a god, a substance that could grant you... everything, really, and believe it or not, that was true. Everyone got... so... greedy. They all thought that as long as they came out on top, as long as they obtained all of the Pure Creation, they would be able to fix any issues they had caused to themselves or others. Because of that, the world engaged in full nuclear war, with no concern for other nations, other people, the Earth as a whole, or themselves. In the end, nobody won. The world became a deserted wasteland, and nobody ever got their hands on the deposit of Pure Creation. The Northern Hemisphere is the most safe, especially what used to be Canada. The further North you are, the stronger the rivers are. The water isn't great- even if you ignore the radiation, the only reason those rivers flow is due to melted Arctic permafrost full of ancient viruses but... you do what you gotta do to survive, right? I mean, it's better than the toxic deserts of the South. You might think Antarctica would give them something good, but all it did was raise the sea level by 60 meters. Oh yeah, did I mention that? SIXTY. METERS. We lost Florida, we lost Uruguay, Bangladesh, Iraq, Senegal, parts of Kazakhstan, Russia, and China. Denmark, The Netherlands, Belgium, and like a quarter of Germany. Australia grew a lake, and you can forget about the little islands, obviously. Have I hit where you live yet? No? Well lucky you, instead of drowning you can burn, starve, or die of radiation poisoning. Or raiders, yeah... the raiders are bad. What the hell was I talking about? Right. Antarctica. Antarctica poisoned the oceans. If you thought the viruses in Arctic ice would be bad, you should see what happens when you melt the entire continent of Antarctica. So... not a good idea to live on the coast. Enough about this messed up world, what about me? My name is Albert Jones. At my worst points, I used to work for a criminal organization known as The Destroyers, working to build rockets full of toxic chemicals for an event known as Project Doomsday. Then I worked as a spy for a slightly-less-criminal organization called Regnus Potentia, spying on the worst criminal organization of all: Project Zero- or The Frost Family. I have a bit of a history with them; not only are they my very, very distant cousins, but also... their leader killed my father and I will make them pay.
These days I've just been trying to stay alive. I don't work for Regnus Potentia anymore but they still treat me well. I live in the biggest part of British Columbia's Kootenay Region, a little valley in the Rocky Mountains called the Lake Finisher Area. It's a pretty random place at first glance, but if you know the history you know it's not... and it's also my hometown. I still live in the house I grew up in, actually. Call me sentimental, but it's on a pretty healthy mountain. Only thing around here much better would be my neighbors at The Crudelis Boarding School for Young Genius Minds. The school is a fortress, and when the bombs first dropped they opened their doors to the rich. Not me. I ended up alright, though. There's a bunker under the house. This place is pretty used to explosions. From silver mining in the late 1800s, to the greatly unusual... chemical warfare... between Regnus Potentia and Project Zero in the 60s, to the implosion of my father's nuclear reactor in the 80s. After the last two my family decided it would be a good investment. I guess they weren't wrong.
I think you're all caught up. Now for today. I woke up, wanted food, and while looking for food, I found this old notebook, so... I figured I'd write in it, I guess. I still need food, though. I'm heading down the mountain today. There's an old gas station outside of "town." Bob & Son's Gas Station, they call it. Though these days Bob sells a different kind of gas. He's the area's one and only bean supplier. He grows them himself and cans them- usually. I wouldn't buy the other stuff. You can not pay me to drink one of his special Bean Slushies.
I wear a modified version of an old Institute HazMat suit when I go out. It was originally a loud bright yellow mess, but I used some paint and old cleaning products to dye it a shade of aquamarine. It just suits me better- and makes me a lot less noticeable. I also wear some armor from my dad's old security task force, nice crimson shoulder and knee pads, and a bit of tactical... whatever... on my chest. I don't really know military terms. Oh, and a lot of puffy furry leg warmers and arm warmers and head warmers. Like a lot. You might think the nukes would make the climate hotter, explosions being.. hot.. and all, and it usually does. You see the climate alters here between two seasons. The first makes the world an extremely sunny desert with never ending fires- a world so hot you can't go outside unless you're lucky enough to have gallons of coolant inside your jumpsuit. The second season is basically the exact opposite. The fires from the first produce smoke and ash that clouds the sky, blocking the sun and giving a pitch-black, freezing landscape. It's usually not as bad as the heat, around 15 degrees colder than a usual summer here at best, and.. 100 at worst. The biggest issue is usually the darkness. Flashlights work fine, I guess, but in this messed up reality you really need full visibility. Eventually the ash is blown off to another part of the world where it doesn't affect me and the heat makes the fires start again which makes the ash start again which makes the winter start again. You get it. The seasons last for random times, a few months at best, a few years at worst, at least so far. Anyway, as l headed out I sealed the bunker, went up the spiral stairs to my old, dimly-lit living room, and headed out into this post-apocalyptic snowstorm of infinite night. I followed the rope down the mountain, not really seeing anyone except for the top-hat-wearing silhouettes of a couple people through the bright-lit windows of The Crudelis. It's a long trek through the snow, sure, but nothing too bad.
Once at the bottom I walked slightly southwest on my compass for a few kilometres, until finally, there it was. It was a simple building- if you exclude the massive greenhouse installed on the back with hundreds of bean plants, square. White walls- or at least the used to be white, with red trim and a red roof, a car wash to the side with the same color scheme, now used as a rather open makeshift gambling room and lounge, though nobody is there in this weather. As I push through the heavy double doors, I'm greeted by normal lighting and a few friendly faces. "Hey there Albert!" Bob says to me. He really does remind me of someone, but he's just a silly old bean farmer. "Hey. Just here for my usual pickup." Bob heads to the back to grab me a couple boxes of bean cans and a sled for me to drag them on, which I'm of course expected to return shortly. I know I seemed a little dismissive with him, I'm not much for small talk- "Nice suit." I heard from across the room. "Huh?" "I said nice suit. You're lucky to find such nice pieces. Looking real professional for this wasteland." Quite an asshole. Although he's right, my father sort of was prepared for something like this, and it sort of was his job. "It's just some stuff I found. Do we have a problem? Are you trying to.. steal from me?" "Oh, no. Not at all. Hey, what's your name, kid?" I'm 33. "Albert." "Oh. Albert. Nice to meet you. Einstein? Hah-hah. You look smart." He tells me. "No, not quite Einstein material." "Oh. Well hey, you can call me Mr. Evidence. Maybe we'll meet again." I hope not. And god, that's a stupid nickname. There's not really an internet database where you can enter someone's phone number or their name and find out where they live and every single detail of their life anymore. Nobody cares who you are. There's no point in hiding your identity here. "Hah, yeah, maybe. Well, old habits." I think I said that out loud. He doesn't seem to care though, clearly he thinks he's better than me. I turned to look at him. Black and silver rectangular shades. Middle part. Smug-ass pencil mustache. Blue milano suit with some sort of medal pinned to it. Lots of weapons. Two revolvers at his waist, a shotgun on the back, a dagger hanging from each shoulder. They all seem to be part of a set. I would've stood there making fun of his outfit and his entitlement and his smugness a little while longer if Bob hadn't come back.
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"Hey, I'm sorry, Berty. I'm all out for today. Can't spare any more. You get it, supply and demand. Hey, I can give you a few gallons of my special Bean Slushie if you want." I left. It's not too bad. There's other places to eat. Everything else is a lot more expensive, but I brought a lot to barter with. The nearest town is Starry Eyes, but there's nothing there but alcohol and violence. I'm gonna make the trip to the Regnus Potentia compound. It's rather far, but they do have a lot of supplies I can't get anywhere else. I'm not insane though. I'm not walking across the valley, which means I did need to go to Starry Eyes after all, for the train. Bob's wasn't far from town. Just outside it, really. Once in city limits, I was immediately greeted by barrel fires and blue lights. Everyone takes different forms of payment. Most people use water or medical supplies, some even use bottle caps, which I just honestly don't understand one bit. The train conductor takes whiskey. There's lots of bars to choose from in this town. I choose Bros' Bar because it's dark and I can't see the red-necked crackheads that surround me. "Brooo, what's up! What can I get you?" the bartender, who I only know as "Bro," asks me. I get my jug of home-made wasteland whiskey, pay with a vial of pre-apocalypse cough syrup, and turn to leave. "Got any more for me?" I can't quite make out the face, but some man is clearly threatening me while holding a shotgun in his hand. Now I'm no gunslinger, but in situations like these I am prompted to pull the P90 submachine gun from my bag and aim it at what I assume to be the skull of this silhouette. Now his friends were all pointing their guns at me, and another group, who I wouldn't consider my friends but just people looking to kill the first group, were pointing more guns back at them. Then the bartender blared a siren.
The town sheriff is a man named Buggs. Or he was a sheriff. Some honorable rank in the British Columbia Sheriff Service like Sergeant. He still wears his uniform, plus a cowboy hat and lots more guns than your usual officer. Here he was standing at the front door shooting holes in the ceiling. There's no law to uphold anymore but if more than 5 people are about to die he'll lock you up in the abandoned Penitentiary and you'll be tortured by him and his buddies until you hopefully starve. As fun as that sounds, I'm too hungry for prison at the moment. So, I simply walk out the back door- and into a fist.
Crap.
EVIE
Somewhere at Dwyer Hill, Ontario, Canada, Late 2004
"State your full name and age for the camera"
"Eve Elizabeth Rich, 18."
"What makes you think you're fit to be a soldier, Rich?"
"I..."
I still remember the interview they gave me four years ago at the recruit school in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, in Quebec. It makes me think sometimes, because I've got no clue how things ended up this way. I was just a troubled girl in a terrible city trying to find a purpose, and I'm not sure I ever did. Still, I am a pretty damn-good soldier. In four short years I worked my way up the ranks to JTF2. That stands for Joint Task Force 2, and it's Canada's best special forces unit. No clue what happened to the first one, and I'm not dumb enough to ask.
Tensions between countries have been building lately. It's all bullshit. Some scientist named William Fisher apparently discovered the... blood of the gods. They call it Pure Creation. I'm not sure how literal the world's decided to use that term, but everyone seems to want it. Fisher died in the 80s from radiation sickness or something, so he's not around to watch the whole world exploding- metaphorically, of course, fighting to get his discovery. Luckily no blood has actually spilled yet. My commander, Master Warrant Officer D.W Scott, tells us that a war probably will start soon, though. Canada's siding with the United States, as usual, if that does happen.
They're sending us to an oil rig near the Pure Creation deposit today. We're just taking a small team to escort a Canadian scientist named Ryan Astrobloxicitus. He's an experimental astronomer with a contract from the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. He sounds insane to me, but apparently his theories on alien civilizations... are... correct? Fuck. What the hell happened to the world...
"Ready to go, Evie?"
Corporal Adamina Giladi. My partner in crime.
I tell her "Yup...!" and we go outside to a field where we meet Ryan.
He's younger than I expected- about 50, if I had to guess. He's got on brown pants, a dark orange striped button-down, a dark green tie, and a black lab-coat with a large CSIS logo on it. Plus an ID card on a lanyard letting everyone know he belongs here. Oh... and glasses. God-awful nerdy glasses, huge circles on the front of his face that make his eyes look like those of a Bratz doll.
Anyway, when I'm done taking it all in I speak.
"Doctor, it's nice to meet you. Follow me."
So he follows me, and Adamina gets behind him, making a sweep formation as we walk across the base, quickly and efficiently, at least until he strikes up a conversation.
"You ever been to Hillshore, miss?"
"No, I haven't even heard of it, I'm afraid."
"Oh, well it's a sweet old town in Eastern British Columbia, the Lake Finisher area."
"I don't usually go that far west. So why'd you ask?"
"I used to run an observatory there, on a cliffside overlooking the lake. Beautiful little place. It's where I did my best research, that's for sure. Had to move though, after the.. Eh.. nuclear activity."
"Huh?"
"They said it was a gas leak but I knew. Observatories have got enough sensors and radars to know when a reactor implodes a few kilometers south, but they wouldn't buy it. Nobody believed me... heh... look where I am now."
"Yeah... this is our stop."
Crazy old bat.
At the helicopter now we find my commander, Master Warrant Officer D.W. Scott, a pilot, and two fellow CANSOFCOM soldiers, wearing full tactical gear. I didn't get to see their faces or find their names, but I'll call them desert and forest, matching the color of their camo outfits.
The pilot is commanded to fly us out and we're off, headed west to the middle of the ocean with a bunch of soldiers and a talkative lunatic who's somehow right, who will joyfully explain to us why the world is about to end.
How did I end up... here.
FREDERICK
Somewhere under the Starry Eyes Grasslands, British Columbia, Canada. Late 1986:
It was perfect. It was the most impressive nuclear reactor in all of Canada, maybe the world. Earlier this year, a reactor in Ukraine by the name of Chernobyl exploded, but this would be different. "This would be different." A potential investor doubted us, understandably so, but we really had made it perfect. "I'm sorry, doctor. I just have some concerns." His name was Joshua Stevenson. He represented a massive company in Germany that would change the entire framework of our institution if they joined us. "How about this, you can come by for a fully-detailed tour. We'll even feed you. What day is good for you?" He told me the "Earliest I can do is August 13th." It was not long from now. Three days, Wednesday, I like Wednesdays. "Sounds good, Mr. Stevenson." That gave us a good amount of time to prepare. "I'll see you soon," he said, and then he hung up.
We had an executive meeting scheduled today. Our team is small. It's me, Dr. William Fisher, who is our head chemist and biologist, Jerry Thompson, our head of security, Stewart Clark, the head of maintenance and sanitation, and most importantly at this moment in time, Dr. Mark Turnley, our head of all nuclear engineering and operations. There's also Peadar Cearbhaill, my highschool roommate, our head of astronomy, but he was away on a business trip to... somewhere. Something about Halley's Comet. So, a team of six. Five today, but six. There used to be seven. I quite like the number seven, but I don't quite like the seventh member, so he is gone, has been for years, and The Seven is no more. "Sir?" I look up. "Sir, did you hear what I said?" It seems Jerry Thompson wanted my attention. I've always had trouble focusing. Well, not always, but after being an only child with a single mother in a big house in a small town, and then being imprisoned by a gang for seven years, you tend to build a habit of ignoring the people around you and learning to make yourself think for your own sanity. "Yes, Commander Thompson?" "I'd like to take detainment duty for a week, to train a new recruit by the name Dawkins." "Yeah, okay. Of course. What's the problem?"
"There's gonna be less security at 12-C."
12-C was a security outpost not far from the main facility, mostly hidden in a rock formation and connected to everything else through sewers. It was our newest and most advanced outpost. It had the best sniper towers, the best technology, even drones. The only thing it didn't have was personnel and functioning doors, because it was still mostly under construction. Thompson had been guarding the area personally because it allowed him to make sure the construction workers made exactly what he wanted.
"It's just a construction site, you can leave it unguarded for a week."
I mean, there's gonna be construction workers, right? If anything happens- which it won't- just bash the robber with a wrench. It won't come to that, though. Nothing's gonna happen. Right? That's my thought process, at least. The rest of the meeting was a blur. A little bit about safeguards, about robots, about clogged toilets, nothing that really matters.
After the meeting it was time to lock up for the day. Dr. Fisher was the first to leave after cleaning up his laboratory. Then Jerry Thompson as he clocked in the nighttime security guard. I left next. Mark Turnley and Stewart Clark stayed the night- I assume. Turnley's been extremely busy lately, and if I'm being honest I'm not entirely sure whether or not Stewart Clark is homeless, but he does have a decent office to live in.
The drive home was short and peaceful. I drove out of the dirt road onto the little main road back into town, stopping for some gas at a place called Bob & Son's Gas Station. "Hey there Fred!" Bob says to me. He really does remind me of someone, but he's just a silly old gas station clerk. I ask him for "$30 on Pump Two, please." I gas up, and I leave. Back on the main road I drove through Starry Eyes before taking a left up Mount Copper- the area's personal slice of the Rockies. I pass by a boarding school called The Crudelis I attended as a teenager, and then I'm home. It's a sweet little Victorian place I grew up in. Two floors, plus the basement, two bedrooms, one bathroom- it's a Jack & Jill type, or in other words, it's in between two bedrooms and has two doors. A nice spiral staircase... sorry. I'm not trying to sell the place, I just don't know what to say. Point is, it's truly a home. Passed down through generations. I'd be happy to pass it on to my sons one day, if they wanted it.
"Hi honey."
My beautiful wife... Alexa. Her mind's been deteriorating for four years because of one stupid man playing doctor. I feel lucky everyday that I come home and she still recognizes me as, well, her honey. I fear for tomorrow... every day... but for now it's okay. It's slow.
"Welcome home, Mr. Jones. It was a good day with her." "Thanks, Nurse Colins. Get home safe." When the nurse leaves I walk upstairs to see my kids. Adam and Albert. They're twins, both seven. "Hi daddy!" Adam exclaims after seeing me. I work too much... way too much. I make the nurse babysit often... it's unfair but... I don't know what else to do. We don't have anyone else living here anymore. My other son, Albert, runs up to me then. "Dad, look! I drew a scary purple monster oozing scary purple goop!" I don't know what that is, but it looks... scary, I guess. "But don't worry, dad, this scientist with a blue and red hazmat suit is gonna get him! It's me!" Honestly, I worry sometimes that Albert wants to become me. A fate I wouldn't wish on anyone, so I hope it's just a phase. I tell him "Hey, that looks good, kiddo!" and I leave to go to bed.
"Oh, come on, play with us!" I hear Adam say as I walk out the door but I just can't. Work's too much. So I walk down the hall to my room where my wife's already asleep.
Tomorrow is another day.