The year 2501, bunkers, being called Vaults that sheltered the last of humanity’s survival had fallen, giving in to the battle with the apocalypse that struck the planet four centuries ago, wiping out its existence from history. But then, even the living in the Wasteland were put to an end too as the environment grew harsher under time.
Raiders succumbed on the dry cracked grounds that had endured years and years of drought, permanently damaging it to an irreversible state, unable to provide the least of nutrients for the stubborn of all weeds. Resources became more scarce as day after day a Vault or two gets destroyed, demolished, and of course, raided. The Deathclaws that were known as the toughest beast of the Wasteland also became a species close to extinction.
Feral Ghouls that wandered around the Wasteland grounds had gone off in hiding, knowing the true end was coming soon. There were never any weathers before in the particular zone of death, but the record of the eternal dry lands of a spectacular 365 years was taken over by mad climates of blizzards, floods and frequent thunderstorms that drop nothing but the literal thunderbolts. It was an incoming fearful day neither party, the good or bad wished for, and yet radiated critters were already dead by now, not even a Radroach was to be seen in the abandoned districts of ghost towns anymore.
It was a sign.
A sign that the post apocalypse had made it even more dangerous in the aftermath of multiple nukes striking earth since 2150.
The last of the humans, or known as Dwellers struggled to adapt to the worsening conditions, creating stronger Radaways, and perhaps Stimpaks infused with it. Though, these were just simple creations, and the innovation of humans weren’t able to catch up with the Wastelands demands and could do nothing other than perish.
Was this the end of life itself? Every Dweller thought about it, when their grand population was reaching four digits and soon three. And yet, although their innovation failed to help them, their ability to adapt didn’t. Evolution soon came to the rescue, minimizing the worst of what the apocalypse’s downsides gave them. It delayed the time to extinction, then finally bought the years and decades enough to overcome the greatest threat in front of their faces.
But that was just the end of the first problem……
And more were coming.
The lights flickered on and off, giving the surroundings a bad state of illumination to see anything at all. Power was down but still available for the emergency lights installed by the overseer of Vault 256 last year in case of power outage. Yet, the supply was finite and was close to being exhausted in just a few more days if conserved properly. The rats that lived in such desolate places managed to keep themselves up and going even during the lack of food and water, for there were several cafeterias and water treatment plants in this Vault that were able to provide a month’s worth of rations to a full Vault of 200 Dwellers. Unfortunately, the rats were by the entrance of a particular cafeteria, not entering it because there was a figure many times larger than them looking for food first. To them, it’s a monster in blue with a peach colored head and a black top of some sort.
The Dweller fumbled over the counter, throwing away empty aluminum cans of already consumed delicacies. He wore a decent bag fully stocked up with his supplies that’ll last for at most another week if he controlled his rations well. Together with his bag equipment was an M-12 double barrel shotgun, an antique picked up by one of the Dwellers during the trips to the Wasteland.
Sadly, that was two months ago when the Second Apocalypse came. The radiated water couldn’t be treated and the purification plant wasn’t able to help either. Food rot off after the infestations of Radroaches and Mole Rats who taken their diet of cable wires to the crops at the underground greenhouse. Everyone was devastated, clean freshwater was running low and the famine spread after the news was heard that the cafeteria was unable to produce enough food to properly feed hundreds of mouths. Some Dwellers were sent the Wasteland in hopes of gaining an alternate source of it, but tragedies got uglier after not a single one came back. Families were broken, the supplies getting low and morale got lower than that. The overseer did his best to do what he could, but then a rebel rose, followed by a feud to kill the overseer of not taking his responsibility. Vault-Tec got cut off line about a week before all of this began, so communications to the rest of the Vaults were of low to no chance to begin with.
Thus, people started dying.
After the first blood dropped by the dead overseer, each and every one fell to the ground a few days later, even the children weren’t able to escape the fate of death. Population in the vault grew lesser, and the corpses can’t be disposed finished until another one dies on the spot several seconds later. That was why dead bodies were left to decay on their own instead of the Dwellers taking out the trash and waste any more energy. All they had to do was ignore the putrid and disgusting smell for the time being until they got pass the critical point.
But then, it was a bad move to say, for the Second Apocalypse had gave more new surprises every day. That day was no other than a week to the time right now, when the dead rose and hunted for the living.
Zombies.
The survivors noticed that some of the dead Dwellers had their respective bodies disappearing, and it was firstly assumed that they were thrown by someone else. Indefinitely, their ideas were wrong after the first encounter with a new enemy in the half functioning cafeteria on the second floor. Quite a number of the remaining survivors were injured by the zombie that lunged itself at them, doing what it could to bring a good casualty number for its kind. The others panicked, and the new leader of the Vault quickly informed every available pair of hands to eradicate the horde in their home.
Though, all of the efforts ended in a futile result. A discovery of the zombies was made after witnessing the incident of a deadly trait, something related to the scratches and bites being contagious. Very contagious.
The survivors of Vault 256 ran wild in the corridors of the many floors to evade from the growing horde that roamed around in a former safe zone, attempting to avoid from the new group of dead that came from some people of the cafeteria. The food supply was stable and a good water source was dug out to be used for three more days. Until then, they were not recovering from their injuries ever since the zombie attack. What came later was a couple of growls and crazed men and women that got out to bite people, where the Dwellers realized a new fact of the virus living in the undead. The research for a possible cure couldn’t be carried out when one of the victims in the horde was the only last doctor to handle diseases. Eventually a resistance force was made, a Mr. Handy sent to fight together, with the leftover scene being a pile of junk, bullets, guns of a variety, gore of survivors and a seemingly growing horde of living dead with an insatiable hunger for more kills.
And here was the last Dweller who was just your ordinary human being so as to speak. The zombies still lingered in the empty hallways of the Vault, sniffing for a new target, whether a rat or whatever that breathes. The last two days were tough, for he had to overcome the problem of getting water when so many of his former comrades stayed by the flowing stream on floor twelve, the deepest level in Vault 256. He was successful at finding one…… no, two bottles of freshwater in the wasted purification plant, saving him the time of climbing down ten floors and back up again for another week. Elevators were shut down due to the absence of an important element; electricity to make it work. The next problem was that he only had water, not food to get nutrients. Yet, the Dweller just wished to live the rest of his days in peace while trying to not make it a suffering. He decided that he should go and explore the outside after this food search, where he’ll need it to go venture into floor five for the armory room and get more firepower. He was willing to leave now and don’t care about being bitten, only feared being one of them, but the instinct of these zombies were no small talk, for there was a medium group of these things near one of the entrances here, and he’d be nothing but a snack to them if he weren’t to get something and take them down.
That was why he was first stocking up on his rations in the first place so that he doesn’t need to waste more shells when he come back here. He had seen the capabilities of the horde when he was once spotted. He ran as fast as his legs could take him, and it was later he managed to create an improvised barricade to keep them away for the moment. But the unfortunate part was that it was the floor with the armory that had this horde after him. Even from two floors away, he could hear the banging of metal walls together with the screeching of iron and rather sharp nails. He already did a shell count and found he had exactly four shots left, the number being his lucky one. He successfully did a modification so that he could pack four bullets at once and also a patent silenced pump loader, but that’s that, now he’s down to his last clip, rummaging over the shelves for maybe half a can of pork.
“Ah ha!” The Dweller whispered with delight, finally met face to face with a decent can of cooked meat, whispering because he doesn’t want to attract the new local attention. Confirming the expiry date was not yesterday, he settled down his bag, opening one of the three small zips to reach for his can opener. Within a few seconds, he got out his reliable stainless steel multi-purpose Army Swiss knife. He fumbled the folded tools, carefully switching the knife’s many features as it was slightly rusty, so it made an audible click whenever you twist the mechanism quickly. Although losing most senses, the ears of a zombie was several times greater than a normal human while their eyes about half as less than before, causing them to rely on sounds rather than sight.
It was a mere fifteen seconds for the man to get the opener tool to use, looking at the entrances on his front and back, ensuring no undead was nearby with the rats keeping him company, he did the usual way of getting the can lid to pop up in an hour’s time. Sure, it’s agonizing for this Dweller when he already missed his lunchtime and close to dinner. He was already deprived of energy and was in no good shape to a fight when he’s seeing double for roughly the past two hours. His body needed the food and desperation together with a strong determination drove him to get a meal right away.
That was how he got out of a hiding place quietly to go from floor four to floor two, along the way meeting three threats. Luckily, all of the fights were only a fair one on one, and his shotgun blast was so deafening it echoed through the entire Vault that confused the other undead to assume it was something common and nothing to go look for. The fights surely had growls from a really grossing target, yet the alarm that a living human found was well ignored by their kind, adding another way to cover up the Dweller’s tracks. And one thing for sure, this Dweller was glad their growling protected him from being found out, as his stomach was trying to lure them to the last man standing with its greatest rumble.
The man cheered with joy in silence when his lunch or dinner arrived fresh and edible, with no signs of contamination. He then devoured the insides whole with a great gulp, being as cautious of glaring at both entrances for the unwanted company. He then covered his mouth with both hands to mute his burp of satisfaction, patting his belly that got thin from exceeding the daily consumption of calories for as long as sixty days. Not something a greedy pig could handle. Though, the man was among the Wasteland scouts in Vault 256, so it’s important for him to maintain his fitness of the body because one, he’ll become a role model to the Dwellers that lived under the same bunker and two, he’d be a walking lump of fat in the Wasteland, which means to the things that lived there as food.
The man, known as Francis Roger sat and leaned onto the dusty counter of the cafeteria to digest his food for a while, his double barrel within hand’s reach for the occasion. As he physically let his body rest, his mind was a whole different story, listing the schedule he arranged for today. After getting his food to keep his stomach down for a while, he’ll need to go to the armory and reload his clips, making sure he got enough to go for the radio station one last time before heading out.
It’s a day earlier when Francis and the survivors managed to get to the radio and tried contacting any possible support from the outside while among three of them buy a much time as they could. Turns out the other Vaults that were still active also got the similar conditions and too, were asking for help. Radio calls between Vaults were considered as a myth for every Overseer was assigned to be running an independent bunker full of people, not relying on people like you’re the ruler. Unless a special disaster calls for it, it’ll require teamwork to handle it.
Such as the disaster for today.
“Hello? An SOS from Vault 256! I repeat, an SOS from Vault 256! If there’s any available assistance, please send in support immediately! I repeat, send in support immediately!” Francis shouted over the walkie-talkie, taking the risk of attracting a horde of the undead in exchange for a chance of rescue. It had been just ten minutes and the crackling of a radio with the sounds of a really nervous Dweller screaming over it already disrupted the normal noise in the corridors, instantly calling forth a hundred more angry growls and groans to get rid of the source. Gunfire was heard from behind the barricaded doors, Dwellers out there fought for the way to freedom, yelling as they lost their hope after a yell from being scratched and bitten, then torn to shreds. Now the horde was banging and crashing against the only door between them and the last seventeen humans alive. Francis and his troop leader were on the unique emergency radio as the other fifteen held their guns to the entrance, completely focused on firing at a large hostile group when the barricade falls. That radio was the only way to try and get in touch with some of the further troops living out in the Wasteland. There was mostly nothing, but nobody was willing to miss this good chance.
“Is there anyone out there? An SOS from Vault 256 needs your help! Please, anyone!”
Francis did his best to give out every heavy vocal he got as his leader twisted the stabilizers and punched the adjustment buttons for sending the signal everywhere. Depression already set in and there was not a single radio in every place that answered the call.
“Yes! This is a rescue unit replying your call! We will be there shortly! I repeat, we will be there shortly!”
All except one.
“This is the rescue unit from the Borders of Beyoncé, we will arrive within 48 hours. Please hang on until reinforcements come to your Vault!”
Francis shuddered from the words regarding the Borders, that was an imaginary barrier Vault-Tec had placed to keep everyone out of a great harm’s way. After since the apocalypse; the first one, radiation pose a problem in a large part of the planet, technically covering three quarters of it, only one particular quarter had its radiation died down faster. That was the Wasteland, where 999 Vaults were built to house survivors in a post-apocalyptic ground. The Borders of Beyoncé were however, somewhere no living thing would be willing to gamble their lives in to explore, as once going in for more than ten seconds within the eye’s vicinity, you’re never coming back. The explorer himself had passed by several times in his trips and noticed quite a number of Deathclaws running away from it, for it told him the unknown creatures dwelling near the Borders was of comparison to every Wasteland monster combined. Some had thought of the possibilities that a holy haven laid there, but Francis had no heart to think that as no other than heaven. And now from the radio that announced the news to the whole room, the Dwellers shivered with joy from both the fact someone was coming and yet, it’s from foreign land. Therefore, it must be a strong troop coming here that could obliterate an entire den of Deathclaws, Mole Rats and Radroaches living together. It put a glint of light in all of them and it was the silver lining of the non-existing clouds in their heads surfaced. Adrenaline surged into their brains for the need to survive and be free of infection to enjoy the paradise they’ll be rewarded with after all of their hard work.
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Sadly, only Roger got to enjoy that alone and tell the tale about it if he makes it. There’s about 12 hours until the promised support team comes and haul him out of the darkness. But then, power was getting low and he was worried if they couldn’t open the fortified fifty-six inched titanium door. The emergency lights don’t consume any of the power and acted as the sign for remaining power level. He had been using the radio once in a while to chat with the units not only for comforting himself, but also keep his mentality in check. Being alone for just a mere two hours would drive Francis mad as he loved to communicate, that’s what made him happy and calm during the zombie invasion in his Vault, not to mention allowing him to think clearly of what he had to do next when he grumbled quietly; the lights in the cafeteria flickered for the umpteenth time before going out, showing that the power engine he installed at the entrance was about to be empty soon. He then abruptly stuffed another job to do after he got up.
One, get into the armory and obtain as much bullet to shoot through heads in order to survive longer.
Two, get the last jerry can of petrol to run the power engine for one more day.
Three, talk to the incoming support unit one last time to get your nerves cooled.
And four…… head to the Vault entrance to prepare for the expedition out in the Wasteland…… just in case even the terrifying army from Beyoncé failed to get here.
Francis got up, dusting the dust off his Vault suit sleeves, and did the usual inspection occasionally for potential spots to be bitten. His sturdy Vault suit had helped to prevent being infected many times in this week, but he still doubted that it could protect him for another minute. The suit was already at a worn out state after the running, jumping and countless near-misses to be tugged by a random sharp nail sticking out of the floor. He was then sure that the suit could withstand one more round of twelve-hour parkour. It was at a time Francis got nervous if he disappointed his rescuers and got the virus in him, so thus he went on with a procedure every time he got the trip to the vast Wasteland that held the various dangers in it.
Don’t panic. It’s always an adventure. It’ll be over soon. Just sit back, relax…… and enjoy.
He said it in his heart, controlling his breathing and ensuring his thumping heart thumped normally instead of like a racing car going down a mountain in freefall. Things like emotion handling were not Roger’s specialty, but at least he could keep it intact and not exploding into some sort of human volcano. And yet, he was not enjoying this adventure one bit.
He was ready to go and reload his weapon supply. Putting the empty can of Pork and Beans away, he picked the army Swiss knife that he laid on the ground, feeling confident he’ll be able to get over this nightmare. Though, overconfidence does put you in a tight situation. For Francis, in a too relaxed condition, forgot the problem of twisting the knife’s tools fast does a really bad way to keep him stealthy, and the sound was louder than he ever heard in his life.
‘Click.’
“Drat……” Francis whispered his words and glanced at the cafeteria door. The rats suddenly scampered away at top speed, as the massive mad horde was on its way to finish off the survivor who just finished his lunch.
This was going to be the longest 12 hours in his life.
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The lower floor corridors were dark under the lack of electricity in the lights, nothing was the word to describe what you could see in a place you had to rely on memory and instinct. Memory was then removed in the category, for the previous chase between a human and a large horde of zombies had the place messed up and there were a lot of makeshift obstacles made during the time until a man called Francis Roger couldn’t even tell if this was his Vault or not. Out in the vision of black, only one available light source was there. However, the small white radiance kept bobbing up and down due to a someone that had to endure half a day’s worth of parkour starting since five minutes ago. To him, it was five years of agony already.
Francis leapt over a shelf, doing an awesome side flip as his right hand supported him pass it. He’s currently in the storage room, where the warehouse itself was in a bad shape. The places that were used to store heavy boxes fell onto the concrete floor, with one of them making a large hole that connected to the level below. Roger was aiming for that spot, for it instantly brought him to the armory as he was on floor four, his hideout level. The elevator shaft was blocked beyond that point ever since the last time he threw a grenade to hold a large climb group from ascending. Francis was willing let them descend to hell early, and he had just used three shells for fending off several infected that caught up with his pace. Having a Grade 10 endurance was no joking matter for one that had visited the fitness centre often, but these things were mocking his hard work as a futile effort. To get them off his tail, Francis tried throwing some of the boxes that contain random stuff in them. There were a few that weight at least a ton, and when he had to convert some of his velocity into means of slowing them down, it’s worth fighting to the last second. He then dropped some of the delicate packages that were never open and it burst out quite many toys the kids played with before. Francis was also lucky that he stumbled onto a large box of marbles and grease for the power engine that gave the wild horde a good slip, each experiencing a powerful bonk on the head and was knocked unconscious for a mere two seconds and got their hunting senses tingling with anger.
The survivor was yet, still far from his destination. The warehouse had become a maze the last time the horde chased him here, forcing him to do whatever he could to throw heavy shelves and flatten some dumb zombie. Though, the virus strain in them made these monsters more monstrous from within, for some of the undead were still under them, trying to get out to join in the fun for hunting prey. Nevertheless, the obstacle courses only served to exhaust the one who made it. Francis was puffing with heavy breathes each time he had to do a wall climb in half a second and regain his speed in half of that after sliding under some ruins. Still, he had to do a U-turn around a shelf to reach the edge of the room where the hole was. If that man sized pit wasn’t there by now, it would mean it’ll be a dead end for Francis. There was a big chunk of concrete from the upstairs that blocked one of the two exits, and even if he could get to the other side, it’s just another dead end where the elevator doors were closed and required time to get it wide open for a grown man to squeeze pass the gap. And after that, he must grip hold of the rope to get down slowly. If he were to let go, what’ll wait down over the bottom of the shaft was a dreadful abyss, ready to pound him into blood and organs in the fall. He was forced to use the other elevator otherwise, having to wear some durable gloves to protect his already rough palms from friction heat damage. A height of two feet per floor was no small talk considering he had to slide ten floors down straight to get a freshwater refill and do a confined space hike up again, wasting a portion of his supplies when he arrived to second floor. Then again, the only way down was stuffed like a cork in a bottle.
But now, he could at least make a difference and slay a few more to pass his time until his ticket out of here comes. It’s not in his schedule to play cat and mouse with the zombies……
Though he thinks it’s all part of the plan.
Making the final turn, Francis saw the shortcut downstairs to the place. The growls were getting closer by the moment and he was picking up speed as fast as he could in par with an athlete trying to win an impossible race against death. Well, the odds were still above a positive integer, followed by his dictionary rejecting to put that word in it, he’s giving it everything he got to make a final dash of faith. He did the last burst of energy to his lower body and blasted off like a rocket, evading from the fatal wound he might had taken if he delayed for a second. Somehow, if this was a test of some sort, Francis was fit to be an acrobat, for he had been doing great leaps, backflips and cartwheels for the pass 72 hours, taking ten minute breaks during intervals. His body was then built up in the hard way, with the results of him now with a firm six pack in his abs and skin well-toned even without the help of sunlight.
Doing a perfect ground roll, he changed his direction at the last moment to aim his shotgun at the upper floor, firing another shell at the jumping zombie, causing both the gun and that dead to recoil in their respective ways. He was not done yet, for there was still too many on the floor for him to handle, and while his legs were taking a break from that sprint with his right hand the double barrel, the left hand served to hold something like a spherical stone, hissing a small fog of smoke.
If you look closely enough at the warehouse grounds, there was something Francis had thrown that came with a cling sound of metal, where then the sphere that hissed out gas was thrown and landed next to it. It looked like…… a grenade with its pin.
There was a loud bang as the fragment grenade exploded violently, crumbling part of the structure of the Vault to collapse down and bury what was under it. Francis used the last of his trained stamina to roll out of the way. There was a zombie that was in midair, about to give him a bite. Sadly, it was crushed by the debris of earth and rocks altogether. Now what was left of the corpse was a hand sticking out, barely twitching. Francis laid on the floor with his face staring at a blank ceiling, panting when he consumed a large amount of calories in just about a sixth of an hour, his dinner gone and he wanted more food. With the head turning to the left from exhaustion, he managed to see something in the dark, glinting from his headlight that reflected down to the steel floor.
He was cheering with a drooling mouth, for on the ground was another can of Pork and Beans, its aluminum cover pop opened for who knows when. Though from the looks of it, the can was freshly done this way as it might have been the force of the blow doing it, and showing it may had been some sneaky Dweller who stored some food here to have it as tea break, and Francis was sure it belonged to the dead body lying beside the can. The skull of a human was face down on the ground, its body attempting to get away from something big. Big being the term here, as when the Dweller shone his light at the entrance, he used an extra burst of energy to lift his hand and switch off the headlight faster than his brain pulses could send the message.
At the entrance, three feet away was a large mix of mutant muscle. It’s not the Super Mutant, despite the word in there, but judging from its sheer size, it’s larger and bulkier than the other smaller zombies. He was overseeing it as an illusion at first, but he changed his mind when a small zombie passed through to verify the size factor difference. He found a bonus fact on it after he saw that dark lump of flesh grabbed probably his own kind and chewed on it, gobbling it up. He’s horrified about that, seeing that the new monster species just turned its head towards here for a short while, stealing his breath away, even his body heat was draining.
Then, after what felt like forever, the beast went away, no longer disturbing a Dweller’s peace, and leaving him to enjoy his own food.
The man named Francis Roger nearly had a heart attack.
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It was around a minute where he got up, about to heave from overloaded exercise, and looked at the Pork and Beans, opened and leaking out second after second. Still can’t feel his legs, he crawled over and snatched the can for survival, lying down on his back and swallowed the mashed mix of meat and vegetables, looking at the skeleton for several times, fearing another species of a monster jumping out to invite him.
“That wasn’t so bad……” He thought to himself and glanced his antique watch for the time. He just sighed, knowing he only spent less than a quarter and there was a lot more of seconds and minutes to waste. But now’s not the time to not proceed with this, he had an enhanced double barrel’s ammo to restock on, and the sooner he does it, the higher his chances a bumbling zombie walks in.
He got to a sitting position, taking and inhaling a few deep breathes of oxygen to circulate through his body, thirsty for the gas that kept him alive. He was glad that the ventilation of the Vault does not need power to keep it open, or he’d be…… you know it. Besides, it makes the place less hot from giving someone an indoor heatstroke. The place was currently around 36 degrees Celsius so as to speak. Francis was hoping he could use the vents to escape, but unless he wished to keep himself in one piece, he’d better not go and play with the sharp, fast spinning fan blades. Unfortunately, his second problem was that it only fit a two-year-old child inside; not really suitable for a man who’s still single by the way.
That…… was a sad tragedy for a good man most women were looking for. He’s not anti-social, just the opposite. A love for communicating with each other helped his to get quite a lot of friends, male and female alike. Boys being his scout team, and girls from the bar. So most Dwellers assume he’s not looking for anyone to marry, let it be simple, gay or bisexual. The thoughts were pushed away instantly, as Francis recently preferred his life to be only one person; himself, thanks to the surroundings of him stuck in a Vault and nowhere to go nor chat with.
He went into looking at the shelves, his light on and each shelf stocked with loads and loads of bullet, ranging from the standard handgun shots to machine gun rounds. He had tried multiple weapons before to get rid of the zombies, and so far, nothing but the shotgun did best to tear them into shredded flesh. The handgun did weak and slow blasts that made little to no damage to slow these things down. The machine gun was far worse as it kept missing its target, even from three feet away where a handgun could do better than that. Both assisted to only waste bullets and time, only spilling some sort of green blood on the floor at most. It’s not acid, for the metal’s not hissing vigorously.
Francis got over most of the shelves that held these useless junk, finally met with the one that was piled up with plenty of shotgun shells. He got a small box out and reloaded his shotgun with it, then grabbed three more and put it in his bag’s right zipper pocket. There was just enough space for it and he couldn’t stuff more in his bag, for he needed the ammo at hand’s reach. Still, he took the remaining four boxes and threw them into the main pocket, saving it for the last stand and while he took breaks to arrange them.
There was a glint of light reflected back to his eyes when a thing caught his attention. He shifted his perspective and looked at it, feeling nostalgic at the thing that kept him in company in the usual days of the Vault.
Laid to waste and placed on the table, made with anti-rust iron combined with carbon fiber. A good grip and a well-crafted x8 scope turned this weapon to Francis’ favorite. The sniper rifle had been with the man for as long as he remembered. He may be a fighter, but he’s no fan of getting up close with the monsters. That was why he was given by the Overseer this gun of choice, greatly allowing him to take down targets with headshots before they could see him. The scope also came with night vision technology, letting him doing his work on both day and night, the rest depending on his rapid senses. The bad news why this sniper was left behind by its owner was that there was no more ammo compatible with the particular gun, for it uses a specific bullet to fit into its clip, made personally by the armory experts. He could have cling onto it as a souvenir, but he had to survive, not filling his bags with gifts for no purpose. It always came first, and if the survival part was the top winner, he was willing to give up on using his good old rifle to live for one more day.
He was broken heart inside. That was his precious item to remind him of the days that were so peaceful. And now……
Francis walked out of the ammo room, adjusting and tightening his headlight well and stretched his arms, preparing to do his second task to make sure his Vault door was good to go. He felt confident that he could get past this, although that was the last fragment grenade he used to seal another hole and forming another dead end. He was on the floor where a second warehouse was on and he recalled the fuel used for an engine was there. With awakened hopes, he strode over the bones that were split all over the place, and headed for the exit, confirming he could take on any challenge, including the beast he saw earlier.
‘Ting!’
Francis froze as he watched a metal object rolled over the floor, his gaze following the thing that made a racket too many. It was a couple of seconds for the thing to stop and end its momentum, velocity coming to a zero and the tough man we were looking almost lost his mind, for that was the second empty can of Pork and Beans taking all the credit for making a new sound after two minutes of silence.
“Why me……” The man spoke in his loud tone, when his gaze averted to the door on his right. He could feel a rumble coming to his way, where he heard a crash of a barricade broken and the scowling got louder.
“Somebody kill me……” Francis ran once more to the other direction, when his death wish came to answer that request.