Venetian Red: The Exiled King

The Eastern Wasteland is the only place on Earth where anarcho-capitalism thrives after the World War 4. In this system, government is entirely replaced by the free market and private companies at most level. Here, where no nation and no law to enforce any rule. Bandits, gangs, mutants, and corporations roam without accountability. But amidst the chaos, some still try to establish order.

Common stories feature weak protagonists striving for power. This is different. Our protagonist, once a powerful leader, now desires simplicity. The War overwhelmed him. He avoids leadership, choosing the solitary life of a mercenary, wandering the wasteland, but fate seems always drag him into trouble

Volume 1

Chapter 1: Prepare for Day of Judgment

The sun baked the cracked desert. A man in a dark cloak and worn armor, Wanderer, stood silently, focused on a distant bunker. “I always wanted to be the Messiah’s army,” he murmured. “But it’s too late.”

Lost in thought, he walked, unaware of the sand creature that approached. His hand went to his silver pistol. A mutated mole, green bubbles glistening on its head. Wanderer aimed. The mole vanished into the sand. A smile touched his lips beneath his mask.

He looked at the pistol, a two-century-old relic from the time the Messiah quelled the Dajjal’s chaos. He sighed, holstering it, remembering the golden age—forty years on Earth. Now, descendants fended for themselves on endless conflict. It seems like the final apocalypse is just around the corner

Wanderer gazed at the bunker on the horizon. “I hope Gott grants us another great leader,” he whispered,

The wind carried a faint, unsettling odor – something acrid and faintly sweet – as he neared the bunker. He passed a crude pile of skulls, partially buried by drifting sand. A few splintered bone weapons poked out from the base. Even half-buried, the deformities were visible: a jutting horn here, an extra eye socket there

A long line of immigrants waited at the bunker gates, watched over by a guard in a tower behind a barbed-wire fence. there are trucks and frankenstains car with match up body spare part.some is had a solar panels for charging. in distance background a line of dust kicking when two racer with sand buggy car trying outpace each other.

As Wanderer reached the line, he saw a mix of faces—some excited, some holding their children in their arms. Some wore cybernetic limbs and eyes; some looked like typical bums. It was a place for people who wanted a better future, or were simply crazy. Wanderer joined the line, silently trying to blend in. He wasn’t looking for this kind of attention. The guard, a hulking figure in worn composite plating, shouldered his way through the press of people, “Make way for the Wanderer!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the bunker’s outer walls. A surge of movement rippled through the crowd as they parted, creating a narrow path

A woman with tired eyes clutched a baby. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We just need a chance.” A man with a cybernetic arm pushed forward. “I’m tired of the caliphate!Take me! I can fight!” Wanderer sighed, a hand going to his forehead,

“I’d die for you!” someone yelled. Wanderer turned, lowered his mask, gave a quick smile in the general direction of the voice, then turned back.

He continued towards the airlock, the heavy metal door looming ahead. As he approached, a scanner whirred to life, its red light sweeping over him, a scanner whirred to life. “Lavender, please,” he requested. A holographic display flickered on, confirming his bio-signature and account balance: "Lavender package, premium, 12 credits." The automated system hissed, spraying him with disinfectant and a mist of lavender-scented oil—a small, premium comfort in the harsh wasteland.

PART 2

The airlock door hissed open, revealing a dimly lit corridor that led deeper into the bunker complex. The scent of lavender lingered briefly before being overtaken by the cloying mix of sweat, recycled air, and a faint undercurrent of incense. Wanderer followed the worn signs etched into the metal walls,

The corridor opened into a larger, more crowded space, Iron Hold was a cramped, underground warren. Machinery hummed, voices murmured. It was essentially a mall for survival services—power, air, and waste disposal—crammed together and operated by various companies.

Furqan, a man with a white mask covering the lower half of his face, stood near the entrance to a more restricted area, scanning a newcomer with a handheld device, checking for radiation. Finding none, he offered a terse greeting. "You done with your me time and Ready for the mission?"

Wanderer, a man with a black mask, removed it, revealing a rugged face framed by a long, wavy beard and narrow eyes. "As ready as ever," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "By the way, are you okay?"

Furqan paused, surprised by Wanderer's concern. He removed his own mask, revealing a Middle Eastern face with a hooked nose. "I'm fine, just tired," he admitted gruffly. "Why? You think I look that bad?"

“yeah”

Furqan's expression softened slightly. "You pick up on that, huh? Yeah, I've got something on my mind," he confessed. "It's nothing serious, just some old demons."

Wanderer raised an eyebrow. "So, you just brush it off? Like nothing happened?"

Furqan shrugged. "What do you want me to do, break down and cry? I'm a warrior, not a damn therapist patient."

Wanderer chuckled. "Good, good boy. Let's see our new crew. I wonder what kind of lost souls have flocked to our company."

Furqan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, real 'good boy' here. And yeah, I'm curious about our new crew as well. Hopefully, they're not too much of a pain in the ass to deal with."

Together, they walked deeper into the bunker, passing through narrow corridors. The air grew thicker with stale sweat and unwashed bodies. They saw a motley assortment of immigrants who had sought refuge in Ironhold. Some slept, weariness etched on their faces, while others played cards or chess.

They reached a larger chamber, a makeshift barracks where the new recruits were gathered. A diverse group—young and eager, scarred veterans—filled the room. Wanderer and Furqan surveyed the crowd.

"New meat," Wanderer muttered.

Furqan's eyes wandered over the various recruits. "They look a lot different from our usual crew," he said quietly. "Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

Wanderer shrugged. "What do you expect? They flock to us for money, film, and cheap entertainment...well most of them."

Furqan let out a huff of disgust. "Yeah, figures. Most mercenaries are just in it for the worldly desire, not like us."

Wanderer nodded. "Good." He then rubbed his forehead and looked down at the paper listing the recruits. "So, where is Shizuka? She should help me with the recruitment progress."

Furqan glanced around the room, looking for Shizuka. "I haven't seen her yet. She probably got caught up doing something," he replied. The duo continued to scan the room, searching for any sign of the mysterious young woman.

Wanderer sighed. "Alright, forget it. Let Chrome do it instead."

Furqan raised an eyebrow at Wanderer's suggestion. "Chrome? You sure about that? He can be a bit... unpredictable."

Wanderer tapped his chin. "We have limited time, and we need to filter these people fast. Chrome is the best man for it; he has a good eye for picking out who's worth it and who's not."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Furqan chuckled. "Alright, fair enough. If you say so. Just don't be surprised if we end up with some... colorful characters on our crew."

Wanderer smiled. "I love diversity. They bring new jokes."

Furqan chuckled in agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right. They might even bring some interesting skills to the table. But don't forget, we gotta keep them in line. Can't have them causing trouble."

Wanderer then put a finger on his right forehead, activating the real-time psyche to contact Chrome. After a brief moment, The door burst open, revealing Chrome—long hair, fair skin crisscrossed with scars. 'Attention here, you scum! You wanna be a warrior? Then come face me!'"

The recruits turned their attention to Chrome as he made his grandiose entrance. Some looked amused, others wary. Furqan and Wanderer exchanged a quick glance before looking back at Chrome.

Recruits formed two lines, one snaking towards Wanderer's methodical scrutiny of backgrounds. Meanwhile,Chrome leaned back in his chair, his feet propped casually on the table. "So," he began, addressing the recruit, "you want to be a warrior? Why? For glory? Riches? Or… to become a god?"

The recruit stammered, clearly taken aback by the unexpected question. "Uh, well, sir, I just… need the money."

Chrome snorted derisively. "Money? That's small thinking. Nobunaga didn't conquer for coins. He burned down temples! What's your temple? What are you willing to burn?"

The recruit, now visibly terrified, could only manage, "I… I don't have a temple, sir."

Chrome grinned. "Then find one. Or become one." With a dismissive wave of his hand, he signaled the recruit to move on.

The next recruit nervously approached the chair. Chrome leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Imagine this: I give you power. Riches. Women. But to get it, you must betray your best friend. Do you do it?"

The recruit paused, considering the proposition with a furrowed brow. "It depends on the friend, sir."

Chrome’s fist slammed onto the table, the sudden violence of the action making the recruit jump. "Wrong answer!" he roared. "There is only one true loyalty: to me! We don't tolerate traitors! Get out."

The recruit simply shrugged, a gesture of indifference, and rose from the chair, making way for the next in line.

Chrome, without missing a beat, pointed to a random spot on the wall. "What color is that?"

"Uh… grey, sir?" the recruit responded, a note of confusion in his voice.

Chrome drew his sword slightly, the metallic shink echoing in the confined space. "Wrong. It's the color of your failure. Next."

Chrome wasn't just recruiting warriors; he was conducting a brutal, impromptu judgment, separating the wheat from the chaff, the survivors from the doomed, Meanwhile Furqan watched. He rolled his eyes at Chrome’s methods. He looked at Wanderer’s more thoughtful approach. whose gaze was steady and calculating as he interviewed his own line of recruits.

The difference was clear: one sought warriors through calculated assessment, a examination of their past and potential. The other, Chrome, sought something else entirely – a raw, untamed spark, a willingness to submit to his authority, a desperate hunger for survival. Two different forms of judgment, two different paths to the same goal.

After an hour, Furqan glanced at the recruits chosen by Wanderer, many of whom were more experienced and had impressive backgrounds. Meanwhile, the ones chosen by Chrome were more mixed; some were strong or skilled in different ways, but many were rather questionable,

Another hour passed, and the hall now became a quieter place as many of them started to leave. "Good, we now have 72 men and 3 women. It's a good number," Wanderer said, smiling at the paper. But after a while, his smile turned into a frown.

Furqan noticed Wanderer's change of expression and raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong? We got a good number of recruits, right?"

Wanderer nodded. "Yes, I hope... we have more reasonable missions next. So many people die for silly things sometimes."

Furqan nodded in agreement, a slight grimace on his face. "Yeah, I know what you mean. We've been through a lot. And yeah, I hope so too."

Wanderer turned to Chrome and ask. "What do you think, man?"

Chrome looked up at Wanderer, a cocky smirk playing on his face. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath before speaking. "I think we got some pretty interesting folks here. Some of them are real fighters, some of them? Not so much. But hey, that's life, right?"

Wanderer nodded. "Yes." He then put his arms on the desk and put his fingers together in contemplation.

Chrome leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, what now, boss? We got ourselves a new crew. What's the plan? We gonna go on a new mission soon?"

Wanderer closed his eyes for a moment. "Sure, the next mission will be brutal as always... but we have better gear and weapons. A lot of people will fucking die."

Chrome nodded stoically. "Yeah, that's true. But that's the life we chose, ain't it? We'll do whatever it takes to survive and annihilate mutants. And if people die along the way, well... that's just the cost of doing business."

Wanderer's hand clenched into a fist, his expression lightening. "Sure, we live on a dream..."

Furqan and Chrome exchanged a look, sensing the shift in Wanderer's demeanor. Chrome's voice held a hint of concern. "Are you okay, man? You're acting kinda strange."

Wanderer shook his head. "No... I'm fine. I just feel a bit blessed and inspired, and a bit cursed at the same time."

Chrome and Furqan shared another glance, clearly skeptical. "Seriously? You? Feeling blessed and inspired? That's a first," Chrome said doubtfully.

Wanderer brushed it off. "Good, let's go to the training ground and prepare a course to build crew cohesion."

Chrome nodded, just let it go. "Alright, sounds good. Let's get out there and put these new recruits to the test. See what they're made of."

Wanderer, Chrome, and Furqan watched the recruits train in a simulated warfare scenario. The AI trainer guided the recruits through the exercise, pushing them to their limits. Some recruits faltered under the pressure, while others thrived.

"Interesting group, huh?" Furqan mused, his gaze fixed on the trainees.

"What's interesting about them?" Wanderer asked,

"I don't know, just the way they move, the way they handle themselves," Furqan replied. "Some have experience, others are raw but show potential."

"Reminds you of yourself, does it?" Wanderer teased.

Furqan rolled his eyes. "Shut up. I'm nothing like those newbies. I've been in this game for a long time."

Wanderer chuckled. "So humble."

"Hey, I'm just stating facts," Furqan retorted defensively.

Wanderer leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Good. Alright, it's time for the show." With a swift motion, he pressed the button, A split-second later, a deafening boom shook the training ground, followed by the wet splat of… something. Chunks of rancid meat rained down, coating the recruits in a sticky, putrid mess, a gruesome spectacle designed to test the recruits' mental fortitude.

The trio watched in silence as the scene unfolded below,One screamed, stumbling back, wiping gore from his eyes. Others froze, eyes wide, trying not to breathe. A few, though, just blinked, faces grim but steady.

"Actually, this is part I like while doing training stuff... watching human reactions," Wanderer commented, a smirk playing on his lips.

Chrome chuckled in agreement. "Yeah, I feel you. There's something about watching people squirm that's just... entertaining."

Furqan grunted in agreement, not one to admit it, but secretly enjoying the reactions of the recruits. "Heh, later, after the explosion part is finished, the AI trainer will proceed with the mundane stuff, like regrouping and cohesion tests. Alright, you two can handle the rest. I will go somewhere," Wanderer said, rising from his desk.

Chrome and Furqan exchanged a brief glance before turning back to Wanderer. "Where are you going?" Chrome asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

Wanderer wiggled his eyebrows. "Umm... Woman."

Chrome and Furqan exchanged another glance, understanding. "Right. a Business," Chrome replied with a grin. Furqan just snorted in response."

Later, Wanderer made his way through the hall of the bunker, navigating among the different groups of people. no one know who wanderer is because his mask,

He was on a mission to find a particular person. After a moment of searching, he let out a sigh of relief when he spotted her. Shizuka, a slender woman with white hair, stood out in her robe against the more simple clothes of the immigrants.

"Here you are, you abandoned your post, girl," Wanderer said, approaching her as she played with some children.

Shizuka looked up, slightly startled to see him. "Oh, Commander! You scared me!" she exclaimed, standing up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, I just needed a break from the constant training and drills."

"Well, yes, but at least don't turn off your comm," Wanderer replied,

Shizuka looked sheepish. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just turned it off for a few minutes to have some quiet time. I didn't realize it would cause such a commotion..."

Wanderer sighed. "Yes, so... anyway, have you gotten your ration? I'm... hungry."

“Ration? Yeah, I grabbed mine earlier. Are you hungry? Let’s go get you something to eat,” Shizuka offered, starting to walk toward the mess hall and gesturing for Wanderer to follow her. there are competing food vendors within the bunker, each offering different meals at different prices.

Wanderer shook his head. "No, not that crap food... cook for me again."

Shizuka smirked, clearly amused. “You’re bossy, you know that? But fine, I’ll cook something for you. Come on, I have some leftovers from lunch.” She led the way to her private quarters, where she had a small cooking area.

"Yes, I'm bossy... because I'm indeed the boss," he replied, taking a seat at the small dining table.

Shizuka rolled her eyes as she opened a small fridge, pulling out some leftover stew from lunch. "You're lucky I made extra. It's not much, but it should be enough to satisfy your hunger."

"Yes, nom nom nom," Wanderer said, already digging in.

Shizuka watched him devour the stew, a small smile on her face. "You're such a pig. Do you ever stop eating?" she teased lightly.

Wanderer coughed a bit from her comment, then he realize if he need to pray first. "Thanks to Gott for giving us food and shelter. Amin."

Shizuka watched in surprise as he prayed. "You pray a lot, don't you? I remember you doing it a lot after missions and before eating."

"Yes, you need faith to keep sane and close to Gott," Wanderer replied while munching

Shizuka considered his words for a moment before nodding. "I never really thought about it like that. But it makes sense. I guess having faith in something bigger can give you a sense of purpose and comfort, especially in this world."

"Yes, just like when I named you Shizuka... a gentle person. That is my faith in you, dear," Wanderer said, his voice softening.

Shizuka blushed.. "You know, you're quite the charmer when you want to be."

"I know... nom nom,"

Shizuka laughed at his response, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I bet you do. You're a smooth talker when you want to be. And you're definitely charming enough to get what you want, judging by the amount of food you're putting away."