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Drifer Among the Wastelands

 
Maddox Maxxinsky's picture
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Evening sunset; somewhere between Oilville, and Depot 66..............................

 

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The evening was starting to settle in, Maddox had already made camp for the evening.  The fire burned brightly with the aroma of wood smoke from the neighboring timbers he found laying scattered among the Wasteland.  The place he was at looked like a small community, now of course nothing more than abandoned shacks of a distant era.  His eyes were locked at the hypnotic glance of the dancing flames that flicker in the air.  The evening was starting to set in with the cool air and the breeze coming in from the west.  Night would be here, a night where he would have to be sharp about his wits, and even quick on his feet as well.  The Coyotes could be heard howling and yapping in the distance, and the Praire Chickens grunting to one another.  This was a time to reflect and recuperate.  His might began thinking back to his life before, before the Fall, before waking up in the Lifenet Pod.  There were so many mysteries he wanted questions answered to, why him?  Why was it him in the end that awoke in this life and purgatory?  Questions that he would try to find answers to, and only be added with more questions to be added to in the end.

 

It was like an onion with so many layers, for each layer being pulled another detail was revealed.  However, this was added with the strong pungent revelation that is life!  Since Facility 51 when the clones like him were able to overthrow the White Crow, and everyone dispersed to go their seperate ways he was among one of those that went his own path.  Not to the CHOTA, not to the Vistas, instead he rode to carve out his own existence.  It took him to Odenville, then to Oilville, from there he found people that took him in. A group called N.F.P.D.  Northern Fields Police Department from what he could gather, or New Flagstaff.  He just remember being taken to Devon, interviewed and offered the job as a Ranger.  For him it meant bringing in the credits and enjoying the life of a Drifter.  Adding timber to the fire, he took time in heating up an old can of Pork and Beans that he traded for.  The can looked descent considering the age.  Taking some White Lightning the man gave him, he mixed it in with the Pork and Beans, after all a little liquior cooked into it gave it a bit of a kick.  The evening was calm, and finally he could kick back tending to his cooking and also the evening.  

 

His mind lingered though about these factions that fight over the left over resources that scatter through out the Canyon. Everything from the CHOTA, to the Vistas, Travelers, Enforcers, Techs, and Lightbearers.  Each had their own purpose, each had their own agenda.  He wasn't quite sure, and of course even there had been those telling him not to dwell on such ideas, to get caught up would only mean making even more of an enemy among the Wasteland.  Already there had been a few he encountered by the guess being associated with NFPD calling him an Enforcer.  He would only shrug it off as a job but one he was good at, even if it meant maiming or worse, killing the oppresser.  He never thought that someone that took pleasure in seeing those struggle to live should suffer for their entertainment.  If anything, he took pleasure in seeing the fear, intimidation, and even the pleas of those commiting such acts.  It was both a turn on, and even a form of empowerment when it came to putting down those that sought to harm others without defining their cause in the first place.  Odenville was the first place he remembered it, but only because he wanted his rest.  But then later there was Embry Crossroads and dealing with the "Open Book" Occult.  The ideal that the mind could be unlocked and the potential unleashed.  It was only in hearing a father plea for his help did he discover how little girls were being molested and used for their sadistic rituals.  He did what he only did best, rescue the girls, and bring Judgement upon the cult.  Hunting each and one of them, bounding them, burning them, purging them of their existance.  He remembered what they called him, CHOTA, Maurader, Barbarian!  In his mind they commited a crime, a violation against humankind and they needed to be cleansed.  They needed to be punished!  So he brought rifle slug and fire to their demise one by one, and he enjoyed every moment of it too!

 

He knew the price it would bring, fear, fear from those, and enemies that sought to bring him down.  He was a Ranger, a Drifter, independantly living in the Wasteland. A predator hunting other predators.  He knew what he became, that overwhelming shadow that made those think before they commited another act to harm a human life for their own satisfaction.  Those violent offenders they were his prey, they were his entertainment, and their screams, moans, cries all made him filled with an adrenline rush he could not deny.  It drove him mad, in a frenzy, yet it also made him honed and precisioned to do the job well.  For now NFPD was his family and his home, this is all he knew and all he felt to strive for.  But it is difficult to find others like him, and if for some reason none were ever active in NFPD then he would look elsewhere.  For the Drifter would find another to call home and family, someone that valued his talents and skills either for the right reasons, or the right price.  

 

(Just wanted to say thank you for taking time to reason my blog and I hope you enjoyed it.  Please leave comments below and I hope to hear from you soon.)

Comments

Jarlath Mcilwrath's picture

Dude, I really like this. Thanks for sharing this.

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Maddox Maxxinsky's picture

Thank you it means a lot to me.  ^.^

If you want me to give you any sympathy?  Well here it is, take my barrel, put it in your mouth and start sucking as I pull the trigger and blow your brains out.  Cause you're fucked up either way.  



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