Blood and Asphalt: a Post- 'ATS Story' story.

Chapter 1

The rain poured down on the stretch of sprawl, polluted. It was oily, horrible stuff. Little Mark hated it. He had heard that it caused cancer, but no one in arcology was really ever fed anything straight from the corporate folks. In the three years since the establishment of Corporate America, many had simply accepted that most of the former United States was a nuclear wasteland. They threw themselves at the mercy of big business, and became happy, ignorant peons. In the slums where Little Mark lived, there was resentment towards them and their perfect society. Most of the people who lived their were jobless or were paid so little they might have well been jobless.

Little Mark watched as the four strangers advanced through the rain from his apartment window. It was boarded up, with a layer to plastic to keep out the cold. Little Mark's view was fuzzy as he tried to listen above the downpour's drumbeat. The voices were dulled, but still audible.

The four were men, for sure. They walked in a line, all side by side. One was taller than the rest, and he moved oddly. He wore a large, wide-brimmed hat, a long back coat and pants that looked like a grey dress split down the middle. There was something large hidden beneath his coat on the left side. Little Mark saw him, and knew he was a leader. His walk was funny, but it was like Big Mark's. On the outside of the line were two younger men, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Both wore large green ponchos, and also carried something beneath their coat on the left side. The last man had a baseball cap and trenchcoat on, and appeared to be hiding nothing. As they got closer, Little Mark saw that the one wearing the baseball cap was older, with grey hair. The two in the center were heavily scarred. Little Mark immediately picked them out as mean scrappers. He looked at the pants some more. The style had been on the streets for about a year, based on ancient something. Ha- whatsits. Little Mark couldn't remember, maybe because he ran with Big Mark instead of going to school. He concentrated on listening, like Billy had taught him.

"Chris, I know this is important. But it’s not safe," the Old Scrapper said.

"I know, Intrepid. But this is the fastest way," replied Tall Scrapper. The other two said nothing, hoods moving back and forth steadily.

"We should be in the tunnels. We’re going to get caught," insisted Old Scrapper/Intrepid.

"Maybe. But I need to be there, at the birth of my son."

Tall Scrapper, the one called Chris, hurried. His limp was odd, but the big pants hid legs. Then, crawling from the ruins of a warehouse, came a pack of Miltons. They ran against Big Mark's gang. They were mean scrappers. They had chains and bats and crowbars. They saw Tall Scrapper’s gang, and walked up to them. Maybe they thought the four were easy pickings. Maybe they were blind, Little Mark didn't know. He just watched. There were five Miltons, all armed. The biggest one said, "Give us all your money, gimp."

Tall Scrapper just looked him in the eyes, and said, "Get out of my way and live."

Little Mark watched as the Scrapper's gang slowly slid their right legs back, almost in tandem. All except Old Scrapper. Everything was still in the pouring rain. Then, a Milton flinched. Little Mark only caught three images instead of a motion.

First, hands reaching into jackets. Perfect calm in four sets of eyes.

Then four flashes of steel, arcs caught in a street lamp's light.

Finally, five explosions of blood.

In just under two seconds, five people died. Little Mark watched in awe as three cleaned long, curved swords with rags drawn from deep pockets. Old Scrapper just had a knife, but still managed to hold his own. The rain was already starting to wash the blood off their clothes as they carefully opened coats and sheathed their weapons. To Little Mark's utter surprise, the three with swords had a second sword hidden on their left side. More importantly, all of them carried pistols and wore body armor. The four began walking again, quiet as ever, and stepped past the dying men like nothing had happened. Little Mark ran outside, looking at the bodies. Old Scrapper had taken one of the Miltons in the throat. Another has lost his head to a sword blow. A third was gutted, and had already bled out by the time Little Mark arrived. The last two looked like someone had stabbed them, then twisted the blade. They were almost on top of each other, so Tall Scrapper must have gotten them both in one hit. Little Mark was impressed.

The weaponry and armor were what sent him running to Big Mark, though. The Scrappers had more hardware than entire gangs between those four men.

Little Mark pumped his eight year old legs as fast as they could go on the slippery asphalt.

edited at author's request

[edit on 8-4-2005 by worldwatcher]

Interesting story DE. I like it.

DE,

This is really a good scene in a post-apocalyptic movie. You're a really great writer. When I'm reading this story, I can 'see' myself being there, witnessing what's going on.

Give us more!

Read my book... figure out why Tall Scrapper has a limp, the wheres and whys. Or endorse the story, and I might jsut make it another serial.

DE

Really good story, is this the start of the story?

And whens the next part?

i might start writing some short stories i used to when i was young and had an excellent imagination.

Anyway keep up the creative work.

Really great story Deus! I've always been fascinated by this genre. I sincerely hope there is another installment.

*SHRUGS*

hey DE

this is werid, but i just wanted to say, i've read your book and i know where chris aka the tall scrapper, however i would find it more benefital (if thats a word) for you to give some back ground explaintion into which post apocoplcatic world you're writing back.

love you man

J

Jodee sat on the cold concrete floor and watched, nearly trembling with excitement. Her knuckles were white around her own katana. This event -the birth of Chris' child- was the culmination of three year's events. Her thumbs worked its way across the wrapped cotton of her sword's handle, worn smooth by constant use.

It had begun when she was fourteen, and the War had started. At first, nothing had changed. She had been living in Boston with her parents, typical white rich kid. Colonel Bouchard had taken the city with minimal resistance, laid siege to the nearby corporate arcology. She had heard rumors of nuclear devastation and poison gasses, but it all seemed so far away. Her life continued as normal, minus the sounds of battle in the distance. She still went to the mall with her friends, looked out for herself, and didn’t care. Her parents didn't, either- both were doctors, with absolutely no stake in either side. They just wanted to help people.

She had started hearing rumors about a man in New York, a swordsman. He was an urban legend among the troops that patrolled the streets downtown. Some called him a butcher, most a hero. As the year progressed, his fame spread to the highly politicized youth. DeusEx, they called him. He was a freedom fighter, courageous and strong. He had liberated prison camps, fought tooth and nail against the corporate forces. He was inhuman, they said. Survived a load of buckshot to the chest, multiple gunshot wounds. The stuff of legends. Jodee listened and shrugged. He was in style, so why not let him have his moment in the sun?
Three days before the corporate forces broke the siege of the Boston arcology, her parents were called out to an emergency at their office. It wasn't that far from their house, so they ran over and got to work. They were there day and night for almost a week, working on one special patient. They wouldn't say who in their rare calls home. Then, the corporate invasion happened. They swept past Jodee's rich suburbs in Concord, but the city of Boston proper fought like a cornered wolverine against the corporate thugs. Two weeks after the invasion, she was walking over to the clinic to visit her parents for cash. That's when everything changed.

Jodee turned the corner on that fateful day to see a five-man squad of corporate soldiers knocking on the doors to the clinic. They were fully geared, with gas masks, assault rifles and body armor. Terrified, the fifteen year old hid behind a mailbox. Both her parents came out and objected loudly, only to be dragged to the ground and shot. Jodee screamed and ran to them as the soldiers burst into the clinic. She wept over the bodies, their blood already cooling in the winter air as the battle continued in the clinic behind her.

She couldn't remember anything after that. Worldwatcher apparently found her crying and frostbitten in the snow. The young Indian woman became Jodee's foster mother in the coming years, dragging her inside and warming her up as the gentle snow continued to fall. The next thing Jodee remembered was helping wheel a heavily scarred, unconscious man out of the clinic, towards her home. She remembered jaded bodyguards, armed with stolen weaponry protecting her. Then, her memory shifted to lying about the presence of mystery man, trembling before another group of mercenaries in her nightgown. She pretended hadn't been there. Asked about her parents. Broke down again. They left in disgust.

She lived with Worldwatcher for three months, helping her and Gothique tend to the man. Her parents had helped rebuild his leg, day after day. It was the man himself, DeusEx. They told her of the battles they had fought together, from the prison camp to the Hour of the Wolf. With no one else to look to, she bonded to them. She sold the practice, her parents house and almost everything else in the world. Deus and the others didn't ask her for money, they had other things to worry about. Their fledgling resistance group sundered in a hundred different ideological directions, each advocating a different approach to the guerrilla war they now waged. Each day, with nothing better to do, she read to the recovering Deus. His favorite story was an account of the legendary Forty-Seven Ronin. She watched him, laying there and clutching his own battered sword as pain wracked his body, and read chapter after chapter.

By the time the both of them had finished the story, things had been decided. Of the survivors of the Bunker disaster, only Intrepid and Gothique were to stay with him. The rest were to head out in any direction, separate and form their own cells if they saw fit. They could fade from the fight, with no repercussions. They had fought longer and harder than most professional soldiers. Jodee's choice was much more personal- she became Deus's personal guard. She became Oishi to his fallen Asano. As his health got better, she demanded he teach her sword skills. He did, of course. Gothique- his wife- and Intrepid did what they could to help found the movement in Boston while he slowly recovered with Jodee. Day after day, he recovered his strength by sparring with her. He kept his mind sharp teaching her and his other acolytes.
As the war touched more and more people in the passing year, Deus's support base spread. Before too long, Jodee was training three young men in swordmanship. Then, another three. Then, three of her best friends. The three girls had sought her out, and after many months, found her in Deus's employ. More than that, they envied her for it. They soon joined, full of youth's passion and rhetoric. Her funds bought them all equipment, the finest she could get. For his birthday, Deus received a custom-made wakizashi from her. Then, another disaster struck.

The authorities had been following her banking. They saw the purchase of body armor, swords, and supplies and cracked down. They froze her accounts. The resistance members managed to get out of town, dragging Deus along. Jodee practically carried him herself, groaning under the weight. Then and here, helping him along, she decided to make a personal guard for him.

Now, six months later, she sat in a basement apartment in the walled out Free Los Angeles, clutching a sword to herself as Gothique went into contractions. Two more of Deus's guards sat rigidly at the 'door'- nothing more than a nailed-up tarp. Some called them his Keshik, others his hatamoto or personal guard. Jodee didn't care. Her place was to serve him, because he had been fighting for her freedom so long. She owed it to him. She was their nominal leader, his first and finest student. She led the younger soldiers, was looked up to their link to him.

Jodee was jerked from her memories as she heard the pounding of boots down the halls. Through the tarp, she watched two of her men tense up and draw pistols. They sprung to their feet, stopped midstep, and bowed. Holstering their guns, they sat back down and pulled the tarp aside with reverence. She stood and smiled at him, the center of her world, only to be ignored as he walked past her to his wife. She sighed to herself and accepted it. When he smiled, her world shone.

When he scowled, she felt indescribable shame.

But when he ignored her, it hurt worse than anything else in world because of all the time they had spent together.


DE


[edit on 8-4-2005 by worldwatcher]

Another great chapter. Love it!

The Forty-Seven Ronin Story

Oh...I realized that some people might not have read it. Sorry.

DE

hey babe,

great writing, i love the characterization of my name sake, although i probably would have written her a stornger character, and ill have you know im not spoilt or rich. but author's are entitled to their own opinion. it was excellently written, im looking forward to the next chapt.

and yes....was the child a boy or a girl?

J

Ah, dear jodee, this is fiction. I know you're no dileantte. I just wanted you to have an interesting character.

As for her being strong...well, retainers tend to be strong, do they not?

The baby...the baby, you'll have to wait and see.

DE

Wonderful story...now i just need to buy the first one.

[edit on 28-10-2004 by A Random Person]

Chapter 3

Intrepid shrugged off his coat and tossed it to one of Chris' young fanatics, shaking his head. The almost-samurai smiled and scuttled off, content to serve. Intrepid repressed a shudder. He never said anything about it to Deus, but they creeped him out. He had taught them all personally, and they had taken the things that set him apart from the crowd and exaggerated those qualities. What was worse was the age- the oldest was eighteen, the youngest sixteen. Of course, old Deus was fighting at eighteen, Intrepid reminded himself. The struggles they had undergone together had forged both Chris and Intrepid into stronger, better people.

Screams pierced the barely lit room as Gothique struggled through childbirth in an adjoining room. Through the darkness, Intrepid saw the heads of resistance members turn to the sound again and again, arms loosely around weapons or clutching them tight. He followed Deus as he shoved aside another tacked-up door and limped to his mate's side. Intrepid, of course, watched from a distance. Six people were already packed into the tiny alcove- two of the female bodyguards, a midwife, Gothique, Deus and himself.

He could remember the birth of his own children, long before this. What are they, he thought to himself, going on twelve and ten? He shook his head absently as the spectacle of a new life played out before him. He knew he was getting too old to be a revolutionary, that he should be in Canada with his wife and kids, being a father instead of a martyr. In Chris/Deus, he saw a leader. Chris was born to command. He had to fight just a little while longer, he said to himself. Just a little bit further, and he could rest.

Intrepid suffered from nightmares every time he closed his eyes. If it wasn't the countless horrors he had seen between where he was and the bunker, it was the same prophetic dream. A wedge on a cliff, a wedge of people. The cliff jutted out above a sea of expectant faces, under a red sky. Chris stood at the head of the wedge, Intrepid behind him and to the left. In his hand, Chris held a green and black battle standard. He raised it high, and the masses roared and chanted his name. He awoke from that dream trembling, each and every time.

Now, he looked on Chris' excited face. His firstborn was cradled in his arms, smiling under two scarred, warlord parents. Gothique was beautiful and radiant as ever, glowing as Deus passed their child to her.

"Why do you look so down, old man?" asked Deus as he smiled at Intrepid, "You’re this child’s godfather."

Intrepid smiled to himself. He knew that he was family to the two young warriors. He had been with them long enough to consider Deus his son, Gothique his daughter in law.

"What’re you going to call him?" the grizzled veteran asked quietly as the baby’s cries filled the eerily silent room. The two guards in the room had tears in their eyes, and grinned at him as if expecting something to happen. Fire from the heavens, or perhaps a brief stroll on the Pacific?

"Alexander. His name is Alexander."

Intrepid nodded, and excused himself. He stepped into the outer room and announced the news to the waiting troops. They grinned and cheered. All except one- Jodee. She had tears in her eyes, clutching her sword tight. She did not smile or cheer. She just curled up and let her head slump forwards.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the halls, and she was on he feet faster than Intrepid's old bones could keep up...


DE


[edit on 8-4-2005 by worldwatcher]

Lookin' good as always, DE. Very good stuff. I'm looking forward to reading some more. Keep up the good work!

where da hell have I been?

sorry DE, i guess i got too wrapped up in politics and totally missed this. Excellent work!! thanks for dropping my name in there again, Please please do continue and congratulations on becoming a father

Chapter 4

Big Mark stopped in front of Little Mark, almost making him crash into the big man. Little Mark heard a metallic whine, trying to keep his balance on the rickety stairs while Big Mark stops. Darting around one side, he sees two of the guys with Ha-pants with their swords out. One had a pistol -a big revolver- in the other hand. Scared stiff, he tried to get behind Big Mark. Big Mark started swearing and gesturing at the scrappers, angry at them for being on his turf.
The hall got crowded in a hurry as a girl scrapper came out with her sword, Old Scrapper right behind her. They were about ten feet down the hall from Mark's boys, far enough to run but close enough to hurt. Old Scrapper glared at Big Mark.

"What do you want?" he asked, bushy eyebrows furrowing.
"Heard you an’ your boys #ed up some Miltons."
"Miltons?"
"Their colors are white. Saw the bodies, you cut ‘em pretty good."
"Yeah. What do you want?"

Little Mark wasn't listening. He saw Girl Scrapper, and saw that she wanted to cut them. She was mad deep inside, but more sad than anything else. Little Mark knew that it wasn't good to stay around her, because she was looking for an excuse to hurt people, like his mom was. The tip of her blade hovered menacingly at eye level to Big Mark.

"Fine. Two days, we meet at third and West. Got that, cracka?"
"Sure."
Big Mark looked back at his men, and looked back at the petite blond and old man.

"Just because you got guns and we don’t doesn’t mean we can’t mess you up if we want."

They backed away slowly, gesturing before turning around and shouldering deep into their jackets. The troops were waiting outside, ready. He had seen Girl Scrapper's green eyes, seen the pain. The frustration. She was clearly the most dangerous person he had ever seen.

DE

[edit on 8-4-2005 by worldwatcher]

Chapter 5

Deus hit the vault hard, his small personal vault. The personal guard carried it from temporary headquarters, back and forth through the city. It contained his personal possessions- two guns, ammo, and a sheaf of papers. Stories, a will, dogma and dictum were stuck inside the little black box, only about a foot by a foot by a foot. Sucking on skinned knuckles, he worked the combination slower this time. One of the guardsmen at the door grinned a little, then withered as Chris stared him down.

He initialed a piece of looseleaf, and folded it. On it, he had written a simple message. He gestured, calling over Jodee. She looked at him with large green eyes expectant, wide in the semidarkness.

"Take my son. He has to stay with Worldwatcher for now. Take two of the men."

Jodee nodded curtly. He handed her the paper, looking her right in the eyes. He stood there, fixed a moment as her mouth started to move, twitch. She clamped it shut and moved off, hakama style pants swishing angrily. He shook his head- he clearly trusted her. He trusted her in battle, trusted her with his secrets, and now he trusted her with his son. What was she angry about? Deep down, a rather atrophied part of him reminded the rest that Chris was, without a shadow of a doubt, an idiot. Deus shrugged it off and continued with preparations.

Guns and ammunition were in short supply, ever since the American Corporate Council - long since shattered by internal strife - had removed the second amendment from the Constitution. Those who had been displeased were accused of treachery against the American state, and collaboration with the terrorists and rebels. Soon, people handed over their guns rather than face the consequences. The corporate forces largely abandoned force as a method of coercion. Instead, gun owners were financially ruined. Homes were repossessed, debts created overnight, credit ratings ruined. Capitalism, once the shining beacon of freedom in the West, had enslaved it.

Chris loaded a speedloader calmly. He had maybe another box of .357 Magnum for himself, if that. A second box, full of .40, sat haphazardly on top of the .357. All around, supplies were short. Money was sparse, ammo doubly so. Firearms were almost never used, confrontation avoided. Everyone knew they did not have enough man or firepower to commit to any sort of offensive. New tactics, new plans were needed, and that fell to him. Before that, though, he had to secure his son somewhere safe...


DE

[edit on 8-4-2005 by worldwatcher]

Whoa. I've got a lot of catching up to do. But what I've read so far is top notch!!!

Excellent as always, sibkin. I'm looking forward to seeing how this turns out.