Scorched Earth: The Sculptor

Bugger.... right, tried to do this the easy way and it hasnt worked, so heres part of something Im going to be working on... its kind of a fallout inspired idea, needs some flesh though. Its going up here to get some feedback on it, so blast away ladies and gentlemen!

Scorched Earth

The Sculptor

He's all matt black, polymer coated steel plate and leather, this one. If not for the in-built Micro-Climate Management System in the armour, it would
be far too warm to wear out at this time of day, but between the internal temperature regulators throughout the suit, and the atmosphere scrubbers
built into the helmet, this one appears comfortable. Perhaps comfortable does not quite cover it. Perhaps imperious would fit better.

Augmented vision, aided by digital zoom optics in the helmets eye pieces allow him to survey his domain in light and darkness, with multi-range
scanner channels allowing him to see heat sources, amplify light sensitivity, see the origin points for sounds, and track electrical and bioelectrical
signals optically over a distance of anything up to the horizon. The polymer which coats the suit absorbs light, feeding the power plant which runs the
whole outfit by day, storing battery power to back up the pezio electric power production method used at night, reclaiming every footstep as power to
run the systems that keep him alive in the harsh glare of a day in the desert, and in the biting cold of the night.

For all the impressive metamaterial science that went into the suit, you could be forgiven some surprise at his only other accessory. His gloved fist
curls about the handle of an old machete, its flat surfaces pitted and scarred by both time and atmosphere. The edge though, that edge is the only
thing for miles around that glimmers, a sun bright slash against a baked and scorched terrain. He glances at his navigational array, mounted on a
vambrace at his wrist. Three miles north, then another seven west, and this patrol will be over. There will be another, ten hours after the end of this
one, as there must be, and always has been...

...He reaches a narrow defile, somehow remaining in the barren earth, where the dust and detritus of eons past has failed to fall, and drops down into
it to wait. Four miles from the end of his patrol tour, his suits scanners picked up a return, bioelectric, seven hundred meters due west of his new
position. His suit would have seen it sooner, but for the dunes, the rippling waves of sand, blocking direct line of sight. Whatever it is, must be
alive, and must know that it is being watched, because all his sound scanners have detected nothing, no conversation, no grunting. A short time passes,
during which data basing software in his wrist computer assesses all current target data, body heat, bioelectrical signatures, movement speed, all with
the intent of identifying the subject, so that the occupant of the armour can decide what its fate is to be.

Its humanoid, height, weight and several other identifying features recognised at long distance by the biometric target assessor package carried in the
helmet, its treasure trove of data spewing on to the screen of the navigational computer, and played across the inside of the lenses of the helmet. Seven
seconds after first being spotted, the target is identified, without its being able to see the watcher. From the various data recorded by the scanner
package, it is clear that the subject is a member of the Barbers of Ohm Brigade, a bandit company from out of the hills, twenty miles north of the patrol
route. What the scans have not told the wearer of the armour, is that these particular bandits never travel in numbers less than three, and have a
fondness for electro-flails. Essentially whips with segmented steel instead of leather, and charged by stun gun mechanisms, they are used to incapacitate
a target, before the Ohmites descend upon them with restraints and drag the poor unfortunates home, to be eaten, raped, and robbed, usually in that
order.

Luckily, he doesn’t need his suit to tell him that.

A wide, cynical smile passes unseen behind the faceplate of the armoured figure. Another return on the scanners comes up, and then another, followed by
four more shortly after that. Seven targets, moving through the dunes to converge with the original target. All the same basic loadout from the look of
them, electro-flails, the odd shock fist, and as usual, not even a hint of an EMP grenade. Very telling, that particular omission, given the BoOB's
predilection for electric weaponry.

Telemetry from the helmet indicates that the targets are in a huddle, and may remain so for some minutes yet, and acoustic pick ups on the outer skin
of the suit reveal that the bandits are having a strategy meeting about their next move. The smile, once cynical, now turns grim, determined, as the
conversation in the huddle turns to the intentions of the raiding party, toward the townspeople of Wanderers Pass, the area which falls under the
protection of the armoured man. The raiders intend to penetrate the outer defence cordon of the town, consisting of various automated turrets, emplaced
gunnery positions (manned only in an Alpha Threat scenario), and A.I. Minefields. Once their team has positioned themselves within that cordon, they will
disrupt and sabotage these systems, so that other teams can strike from the darkness later at night, catching the town unawares.

Coming to a decision, the armoured figure presses a few controls on his wrist navigator, causing a sliding cover to unseal itself, revealing the lens
of a Lazcom lazer communicator. Acquiring the current position of the Wanderers Pass Unmanned Airborne Comms Array, he presses several more controls,
squirting all available data on the targets and their intentions for later on, to the watch commander of the towns defence force, along with a list of
his own intentions regarding the disreputable bunch of walking diseases before him. Adding that comms silence is in effect, he powers down his Lazcom,
and begins to stalk toward the huddled group.

"Ok fellas, heres the plan as grandaddy Ohm told it to me..." Luca explained to his rabble.
"We bust through the cordon using the Ground Penetrating Radar Mine Finder, and the IR baffles to confuse the autoturrets. They have no idea that they
are gonna be facing a full frontal later, so they won't have manned the gun nests yet, and we use that to our advantage." Perhaps the most gormless, yet
slab-sided and brutal looking of the stealth assault squad, raised his hand.
"Yes Bell, what is it?"
"Boss, when we are in, do we get to go hunting like in the old days? You remember? With the harpoons, the old car batteries, and the cattle prods?"
Luca sighed a deep sigh. "No, Bell. When we open up that pass, we hold the access points open for the main force so tha-...."

At this point the EMP grenade that the armoured figure has thrown, bounces once and detonates, shutting down the power systems in the Ohmites weapons.
While they reel from the shock, the solid steel shadow flies from the top of a nearby dune, and lands amongst them. Giving the twitching forms strewn
about the place no time to respond, he swings an overhand blow from his crouched position, lopping off a leg that was just too close to resist, rolls
forward slamming his blade down once more, into a torso this time, all before the subject so recently relieved of his leg, begins to scream. Now
caked in two arterial gouts of blood, with two enemies at his feet, the dark figure turns away from the neutralised targets, and toward those who remain.
The one identified as Bell swings his neutered flail, still a formidable weapon even in its inert state, a seven foot coil of segmented steel plate
around a flexible conductive core. The weight of it, and the speed of its movement make it capable of breaking bones, or shredding skin even in its
shutdown state.

The blow never comes, the dark figure rolls beneath the arc of the swing, and leaps forward, clearing the gap between himself and his assailant and
using a two hand grip, slashes an underhand strike which opens Bell up from crotch to collarbone, stinking effluent and intestinal matter slopping from
the lower half of the wound. As the ravaged enemy sinks to his knees, the armoured figure spins to his feet, and as he turns, the machete passes through
Bell's neck, severing his head from his shoulders. Still spinning, the armoured form lashes out with a foot, catching the spinning skull of the Ohmite
thug, and propelling it into the shocked face of the Bandit leader, knocking him out cold. With four out of seven subjects rendered ineffective, in a
handful of eyeblinks, and the remaining three targets looking about ready to run, finally, the armoured figure speaks.

"You have a very simple choice gentlemen. Either you fight, and I kill you, you run, and I kill you, or you get down on your knees, and pray I am in a
good mood."

Amid a clattering and clanking as the three living Ohmites drop thier weapons and kneel before him, the armoured figure fishes his Lazcom unit from
his belt, and synchs it up with the Wanderers Pass comms relay, reports his whereabouts and the status of the targets. After requesting a unit from
the towns justice department to deal with the prisoners, he slides it back into the receiver on his belt. From another compartment on the belt he plucks
a packet containing several sets of plastic zipcuffs, from which he removes twelve sets. A smell just underneath the reek of Bell's exposed innards lets
him know that one or more of his prisoners has soiled himself. A puddle growing beneath one of them merely confirms it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Put these on, ankles and wrists. Do your own ankles, and let your buddy do your wrists." Ordered the man in black, throwing two sets of cuffs each to
the prisoners. As they busied themselves with their restraints, he strode over to the comatose body of the leader, Luca. Turning his body to put Luca's
face to the desert floor, the man in black bound his hands at the small of his back, and restrained the ankles of the thug. Then, he folded Luca's bound
legs back until his feet touched his rump, and bound the ankle cuff and the wrist cuff together, in a reversed foetal position. This done, he moved over
to the other prisoners, and tied thier ankles to thier wrists, but instead of pulling thier legs to the rear, he tied them in front.

"Wha-whats gonna to happen to us?" Asked one of the bound Ohmites."Are you gonna kill us?"
The armoured figure turned his bloody mask toward the speaker.
"I'm not going to kill you. Right now you represent what I call a null threat. You are bound, and you particularly have soiled yourself. I'm guessing
seeing that big slabby son of a bitch getting filleted probably took the fight out of you, and having your pants stuck to your arse probably isnt
helping you retain a positive mental attitude either." Replied the armoured figure offhandedly.
" You are going to be processed by Justice. You have been involved in an invasion attempt, operated as part of a bandit organisation, and therefore its
pretty likely that you will be going to the Tank for a while, unless of course anyone in Wanderers Pass can identify you as a murderer, in which case
you might get summarily redacted, although most who witness such a thing end up dead when Ohm gets involved, so maybe you all get lucky."

At this another of the prisoners, a spotty, rakish looking punk, spoke up.
"So. You catch a seven man deep assault team with their pants down. You kill three, including Bell, who is about as bastardly as anyone you could ever
hope to meet, and capture the leader of the squad, and half its members... Just who the hell are you?" The last words spat with indignation, as if it
were unheard of for things to go down this way.
"Well fella, you keep your eyes peeled and see if you can guess." He replied as he stood, and walked over to the corpses, machete in hand once more.
Bell's corpse was opened up like a jacket potato of course, fat flies swarming around the open wound. The armoured man tilted his head to one side,
regarding first Bell's corpse, then that of the man whose leg was removed, then the man who received a deathblow to the chest. "Yeah. I can work with
this."he muttered, raising the machete. The prisoners watched, shocked at first, and then appalled, and then disgusted as the armoured man worked, adding
vomit and tears to the heady mix of fear sweat and urine already soaking into the desert sands.

Bell was a big guy, much bigger than most of the fellas he ever met, and that made things relatively simple. Ordinarily some organs would have needed
to be cut out, but by mashing them up with his machete, the gore caked wearer of that matt black armour, found he could fit one body inside it whole,
and another sitting upright with its torso, arms and head sticking out, and its legs buried in the chest cavity. It worked even better if he cut the legs
off first, using the sharp stumps of the thigh to dig into the stinking offal in the body beneath, providing grip and stabilising the balance of the
structure as a whole. He went and fetched Bell's head, from where it was lying in the sand, and crammed Bell's feet up inside the hole where the neck
had previously been attached to the shoulders. Lying there with his head stuck to his feet, and another fella sticking out of his torso, just the
addition of those severed legs made it look like Bell's corpse was being rowed across an ocean of sand by a ferryman from hell.

"Well... my work here is done. Oh, and there, unless I am very much mistaken, is your ride gentlemen." Announced the man in black in response to the
sound of straining grav engines, and the sight of the Justice bots coming over the horizon.
"I know who you are you freak!" Screamed a prisoner. "You're that fella from Washington, from Vegas... you killed all them Powder Gangers, murdered the
Caesar, killed all the bandits and slavers crossed your path between Vegas and DC... You're the freakin Sculptor arent you?"

*** ***

Well... its very rough, I know, but I just wanted to gauge peoples reactions. Also, I know the layout sucks but since I have never had to transfer a word document to a ATS page before, how was I to know that the tabs would turn the words all sawtoothed on the page?

Learning curves alround, and not a single comment yet.... Cant wait for the real learning to begin.

reply to post by TrueBrit


I like it! It's better than anything I ever wrote back when I was writing short stories.

Koolness so far! Haven't finished yet, I'm doing three things at once right now, I'll read the rest later.

But so far, its really kool.

Thanks to both of your for your responses and your time

Im glad that you appear to have found the expirience positive. I will have to formulate a continuation of this scenario at some point. Hopefully I will get enough time to thump out the next chapter in the next little while.