《Beyond Fallout - What Lies Over The Borders》


 Prologue & Pre-Story Chapter 1 - A New Apocalypse

    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 Beyonc¨¦, 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 Beyonc¨¦ 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.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    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 Beyonc¨¦ 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.


    <hr>


    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.


    <hr>


    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.

 Pre-Story Chapter 2 - A Hope In Silence

    The zombies gnarled in fury, trying to smell the scent of their prey with clogged noses, each making a funny noise of a pig grunting. They looked around with their degrading eyes, nothing was alive here, and the dark wasn¡¯t helping much to see in the absence of light. The highly sensitive ears weren¡¯t picking on any signs of abnormalities other than the dripping of water at the water purification plant outside, which became a resting place for them, with some drowning in stale water, kicking for decent splashes of waters at the rest lurking below. Besides the water, there was an iron steam engine that was inert for the time being. Nuclear winters had struck around this place roughly a decade ago, and it was cold enough to send Deathclaws into hibernation while the Dwellers wore three layers of Vault suits to keep warm, together with a heating engine to raise temperature. The hottest record was never listed in any of the Vaults, but there was a terrible record of the coldest reaching fifty below zero, and Vault-Tec had to insulate them from the outside in order to reduce a major freeze from spreading frostbite to the Dwellers, not prevent. Thus, a special ventilation system was born, where it could generate power for itself to run by using the elements and was designed to generate a hot wind to blow inside whenever the nuclear winters arrived. It¡¯s convenient for one Vault to enjoy, tucked in warmly in their safe bunkers. The only exception was that Vault-Tec didn¡¯t have sufficient time to apply this upgrade to all of the Vaults. Luckily, Vault 256 had this special tech trait to ward off the cold, greatly keeping the cold off their wriggling toes. So if to see when will the next nuclear winter arrive was somewhere a decade away, based on the last weather report before the Second Apocalypse.


    The dead continued to sniff with futile effort, glancing and limping in the dark for the human. Surprisingly, the dead brain could process a bit of information regarding this place, as this was a dead end, the entrance hindered by more zombies. Where was that human? Nobody knows once they left, keeping the room unharmed and intact. They would love to migrate their hangout zone to here, but the foul smell of a kind of plant perhaps was really irritating even to a clogged nose. The horde was also planning to move to a further floor up or down as this smell was spreading, slowly but sure. It¡¯s about to reach their third favorite spot and the smell itself was pinching their senses badly. That new mutant which evolved from a normal zombie even disliked coming to this floor. The undead here was rather happy and sad for it¡¯s now an enemy to them. Unless maybe one day, they could try and chat a bit to work together? The mutant becoming their leader, while the rest follow him till the end of death. Well, next death.


    As the last zombie went out of the room, it tripped onto something, where it got up in a stand up position, hunching down to see a tiny wire that was the guilty one. The other zombies well ignored the next few sounds when a few can fell from one of the shelves, a plug pulled out by accident and turning out the lights as a result, and a locker¡¯s unlocked door falling down with a thump. The locker, laying horizontal on the ground had its door slamming hard, its content not spilling out, but instead stuck fast inside like superglue.


    Francis breathed hard in the locker, his heart like a crazy minigun pounding from the inside. It was hot, his sweat making it sticky and uncomfortable when he wasted more body fluids to be recovered later on. He rolled out like a bag of potatoes, getting up to put the plug back to its place. That plug was the main power plug to supply electricity to his zombie hideout. In the instant, the lights regained their light of yellowish white, the fan began to hum as its breeze swung to the left and right similar to a tortoise. With the temperature beginning to cool down to a less warm condition, Francis brushed his suit and sleeves to beat the dust off him. He hadn¡¯t use that locker after since the last chase, as a final resort to hide from the horde. It¡¯s quite full of filth when the Vault¡¯s cleanest ventilations failed to draw the dust out to the wasteland; it¡¯s stubborn for once, stubborn in par with the dry weeds living outside, sticking to most surface and refusing to let go like a baby rejecting to let go of his parents.


    Taking a look around his hideout, he remembered earlier of two things. One was the plant life taking roots in his hideout.


    Lemongrass, capable of secreting a good smell and pushing pests out of the way. Who knew zombies were considered as a pest? He had found the plant¡­¡­ or rather the plant found him when he was resting after finishing two cans of food finished with a Fancy Lads Snack Cake. It¡¯s a bit vexing when Francis first think of it as a weed, until he got a whiff of its fragrant scent. It was around where this fast growing plant had no zombies around it, so he assumed that it¡¯s their weakness, but turned out to be a despised item, nothing more, nothing less. So he allowed it to grow around the place, with the functional fan blowing the delightful scent throughout the Vault while keeping the place cool. The progress was sluggish, only close to coming to the next room, though it¡¯s better than none. The horde there will soon get off this floor to somewhere less smelling for them to settle.


    And now, for the second part was about him running, running and running too much over four floors to shake off his so called ¡®fan horde¡¯. His legs were now wobbling, feeling a muscle cramp coming to his quadriceps for pumping energy more than it could take. He wished he had a tranquilizer right now, for the feeling was not mere pins and needles, but the taste of loads of creepy crawlies going up and down his lower body. His body tingled with fear. He¡¯s a man who hated Radroaches, hated Bloatflies, and most of all, hated insects.


    He wished he could scream, but for the sake of not getting the horde back here, he choked on his gargling vocal cords, struggling over the pain under him when his nerves below returned to normal, pumping fresh blood inside to get the oxygen into his cells.


    He breathed again, looking at the jerry can he was able to fetch from that purification plant amongst the groans of dead. He mistaken the location to be at the second warehouse and scouted for two hours until he found it. He had to hurry, as he watched one of the walls that had a set of bare circuits and a LED meter consisted of seven yellow bars at the top and three red ones connected below, its colorful wiring going up and up out of the ceiling until the power engine at the Vault entrance. The yellows bars of light were dim, only the red lights shimmered with a pulsating blood red. He shuddered watching the first red light going out, power was getting low and will be fully used up in a few more minutes.


    No longer hesitating, Francis quickly picked up the can of fuel, making the least of noises and went to grab some rope, preparing to reload the engine power supply. He clicked on his headlight, but the more frustrating thing came when it didn¡¯t turn on as usual, which meant one last thing to annoy the man was here to piss him off.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    His headlight had the case of a dead battery.


    <hr>


    Francis Roger was rendered blind under the surroundings that no light shined upon. With his headlight down and left to be a decoration strapped on his head, he squinted his eyes often to see whatever was five feet in front of him. The things he saw? Barely. He managed to pull the three pounds of a heavy jerry can up to the top floor¡­¡­ or so he thought. The levels of this Vault were so complicated although just a simple twelve floors, the dark had confused his senses until he pulled it to the second floor and nearly dropping the thing down to the shaft when he put it close to the edge. Once he found that he was on the wrong floor, he grumbled with anger, dragging that hunk of liquid to the opened shaft to be pulled for one more time. He estimated that the power will be out anytime soon, but he¡¯s already tired from all the parkour, his stomach begging for more food and his throat dry in a damp zone. He stopped for a moment to drink water while in the middle of lifting the fuel to the Vault entrance, emptying the whole bottle in record speed. He then put the bottle to his bag¡¯s pocket, doing his responsibility to keep his Vault clean even during tight times. Though, it also came with a reason when sound was transmitted to attract hordes, they gotten smarter to track the source of where it was thrown, and Francis was taking another sip near a shaft when he did that, in a panic threw half a bottle of his water supply to get away. He was not willing to repeat history; he¡¯d learned the subject well and knew the consequences if it really came back haunting humanity, like the World War. That¡¯s not something people wanted to test the countries¡¯ patience for a third time to trash the planet when it¡¯s trashed enough, if they could actually make more nukes under these places.


    Francis had been listening to a unique whirring sound that was heard bouncing across walls, the sounds of drilling maybe. He missed the excavating adventures he had taken with his comrades. Travelling into mines deep into the dark and faced many monsters, including the Radscorpions which ruled in some of them. They were considered a minor legend, for these creatures tend to hog around inhabited zones recently, burrowing pass the grounds of many Vaults beneath and fortunately hard to be found. There used to be a contest of hunting down some beastly leaders with a handsome reward of a mountain of Caps and a few crates of fresh Nuka-Cola for the victory celebration. It¡¯s only held for a short-lived two weeks when a huge discovery of a Radscorpion Lord living in the Wasteland, making holes as big as the tunnel dug out under Vault 256, and that was minimal effort to be recorded. There was later a massive leader in every species of hostile threats discovered around the Wasteland. The Radroach King and Deathclaw Commander were the two extra mutant leaders that ruled with sheer terror. Excluding the three monsters mentioned earlier, the other well-known leaders were of none of that particular monstrous proportions, one of them was actually smaller in fact, being the Bloating Wasp, which was as small as a peanut, commanding over insects larger several folds over. Some other beings like the Feral Lieutenant was already hunted and annihilated during some contest session running. There was also a Raider General, but was heard that he got lost in the Borders where to date, nobody had an exact location of him when he brought a good number of people to explore. It was a heroic feat for him to take the risk, but ending up dying proved nothing. Therefore, the second Raider General emerged and was killed several days later by the Second Apocalypse. Another leader dead, and another feat failed to be accomplished.


    Francis dumped the stinky fuel into the engine¡¯s tank, making a low chugging sound as the liquid flowed at a steady rate, his eyes looking at the door heading inwards, ensuring no dead wandered in here to do some damage. The last thing he wanted was a nosy zombie coming to spill precious fuel, wasting days¡¯ worth of power. He was done pouring the stuff into the tank, his left hand pinching his nose while looking for the cap under the conditions of low light. He had to restart the engine first to restore the electricity and keep it pumping through the emergency lights. Francis eyed at a locker at the corner of the entrance. The major problem was restarting the engine caused more noise to temporary attract the horde, where they¡¯ll linger for hours at most and then went off to hang out at their favorite spots. So he did some warm up after cooling down his muscles to get them prepared, as his hand reached for the pin connected to the igniter. He then gave a quick powerful tug at it, releasing a ¡®Vroom!¡¯ from the inert motor. It was an old model made before the Apocalypse, so it was known to need some good pulls to activate the rusty gears. Though our Dweller had to finish it fast. Rigging the motor for one time was about to get the attention from even the deepest levels of the Vault. Without exhausting more time, he did more pulls, each stronger than the last, fearing the troop of death gaining on in this race against him. And when he came to the sixth pull, the engine let out one last deafening ¡®Vroom!¡¯ and chugged for a while before silencing down to vibrate normally to send power to the fluorescent lamps, feeding it with the source of non-living life. This was what Francis liked about the particular engine; it generates power without causing too much noise and was even minimize it to convert to more power, and the unfortunate part was the motor will consume slightly more fuel to do so, to the fact why the tank was three times larger than the tiny motor pose a reason. Sounded like wasting more resources only to mute some annoying buzz that travels to every corridor, but the maker was thoughtful of the future how zombies tend to destroy anything that makes noise. Not that the design was on purpose, just coincidence, sheer coincidence.


    The man was really tired of giving this engine a 200% on biceps power to getting it running. He¡¯s just so tired on the upper part of his body, his body took the lifeless top to where the locker was to hide himself from a dreadful group of flesh-eaters, only to meet face to face with the locker wide open. Not that kind of wide open, more like exploded into an iron blossom. The metal box was probably turned into that new beast¡¯s chew toy to train his already sharpened teeth, to where Francis guessed its jaws were itchy to bite whatever that it could sink into, this locker was no exception.


    But that only meant his only place to hide was¡­¡­


    Francis could only turn his head to the bare door, the pores on his skin preemptively opening to let sweat pour and his brain beginning to receive a load of adrenaline to run in this dead end¡­¡­


    But where?


    <hr>


    More growls and groans were heard from the entrance, the zombies looking to the left and right for their missing target, and to no prevail, was not in sight. They even smartly checked the locker zone and flooded the place with rotten flesh. Yet, he was like he just disappeared from the surface of earth, even when the place was illuminated clearly to give the undead an edge. Though, if you got the cell nerves to tilt your head and look up, there was an obvious figure in blue that was squeezing himself into a general air vent, his legs wriggling in empty space. Luck was on the Dweller¡¯s side when this was not one of the lower level ventilation systems to keep dust out. This one was to circulate air and keep it fresh with oxygen, gaining two reasons for being this big. One was to let a large volume of this gas to be supplied to the whole Vault while the other to make the cleaning process easier as the major air vent tends to have nosy visitors once in a while that clogs the airway like a blood vessel. There was a special Dweller who was assigned to this extra task and check the vent weekly. Mr. Handy was not sent up there in order to prevent soot from gathering and dirtying the place when oxygen arrived to the lower rooms, which also caused the oxygen to be used vigorously under a small flame to cast a devastating explosion. The consequences? Everyone was nearly suffocating at the lower floors and the Vault took a risk to open its door for a fortnight until repairs were done and double-checked. The only catch was the vent size was enough to fit an average Dweller on the first floor before shrinking to the size of a child. Fortunately, the broadcasting centre was a few rooms away from the entrance, connected to this lifesaver and paired with a vent door.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Our sole survivor carefully extracted the bars of metal and put it away with sweat dripping constantly from his forehead. The vent already remained inert and only got the air from the inside of the Vault¡¯s alternative ventilations, resulting it to work in reverse. It got more comfortable for Francis to climb deeper into the one-way system and leap down with a soft thud, as he found a battery for his headlight among the drawers in the radio station, each filled with papers on jokes, recent news and some music discs. Much to his delight, he found two spare ones to be able to use his light for at least another week if he used it often. The term ¡®often¡¯ as in turning the headlight on for 24 hours in a row for 3 days. These batteries were used too long and got a bit worn out after years and years of ways to be stuck in portable electronic devices.


    So if it were to be asked how many batteries were sacrificed to support the thing on Francis¡¯ head, you could say about half a warehouse of it. Though, Francis himself didn¡¯t cared much, after all, a rescue team was here to save him and he never dared to imagine if they failed to come.


    He searched around the place for an item to communicate the team in silence, for the speakers were made to literally broadcast to the entire Vault for a reason of ¡®cheering up¡¯ people, if there were any who wanted to listen. These zombies¡­¡­ Francis predicted they would mutate quick, considering how there was a new species already on the go to hunt in his claimed grounds. He failed to get a clear look of the monster, as it was hidden in the shadows and he couldn¡¯t point light at it. Unlike the former common one, this had a better vision rather than sense of hearing. Unless Francis found night vision goggles himself, he¡¯ll be seeing it when he¡¯s about to fight it, which he does not wish to.


    Ten minutes later, he found the headset with its wirings after previously sealing the door. He had silently moved a heavy cabinet to block it, ensuring each push does not make a screech to ruin his plan. He even reinforced the doors with a few door stoppers to further decrease the probability of the undead from barging in. Not that it matters, the zombies don¡¯t even know of a second path that lead to this room. It¡¯s a pity watching the zombies smashing an indestructible barrier of composite materials, but it¡¯s him or them, that¡¯s Francis saying it.


    He then plugged the wire in, adjusting the headset he wore to talk. He had put the headlight away to a table for him to grab in a second in case anything happened and for safety measures, his double barrel was loaded and pre-pumped to fire at an intruder to this place. He pressed a few buttons, confirming the circuits were not fried and power was here before he did some complicated twists on the triggers and pressed on some more buttons. Frankly, Francis was glad he kept an eye on his leader manipulating the radio systems, or he won¡¯t get a chance to talk more either.


    The system buzzed a bit, some crackling of static went through his ears as the crackle was sent to the Vault, once again alerting the horde. He could hear banging and scratching from behind, though the cabinet didn¡¯t budge an inch while Francis continued to properly shift the system until it proved usable. This was where the Dweller was in a good state of mind and ignored the tension of the world it gave him. He had tried this very many times of doing a barricade and this was one that could last for days before it comes to having signs of breaking. That was how he first created it to block the large horde at the storage level, proving how well the quality of the improvised construction he did.


    There was another buzzing until he heard the receiver calling him by name.


    ¡°¡­¡­Francis, are you there?¡± The voice asked.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m here, but I need to reply with a low tone. There¡¯s now a horde trying to get in and my barricade should be able to hold them back for a long time.¡± Francis talked back, feeling relieved of his stress washing off his body. He had chatted with the leader of the rescue team for days and every time he did this, he always heard an engine¡¯s roar. It¡¯s much lighter compared to most other engines, but the leader assured him that they were indeed on their way.


    ¡°All right, I need to reconfirm your coordinates, Francis. You say you¡¯re in Vault 265, right?¡±


    ¡°No. it¡¯s Vault 256. The five comes before the six.¡±


    ¡°Oh, is it? Give me a second¡­¡­¡±


    He felt the connection was cut, but knowing they¡¯ll be redirecting their destination. It had happened twice when the receiver got a blur of the numbers due to all the buzz making it happen. So he can¡¯t blame them for getting a misunderstanding since this Vault also missed the last update to improve the system from Vault-Tec. That one was to remove the static and greatly enhance the radio waves to go faster.


    He shifted his thoughts back to the radio when the signal came on. The growls outside were as furious as ever, but still showing the durability was no joke. Only one problem went in Francis¡¯ head when he began thinking of the beast. Only it can break such a puny defense in seconds. He just prayed it didn¡¯t stumble upon the radio station.


    ¡°All right, Francis, we got good news. Since your Vault is actually No. 256, that¡¯ll mean our trip will be shortened down to a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a joke. We are rerouting as we speak. Head to the entrance to meet us there. We¡¯ll arrive shortly.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± Francis replied back, his nerves suddenly forced his hand to do a salute at nobody. And before he turned the radio down, he was asked to give some data on the zombies he encountered with possible mutations occurring.


    ¡°So far, only plain old zombies roaming around, their senses of hearing much more sensitive than that of humans. And¡­¡­ pretty much that¡¯s all.¡± He said.


    ¡°Is that it? No mutants or stuff?¡± The other side asked, which sent Francis muttering a bit.


    ¡°Well¡­¡­ there is one of these cases in here¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°What does it look like?¡±


    ¡°No idea. I often see it in the dark, and never had the courage to shine at that direction. The only way I could describe it was that it¡¯s muscular and perhaps tend to chew on things, like metal.¡±


    ¡°No more mutations?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m afraid not.¡±


    And in amidst the sounds emitted from the bangs and scratches together with a headset covering his ears, he heard something¡­¡­Not just something, someone.


    With a successful rapid 180 twist, he held the M-12 up high and aimed at the spot he found the foreign sound. And yet, no one was to be seen. He had his headlight switched on and shined at the place to reflect more light, but then the invader was nowhere. He then snatched the light to put it on his head, and he abruptly retracted it back when a claw swiped pass the zone, leaving a trail of air to blow Francis back. That was where the enemy appeared.


    An undead woman with sharp teeth that jut out of her mouth came out of the darkness, her arms at a very freakish ratio, being twice as much longer than her legs. She wore some sort of clothing purely made from dead flesh, as to show her achievements of her kills. Arms, legs and skin being patched up and stitched with a horrible way. He could see that the tip of her hands were well-equipped with claws; one that could infect people badly with the virus it carries. And the news that he should had corrected his error to Jake, the leader of the rescue team.


    He¡¯s got two mutants instead of one.


    <hr>


    The woman hissed with hunger, looking at the man who was made from fresh meat and blood, perfect for her new outfit design for that of a dress. All she need was to kill him and skin him alive while the corpse was new and inanimate, but the man had a weapon to scare her away, something she saw as an iron stick that makes explosion sounds and hurts if you got close. She felt fortunate to have long arms to slash at him and yet, they had been circling for almost forever, neither side willing to make a move. Even her arms were slightly out of reach. But then, for that dress, she¡¯ll fight for it! She¡¯ll fight till the end of her second life as a mutant! She, will strive!


    ¡®BANG!¡¯


    Francis was nearly cleaved in two by the claws that swung hard, leaving a deadly mark on the ground. He managed to dodge the strike and fire back at her head, a tactical way to immobilize or even kill if his shotgun was directly in front of her. He for sure wished that he had his sniper rifle with a good godly clip for making lots of holes on the mutant¡¯s body. His headlight was swiped by her and thrown to a corner, thus left guarded by the mutant who threw it and blinding Francis in the dark. Watching how the floor reacted to the slash of claws proved that he can¡¯t get touched by her or he¡¯s finished and gone for good.


    Roger, in a split second did a roll to the side, missing the next hit by a touch. With a feeling of dread, he glanced at his left arm before rolling again to evade another slash, and was glad the claws tore his cloth but not skin. It was a close call, and he¡¯ll be finding more of it later on if he kept fighting. The beast leapt to his direction and he fired a shell with a loud bang, resulting in both man and monster to fly backwards, with one skidding on the ground, blown a few inches away from his original position. The beast got up from the blast and looked at its torso; pellets and shrapnel made several holes enough to bleed, but not enough to pierce and do more pain. It therefore screamed not in pain but in anger, for it badly wanted Francis to be killed.


    The bad news for it was the monster wasted a lot of time complaining on its little wound and on the holes her dress had. By the time she tilted her head up, her senses told her the man was out of sight. Where was he? He was on the ground a minute ago, and unlike the zombies, she too relied on eyesight, for her eyes could see in the dark. His headlight was thrown and right behind¡­¡­ where¡¯s the headlight? And where¡¯s the¡­¡­


    ¡®BANG!¡¯


    The beast felt a powerful tremor going pass her head, as bits of metal flew into her head and a good chunk of dead brain matter went out in the other. Francis appeared from the monster¡¯s side, his headlight attached to his head and the nozzle of his shotgun quietly got close to the monster head to pull the trigger. Although it was a decent critical hit, the monster got up as if it was nothing. He pulled the pumper and got rid of the empty shell to put in another fresh shot. That monster got up to charge at him, her rage to its limits. He was about to shoot but realized it¡¯s too slow to fire and quickly repositioned his gun to act as a shield and avoid direct contact. From the resultant impact, Francis got knocked back but was still on his both feet, gripping his double barrel hard to aim for two more headshots with the distance done by the blunt hit. The long-armed woman proceeded to swing her claws at a ridiculous pace, refusing to let him fire another shell. Francis was forced to back off until he was cornered, the shotgun knocked off his two hands that held it tightly. If the next slash came at him now, he¡¯ll get scratched, and that meant¡­¡­


    No. He was not going to give up and die being one of them. He had the army Swiss knife in his pocket, but insufficient time to grab it out. He needed something good to slice things in two and¡­¡­ he found the solution.


    ¡°Not today, death!¡± he shouted out as he thrusted energy into his shoe sole that leaned on the wall, instantly boosting him to dash forward where he slid beneath the wide gap between the monster¡¯s legs. The woman watched in surprise, unable to deal the finishing move while turning her head around to meet face to face with a sharp blade cutting off one of its hands. It screeched in pain, using her other hand to minimize the blood loss dripping from a limb dismemberment.


    ¡°Thanks, Charlie. Should have known the lessons you gave me will be put to use soon!¡± Francis talked to a dead corpse laying on the ground, most of his body parts already chewed and in places all across the radio room. He found his friend¡¯s weapon in a good condition, for his katana surely did a decent cut to severe one¡¯s body in a swing, additionally the length allowed him to perform his attacks at a safe measure, the blade longer than the arms of that beastly woman. With him getting the upper hand, the monster panicked and lunged at him, disregarding the pain she¡¯ll have to endure. And yet, with a parry, Francis effortlessly deflected the attack and caused her to catch off balance, opening spaces to let him land clean cleave on many zones, among severing her other arm and a right leg. Without the support of another limb, the woman fell and did a great fit of trying to keep him from killing her, which was stopped after Francis impaled the katana to her torso, pinning the target in place. Then here was the part the man had enough of seeing mutants near and far in twelve hours, as he fumbled at the Swiss knife, pulling out the classic leaf shaped blade¡­¡­ and began stabbing her head with sheer madness, making a butchered skull from a double dead fashion designer.


    Francis panted, his arms tired of the slash and stab, and stab again moment, the adrenaline wore off to show him the effects of overusing his biceps and triceps for a time wasting sport. It was his ears that heard something, the woman¡¯s mutant body still twitching by a small amount, making a squeaky noise and the earphone¡¯s caller trying to reach the receiver. He got up and snatched it, placing it once more on his ringing ears.


    ¡°Francis? Oh god, we almost think we lost you there.¡± Jake called from the radio, chiming in, ¡°We¡¯re here at the entrance of your Vault now. Head over there and we¡¯ll extract you out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good to know. I¡¯ll be there shortly.¡±


    ¡°Nice. I suggest you stay a feet or two away from the door. We¡¯re preparing our gear to hack it down any time soon. By the way, what¡¯s all that commotion?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Just another mutant I just taken care of. Got some really long arms there to swing at me. Thankfully, there¡¯s a katana too to rival against it.¡±


    ¡°Really? Huh, never expect such a weapon to come in handy. All right, Jake out.¡±


    ¡°Roger that.¡±


    The radio died down when its signal was officially cut from both sides. Putting the headsets to the table, he pumped his double barrel, pushing out the shell he wasted on that fight when that monster wrecked his aiming. He looked carefully at the mutant he had fought, reloading his clip at the same time. The head shifted to his side and the eyes were staring into Francis, giving the uneasy feeling of karma to him.


    ¡°Well, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to waste a few clips, right?¡± He said to himself, pointing the gun at the woman¡¯s head, pulling the trigger so hard that each bullet was louder, faster, stronger and to the monster¡¯s dying dismay, much more painful than ever.


    ¡®BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!¡¯


    Reload¡­¡­


    ¡®BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!¡¯


    Again¡­¡­

 Pre-Story Chapter 3 - A Living Legacy

    The entrance light of Vault 256 shone brightly to illuminate the place with a healthy view. Scraps of metal remained scattered over the floor that was left untouched for who knows when. The stink of rotting corpses lingered after since the last horde went away, their prey vanished and nowhere within their sights. The silenced power engine hummed quietly, draining a small portion of fuel every second as it supported the emergency lights to proceed and shine the corridors that dwelled the dead, flickering with inhuman fear. The scene was rather eerie when there weren¡¯t any of the common sounds of growls heard throughout the place, as if the horde was already eradicated before any hunter was here to do their duties.


    It was when you could notice the Vault door vibrated a bit, the sound of a kind of item whirring from the outside that attempted to drill in with no sweat and no pressure, for it was a simple task for the rescue team to overcome a titanium door infused with carbon fibers. Honestly, it actually didn¡¯t come with no pressure, but more like extremely high pressures of heat energizing the molecules of the metal until it began glowing with a very tangy cheddar orange, ready to melt on command. The heat was quite the surprising event for one to witness, as it required the heat of 20000 degrees Celsius to make such an impossible demolishing task happen. Even multiple pressurized flamers will find it a challenge.


    The door gave way under the influence of heavy fire, turning fast into a molten liquid as the outer force of a horribly hungry flame continued to be pumped to liquefy a dense solid, and at last enough to make a path to let about twenty people enter, each holding a very high-tech rifle. Among the two had a different one as it was slightly bigger, the center part being a glass pipe reinforced and wrapped by steel railing with a tube attached to the back part of the gun to a backpack both of them wearing respectively. The glass pipe part had a radiating red sphere, glowing with a dangerous bloody crimson while strings of strong concentrated red energy flowed in and out of the ball, its size no larger than a fist. It sounded like it was a no big matter of tech, but the duo who had them were responsible for nearly turning a near indestructible wall of defense to molten ash within seconds.


    ¡°You know? Next time, we should get more Serpents to come with us. My tank¡¯s halfway out of juice already.¡± One of the flamethrower wielders said, turning his back to the team to show his thick armored back. There were two red lines shining on the side of it, and roughly a good portion of the light went out but slowly regaining its bright color.


    ¡°Stop complaining, rookie. You know that it¡¯ll make the reward drop lower if we have too many people. Besides, after this, you get to purchase a bigger capacity when we get home.¡± A man said.


    ¡°Gee¡­¡­ I can¡¯t wait, Jake.¡± The man replied back.


    Jake, as mentioned by the trooper stood at the way front of the team, leading them to enter the dark entrance cautiously. The liquid metal hissed as they stepped pass, doing no harm to any of them when all of these men wore powerful armor covering them from head to toe with their boots insulating the heat from their two feet. Jake particularly wished he brought a Wolf down to this trip, and yet every most of them were busy on a major assignment, the rest needing to stay back for defending with the other troops. And to why Jake wanted to do so was because he didn¡¯t like the feeling of walking directly across hot metal that resembled lava from an erupting volcano. His last assignment on securing a road to an active one turned into a tiny apocalypse when it erupted after his team arrived. There were luckily no casualties as the troop were all Serpents and him far from the site, thus he was fortunate to survive without even a scratch on his armor. At least, a Wolf proved useful to freeze things like the puddle of magma-like metal.


    He took a look at the team, a total of twenty-one people agreed to participate in this rescue mission. Among the two who used flamethrowers had red armor with several orange linings. Their left shoulder pad had a flame consisted of two sparks, marking their statuses as a Grade 2 Serpent. The others, like Jake himself, wore white armor with grey linings but their pads bore a star instead of fire. Every one of the people only had their star filled with silver by two fifths, presenting a Grade 2 Dragon while Jake had three fifths, making him a Grade 3, and therefore elected as the leader. His current team was composed of two Flamers, two Medics, three Scouts, six Busters, another six Bladers, him and a Tank.


    They were all resting now from the ride they took to reach Vault 256; the legs may not be sore but Jake just wanted to stop a Flamer from fussing on his weapon not on full charge for the start of the exploration, while the Scouts went first to check the surroundings. The room was bigger than most of the other Vaults, thus consuming some time. He did a count of his team, ensuring no one was lost and accounted for. And from there, he was puzzled.


    ¡°Guys, where¡¯s Johnny?¡±


    Johnny was the Tank of this team. With Jake already adding the Scouts in, the grand total was twenty. He had to count one more time to confirm his arithmetic was all right. He¡¯s was right for countless times, he¡¯s missing again.


    ¡°Oh, Johnny? He¡¯s still outside getting his gear ready.¡± Somebody in the group said. Jake face palmed his helmet, muttering over how slow the toughest unit was with him.


    ¡°Can someone check on him? Just in case¡­¡­¡±


    He hadn¡¯t finished his sentence before a mini mountain of steel came barging in, frightening those near the melted door. His armor was of far more mass than himself, about twice as much if one would see. As a result, his height was half a man taller, but if he took off the suit, he¡¯d be a half a head shorter than the rest. Compared to the others, he had a portable cannon to do some wicked damage, disintegrating most bodies if he were to fire at them.


    ¡°Sorry, captain! Got busy in preparing my gear again!¡± Johnny spoke to Jake, whose face covered by a light blue tinted glass had a grim expression others were unable to look at. All of their helmets had a layer of enhanced fiber glass that protected from things which aimed for the head and was dyed in the process as a minor decoration, besides from keeping other people from looking at their faces like it was their business. Jake by the way had his arms crossed and his right foot tapping in a systematic rhythm, showing how displeased he was. Though he forgave the Tank, as he was the sole Grade 1 Dragon in this team.


    ¡°For the last time, get yourself ready early before we go on an expedition. You don¡¯t want to let the Master Overseer down, right?¡± Jake said to him. Johnny responded with a salute, his cannon slamming the ground with enough force for a small earthquake to be conjured.


    ¡°Sir, yes, sir!¡± He said.


    Jake just sighed, taking off his helmet to breathe proper air, choking a bit from the stench that was still around the place. He brushed his hair, shaking his head off from tension and put his helmet back, clicking it in place. For all of the missions, each one was more dangerous than the last, and from Francis; probably the last survivor in Vault 256 who managed to get pass this bunch of trouble would be worth getting the attention of the Master Overseer himself, guaranteed an honor for life. The Scouts themselves had done inspecting and came to report to their captain, who had brought bad news.


    ¡°Sir, you might want to take a look at this.¡± One of the Scouts mentioned, pointing with his finger at a spot where the light didn¡¯t shine at. Together with the trio, Jake went bravely to see the possible monsters they¡¯ll be facing. From what Francis had told him, he was in a dire situation of a Vault full of Clickers, zombies that relied on sound to search for prey. Ever since the last radio call, he was informed of the presence of a Stalker Witch, and as the mutant was still inexperienced in actual combat, the man was successful at slaying it. But that doesn¡¯t concerned Jake a lot, he was more worried of the first mutant that appeared days ago, stated through the radio by Francis. For one sign, Clickers however, tend to evade from dangers such as a hostile group that seemed threatening from looks¡­¡­ or a really large predator.


    He was hoping it was not true, yet after since Francis said the most important details of this mutant, he alerted the team on a potential Grade-A Beast. And the hints left behind by the suspect said so. At one corner of the entrance room was a massive hole that somewhat exploded from beneath. Shining his headlight down, he could clearly see the layers of several floors downwards in a similar way, confirming Jake¡¯s theory.


    ¡°Team, Code Red! Mole Tank on the loose, and our survivor is in danger!¡± He shouted out, instantly causing the armed people to ready their weapons and standing in a firm formation. They got a survivor chased by this mad monster, together with Francis not present to meet them, he may have met his doom and now running away from it. They could take the beast down in mere seconds, but Jake prayed he held on until he and his reinforcements arrived.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move, people!¡±


    <u> </u>


    <hr>


    Vault 256. A once peaceful bunker that kept a hundred and fifty lives up and well, had fallen into ruins that no one would recognize any time soon. Laughter was once heard emitting behind the door and several floors below the very ground, what was left of the laugh were only silent mourns and wails of the souls trapped from within. The place would crumble. The place would perish. No one will remember it and it¡¯ll be a forgotten haven that those who lived inside had died with it altogether. There, lies the living legacy of the final survivor who get to breach pass the undead horde to live and tell everyone the story.


    But now, he¡¯s in the climax of his own story, encountering the worst being he could have not faced. He had not known of the mutant¡¯s origins. All he knew was he saw it as a predator, and it saw him as food to eat on. He had been running for all of his life, the distance coverage further than his bullets travelling all in one. He ran and ran, the finishing line of his life never even close by an inch. He could take the shortcut now shown to him, shining like the heavens, begging him to come and put all of this away.


    Francis was cornered five minutes later by the giant beast he had been hiding from, finally showing its deadly monstrous form under a visible light. He clearly remembered the large hole back at the entrance was definitely not there when he powered the engine, confirming it was all related to the sounds of faint drilling, when the guilty one had one of its arms as a metal drill, still creating an unpleasant whirring sound. The tooth of this beast too, jagged out but among its unique features were two teeth that acted like tusks and its eyes hollow. The more eye-catching feature may be the rabbit teeth stuck in the mouth, or to be precise, Mole Rat teeth.


    ¡®So that¡¯s how it got the digging ability¡­¡­¡¯ Francis had thought, putting a partial conclusion into his panicking mind.


    He was also curious of the sudden silence that came after he fought the long-armed woman; all of a sudden, the undead at the radio room door disappeared without a trace, not planning an assassination nor pretending to leave, just¡­¡­ gone. That served to only make the problem harder. And now he was at the corner of his hideout spot, the beast wreaking havoc wherever it went, expanding the corridor size with a brutal, rough way while making more holes over walls, floors and ceilings.


    He shivered with fear, the road to leave this crazy world was wide open for him, the light radiating with madness and the voices convincing him to enter. But did he take the chance for that?


    No. He took the other.


    He fought back an unbeatable opponent, his head driven by his will and the principle he had followed since he became a Wasteland explorer of the Vault. To date, he still followed it like a god.


    To never cower away from your problems.


    He had wasted three clips over releasing his fumes on the other beast, leaving him with about another three more to launch at a monster that doesn¡¯t understand the meaning of pain. He did a continuous quadruple blast that caused a knockback and nothing more. With the breathing space he earned back, Francis dodged to the right when a drill shaped fist came ramming at him, reloading the double barrel with his fastest speed and fired another set of shrapnel that bounced off the monster¡¯s skin. The muscles pulsated just under the surface of toughened flesh, and not a cut was made. It was later he got clawed, being thrown far to the other side of the room. Francis didn¡¯t get an open wound and instead had bruises from parts he can¡¯t see. He felt a rib cracking, but still got the strength to pull himself together, gripping the trigger and aimed for the head with a classic ¡®BANG!¡¯, causing a second knockback and he shifted his aim to hit the knees, letting it fall to the ground face first. Before the monster got the chance to recover, he fired the M-12¡¯s fourth shot, the nozzle touching the cranial. Within the flash, his left hand held the last four bullets, his lucky number depending on it, stuffed rapidly and did the last four shell counts.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡®BANG!¡¯


    Three¡­¡­


    ¡®BANG!¡¯


    Two¡­¡­


    ¡®BANG!¡¯


    One¡­¡­


    ¡®BOOM!¡¯


    Zero¡­¡­ the last shell¡­¡­ finished, the man putting his double barrel down a few seconds later to see the results as soon as the monster stopped budging, the lights going out. It ended quick, but he doesn¡¯t want to suffer another second; it¡¯s best if these situations finish faster before another arrived. Surely, the fight was shorter compared to the woman mutant, while when the man inspected the corpse lump and found its head¡­¡­ still intact in the dark. The lights flickered back on for a short while, telling him it was too late to avoid a tackle from the monster.


    ¡°Ah!¡± A sudden shout came from Francis; the beast tactically laid low to fake its death and make a great opening, with its prey taking the bait. Roger got slammed into a wall, acting as a human sledgehammer that now broke most of his rib bones, immobilizing him almost immediately for a short period of time. He managed to get up, his energy draining fast from the pain he suffered and get to only do a ground roll until he felt his body going numb, the double barrel doing a ¡®Click!¡¯ when he tried firing it, remembering that it was empty, and he had no shells left to feed it. He was seeing double, the effects of both hunger and inner injuries worsening it, as he was about to black out. His adrenaline was exhausted from short battles, the katana he had brought for a potential close combat was expended beforehand, sticking out at the back of the beast, which was picked off and broken afterwards. For Francis, who thought to himself, if he died here, he better needed an explanation on what happened to his friend¡¯s most precious blade, or he¡¯d be dying a second time in the afterlife. His eyes had no strength to move, only looking up, the eyelids getting heavier after every second. What he saw was the beast ready to doing its finishing move on him. From what he could tell, this thing, was killing for sport. With him on a half lying position face up, he just embraced the fate that he won¡¯t be escaping the home he used to live in. With the lights out, he could only see a large black figure about to land a heavy drill strike onto his body, creating a bloody pit out of him and his damaged organs. He coughed up some blood, the fluid filling his pierced lungs and yet his heart continued to pump the leftover few liters to his body, maintaining its weakened life. Time seemed to slow down, for the moment had arrived to greet him.


    What was left for Francis to do was not embracing it anymore. If he were to not get over this problem, he¡¯d at least do one last favor to humanity by removing one monster from the surface of earth.


    That was where he eyed at the stack of gasoline tanks at one side of the room. This type of petrol was incompatible with the power engine upstairs, and served little purpose other than doing a quick fire starter for the Vault¡¯s indoor barbeques and empowering flamers, when they don¡¯t have any. But what the worldwide would indefinitely knew about gasoline was that it catches fire at an alarming rate and explodes if a barrel was set on fire. Considering there were seven to eight of these things, it could par with a belt of grenades easily. And with just a bit of luck, Francis caught something else with his eye as a way to start a small spark of fire.


    Under his workbench, a small cylindrical piece of metal with one third of it painted red revealed itself to be a lost shotgun ammo, the hope to defeat the thing was lit up brighter than the spark soon to be ignited.


    Although his ribs were broken and may further cast a critical wound, Francis just gritted his teeth to do a side roll, swiftly getting away from the monster¡¯s sluggish attack to pick himself up and went for the shell. His footsteps were majorly halted close to a stop, his body wanting more oxygen but was unable to provide a sufficient supply. As a result, his legs took the toll when he fell flat face first, proceeding to complete his plan when he first started it. The monster, surprised of his prey¡¯s disappearance amidst in the dark found his headlight bobbing across the room, feeling raged and the man felt the bloodlust of the beast coming near to end him.


    ¡°Just¡­¡­ a little¡­¡­ more¡­¡­¡± He sputtered, but felt his feet being gripped, then he was shocked to see him being dragged away from his workbench and to roughly two feet from the gasoline. The monster roared in his face, spewing plenty of awful not-tasty spit. Now out of energy, he was capable of gripping the shotgun¡¯s handle in his right hand pointing at the barrels¡­¡­ empty with no shell to fire.


    There was the sound of an item chucked into a weapon, as Francis¡¯ other hand held his fire starter; the last ammo for his M-12. His face was with glee, satisfied that he made it this far, pulling the trigger hard to set the room in hell flames.


    ¡°So long¡­¡­ sucker.¡± He muttered, a smile stuck on his tanned face.


    Another bang was heard, the shrapnel flying pass to the canisters, each possessing a powerful flame to burn their targets to the core. And yet, Francis had to say that this monster, was smart to see through his plan. There, in between the bullet bits and gasoline was a large iron drill bouncing the shots off with no effort.


    ¡°What a¡­¡­ clever one.¡± He complained, closing his eyes to meet his doom¡­¡­


    But things kept stopping him from watching the expected. He didn¡¯t felt the pain of an impaling drill, just the wounds he had for now. He heard something and was sort of confused for the time being.


    Where¡¯s the rescue team?


    <u> </u>


    <hr>


    ¡°Open fire!¡±


    A command busted its way to the room where a pile of gasoline tanks, a workbench, an electronic power bar, a fallen locker, some lemongrass and several miscellaneous knick-knacks were placed. After that shout a series of short white beams flew into Francis¡¯ hideout and struck directly over to the Mole Tank, who turned around and roared back with fury until another white beam, this time larger than the rest earlier hit the center chest, knocking the beast backward followed by a second round of smaller beams, each dealing the thick muscles with a lot of pain than what Francis had taken. By the time the firing ceased, the Mole tank was truly a double dead monster. Both its front and back were severely having portions disintegrated and fried. Even the drill couldn¡¯t survive without a few dents, or merely a few pieces missing. The smoke hissed from the one corpse laying on the ground, twitching a little before one last beam came hitting it like a meteor. Francis just watched in awe, admitting that was the really quick finish and became a bit of an overkill on the beast.


    ¡°Clear!¡± Another command boomed into the room, this time a small team barged in, all in white armor with a rifle Francis had never seen in his life. The systems, the wiring, so perfect that it was obvious for that it was the team sent to bail him out of the Vault. Some held blades that shimmered with the same white energy as the beams, buzzing in silence as the others scouted around, looking for any hazards with two in red armor guarding the entrance. None of them paid attention to the wounded man other than three people, among two with some kind of smaller version of these rifles, now tucked into the sides of their backpacks, and to his surprise, stuck fast like glue when there were no pockets. He felt his eyes got blinded after a blue light shined down from his head to his body, realizing the two were scanning for his injuries for first aid.


    Yes, he was in dire need of that now. He could feel his body giving into fatigue as one scanned him while the other feeding him a sweet jelly snack, in a flash recovering his consciousness and the energy to move around, but he was told to sit still until his conditions were stable. The larger wounds miraculously healed on its own without any issue or from any medical assistance, assuming it was all the work of the miracle treat he had consumed. It was delicious anyway, and Francis got a second helping of it. Sadly, the portions were small and enough for two mouthfuls of it, as the jelly was stored in a kind of mini discus with a place to put the mouth in while the center was a soft squishy zone to press and squeeze the jelly out.


    One word. Yummy. Francis felt he was back in his childhood when his mother made some warm jelly in the younger days of his. The flavor was a fruity mix and it was a classic for his taste buds to feel. He was rather famished after rationing his food and water to a high level. But today, he could let it all out and enjoy as much as he wanted.


    ¡°Well, well¡­¡­ what a greedy survivor you are. Don¡¯t worry, take as much as you want. We still got a good supply for where that jelly came from.¡± The man behind the two doctors said, his helmet covering his entire head to not show his face. It was then the man; maybe the captain of the team took off his helmet to meet him in a literal face to face. He got closer, sticking out a right hand, his left holding the helmet between in his armpits.


    ¡°Let¡¯s make a proper introduction, shall we? The name¡¯s Jake. Nice to see you, Francis.¡±


    The man, now energized, returned the handshake, ¡°Nice to see you too, Jake. What took your team so long?¡±


    Both of them chuckled for a bit, easing the tension while they let the medics do their work, the blue lights kept on scanning Francis¡¯ body up and down. Roger himself had never even seen such advanced tech up till today. There were plans by Vault-Tec to raise this dream to reality, but as the funding to start it was never enough followed with a massive amount of resources needed to be supplied into, the project was given up. So far the plan for immortality was successful, everyone having their age flow stopped after reaching the stage of an adult. That was no other than the feeling of being grateful to Vault-Tec to make their living in the Vault better. No more wrinkles and grey hairs coming to make one¡¯s life miserable.


    Francis could see the two red ones remained at the door, occasionally releasing a blast of fire or two to whatever that got close to here. When just now, a zombie managed to get through but was quickly sliced into shreds by the ones who had energy swords. One of them was bitten, but it seemed the zombie was making useless efforts to chew at a tough suit of armor, something else Francis had never quite seen. He heard of power armor, yet had not watched this kind of model in any of the Vaults, not even Vault-Tec said about it.


    ¡°Quite a lot of Zs out there.¡± Jake spoke to himself, his arms were crossed and face looking at the door. Francis just silently let him and his team do his work. Most of his heavy wounds were already treated with the help of the special jelly, leaving just one last major wound on his right arm and the minor wounds that were healing naturally. His bones and joints also attached themselves back inside his skeletal system, feeling more comfortable as the pain lightened.


    The lights were out and were not turning back on, only the men¡¯s headlights kept the area bright, so Francis bet the main cable at the Vault entrance got pulled off and disconnected the power to this and the lower floors. He told Jake about it and sent three of those blade wielders and gunners to put it back. He relaxed while the treatment continued, and the captain himself came back to check on it.


    This dream had ended with a happy ending for him.


    ¡°Finished? How¡¯s the results?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s looking good, sir.¡±


    Francis was glad the nightmare was over, and he could at least rest in a zombie free bunker or whatsoever. To think he¡¯ll die now will be a silly thing to occur anytime soon. Now that his story was coming to the finale, he could begin sketching his draft on how to tell the people in the new bunker about how he survived a Vault full of those dreaded Zs for a whole week of silence and got out free of¡­¡­


    ¡°But sir, he¡¯s infected. The wound on his right arm, it¡¯s not normal. It¡¯s the Z-Virus there.¡± The words of discouragement crashed into him like a Wasteland sandstorm.


    No! No! No! No! No¡­¡­!


    Francis panicked in his head, watching Jake giving the orders to the two medics, nodding a head.


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Francis yelled with a close to crying expression, his hopes shattered to the bottom of a void when he tried getting up and run away. Unfortunately, four of the people, including a medic held him to prevent him from escaping. The people raised their guns at him while he struggled to loosen their grip.


    This was it. This was the ending of the last legacy of Vault 256, none of the survivors able to get themselves out and could only be set free through death, either from infection or torn to random gore bits.


    He was going to finish loosening the last two who paused him in his tracks, until Jake voiced out in a hurry.


    ¡°Hold still, will you Francis? We¡¯re giving you a cure here!¡± He shouted, the sound spreading to the corridors and drawn in more Clickers to be burned into naught and black cinders.


    ¡°Ah?¡±


    The freaked out survivor just halted in his actions, suddenly confused of the reasoning Jake had given until he felt a sharp zing of pain shot into his arm, turning his head to find a high grade syringe with a particular long needle injected into his veins, the colorless fluids flowing into his body. The difference of this syringe was a great one if compared to a Stimpak, for the design was simple and was like a small fluorescent lamp, the tube where it kept the vaccine fluid intact and a retractable needle for safe keeping. With a closer inspection, both the medics had four of these on their metallic backpacks, with a total of eight minus one taken by him for neutralizing the virus.


    The lights got their yellow white glow after a moment, the six of those people as well returned from their little task given while the rest put their guns down, proceeding back to their standard positions and let go of Francis, letting him stood up unharmed. He brushed off more dust from his Vault suit, checking on the wound they said on his right arm. For sure, that was the part they injected the unique serum to him; the large wound already formed a layer of new skin cells to prevent more blood from flowing in. Though, it was true that the forming scar was bigger than the other outer injuries with a slight tad of dried blood sticking to it, but he had a doubt in that somewhere in his mind. He glanced at the gasoline tanks, they probably remained inert after they left. Now, he wished to ask a question to Jake, about the part of curing him.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you explain it to me just now? I could had sit still if you just say ¡®Cure him.¡¯, not the ¡®Do it and kill¡¯.¡± He protested.


    ¡°Sorry, Francis. We hadn¡¯t had much of that experience for that. We¡¯re still newbies, learning while we do our assignments.¡± He replied back in an apologetic tone.


    ¡°Your guys nearly killed me!¡±


    ¡°We thought you¡¯re turning into a zombie!¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°Sorry again. Most Zs often attack and struggle like how you did. But that¡¯s all over, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°So, is it time to go?¡±


    Francis nodded his head, silently answering with a yes. But then, his mind came up with a few things ahead, regarding the souvenirs.


    ¡°First, can we go get a weapon of mine? I¡­¡­ wanted to keep it as a memoir.¡±


    ¡°No problem,¡± Jake said until he touched a button on the left side of his helmet, then put up a finger, ¡°Just don¡¯t take too long, all right.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Francis told him and went for the door, suddenly stumbling down as his legs were far exhausted from days and days of running, hiding and boosting. He was supported by two people, one including Jake to allow him to move better, although limping about as all of them got out to go for the armory, for his long abandoned sniper rifle.


    And there we have it, the Vault 256¡¯s legacy lived, bringing away his prized possession to haul over his victory of keeping himself alive¡­¡­


    And also adding a page to his story of how he embarrassed himself in front of the rescue team by pissing in his own pants, where other than him, nobody knew.


    He felt his tummy rumbling, the jelly wasn¡¯t enough to fill up his afternoon meal. Seeing that it¡¯s about an hour pass noon, he didn¡¯t hesitate to ask the men, ¡°Are you guys having lunch soon?¡±

 Pre-Story Chapter 4 - Nightmare After Nightmare

    The black corridors were bared with dead. Clickers lingered around all over the place freely, after their senses picked up the death of the boss that roamed pass the floors, whilst looking for food. As a matter of fact, it¡¯s particularly the one human who had successfully escaped from the thing for who knows how many times without it detecting his presence. Not to mention after more events occurring in this quiet place, he brought more humans with him, now making the hunt for food harder to reach. None of them were willing to take a great risk by dying once more just to get a bite of flesh as their last meal. Some had seen with their own eyes on how the last Clicker who was dumb enough to get in their way, being bulldozed over by the man who was near as big as the deceased boss, leaving nothing but a searing smoke around the air where it stood before. Several conversations were heard, but their degraded mind only could help to inform them on either a snack was on its way or pure danger was under their noses, letting off a big bang if they got too close.


    As the group reached the elevator, they prepared themselves to descend one floor down to go for the armory in search of a Dweller¡¯s favorite sniper rifle. They had all the time in the world now that the survivor was secured, the rescue team didn¡¯t hesitate to let him be. After all, most of the people in the group had something in common, to which the topic was being brought out by one who felt rather annoyed.


    ¡°Now why are we letting him get his rifle? I don¡¯t feel like staying here anymore.¡± A Buster from the back spoke up and was quickly answered by the captain, whom he coldly dropped the man¡¯s self-esteem within the second.


    ¡°Every one of us used to be a rescued survivor before, mister. And surely, some of the people definitely had a souvenir in mind to be taken home and remind themselves about their old one,¡± The captain turned his head to the right of him, adding in, ¡°Besides, don¡¯t make me remind everyone about the fact you had a teddy bear as your souvenir.¡±


    There were laughs from the small crowd, with Francis turning his head away to hide a smile as the somebody could confirmed his face was getting redder behind a helmet¡¯s opaque fiber glass.


    ¡°T-That¡­¡­ that¡¯s my childhood plush toy! There¡¯s nothing you can argue about that! Jimmy! Don¡¯t make me also remind the others you kept a binky instead!¡±


    The laughing got harder and louder, making the Clickers ran away from a creepy group of steel armor. Another Buster protested but was not bothered when every living man was chuckling in their suits, excluding Francis who used his hand to cover his own mouth.


    ¡°Do you had to say that, Danny? Great, now the news will spread throughout our home once we get back¡­¡­¡±


    Jake suddenly held up a hand, silencing the group in three seconds. He had his head shifted to his left, towards the corridor they just went by, as if something was going to emerge from there. It wasn¡¯t the Clicker horde though; the purification plant that was flooded by an alarming number of more than seventy Clickers had the men sweating profusely, leaving Francis as the one cool and collected as he passed by so often that it was a norm to him. However, no zombie dared themselves to overwhelm them with a major number, seeing how they retreated back to the corners of the wide room, not even budging forward and thus left alone to play with two advanced grenades thrown by one of the Busters and Bladers. The results were a double-boom happening simultaneously with some gore flying out of the door that was mercilessly crushed by many pairs of feet, each producing a squish or a squash. But since the matter was over and checked that there were no remaining undead, they continued their foot walk for roughly two minutes to the elevator, and Jake felt unsure of the thing he heard.


    ¡°What is it, captain?¡± The Tank asked.


    ¡°¡­¡­¡± Jake shushed him, motioning with a finger.


    ¡°Captain?¡± Johnny asked again, this time with a soft whisper.


    ¡°I hear something¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡± Francis added, joining in the guessing together with him, right until he mentioned an ¡®Oh no¡¯.


    ¡°What¡¯s the sound, Roger?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fire¡­¡­¡±


    Back at the hideout, the barrels of flammable liquid stood still, only to be able to find one of them to have a scratched dent, slowly leaking the gooey stuff down to the floor, apparently due to the shotgun pellet mostly deflected all but one that made a very tiny slit in it. The Mole Tank they encountered earlier had a large hole in the drill, revealing loads of broken circuits, creating sparks like fireworks that spewed over the floor, and as it landed on the little gasoline river near itself, the worst was coming.


    A flame was awakened, growing bigger and bigger by the moment and dragging itself back to the source, sputtering smoke and crackled loudly to send the sound over the current floor. Only those who had good ears could sense a faint burst of it, where the expert duo had picked up a man-made disaster waiting to reap some souls of both the living and the dead.


    ¡°Jake, the gasoline cans!¡± Francis yelled to him and was answered quickly.


    ¡°Johnny, your shield!¡±


    As fast as the Clickers, the large Tank set his cannon down in front of the team to make a pillar that started generating a blue barrier consisted of a honeycomb pattern. And without further warning, the fire had consumed the room, settling over the canister that could no longer withstand the heat, eating the fire to fuel its burning point. An ear-splitting boom went over the men, followed by a pathway to hell coming their way, crashing into the high tech shield which responded back with a crack upon impact. Johnny felt the push of pressure from the fire, setting his foot firmly on the ground to prevent him from falling. Everyone was feeling the heat even behind a wall of cyber and in ventilated armor. Francis himself stood at the far back, knocked off by a sudden hot force and gaping in shock as a part of the fire got out through the gaps of the shield they had. Just before it breaks and made them vulnerable especially to their survivor, the two red armor man held their weapons up, releasing a strong stream of flames to fight fire with fire, each like two dragons blowing their breaths against each other with anger. The temperature then dramatically increased by several degrees Celsius, making the only one who doesn¡¯t have armor sweat trickling down his body. Fire engulfed everyone¡¯s vision with a strong light of a marigold shading, blinding all including the Serpents. Luckily, after a few second of watching two orange fires from opposing sides stopping each other, the hostile flame died down first, steadily reverting the surroundings to a more suitable condition of suitable warmth after a momentary superheating from opposing sides. The two Serpents dropped and lay on the floor, breathing hard from the sudden counter with their weapon¡¯s element, the backpacks they had wear revealed to have dull red lines with a whirring of an electronic shutdown.


    ¡°Sir, how about next time, we¡­¡­ huff¡­¡­ bring a Wolf with us?¡± Johnny asked with one knee on the ground, inspecting his cannon that had one part painted by the strong explosion with a clean layer of carbon black, the large blaster looking rather unstable from the inside after excess heating, giving glitches in the lights and diodes. His armor was too, looking slightly fried after his shield broke into shards and disappearing into nothingness, having a powerful blow of dents over his front from the thermal explosion, the glass possessing the smallest crack one couldn¡¯t see with the naked eye of a common human. It was a tough concussion to get over with, by the time everyone recovered, they were unable to believe what stood before them. Looking back at the corridor, it was similar to a black abyss, there being as dark as the night and Francis got confused of whether this place belonged to his Vault or not. Some plates of metal used for the construction of this corridor got torn off in the blast, leaving a large part of the floor bared with overflowing wires and electronic software for their own purposes, some spitting sparks that vanished quickly into the air. What everyone could do was stare in disbelief of the damage done by six barrels of gasoline in a majorly confined space, as this was a first experience to all in a front row seat from an incomplete combustion.


    ¡°Captain, are you guys all right? We heard something from above just now. Are you all okay?¡±


    Though without wasting another second after a reminder from the bottom level of five people, everyone else, even the Tank got ready to get down a level, for it was like something was staring from it and nobody wanted to find out. The harmless sparks however, only added in the extra horror they needed to be told that it was not worth the risk to walk into a smoldering tunnel of shadows. The embers still emit a scorching glow that lit one small bit of the tunnel¡¯s end, creating a minor eerie spook of Halloween. The safety clips were clicked in place and disturbed the silence once in a while, as one by one the men with tensed emotions slid down the shaft¡¯s rope. Although Francis doesn¡¯t know, the team only began receiving expeditions and missions out of their home since several days ago, this bailing mission being their second one while Jake his sixteenth. With so little experience from the last one, this group of newbies still were able to take on the challenge of facing some little problems out of expectation. For such, the first day after their departure, they had been assaulted by many Z hordes, with some species beyond their league. It was fortunate for beginner¡¯s luck, a good commander and a high morale group brought them here alive and somehow, unharmed. The journey itself was rough, but they were trained to face this beforehand, giving them the advantage first. As for the exploration in buildings, ruins, supermarkets or maybe¡­¡­ Vaults¡­¡­


    They¡¯re on their own for this, and relied on two things to get this far; instinct, with a path laid out by destiny.


    This was the simple life of adventuring out in the unknown.


    <hr>


    ¡°Has anyone got a cloth?¡±


    Roger asked the men, whom they stood still next to him as they responded to his request by looking for a rag or something when they reached the armory. They found his sniper rifle, slightly coated in dust when it was left behind for a long week. The group later obtained a little dirty cloth stuffed in somewhere in the lockers nearby, blasting off the lock with a devastating stream of white beams, turning a chunk of the door into new forged metal, bubbling on the ground with a hiss. They had shot a few of these locks to open it with brute force. At first, the team asked their survivor for the locker¡¯s key, but when he said he¡­¡­ ¡®dropped¡¯ it by accident down to the lowest level, nobody wanted to waste time to get a formal lock pick or a crowbar just to fish out a piece of sewn fabric. The cloth they searched from the fifth locker had an unhealthy number of cobwebs made by an insect¡¯s predator, when the door won¡¯t give way to let somebody in for months to come. Today, when that locker was open, the men were scared by one really large mutant spider whose fangs could pierce the armor they¡¯re equipped with, surprisingly how it was able to cling onto life under the lack of food and stayed so silent for so long in an entrapment. The mouth of that monster drooled acid with a toxic and pungent smell, dripping the liquid that melted out a hole in the floor. And even when it was a dangerous beast that now craved for a big meal, another overkill was done on the poor thing.


    With no further warning after it leapt onto the closest member who wore a torn Vault suit, it was cut off in mid-air by multiple slashes and a maelstrom of eye blinding beams. In a second, the body of one spider was diced into bite sized meat and disgusting organs that oozed out the same acidic slime, but everyone had to agree that how it looked a lot like monster sushi when they hadn¡¯t heard much of the food before since the Apocalypse. Some of the floor and wall parts got singed in black. Decent sized holes were done almost perfectly to ruin the structure of the room.


    ¡°Ugh. Yuck.¡± A man in armor stated.


    ¡°Yeah, really gross, but I don¡¯t know why, it looked tasty.¡±


    Somebody in the front of the group answered back and the others solemnly nodded their heads, only to raise their guns afterwards when the dead spider¡¯s legs twitched abruptly in the mass pile. After finding it to be just an after death reaction, the team lowered them but still felt jumpy and uneasy, since the events they faced were still being processed in their respective minds. Before the first wave receded, another one takes its place, then a third and fourth. Back outside the Wasteland, the rescue team just stumbled upon very little numbers of zombies whose attributes were of a common Walker that was many times less sensitive than the Clicker.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    And that was just a start. None of the zombies they faced had a new species of some sort, and the surviving creatures of the Wasteland were smart enough to not get so close to a moving annihilate squad. For many times, the team was on alert even in their sleep in case of an assault. However, when it comes to the terms of how well they were trained¡­¡­ that was something new to the Dweller.


    Seeing how that the slimey, gross spider¡¯s body in pieces still moving, they just did an early preparation of ensuring it¡¯s completely dead and not faking it, although the odds were zero.


    All they needed to do was let one Tank use his malfunctioned cannon as a makeshift hammer that could shake the Vault with one hit¡­¡­


    ¡°So I get to crush an insect to mash? Cool!¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    ¡­¡­Although the results got out with a satisfying grin hidden by a helmet instead of hesitation. Everyone was able to witness the enthusiastic cannon held high under the dim light, and then swung straight down like an anchor with the help of a small portion of gravity and a generous portion of thrust.


    ¡°BAAAAAANG!¡±


    The echoes were deafening, bouncing through every nook and cranny indoors but just enough for the Clicker on the lower level to pick up the source, and this time, they ran away from it.


    They ran, jumped, and climbed away fast.


    Really, really fast.


    Francis fished out the cloth; dark, dirty and dusty like the sniper from the tangle of broken webs, violently shaking off the sticky strings and grabbing his spare bottle of water out in the meantime. The bottle cap was opened and the contents were poured over for a wash, with the cloth just enough for a good wipe on what was meant to be cleaned. By now, the second Clicker horde already recovered from the fright and some were currently on their way to investigate. A large group of the men were blasting at the door, a plain but beautiful light show with white illuminating the dark outside. Plenty of corpses were splattered perhaps with a new form of energy weapons, intrigued and curious of the insides by one Francis Roger. He had come up with a myriad of possibilities what weapon was it after the many involuntary demonstrations by the men, but to the point his mind was blank except for two words; no results.


    So if he were to get to the bottom of this, he had to follow them back to wherever they came¡­¡­ and correction; to the Borders of Beyonc¨¦. Whatever it could be behind the thick mist laid over there will remain a mystery, as Francis was sure he won¡¯t be coming back to the Wasteland anytime soon. What he could do before he set his two feet out into the scorching sunlight will be taking his trusty companion with him, even if there weren¡¯t any bullets to fire with. Though, he was pretty sure the troop may have the ammo he required if they wished for any extra assistance.


    He hummed himself a tune as he began cleaning the rifle, which started to gleam under dim radiance once it was tended well. Jake stood nearby and decided to take a seat next to him, surprised of the quality this weapon had when the leader had a better one.


    ¡°That¡¯s a nice rifle you have as a souvenir.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. I appreciate the compliment.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­ I take it that you¡¯re a Vault explorer?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then why choose this sniper? I heard it¡¯s a bad weapon to use out in the open when you¡¯re on your own, alone and no help from your home.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. This is indeed a bad weapon of choice, though that is when you¡¯re on your own.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­Wait, you explore in groups?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± The man cleaning his sniper gave a firm nod.


    Francis wasn¡¯t going to brag or expose a secret or something regarding his Vault¡¯s expeditions. Very often the Overseer was concerned about the safety of the Dwellers he sent out to explore and salvage some junk or Caps. So to add in the best insurance of their lives, Vault 256 had a unique rule of sending a team of six each time such a thing happened. Nobody complained on the fact they needed to stick together from the day this rule was enforced, but they were more like very grateful that at least someone will be watching their backs from now on. The only setback for the explorations was that every team instantly requested for a long ranged gunner, seeing that most of the weapons in the Vault were shotguns and revolvers. Medics were of no problem when the doctors from the med-bay volunteered to follow on an exploration. And from all of the teams that went out to scavenge, it was confirmed that there was a member being the scout, a doctor and one being the person to cover far places with bullets; that is the sniper man. The upside was that they do have one sniper wielder.


    And unfortunately, the one and only.


    ¡°Wow, times must have been harsh when you¡¯re going in and out a lot of times from your home sweet home, eh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and I can¡¯t forget some of those tough moments especially during the time I was enlisted in several groups at once. That was a busy month I had to endure until the Overseer gave me half a year¡¯s break to ease my tensed muscles. The experience of all of that walking and running¡­¡­ that¡¯s one unforgettable memory for me.¡±


    ¡°I know that feeling, dude,¡± Jake answered with a pat on Roger¡¯s shoulder, ¡°But trust me, you¡¯re going to enjoy a better trip if you¡¯re willing to join our team as soon as we got back to our home.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes¡­¡­ my soon to be new home¡­¡­¡±


    At that moment, Francis stopped wiping his rifle which should be clean enough to meet his standards. His eyes were looking at nowhere while his mind spaced out.


    ¡°Francis?¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡­ how does your home look like, Jake? Is it comfortable? Is it relaxing?¡±


    ¡°Ah, that, uh¡­¡­¡±


    Jake was momentarily stunned by the little question, but was able to answer it after some time. The reason he couldn¡¯t answer straightaway was because, as a matter of fact, never asked before.


    ¡°So how do I begin this¡­¡­? Well, for a first, it¡¯s indefinitely comfortable; if you ignore the point you had to live with twenty-nine more people in the same room and stuff. Though, life just couldn¡¯t get any better. You get food, you get water and warm showers. Mm¡­¡­ probably what I can say so far. Does it sound nice?¡± Jake abruptly twiddled his fingers as he spoke his thoughts, the simple ideas coming to him while he glanced at Francis with a flat blue face.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say it¡¯s not. Sounds exactly like what a Vault could give you.¡±


    ¡°Err¡­¡­ It¡¯s not what you think however. I had to admit, it¡¯s is a Vault, but then at the same time, it¡¯s¡­¡­ not?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I think you lost me over there. It¡¯s a Vault and¡­¡­ not a Vault? I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, most people don¡¯t get it either, that¡¯s what the men who rescued me said to me before. Until when I take a look inside the Vault, that is where I realized they¡¯re right. You¡¯ll find out yourself when we finally get back.¡±


    ¡°Ok¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­So you finished cleaning your sniper already?¡± Jake asked him as he watched the entrance.


    ¡°Just a little more while, Jake.¡± Francis replied while he proceeded in wiping the nozzle with care.


    At first, Jake himself was feeling all right once he was done in securing the survivor, and yet he was now feeling unwell with a small bit of worry, the sound of gunning still piercing the stale air for quite some time. White streams of light just seemed to spit out at a ridiculous rate with no end. But Jake was actually multitasking himself while he had a chat with the survivor, and from his brain that was still storming out all the impulses to his body, he was sure something was off. Clickers don¡¯t simply attack without an alarming number to overwhelm others.


    ¡°Ok, I¡¯m done with cleaning my¡­¡­ is there anything wrong?¡± Francis questioned the captain who stood up and stared at the entrance flashing with countless beams. The man in armor racked up his calculations as he answered back with a question.


    ¡°Francis, how many Dwellers live in this Vault?¡±


    ¡°A hundred and fifty including me, approximately.¡±


    ¡°Since how long did the corpses started rising into the undead?¡±


    ¡°Roughly a month ago, perhaps? Ah, correction, about two weeks ago.¡±


    ¡°Then how many zombies did you killed before we got here?¡±


    ¡°Thirty to forty, I guess? What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°Sir, we can¡¯t hold on much longer! Do hurry up! We¡¯re almost low on ammo!¡± A man in the group shouted as he continued to fire shot after shot, the sound of growls and groans growing louder. At that same time, Jake¡¯s mind had found the answer to the problem when his head blared a siren.


    ¡°Guys, we¡¯re leaving, now! Johnny, make an opening and the rest of you, provide cover for him!¡±


    ¡°Sir, yes, sir!¡± The team responded.


    For one thing, Jake was sure he did not suck in math.


    Forty kills from Francis plus seventy and a hundred and fifty kills from the team does not give you a hundred and fifty.


    <hr>


    The horde just never seemed to stop coming. Rather than a decrease in bodies, the team was beginning to face a decrease in ammunition. This was actually and unusually expected by the large group of walking corpse deep in floor twelve, whom they smartly waited for the time being to expand their numbers through a significant cheating way. They had no clue on how they got the idea however, it¡¯s simply just the instinct of a predator. The ones who lingered around the floor just went here and there, but never going upstairs. On occasional terms, a number of them came down for a¡­¡­ ¡®visit¡¯. There was no proper word to describe that this wasn¡¯t a small trip of a couple of floors down to the water excavation site, but the sight of a few zombies growling among each other was something new; if anyone was able to brave themselves to film it.


    What became so common underground in the horde was them making groans and mild roars as their daily afterlife communication, chatting as they spared some time until they picked up foreign sounds from above and hunt down whatever did that noise. Until then, the talk was non-related to any kind of topic other than asking the well beings of others. It was really strange to see them do such weird chattering, as if the language came from a different world and was practiced by the undead. Though, it¡¯s no doubt that evolution was doing its task to make anyone and everyone a faster, stronger being.


    The sad part of this true fact was that it¡¯s everyone included those who rose from the dead. The Clickers were made from living under a silent surrounding, giving them time to develop powerful and enhanced ears that could tell the difference between a Hertz out of two similar sounds. What was more difficult to understand about the evolution path of other zombies were pretty much concealed from within, since there weren¡¯t much survivors to say how it was until they try it out themselves, and to which meant they¡¯re dead already.


    The water source dug out from a specific spot chosen a month ago remained crystal clear but was partially tainted black with some floating corpses on its surface. Because of that, not only the entire source was no longer a freshwater supply, but now the others were not willing to even get close to it.


    If there¡¯s one lesson for the zombies who made it until now, it¡¯s don¡¯t set yourself as the example for anything in your afterlife, or the end result will be death and no other way.


    Today was like no other; there were a lot of ¡®visits¡¯ done by the Clickers of various floors, greeting each other with a light growl and continued with groans to start off a conversation. Somewhere in the fourth group that came here were proceeding with a daily talk relating to the human that was currently roaming around the floors with people in suits, laughing by making sad moans to describe their happiness and satisfaction that a plan had finally went well.


    ¡°Grarr¡­¡­ Rarhhggg!¡±


    One made some gestures with a pair of hands that came with limp fingers, swinging in the air about with a stiff motion, trying hard to let its friends know the situation, to which the other two nodded with bobbing heads, always tilting to a side.


    ¡°Rargghhh¡­¡­ Grrr¡­¡­¡±


    A second zombie responded back, seeing how their so called plan was more effective than they thought it would be, claiming it was worth all the waiting.


    ¡°Grahh! Rahgg!¡±


    The third one was on the other hand, more excited as it was glad that it will soon be over and more of them will be joining the group to unite as one.


    ¡°Rarrghhh¡­¡­¡± The first two answered back in agreement.


    So to say how did the place felt weird was that the trio were looking at the horde which now exceeded three digits and were wandering to where there was space to put their feet on. The ground floor¡­¡­ as to say the lowest floor was piled up with loads of dead flesh, permeating the air with a horrible stink that could par with a mountain of decade-old socks. They were at first startled by the noise they usually would chase after, only to find that it was from a particularly heavy weapon smashing whatever that was squishy and were now on their way to get some fresh meat; the humans.


    For a first, they hadn¡¯t dared to venture out of their main hangout spot as they were no match to the guns these new people had brought in, demonstrated by the death of their local bully, the Mole Tank.


    But now, something inside their dead hearts told them to wait for the right moment to strike, and when given the chance to do so, they didn¡¯t hesitate for a second. The horde was unfortunately, not decreasing, and the more you look at it, the higher the odds you found the reason. If the black shade of water wasn¡¯t enough to make anyone heave and throw their lunch up, then the hazy green fog that decorated the place will surely raise that probability to a perfect hundred. It was foul, it was a smell to be recognized. It was the air produced by concentrated stink and traces of the zombie virus. The noxious gas diffused through all over the crowded cave, seeping and infecting the soft, damp ground, turning its shade into a sickly shitty brown and green. Still, what made it suspicious was something that lurked beneath this polluted soil.


    Because as if on cue when the site was emptying itself, there was a slight tremble coming before the undead trio as they took a glimpse around the coarse dirt they stood. The pebbles and bits of debris began to hop violently from place to place, making a dramatic entrance for what was about to come and haunt the Vault and any visitor who¡¯s brave enough to peek in this hollow cave.


    Or, in this case, a horrific entrance.


    The dirt cracked open, and a decomposed hand poke out of the hole, grasping with a deadly strength, pulling what laid underneath the soil to be introduced into a world of dead trees, infertile lands and an eternal heat wave that blazed through both day and night.


    ¡°RAARRRGGHH!!!¡±


    A frilling roar from a rising dead from the ground broke the silence in the green fog, the zombie climbing out of nothing but the dirt rather than a tombstone with a corpse buried in it. The nasty body got up from its non-existing slumber, stretching stiff limbs and shaking off the remnants of earth sticking to its decaying skin, letting out a second growl of fury to declare its very arrival.


    That was however, not the first time this event had occurred, for the undead trio welcomed another dead into the horde with lifeless eyes, watching it dashing to the shaft with the others. They were used to this five minutes ago, their patience in the middle of paying off its efforts to grow a threat in numbers.


    After all, there were many, many more hands sticking out behind the one zombie who just left, ready to bring more of the dead into this very battle with something one couldn¡¯t imagine.


    A zombie breeding ground.