Here is an ongoing story I have been writing for the last month or so. Currently, we're on the sixth chapter.
It started before November but since I enjoyed the potential story, and characters I decided to try and complete it as part of NaNoWriMo. Although, here we are in December and I'm still working on it.
Currently, I have a feeling the Eighth chapter will be the final one, however, it could go on a bit longer than that depending on how things unfold.
Smoke, dust, dirt and grime. The conditions in this workplace were disgusting at best. Thinking of the people who worked this complex cavern of tunnels and old pre-war machinery, filled him with pangs of guilt. If there was a revolution taking place down here, M'Trada wouldn't blame them. Couldn't blame them.
Regardless of how he felt, and regardless of who was in the right. He would kill those who needed to be killed and pursue a connection that would drag him out of poverty and into a life he has always dreamed of. He'd bring Mari and Andron along for the ride too, and the three of them would want for nothing ever again. I could earn so much that we could work to breathe new life into The Western Wastes. He thought to himself.
Those thoughts faded when he had flashes of what the outcome could be if he were flooding the place he loved with every drug he could get his hands on. Addiction was infectious. While it was good for money, it left a wake of poverty, and death in its wake.
Those thoughts were hard to shake off, and the images of shamblers filling every street made him sick. It's happening already. He reasoned. Why should others flood the place? When I can't. An image played in his mind. The competition could be cut down swiftly. Remove the people who are already destroying the place, and people within. Crovin would be one of the first to go.
The deeper down he got, the more unbearable the stench. Old rot, dirty body odor. The air was dry further up, but down here it was damp. There were drips from above and puddles where the sweat from the walls gathered. Stagnant water.
From the shadows, there was movement. M'Trada stayed close to the others, afraid to get separated. The place was hollow and dark.
"I've had reports that the machines stopped operating on this level. You can go back to work, or be replaced." Meeha shouted into the darkness, and the darkness did not respond. "Shine some light," he said as he turned to his retinue.
A beam of light broke through, illuminating the pitch black. There was a body on the ground. Just one. That was the first thing M'Trada noticed. It wasn't an emaciated worker. It was someone wearing the uniform of a guard. Armour was spread around the corpse, and its gut was exposed. Blood lay on the floor, along with some organs. The ribcage was bare.
"Were they eating him?" One of the guards asked no one in particular.
Meeha stepped forward to inspect the corpse. He looked sad to see what had happened to the person, but rather than mourn, he got angry. Spinning on his heels to the others. "This will not continue. They will pay for what they did here." He said through gritted teeth.
A shot from the dark interrupted Meeha, and most of the guards ducked from the sudden noise.
"Return fire!" Meeha shouted. An eruption of gunfire burst out in all directions. "Not the machines! Watch the machines!" He shouted furiously over the noise.
It stopped for a moment, and there were no more shots in their direction.
"We're fighting the darkness, his excellency. We need light," Gael sniffed.
"What do you expect us to do? The power's been cut." One of the guards scoffed.
"Could we repair it?" Gael retorted, before spitting a glob of mucus onto the ground. "Better than firing blindly into thin air."
A noise over M'Trada's shoulder caught his attention. The others continued to squabble among themselves, but he was too busy staring into the nothingness. "There's something out there." He said, but nobody paid any mind to him.
There was movement. He couldn't tell what it was. It seemed like a small red pulsating light, which darted back and forth before it started to grow slightly.
"What is that?" M'Trada said, louder this time.
He could see the silhouette of a figure, in full sprint. Late to react the person came into the light before he had a chance to raise his weapon. On the person's chest was some device and the pulsating red light was in his outstretched hand.
M'Trada fired, which caught the attention of the others. They didn't fire straight away. Instead, it sounded like they too were running.
The man shouted, and M'Trada could see the fear in his eyes, and the rattle from his swinging jaw. He stopped firing and turned to run with the others.
He managed two steps when the room lit up, and he found himself rolling through the air.
