"Hence the Lord cast Adam and Eve unto the barren earth for their terrible transgression, the original sin. And everything since that fateful day has been nothing more than a cycle repeating itself unto infinity.
For Man cannot help but desire that which it does not possess. That is Man's greatest flaw."
— Anonymous on Humanity, December 31st, 2156
The reverberating heartbeat of the earth underneath of a dingy, weathered truck passing across a barren stretch of desert. was anything but normal. It was the omen of something terrible to come and everyone knew it.
All who ventured or lived in the Wildlands knew the telltale signs of the impending calamity and had begun to scatter as they fled off to their homes. If one looked out into the warm horizon, they'd be able to spot dozens of faraway dust trails left behind by a swarm of similarly makeshift vehicles...
The gloomy, swirling clouds out by the mountains and the unnatural tremors were enough to persuade even the most foolhardy scavenger into high-tailing it back to the closest shelter they could find.
"Most people call it, 'God's Wrath' and 'The Devil's Dance,' though I hear that folks in the Eastern Districts have taken to calling it, 'Pangu's Wrath' and 'Heaven's Scorn'. Sounds a bit too mystical if you ask me, either way," said a tired, aged voice as he prattled on without stopping.
He had nothing better to do anyway since the radio had been thrown out of commission with the arrival of the distant storm. And turning it back on was out of the question, for reasons he did not want to even think about...
"Why do I think that you ask? Because this fuckin' rumbling is nothing bad news and I don't want to give a fancy name to something that's always shitting on my livelihood."
Not that he liked chatting; the old man just preferred to fill up the air mindlessly over the deafening silence inside the truck.
"The signs are all there — the Domain's going to release another Burst real soon and from the look of things, it's going to be a really huge one this time... Shit's gonna get real hairy in a few, I reckon."
"...Hey, you listenin' back there, kid? Hey, we pick up a mute or somethin'?" said the exhausted driver as he puffed on a cheap cigarette.
Unfortunately, his partner, an older man of about forty, had already filtered out his friend's babbling a while ago. His attention had been drawn elsewhere, to a discovery most unsettling, indeed.
As he examined a small leather wallet, he wondered whether he had glimpsed at something he shouldn't have, but then chalked it all up to fate. In any case, it wouldn't have been the strangest thing he had discovered. Not with what he knew.
Still, what had found confused him beyond words. In all his years, he had never heard of a living being becoming the victim of a "transfer". It was unprecedented, to be sure.
But the evidence was all there, right in his hands. Either it was the truth or an extremely elaborate ploy... but his intuition was telling him wasn't the latter, to his dismay.
An ID card for a university that no longer existed or well, was currently in operation.
Physical currency — paper money, specifically U.S. dollars — belonging to that oldworld nation, too.
A well-kept photograph of an older man and woman beside a young boy. They were all smiling in what seemed to be a cheerful amusement park of some sort.
And numerous other plastic cards addressed to a single name: Isaak Gladstone.
There was enough tangible evidence to prove the boy's identity, sure... except that only a fool or a genuine madman would take it at face value. After all, what it implied bordered on the impossible...
That someone from the distant past — more than a hundred and sixty years ago — had somehow stumbled into the present day?
'May God have mercy on his soul if it's actually true, though. That'd be a punishment worse than death...'
In any case, the old man had seen enough and said, "We've either picked up a very talented forger and schemer or quite possibly the most pitiful soul on Earth."
"Huh, what are ya' on about? Ain't he a wildling? We'll take him to the nearest base and toss him in with the rest of his kind. The boy and the salvage we've found should be enough to at least get us a couple of drinks and let us restock on supplies. Well, as long as that bastard, Capdepont, isn't on shift when we get there..." said the driver in an unconcerned tone.
The old man in the passenger seat glanced at the wallet in his hands and then turned to look at the sleeping figure in the backseat of the truck. A young man was sleeping in the backseat who looked entirely out of place with his surroundings.
From his shaggy, unkempt hair to his odd clothing, he looked like someone from a bygone era. His body was rather underdeveloped in all the important places, indicating to him that the boy had never undergone physical labor or training in his life.
Though the thing that stood out the most was the expression on his face — it was far too relaxed— as if he was someone that had never seen any form of misfortune in his life.
The pair of old men had found him sleeping in an old building, a former university, during their scavenging operation. At first, they suspected that it'd been a trap that had been set up by a gang or the wildlings, but nothing ever happened.
In the end, the only that they discovered in that decrepit building was a strange young man sleeping soundly without a care in the world. Neither of them would have believed such a far-fetched tale unless they had seen witnessed it themselves today.
"Well, shit. I really hope you're just fucking with us, boy…" muttered the man, "Because if you're not, you're in for the worst day of your life."
The evening sun had already sunk by the time they arrived at Firehawk Base. A concerning development since they had barely arrived before the last warning alarm.
Had they arrived past the last alarm of the day, they would've had been forced to pay a hefty fee to enter the base... and every credit mattered when you lived from paycheck to paycheck.
Real liquor was expensive to buy.
Maintaining vehicles was a costly endeavor.
Restocking supplies and buying new gear was painful to the wallet.
And yet, they were all part of any self-respecting scavenger's holy trinity. None were optional. All of them were necessary expenses... especially the liquor.
"So, which one do ya' want to deal with?" said the driver as he parked the truck in a tiny garage. "I've got the stun rifle in the back if he tries runnin'. Been looking for an excuse to use it since I bought it a week ago, haha…"
"No, it's fine. You take care of the salvage — let me handle the boy. My gut's telling me that I'm going to have an interesting conversation with him. Can't afford to miss this if I'm right."
"Your call, I guess. See ya at the Cesspool in a bit, then. I'm gonna tell Linda that I—"
"The Royale, right? Yeah, yeah. You never give up, do you?"
"It's part of the charm, you fool. Women like dedicated men, Williams. You have to show commitment; otherwise, you'll look like an opportunistic rat. You should take the hint should you ever decide to talk to a woman."
"Bah, she's got you wrapped around her pinky and you don't even know it. You're a dumbass, through and through, Ferguson. But that's why I like you — makes it easier on me to have an idiot as a partner," said Williams with a smirk on his face.
Ferguson picked up a large crate filled with electronics and said, "Pfft, ya' wouldn't know how to talk to a woman if your life depended on it. That's why you'll always be single, ya' damn grease monkey."
With a grunt, Ferguson raised the crate and said, "But that's what I like about you — havin' ya' around means I ain't got no competition," before he sauntered off to sell their haul.
"Cheeky little midget..." murmured Williams and chortled. The vulgar gnome had a sharp tongue but he knew better than to take what he said to heart. He'd known Ferguson long enough to know that more than half of the things that came out of his mouth were nothing more than hot air.
Finally alone, Williams tended to his part of the haul — the boy. He gently shook the young man and said, "Boy, time to wake up." He continued to shake the boy until he finally got a response from him.
"Mmh...W-What? Is the...lecture over?" replied the young man with a loud, carefree yawn as he lazily rubbed his eyes. It wasn't until he completely opened his eyes and looked around that he fell quiet in total confusion.
A foreign vehicle, unknown model.
Unknown scenery that was definitely not his university or the lecture hall he had been in before he fell asleep.
Tall concrete walls and uniformed people in the distance. Military uniforms and firearms.
Nighttime, far past when he was last awake. Stars were already visible. Beyond sunset?
And an older-looking man staring at him curiously with a pistol in his holster — an unknown model.
The influx of information hit Isaak like a bomb, to the point that he ended up frozen in place for a solid minute as he struggled to process his new situation. Like a deer caught in headlights, he stupidly stared at the man in front of him unable to even get a word out.
'This isn't class. I'm not at school. And... it's been at least twelve hours since I was last awake.'
"Hey boy, are you alright?"
'My class began at 9 AM and yet it's past sunset. Drugged? Kidnapped? Me? How and why? They seem like professionals, not amateurs. Those are real mean-looking rifles, not cheap toys a civilian could buy, let alone a petty criminal. Think...! Think..!'
"Relax, boy. I mean you no harm, so don't let your imagination run wild. Just breathe."
'I'm nobody...! So why?! My family's nothing special either, so... a friend, perhaps?! But I don't know anyone that important!! So that's out of the question. Fuck! Why?!"
"Breath, boy, breathe! Slow, deep breaths! Count to ten and stop thinking!"
'An elaborate prank? The government? A lucid dream? What the FUCK is happening?!'
"Stop overthinking it, boy! Breathe! Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment!"
'This is NOT fucking happening! None of this makes ANY sense! Surely, I'll wake up an—'
And then, as if to destroy his remaining hope, a lightning-fast slap struck Isaak square on the face, abruptly destroying his misplaced delusions.
Dull pain radiated away from the center of the slap in a way that couldn't be faked. The throbbing pain was all too real...
That, alone, was enough for him to realize that this was not a nightmare of some sort.
He was wide awake, whether he liked it or not. This was reality.
It took a good bit for Isaak, but the undeniable truth eventually became impossible for him to ignore.
"You calmed down, boy? I have a couple of questions for you. Just answer them as naturally as possible and don't overthink it. Give me the first answer that comes to you."
"O-Okay, what do you want to know?" said Isaak as he struggled to keep his calm.
"The first question: Can you tell me today's date?"
Isaak quietly answered, "September 14th, 2016? Uh, but it might be the 15th already, judging from the time of day..."
"The second question: Can you tell me the name of the country you live in?"
Isaak blurted out, "The United States, of course! I mean, h-heh, where else would we be in?"
"One last question or rather, a little test. I want you to recite to me the document on this little tablet. Can you do that for me, boy?"
Isaak hurriedly nodded and began reciting what was written on the tablet that the man had given to him.
It was an extremely technical research paper on the internal mechanics regarding something called an 'A-Drive', much of it an in-depth dissertation on hypothetical methods to optimize the performance of the device under extreme duress.
The document had a variety of strange terms he'd never seen before, so he stumbled on those words, but everything else was easy enough to read.
Not that it mattered to Issak, as he desperately did his best not to let his voice crack under pressure as he carefully recited what he read.
Most of it made little sense, but Isaak still took care to carefully read out what was displayed on the table as his life depended on it until the old man said, "Alright, that's enough. You can stop now, boy."
Williams rubbed his chin in contemplation as he thought about what he heard and came to a conclusion.
The wallet and its contents, the boy's terrified response, and the little test he'd given him.
"Well, this wouldn't the first time I've been proven wrong. I initially pegged you as a con-artist, but now you've proven me dead wrong. Now I'm sure you aren't some wildling, or gang member, at the very least," said Williams as he pondered on what to do next.
'There's no way in hell a wildling or some desert gangbanger would've been able to read that, much less the average illiterate goon. He's definitely educated. There's no denying that...'
"W-What are you talking… sir? Where am I? Why have I been kidnapped? I've done nothing to warrant this sort of response. I have nothing of value and am no one of importance," said Isaak as he tried to plead his case.
"Slow down, son. We didn't kidnap you; we found you in an abandoned building south of this base. And it's not a matter of 'where', but 'when' for you, I suspect."
Ferguson pulled out Isaak's wallet and handed it back to him, much to Isaak's surprise.
"If you're who this wallet seems to suggest who you are, then you truly might be an interesting fellow. To think that the Domain might have caused something like this to happen… this is fascinating beyond belief and a troubling development, indeed..."
"Sir, I-I don't understand, what do you mean by 'when'? I was in one of my university's lecture halls this morning. Is... this some sort of elaborate prank?"
Ferguson dryly chuckled and said, "If only that were the case. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you should step out of the truck and see for yourself…"
Isaak cautiously stepped out of the truck and looked around like a nervous animal as he cautiously inspected his surroundings until several things caught his attention.
He noticed that some people were wearing what seemed to be exoskeletons, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. They were tough-looking guys that were carrying huge metallic parts of some kind with relative ease.
'If those parts are made of steel, then they should weigh over several hundred pounds, at the bare minimum. Hell, some of the larger parts should weigh over a ton. And yet…'
"Oh, those muscle-heads? They're Volunteer Corpsmen — wildlings and convicts that are working for the Federation to gain citizenship. Or are you more interested in the support-frames they're wearing? Those frames are a bit outdated, but they're still good enough to get the job done. Put one of those on and you can easily carry a ton and a half of weight as it were a bag of synthetic rice."
"Though some prefer something more... compact and refined," said Ferguson, as he pointed to a tall black man with a strange left arm made of glistening metal.
'No way...! That's not possible. I've never seen one with that level of functionality before! There's no way! The ones we have can barely grasp simple objects! Where the FUCK have I been taken to?! Area 51 or something?! Is this a DARPA installation?!'
"It's a civilian-grade prosthetic, I wager. Probably got it for free with military insurance. Lost the arm in combat. Nothing really special about it; reinforced titanium housing on the outside, pure-platinum processing core inside. The internal CPU inside can handle a 200-millisecond response, at best. All-around an average arm, really..."
Ferguson patted Isaak's back and said, "You haven't anything yet, son. Follow me and prepare to have your mind blown."
A short walk down the base brought them to the technician's department, where everything that mattered was repaired. Williams walked over to a tall building with an enormous shutter gate taller than anything Isaak had seen before in his life.
It was easily over 15 meters tall, give or take.. and only God himself knew why something this large was constructed. Even though Isaak was still concerned about his precarious situation, he couldn't deny his mounting curiosity.
"You asked why I said 'when' instead of 'where,' right? It's because you're wrong, son — we aren't in 2016 — and this will prove it to you, once and for all." said Ferguson as he slid his palm on a digital reader next to the shutter gate.
The enormous metal gate started rolling up as soon as it recognized Williams, revealing its contents to both of them.
It left Isaak speechless. It was the height of a small building, the damned thing.
The paint job on it was a little botched, covered with many scratches and dents, but that did not take away from its fearsome majesty.
"This the RXF-Type 09. A third-generation Reaper model designed sometime around 2126. It's outdated, much like the rest of the equipment on this base but it's still serviceable. It can reach around 430 mph at max speed with a full load-out in about 45 seconds. Without a load-out, it'll cap out around 500 mph, so it's still got something going for it, I guess."
The steel titan solemnly stared out towards the horizon, unafraid of what lurked in the dark. It represented Man's strength and ingenuity — they would not bend to the odds.
They would persist and destroy their opponents without fail.
Man would send its own Reapers — harbingers of death — to destroy their enemies and protect their planet.
This was the will of the people on this lonesome, dying blue dot.
".....Tell me the truth, sir. What is today's date?" said Isaak as he gazed at the dazzling, defiant expression on the titan's face.
"I welcome you, Isaak Gladstone, to the future. Today's date is January 24th, 2186. You're far away from home, son. Not in terms of space, but in terms of time. Welcome to the Last Era."