TUESDAY JULY 15TH, 7642
ARCHEBES, SURFACER'S CAMP
6 YEARS AFTER FALLOUT
We walked to the makeshift command center in silence, well as silent as one can achieve with a constant ringing in your head. I had no desire to be near, let alone speak to, Fynn. He, as it seems, is the root of most of my current problems. It also worth mentioning that I've no desire to speak to Darven either, however importance seems to take precedence in my case.
Darven has always been a thorn in my side, at least since we got shipped up here. I have my suspicions he was told to keep an eye on me by my Uncle Gray, who was tasks with raising me after his sister and her husband were crushed by a faultly support beam. He too called me by the name Little Crow, but now he's over a thousand meters below me.
Uncle Gray or Gray, used to tell me how he and my mom would dream about the surface and what it felt like. The warmth of the sun, the brisk chill of a season called fall's morning air. The feel of grass, the smell of the trees, the leaves in their multitude of hues. The sound of birds singing, water flowing, and leaves russeling in a gentle breeze.
All those things they'll never get to see, she'll never get to see.
I look to the sky, which was now alight with yellow-orange hues making it look as if there was fire in the distance. It a was mid-day when I went to hole up in the dark, now it's dusk.
'How long was I asleep?' I wonder as command draws closer.
"So, how ya doing, you know after what happened," Fynn asked tentatively.
He was right to do so as I really don't want to talk about what he was partially responsible for. Instead I just kept walking, ignoring his prodding question.
"What? Are you ignoring me now?" He asked like me silently walking away wasn't a clue. I again stay quiet, and at this point I sure it pretty damn clear what I'm doing. "If this is about you ankle, I've already apologized for that, and if it's not then what?" I could tell he was getting desperate from the strain in his voice. However, I'm not backing down and despite how much I wanted to turn around and tell him off I held my peace.
As I reach the door the damn thing swung open and hit me in the face. "Shit," I mumbled stepping back, holding right hand too my nose as I looked up at whoever opened the door. I heard Fynn chuckle behind me, only adding to my aggravation. My eyes met with two hazel irises, which glinted in the luminous artiffial light beyond the door's threshold, belonging to a man named Carson Hursal.
"Oh my God...I'm so sorry," Carson apoligized, to which I shook my head.
"You don't have to apologize," I replied try my best to mask the bitterness that was sure leak into my tone, before mumbling, "It was my fault for not thinking the door would fly open," the sarcasm a result of the aforementioned bitterness.
However on an unrelated note, the doors seem to be flying open increasingly around here.
"Did you say something?" Carson asked quizzically.
"Huh...no I didn't say anything," came my incredulous reply.
"Oh..." he paused, "Guess I'm just tired," Carson said to no one I assume, walking out the door allowing me and Fynn to pass.
After the door shut quite loudly adding to my headache, I swear Fynn nearly burst a God damn lung. My guess is that he heard my comment because his ass is dying behind me.
I just rolled my eyes and left him, heading straight to Darven's office, a place I've been more times than I like to admit. It's always for something like, 'Pearce, You've had 6 incidents in the past 3 days,' or some shit like that.
When I got to the door, I just walked in, no knocking or anything. 'Well let's get this over with,' I thought.
"Did Grayson never teach you to knock before entering a room, Pearce," Darven asked referring to my uncle but I knew he wanted to said something about my parents. Because of this nearly turned around and left, unfortunately Fynn showed up in the door way.
'Great I'm stuck between two insufferable asses with the combined depth of a shot glass.' I thought as I turn back to facing Darven.
I breathed a quiet inward sigh, "Look, if you asked me to come here to comment on how I was raised, then Fynn you better move your ass out of the way," I said, looking back and glaring at Fynn for over my shoulder.
"Well, Pearce that was a prime example of why you're here," Darven said, bringing my attention back to him, "Your resent hostility is more than a bit concerning."
"And, it's not like that's your business," I shot back, too annoyed and exhausted to care.
"Pearce if you keep up this behavior I will restrict your hunting and scraping clearance," Darven raised his voice and the room went still, but oh how I wished it would go silent.
I scoffed, completely done and out of shits to give. I don't care that this is digging my own grave, hell I'd lie in right now if I could.
"Come on, Kalvaust you and I both know I'm best the hunter we have, revoking that access would cut a significant percentage of our food down." I said calmly, crossing my arms over my chest.
"What about scraping?" He asked, "That's not detrimental to our survival," and from the look on his face he thought he had me.
I smirked saying, "More metal equates to more buildings, more structure, it makes this camp more like a permanent settlement," the shocked look on his face was priceless. I leaned in putting my hands on his desk, my face inches from his, still smirking, whispered, "Checmate," before turning, walking passed Fynn, who stood in awe or shock I couldn't tell which, and out the door.
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[ARCHEBES, SCRAP YARD S4]
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I walk around S4 in an exhausted daze, the only thing I could hear besides the irritating ringing was of course the lone caw of a crow. It like it was mocking me, mocking my long gone nickname.
There were a few other people wondering around same as me, Fynn included, unfortunately. But I guess you'd expect misfortune to follow in the wake of a crow's fallen feathers.
I look up just in time to see Fynn and two other people who look about our age walking in my direction. 'Great, just what I needed, a group of assholes,' I thought, rolling my eyes.
"ARVESS!" Alysa screamed from behind me, her voice registering almost immediately.
I turned to see her maybe a yard away, " I thought mechanics didn't have time for menial labor," I replied sarcastically, and somehow my face morphed into the unfamiliar act of a smile that's been so lost on me.
"Haha very funny," Alysa said dryly, "Anyway I came to let you that us 'mechanics' have contact with The Hub, I thought you might want to talk to ---Fynn," She cut off abruptly, sending a icy glare at Fynn, who was now a few feet too my left.
"I'm surprised it took you so long to notice," Was Fynn's arrogant reply.
"Hey Cotrac," One of the other two asked, and much to my surprise the voice was female. Turning I looked her up and down, her medium‐length dreadlocks huglng just above her shoulder, and her white-grey clothes made her blue eyes stand out against her dark complextion. They look to be a more vibrant version of Alysa's.
"What?" Alysa replied harshly, her mood having fallen at the sight of Fynn.
"You were asking Pearce if she wanted to contact The Hub, right?" The girl questioned.
"Get to the point Nadira," Alysa retorted.
My brain finally connected a name to the face before me, Nadira Mills. Her father worked with mine before the accident.
I had been tuning out what she was saying but a few words got through.
"...Everyone knows, 'The Rotten Don't Speak'..."