Wasteland Dreams (Solo, Dream Post Collection)

[Richard Stock]

Theme Song: [BETA] Nuclear Throne OST: Drylands Theme B Extended from the Nuclear Throne OST

Richard held up his compass as the engine revved underneath him. Dust picked up into its own mini-sandstorm as he drove through the desert roads, long since unkempt. While no longer good with the Zero, the Rogues were at least still open with trade. The roads home would be longer, but they at least had safe passage through Dragon lands... for now. The political internal turmoil with the Dragon Elders, particularly the Earth Dragon, was becoming more and more problematic. Only his wife seemed to be keeping him in check. The old Englishman sighed expressionlessly---perhaps filtering out his mouth of errant pieces of sand.

Restlessly, his shotgun passenger tapped his lead pipe against his shoulder while his other hand smoothed back his naturally spiky hair. The green-cameo wearing man shot the former Englishman a a disgruntled frown.

"How much fucking longer, Stock?"

"Two days. We need fuel.
"Half through Barker lands, if crazy.
"How are the supplies?"

The cameoe man grumbled before looking back at the only female passenger who was wearing a corset and a kilt, sitting among piles and piles of strapped down boxes. She looked incredibly irritable.

"Hey, bitch, have rations changed?"

"FUCK YOU, IT'S BORING."

The cameo man whipped out his pipe and began to dangerously bang it on the car wildly, eyes wide open, mouth furious looking.

"AY, CUNT, I ASKED YOU A QUESTION---"

---The girl was up and behind him in an instant, scalpel up against his throat, her dangerous eyes staring at him from the side.

"Call me that again, you shit face," her face dangerously close to his cheek as she condescendingly glared at him. To any other onlooker, it would look like she was about to rip a chunk out of the cameo man's face.

...Who grew a sly look on his face, as he motioned his face closer to hers.

"Cuuuuuuuuuuunnnn---"

---The two began to entertain themselves as the black van rumbled along the road. For a moment there was just the engine and the increasingly carnal sounds that were growing louder and more---

"Ahem. Dora. Tai," the former British citizen cleared his throat. At once the sounds stopped, replaced with more husky,  embarrassed chuckling from Tai while Dora clung onto Tai's chair, face looking outward into the desert in contented silence.

"Ehe, shit. Fuckin' sorry about that, Stock. Just... fuckin' stir crazy."

"Also sometimes easy to forget you're here, Mr. Quiet."

"Hmph," Stock would have grinned. But his grin always came off as a discontented frown staring elsewhere. He hadn't smiled in a long time---not on purpose, anyways.

Expertly, his fingerless gloved hands took mastery of the wheel as his eyes spotted all the potholes and cracks, avoiding them with ease. Two decades of experience being a get-away driver helped. Another chuckle from his right, as his shotgun passenger rubbed his nose.

"But it's your fuckin' birthday soon, right? Gonna chop down some of that vineyard and finally fuckin' wine it up?"

"Yeah, Delilah and 'U' were talking in passing about prepping something for ya. Y'know, gather all the friends together?"

"Haha, fuck yeah! Need barely an excuse to fuckin' party it up! Gather all the fuckin' Militia and party down!"

An involuntary smile. Richard parted his lips, his voice crackily---

---

"YOU AREN'T SODDING REAL."

Richard Stock woke up in his apartment. His hands covered over his face, before he split them a crack to look around his room.

Alone, as usual.

[2/19/2016, two days after transferring to PHS #259. Dream End.]

---

[Richard Stock]

"Because the laws of men can compare to the Gods?"

Richard's body shook, his eyes losing focus---

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The apocalypse. When the nukes had gone out in the atmosphere and their radiation had flown all around, destroying almost all the electronics in the world. When in Southern-bloody-California they were warring against... him. Three nations formed from the survivors. Crows, representing the free peoples' right for trade, commerce... and a return for a normal life under the Zero's and First and the congregate of old world leaders they assembled under them; The Dragons, who saw the world for what it was and saw to the people's defenses under enforced martial law, assembling massive militiristic armies under their powerful leaders, the Dragon Elders; The Gods, people of unnatural talent, Qi masters, an entire mafia-esque clan of people who deluded themselves and their followers into a farce of a utopia---powerful and completely under their will.

The Dragons, with their highly militaristic values, found common ground with the Gods who ruled and defended their people through sheer power of the few and had long since allied from the early onset of the Apocalypse.

Today was just the day after their Zero and First had finally met with The Gods for the First's inauguration as one of them. It meant that they recognized Crows not just as a band of wasteland wanderers who had lucked out---that their leaders had the power to ascend to "their" so-called seat of power.

It had been a grueling trip on bike, zipping past their enemies borders just to meet with their newfound, if dubious, allies, but Crows was the smallest of the three forces and needed friends, not more allies.

They, the last-standing members of Militia who had stayed together and survived over the course of a decade, assembled in the attic of their base where their radio comms and desks were, sitting at attention at the debriefing of the diplomatic reconnaissance's mission. The Militia listened to its result and the effects it would have on Crows as a whole. No big deal.

Their Zero, a man also in a black SS-looking uniform with long white hair and a ponytail and an eye-patch over where his left eye should have been, sat comfortably next to the more rigid, raven-haired First in her... rather risque looking armor.

Satisfactory.

All the men in the room, excluding the white-haired and the wheelchair-bound Germans gave their thumbs up. Yes, even the green-haired one, surprisingly.

The First looked incredibly displeased.

"...So henceforth, Delilah ist Crow's ambassador und primary leader with the external forces. Zis armor represents the Gods' recognition of her as eins of them and even recognize her as potential, allowing her to climb through their ranks... although gaining influence vill be difficult, due to das Earth Dragon's heavy activity in das Gods' area. Nonetheless, all zat ist left is to secure our boards by annexing das area between our split territories und our Northern boarders vill be secure."

"First Crow, you may..." *cough* "...be dismissed."

The First Crow stood at attention immediately, more skin showed off in the flashy, if high-powered armor. Red burned in her cheeks as she stood, still gracefully excusing herself.

"Thank you, Zero Crow. Excuse me," and promptly turned to leave... before stopping. She suspiciously narrowed her eyes at their Zero. He flashed her a guilty smile. She gave him a faux-annoyed look as she walked away.

"...Dunno HOW you talked me into wearing this for the meeting."

"I'd have worn it for du, but mein anatomy doesn't as skillfully pull off das 'armored thing' look!" he called out to her.

"I dunnnnoooooo... I wouldn't have minded some halfsie peeking out th---"

"God FUCKING dammit, NO." the (still) camo-wearing, metal pipe wielding guy would shout, slamming his weapon the green-haired man's desk.

There was general laughter and the mood was good. The news was thankfully positive for once. Everyone had a smile or a chuckle, except for the teal-haired German, who cleared his throat. Loudly. Even the Zero shut up, as all ears went to the wheelchair man.

"It ist gut, ja. But vy did du, yourself, not become recognized as a God? Why did du insist so heavily zat das First Crow do it in your stead? Even she protested it. Das influence of power vould have been larger if one of das founding members of Crows was recognized as a God."

"Yeah... that didn't make sense to me either. Why did you do that?" chimed in the corset wearing woman, arms crossed over her chest. She still managed to trade enough to maintain some hair gel to keep her hair spiky.

"As Ich said to das First Crow, it ist more und more important zat she, already a recognized leader in das post-apocalypse community, raise her prestige. Das other Zeros died far too quickly, und Ich am just as fragile. It ist better, especially with our governance, zat ve prepare for das future und set precedent in grooming our upcoming leaders, so zat in das... unlikelihood zat Ich should fall zat zere vould be no disturbance diplomatically between Crows und its allies. In fact das First Crow vill have to begin looking und preparing her own successor soon. But of course, also, for the time, while Ich am still around, it ist gut to send subtle message to das Gods, even if zey do not realize it," the German's grin growing broad and proudly defiant.

"...Zat it ist MAN, und not das Gods, stands atop here at Crows while Ich live."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

[3/9/2016, during the "What's This" Flashpoint {Originally Started 2/24/2016}. "Flashback"/Vision End.]

[Zack Asiv]

+1 exp

[Richard Stock]

"As reward for helping out this school when it was in a state of panic, we present to you all... this badge."

Richard stared.

The administration had gathered up the participating members of the fight between the "Gods," taking note of their work and "exemplary" behavior in the face of a crisis. But the manner in which they chose to distribute the badges was seemingly erratic and made little sense. Richard didn't know what to make of it---the golden-armored boy got one, the "Wren" goth girl would get one (she had gone home, evidently so there was uncertainty if she got it or not), so they said they would deliver it personally), SJ got one... It was weird. They said as well that Emily and Stevie and the others sent to the hospital would be getting a badge as well. Why them and not the other students?

When it was Richard's turn to get his, he stepped forward and then paused... which lead to him gawking in the first place.

That badge had a... reverse swatstika on it.

"...What is..."

"...Ah, yes. It's the Militia Badge, for rallying up in a minute's notice in the school's defense. For---"

The words were lost on him as he stopped hearing the administrator's word. Gingerly, with steady hands, he took it from them and then turned away back to his position, cutting off the administrator mid-sentence. He turned to @arathornteros .

"...Let's meet tomorrow."

He wouldn't give them time to respond. His voice was level, but he seemed almost robotic in the way that he moved. Richard had so many questions that he wanted answered, 

The Englishman paused at SJ Taylor and Burrito---not touching her, of course.

"I've got to go now."

If she motioned to gesture goodbye, he would nod (mostly out of practice) and reciprocate. Her ride was here so he was finally at ease.

Richard walked home.

Hastily.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Theme Song: Nightmare from Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne OST

The door slammed shut behind him and the badge flew onto his bed, flying out of its container. Cold sweat unrelated to the California heat slid off his back and he disrobed himself down to his pants where he stood, pacing frantically. His eyes which had been so self-assured and confident out of his apartment now stared without seeing as he dragged a small hand down his face before slapping his cheeks.

A long-haired brunette stood before him, arms crossed, her vivid eyes curtailed down in deep concerned.

"Richard, are you alright?"

"Haaaa.... aughhhh..."

It was like he couldn't catch his breath and he was going delirious. He walked through a comrade that didn't exist.

Was this some kind of sick joke?

He lumbered through his kitchen for a glass. Water. The cabinet creaked open and he saw reflections of his face. In the left glass, him as himself, young, a student. The other... shaven, many dark bags under his eyes... his face stretched up and a little... older. His fingers missed the glass, brushing it with the back of his hand off the ledge.It bounced on the counter's ledge and again on the floor before crashing and breaking on a poor angle behind him. He looked again at his hand. It was shaking.

'I'm sick.'

He ignored the broken glass, stepping around it.

His feet led him back to his bed. Hands covered his face, as he peeked through to look at the dimly lit room which rolled back as he fell back onto the bed. Clean linen sheets carefully maintained were now get a fresh layer of grime and sweat on them and for once Richard didn't could be bothered to give a damn.

"Richard, I'm really worried!"

"I've never seen Richard like this before---"

"---A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS!"

The badge when flying to the voices, smacking and denting against the wall. With a snapping sound, the badge flew on over and miraculously landed back in his throwing hand...

...The young man's head went hot with fever, as though he could feel his mind sliding from inside his head, along with all proper senses of motor function...

...And the side next to his bed depressed. Or at least... it felt like...

"Fever. Too much too quick. Let him rest."

'Drink. Drink...'

...

...

...

A man, in his late twenties sat down in a crowd of school kids. It was after school and two young men---students in fact, were sitting in front of all of them, facing towards the empty stage. A recording had played, talking about the kidnapped students. Kidnapped people who were going to be experimented on. Richard sat with his arms crossed over his chest, next to a man who could be best described as a bear who was giving him a skeptical sidelong glance when a man with long, white hair had come out.

Someone with an eye-patch and a swastika on it.

'Ugh, bad taste there, bloke.'

The one-eyed gent then called for all who were uninterested to leave, which, for the forty or so people behind them, a lot did. That left... twenty-ish of them left. About half. A not-so-insubstantial amount of them.

For the group he referred to them as... as a Brit, Richard had to half-scoff and half-admire the young man, for its historical implications. The clipboard was then being passed around as three different groups for the rescue mission was assigned, each group was a designated job. Honestly... as a part-time janitor? He wasn't paid enough for this...

...But then, that didn't mean this wasn't the right thing to do. Richard signed up for the Team D: Medical Support, along with Hans 'Hands' Chu and the unmistakable new School Teacher/Doctor, Layla Clavering.

"...Militia, huh."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dreams? Or memories?

No. Impossibilities.

Was he truly to believe that he had two sets of memories?

There was a laughter that filled that room that very few people heard.

...

"I'm stark raving mad."

...

...

...

He gripped the badge tightly, his fingers cutting into and bleeding on its edges between his racking shakes... as the side of his bed rose up, as though a person had just stopped sitting there...