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View Full Version : Fan-Fiction, One a fall day a cold wind blew, chapter 1



Crowgrim
02-06-2016, 03:51 PM
Hello, I'm a literature and political science student currently studying in Sweden. I've been following the game for some time and wanted to create a sort of "down-in-the-dirt" kind of realism series about the game, it begins just a few days after the attack and the sleeper agents haven't fully connected with each other. I thought I'd share it with you guys, and hopefully you'll have some feedback. All the best.

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Chapter 1: Contact

His hands, they had changed, they were his still, the lines and the tiny scar on his left index, but they were not the same. His eyes, they were clear, yet the color seemed paler, as if they were tired, tired of trying to see. They were blue, the waitress two blocks from his apartment had liked that, she said his face wouldn't have been much without them. A laughter, like a memory, in the dark apartment bathroom, something that now felt unknown and dangerous. His clothes were wet, he felt the melted snow now going down his back, he pressed harder against the tile wall. There were voices in the night with words now hollow, they were expected, weak and fading. A complex and painful process where the once familiar now slowly stepped backwards into a dark room which had no location. The psychological aspect of complete loss – a struggle he was prepared for. All things lost were distant, three weeks meant nothing to him in terms of time, time itself, he feared, would lose its function, it would be a lone wanderer without purpose.
"Now, if you just crawl out of whatever ****ing room you're in-"
Their voices had not been heard for the past hour, he was glad they finally flawed their plan, hunger and thirst will do that to most men, he thought. He kept silent, letting his fingers slowly go over the black metal of the weapon next to him. Before they made it up the stairs he had reloaded it, the sound of the ammunition clip had been a concern as soon as he locked the bathroom door behind him. He saw two of them in an alley from a window on the third floor of a building on 5th avenue, they were going through the pockets of two bodies, or so he thought, at first glance he thought them dead, but they were silently bleeding out. A young couple, siblings or lovers, their hands were clutched together, their knuckles tapping the snowy ground. He remembered the exact moment when the line was crossed, his own line, the one he knew he couldn't control. In the blood soaked snow was a hunting knife, they had been cut open, he saw the blade catch the ray of the sun for a second in his head. A knife is a very personal weapon, not something looters use when they seek to survive another day. Two bullets drained the alley of silence, it provoked a massive noise which the two men never heard. They feel to the ground, a simple motion, instantly killed, no screams or gurgling sounds. Two decent bullets, he thought. Out of the building they swarmed, five or six, they made it into his building, taking a chance on the direction of the guns' sound and then simply following the sound of his boots. As he reached the highest floor the exit door to the roof had been barricaded, he kicked open the door to apartment closest to him. That was an hour ago, a locked bathroom door and a living room was all that divided them. He knew them, the same way they could have known him. Desperation was a word which most people didn't know the meaning of a month earlier, now they slept, walked and lived it. Hunger worked the same way. They were more human than him – that was a hurtful insight. The days of killing had arrived and they would mark the city, it had marked him, now that mark pounded inside of him as he could smell the sweat of the men outside the apartment. He thought of death, the way one would dream of the future, it manifested itself at the core of his being. His heart wasn't beating steady, it was the fear, his hands were not trembling though, thanks to the pills. He leaned forward and peaked out the window, a blurred sun shone in a sky white as chalk. It might be the last, he thought. He knew nothing of what kind of weapons the mean were armed with, he fought the idea of seven men with baseball bats and wooden boards. He couldn't figure out that sort of pain, it was none existent in his mind, and therefor it haunted him. He wanted them to make a move, it would place him in a situation where he could take on of them down, perhaps it would affect them, perhaps he was not worth dying for. He thought of his mother, which was idiotic, the emotions connected to her was strictly forbidden. As he knew the possible outcome of his current situation, he could not help himself, and for a second he was not there, he was safe. The crushing sound of a sudden explosion, he could hear the paintings on the walls fall, some glasses hit the ground. In less than a second he had his weapon readied and peeked out behind the corner of the wall, a man was on his stomach, crawling, legs torn to pieces, they made eye contact and he fired a bullet in to his head. Gunfire roamed the corridor outside, voices of anger and fear filled the once silent space. He kept his gun fixed on the entry point to the apartment, another stormed in, a small firearm still in his hand, quickly he took two bullets around the chest area and stumbled down upon the floor. Then the weapons were soundless, outside he could hear a pleading voice, the words were not fully pronounced, then there was nothing but a bullet ending a life. His eyes passed the two bodies, then he turned them to the front door.
"You Division?"
A female voice, clear and calm.
"Yes, he replied."
"You wounded?"
"No."
"You dumb?"
He sighed but stayed silent.
"That watch better be yours."
He held out his weapon so that she could see that he was not aiming it. In the doorway was a rather short woman, kind eyes, sharp chin and thick brown hair. She wore an outfit much like his own, cargo pants, bulletproof-vest, winter jacket and a backpack. She was leaning against the wall, her leg seemed weakened or even wounded. On her left wrist he saw the watch, it illuminated the room with an orange glow.
"You see some horrible ****ing scene, get emotional, shoot without thinking and end up with six men running after you. Sure you an agent?"
He stood up and walked towards her.
"You're wounded."
He put his weapon down on a couch in the middle of the room.
"You got a medkit?"
"I got one."
"You don't look like you need it."
"Not right now, no."
"I got more, not here."
"Why would I trust you?"
"You don't have to. Out of respect, you'd help me. I saved your life."
He took his backpack off, went through it and got the kit out, she slid down against the wall. He walked into the kitchen, found a plastic bucket and went back to the woman. She placed her foot upon the bucket and he waited for her to roll up her pants. He checked the wound, a bullet had gone by, only scratching the surface of the skin
"You been around, she asked."
"The city?"
"Yes."
"Some of it. Moving slow. Doing things carefully."
He wrapped the bandage around the wound.
"Not today I guess."
"Not today."
"You seen them before?"
She nodded towards the bodies in the hallway.
"No. They're no different though. They're all the same."
"I know. I just thought I might have been something personal."
He shook his head, she rolled down the fabric of her pants.
"Some days are worse. They have to be."
"Sure. I hear you."
They entered a silent state, where both of them seemed fine with it, as if the shared silence was a rare sort of comfort. Upon the floor was the sun, as if light had no movement, the wind outside had gone quiet. They could both hear each other breathing.
"What's you name"
"Laura."
He grinned while he stood up.
"No it's not. You'd never tell me. You're not stupid."
She reached for his hand, he pulled her up.
"Fair enough. Guess that watch is yours."
He walked into the bedroom of the apartment, he went through the wardrobe and searched for dry socks and fresh underwear. She spoke from the other room, she was going through the kitchen, looking for something that wasn't rotten.
"You got a safehouse"
He was checking a pair of socks for holes.
"I've got an apartment, got it secured, it's been fine. You?"
"I had one. Moved out. Looking for a better set-up."
He walked back into the living room, stepping over the dead bodies.
"How much ammo you got?"
She looked at him, looked at her clip-belt.
"I've got a decent amount."
"You okay with peaches?"
"Peaches?"
"For dinner. I won't be asking twice. I've got what I came for and I'd love to lay down. You had some perfect ****in' timing today, least I can do is offer you some food and a place to stay."
He couldn't tell if she was smiling, but he hoped for it, a smile would do them both good. He walked into the kitchen, checking the cupboards for coffee.
"I already grabbed the coffee."
He stopped and thought to himself, of course she did.
"You made contact with any other agents, she asked."
"No. But things will get moving soon. They expect us to take the city back, remember?"
There was a slight notion of sarcasm in his voice.
"Right."
"How about you?"
"No, no. I've taken care of looters mostly. Been alone, but things are heating up. How far is your place?"
"Not far."
"Alright."
"You don't have to trust me."
"I don't. But I think we both know this is the most logical approach. Us working together."
"Sure. If you're going by the book. The past five days have been a cluster**** of scenarios where things haven't gone by that book."
"You're right. I'll take my chances."
He walked out of the apartment, as he passed her he reloaded his weapon and said I guess we both are.

His hands were broken fingers and blood, his eyes were red and his tears had now frozen upon his cheeks. Next to him was the girl, her stomach cut open and her clothes ripped to shreds. Her pants were down by her ankles, her underwear had been cut away with the knife. A circular shaped pool of blood had gathered between her legs. They had killed the man and raped the girl. At least that was what he hoped for, that he had not seen it. The couple in the snow, the reason he had been forced to retreat to the apartment. He looked over at his new acquaintance, just simply nodding, yet in his eyes she could see a profound type of disgust.
"I would have shot them, it's still dumb, but I would have."
He begun walking away, she followed, and together the saw the day come to an end under a burning pink sky.