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Had this laying around! Tried to give myself an exercise, to see how well I could familiarize the reader with a lack of quotation marks to differentiate from who's talking--As expected... Did not turn out so well, nonetheless I hope it'll be at least interesting to read! Especially for new writers on what not to do... ( ；∀；)
-19th of November, 2260-
One step, another step. Sounds of crunching and scraping can be heard. A figure wearing a heavy grimy leather duster with its tall collar, and some torn and withered armor appears out of the eastern horizon. His integrated steel-mask helmet illuminating out one charred, weak gray light from the left eye hole of it while the other one remains broken, showing a part of his tired, red eye and layer of blemished, discolored skin that is amateurishly wrapped in dirty-bandages. He wears a hefty, sizeable long-range rifle that in itself is covered in scratches, dirt and rust.
He carelessly stumbles into the dark threatening horizon of the West. Occasionally gunshots pierce into the sky as to break the eerie silence and shatter the short streak of peace and calm.
...
...
...
Tk, tk, tk
He twirls with his right pointy finger on the trigger-guard of the rifle, laying prone on a laid-out bedroll. Silently whistling out a hoarse tune. He grunts and looks over his shoulder as he hears noise of footsteps far below, and then back towards the sandy plains beneath. Resting his shoulders once more.
Ah...
Another weary, scruffy man in a soldier uniform came up climbing the ladder, holding a thermostat in his hand he approached the other prone soldier and kneeling down near to the side of him. Twisting the cap off and tilting the thermos over the cap, that now was a mini-cup, as to pour in the warm beverage.
Sights?
No.
I see.
And he placed the cup filled with warm brown liquid down on the look-out floor next to his comrade, kneeling down behind the sandbags and grunting. Grabbing the set of binoculars he turned around and entered into a kneeling position. Poking his head over the sandbags.
Heads up, agh...
He stretched.
The company is sending out some letters for supplies, if you are needy you can write out a form and get a new scope for your rifle. I know it was annoying to have your previous one break.
He then raised the binoculars and began to scan the horizon.
No.
He lowers the binoculars,
What?
No need.
He stares at him dumbfounded, and chortles before slowly raising up the binoculars and looking back through it.
You changed ever since those punks tried to one-up us and you shot three of them down.
The two men returned to pure silence with nothing other than the strong winds of the wasteland. The prone one occasionally took a short break as to drink his cup of coffee, while the other played with his field-glasses.
You know,
He coughed.
Khrm, kght.. Whew.. Sorry, ahem... There's a new contestant in the race of mayorship back in the capital.
The prone one looked back slightly at him,
Dennis Crocker?
Yeah, you knew?
The New California Tribune.
I see, never knew you were interested in parasites far up north-west.
He belly-laughed, lip-smacking and still chuckling from his joke as he returned to his duty with his friend.
Won't go far, I will bet 20 dollars on that. Enough bribery and corruption between the candidates and councilmen, or sorry of course, brahmin barons. Can thank Peterson for not enough of the corruption and maggots.
He tsk'd and coughed, turning his attention back to the deserts one more.
Only some time before we expand out east and leave this godforsaken outpost and the ol' state of corrupted Shady to start all over, heard there's a herding town called 'Goodsprings' far east into the Mojave wastes, down a bit south to us in Nevada. Some scouting privates made first contact not so long ago.
He scratched his hairy chin and gurgling out some spit down at the floor before continuing,
A month ago actually.
We cannot.
His smile turned to a frown. Lowering the binoculars.
We are already spread out thin. Too much on our plates. Not to mention the internal strife of the NCR. A majority, if not all, of the three battalions of infantry soldiers went missing, and a few returned from the supposed 'Mojave' in the hunt for the raiders that massacred innocents. We cannot risk anymore losses, morale or physical.
The kneeling soldier looked over his shoulder to his prone comrade still in complete focus of his mission and carelessly smiled.
That is why Wendell Peterson is now slowly making contact and expanding out into the 'Mojave' instead of rushing it.
Well, what do you make of it?
The Mojave?
The Mojave.
Well, there is something to be found in it. For one, rumours of a great machine that could power the entirety of a country, something akin to the the hundred year old tales that the Followers of the Apocalypse told. And two, there being a mention of a giant untouched strip of Pre-War land that is still active, electrically I mean, that was mentioned in the reports of the scouts.
He took one last long sip of his cup, now empty before placing it down slowly.
There are definitely positives to it, but nothing in life comes for free. I feel that, deep in the Mojave wastelands, there is something equally or more negative to threaten our Republic. Looking at the losses of our soldiers the last time, I would guess it to be so. But the future will answer my presumptions. For now, all I can say is that I have a bad feeling about it.
Wow.
He looked at him.
That was the most you ever talked.
The prone soldier, maintaining a poker face only for a bit cracked a smile in the corner of his mouth, to which his comrade could not see, before dismissing the remark. He sighed and put his finger back on the trigger.
More negative than I anticipated.
The one holding the binoculars looked over his shoulder deep in thought.
We will have to, one way or another.
He pulled back up his binoculars and looked through it. Before furrowing his eyebrows and slowly opening his mouth out of shock, suddenly pulling up his compass.
Hey. Do you see that? Figure on East-Northeast, 18-20°.
The prone soldier instantly began to lock in and scout the aforementioned degrees of detection, only to come to grips seeing a figure walking west into the territory of Shady.
Outfit?
He lowers his binoculars, his prone comrade seeing the pure look of awe- and shock on his face, from the 'semblance of a child.
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