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The Wasteland (Rania Lark x Victor Kane)

Rania Lark

Star
Joined
Dec 4, 2013
The sun beat down hard against the shifting orange sands of the wasteland. The blackened trees’ spindly fingers reached up to beg for release as their bark rotted away, the water source for their life long since dried up. The only sounds were the screaming wind whipping up loose grains of sand and the howls of the rad wolves as they hunted for their next meal. It was a desolate wasteland where only the strongest survived and those that did had created makeshift cities for themselves. Cities that ran on the backs of the strongest of the strong. Ones that had survived the nuclear holocaust and had reproduced. Each city was surrounded by ‘walls’ of corrugated metal topped with barbed wire to keep out the enemies along with keeping those that lived there within. Only the military were allowed out to deal with any ‘threat’ and only the trading scavengers were allowed in to sell their wares for the threats extended well beyond the radwolves and the death by starvation and dehydration that the wasteland provided.

And that was now where Merritt found herself. A thief by profession, she had been caught up in a robbery turned sour as the Captain of the guard forgot his freaking gun. And his entire crew had followed him in to the cache, trapping her within the vault with no means of escape. It was a capital offence in Nuke City to steal from the military and Merritt was put on trial with no question to her guilt. However, her death was not to be as the judge acknowledged her incredible skill that it took to break into the cache vault and only if the Captain hadn’t forgotten his pistol, she would have succeeded.

“So, we have a job for you,” the judge explained, leaning back in his ripped leather chair, “Outside these walls there is a pirate who has something very valuable to us. It is a crystal that possesses a vast amount of power. Enough to power the entire city for generations to come. What you will do, is steal it and bring it back here. If you do that, you will receive a pardon and a reward. If you do not return, we will assume you have been killed and then your sentence of death will have been fulfilled.”

So there Merritt was. Dressed in a simple outfit of a thin linen shirt with a rip in the collar that came down between her breasts and the sleeves rolled up just over her elbows and a pair of thin leather trousers that ended in lightweight, lace up combat boots that came halfway up her calf. Her head was wrapped loosely in a white linen scarf to shield her from the burning sun while her auburn locks were pulled back into a loose braid that hung down her back. On her back she carried a canvas, beige backpack that held her few days’ rations and water for sustenance. Her emerald green eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any type of movement as her hand moved to the hunting knife sheathed at her waist. Her body turned to scan every angle of the horizon as her free hand moved up to her forehead to provide a bit of shadow for her gaze, to increase her search perimeter, searching for the mythical pirate who held such power that even cities seemed afraid of him and his crew.

When nothing surfaced, Merritt continued on her journey, walking a few hundred metres before stopping and searching the horizon for anything that could be the pirate, her hand always at the hilt of her knife, prepared for a fight should one arise.
 
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