#mercy76day1

[abahwrites]

Secunda’s Kiss and the Nine’s Lost Two Stars

Inspired by Elder - Legend (Lore, 2015)

20th Frostfall, 4E 201

It has been three years since I found the other me in Secunda’s Kiss. We meet at the most inappropriate time; I was fighting a lonely Giant when I saw her when I saw the only healer who could heal anything. Better than the Priests of Arkay or Kynareth, even better than Priests of Stendarr. She was severely injured and couldn’t even stand straight. At the time the Giant is lying on the ground, I approached the healer and gave her the best hospitality I could ever give to a woman. Later that night, I set up a camp for the both of us and stayed there for the evening. I can’t cook, but a roasted venison and a bit mammoth’s cheese is more than enough for two. Her hands still stiff and she could barely do anything. It was at 08:32 in the evening that we decided to rest on the Giant’s seclusion for a night. I gave her my thickest coat and let her sleep in my tent. I fed her with a considerable care as she opened her mouth slowly, munching it so smoothly that I couldn’t hear any munching sounds coming from her lips. She was powerless in front of Giants, but she is more than powerful when battling against me. Against my heart.

With submissive eyes, she tries to grab my hands as if it was a bolster pillow, a thick, massive, fluffy bolster pillow. Her hands are still stiff and hurt when I touched it, but she managed to bear the pain to just hold my hand as a repayment for saving her fragile life. Priestesses I know throughout my adventure in Skyrim has nothing compared to this healer’s strength. That night she slept under the thick blanket made of light provided by Masser and Secunda as her first gift of the evening. The wind blows smoothly, comfortable enough for the healer to sleep within my hands as she rubs it with her blonde and braided hair. Giant’s campfire is surrounding us with warmth, the cold of Whiterun Plains didn’t have enough penetration to penetrate our skins and clothing. Kynareth blesses the night like it was the last night we lived in Nirn as our souls ascended to Sovngarde. We told ourselves that Secunda’s Kiss will be the place where two stranger hearts met and immediately surrounded by Mara’s compassion.

31st Frostfall, 4E 201

Eleven days passed and now we're closer as if we were a sword with its scabbard. We read many books and looting many dungeons. It was fun to stand beside the Healer; she is strong enough to take three bandits in a row without getting a single sweat. Her braids still untouched whenever she engages enemies in combat. She took a lesson from a brothel in Morrowind that pole dancers ability to dance in long, stationary pole can defend themselves using their dancing skills with a more dynamic, shorter pole, in the form of a magic staff. I never thought that an earthly desire could lead her into mastering a self-defence technique that nobody would ever learn. We went to the Eastmarch Tundra, a lot of volcanic activities that also attracts Giants to make a better nest for themselves. The day is dawning, and our loot is waiting.

I don’t know why Kynareth blesses us always, in every path we take, in every turn of our lives, in every minute walking in the Pines of Skyrim, in every night there’ll always be Secunda’s Blanket. Masser and Secunda are the two moons of Skyrim, clearly visible every clear as crystal nights. The night whispers in our sleep that something amazing or utterly disgraceful will happened soon. The Healer seems okay with that as if the night whispers nothing to her ears. Under the campfire light, I guard the night while the Healer sleeps on my lap peacefully. We found a little crevice near a Giant camp; it’s empty and warm enough for us to spend the night.

2nd Sun’s Dusk, 4E 201

I can’t believe that we were in love. The Adventurer takes care of me at his best, I can’t count how many times he saved my life, but it always Secunda and Masser that saves us both. These moons led us to something bigger than we expected, something that I cannot anticipate greatly yet memorable. By the Nine, I am falling in love. Mara, please guide me to your everlasting compassion. Well, since he’s sleeping earlier than I am, now I must guard him at all costs, there’s no harm to see and read what boys write about their uninterestingly remarkable life, is it not? Let me tell you about my story. A bit.

The Adventurer and I seem to raid everything smoothly. Dwemer ruins are the worst, you got in and raided some, next time you blinked, you’re either dead or in Falmer’s captivity. Mzulft was the worst for me. A lot of Falmer, Dwemer automatons, and its deadly traps are hidden in plain sight. I went to Mzulft, rumoured to house one of the most beautiful Dwemer artefact. The Aetherium Shard, or so I’ve heard and known throughout the books and maybe bribing some sketchy scholars in the Imperial City of Cyrodiil. To know that this little artefact is in Skyrim, I was more than eager to get it on my hands, sell it to the merchants of the Thieves’ Guild, and get out from Skyrim as quick as possible before the War plaguing the nation even worse. Curse my necessity of knowing everything! I’ve read a book titled “The Aetherium Wars,” the author (and several deadly curiosity adventuring) said that four pieces of the Aetherium Shards scattered throughout the biggest Dwemer settlements in Skyrim. To do that, I must find a place called Arkngthamz to begin my research. I came from the south, from Cyrodiil and went to take some rest in Riften – sketchiest place I’ve ever been. You can’t go through Riften without bribing, and your pocket’s emptied by the local thieves that reside in the sewer area called the Ratway. After learning that one undisclosed figure within Thieves’ Guild wants the Aetherium Shard, I’d offer my help and my intelligence to search for such things. The minimum information gave me a hard time to understand and solve the Aetherium Shard puzzle. So I rent a carriage to Whiterun to meet one of his contacts that know where this cursed Aetherium Shards that haunts me day by day, I got out from the carriage and went exploring the place. Excessively. The first place I visited in Whiterun Hold is the Secunda’s Kiss, the first and the most visited sites before and after I know the Adventurer. He treated me like a High Queen, but also maintain his politeness towards me, which I found very rare amongst another adventurer I’ve known, and I’ve seen throughout my journey in Tamriel. Countless dawns and dusks, these feet can still climb the high hills of Skyrim, these feet led me to an inevitable fate. Meeting the Adventurer. I thought I was going to die that night, but Stendarr still has mercy on me.

Or was I lucky enough that my bad luck is losing the bet?

5th Sun’s Dusk, 4E 201

I was born in Cyrodiil to a Nord father and mother. Father was a blacksmith and mother was teaching magic and how to use spells correctly in the Mages Guild. Mother and father are something I regret to have in this world. They keep fighting over me because I am their best child ever, I regretted it positively. Being in a family where all of its members are busy and not properly taken care of, I managed to hang out with the Thieves’ Guild and the Dark Brotherhood, not something I want to, really. I spent my whole twelve years of life learning magic, history of Tamriel, and things that only scholars do. Then I spent another two years being a cat burglar that became my side job. I’d be proud to say that I am Chaotically Lawful.

The Adventurer woke up. “Hey, what are you doing with my diary?”

The Healer replied. “I’m just looking at your beautiful handwritten letters, I promise.”

“May I take a look at it? I remember that I can’t write like a calligrapher.” The Adventurer said while commanding the Healer to give him the book.

The Healer conceded. “Okay, okay!” she confessed. “I write a bit of myself in your book without your permission. I’m sorry.”

The Adventurer hugged the Healer. “As long as you don’t spill it with anything, it’s okay.”

The Healer blushed. “Thank you. I promise.”

The Adventurer walks out from his tent and looking at the stars. “It has been less than a month, but I can’t stand with this anonymity. My name’s Jack.”

The Healer sat down beside Jack, looking at the stars while resting her head on Jack’s shoulder. “My name’s Angela. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jack complimented Angela’s name. “What a beautiful name, Angela.”

Angela raised her pointing finger. “May I ask you about why you always look at the stars every night?”

“Well, I noticed that the Nine lost two stars, and that’s why I love to see the night’s sky.”

“Why did they lost two stars? We humans cannot think how much stars they’ve lost, right?”

Jack stopped for a bit, drinking his Argonian Ale. “Angela...” he continued. “The Nine envied of your eyes. So they gave that two stars for you to enjoy.”

“Aww, that’s very sweet of you, Jack.”

I swear Kynareth knows how to make us hooked up. Dibella and Mara seem envious of Her who united us beneath her plane.

Beneath the night’s sky...

Under the Auroras...

Wrapped by Masser and Secunda...

With the wind calming enough for us to enjoy…

For us to take care of each other.

Day 1: Alternate Universe.

[mercy76week-blog]

Hello, everyone!! I am participating in a Mercy76 event week being hosted by Xavirne, and we start off the first day off the week with an alternate universe. Here's our beloved couple in the Team F...

Eggheadcobra’s entry for Day 1 - from Deviantart

If you have a profile there, leave a like and add to favorites!!!

[imlostinatunnel]

Guardian Angel [Mercy76 AU]

Just for early clarification, Mercy belongs to a race of angels that specialize in the healing of the body. They reside in a Heaven-like place.

Jack Morrison is a soldier in the second world war. He is human.

Mercy watched the water ripple in the small fountain as she placed the trophy-sized statue of a man on top of the water. It did not sink, but instead it calmed the water until it was so still, it could be mistaken for a mirror. She waited for only a few seconds until images of the man flashed in the water. The man resembled the statue perfectly. Slowly they began to move together to form one complete image. It flashed once again, catching Mercy by surprise. She checked behind her, hoping nobody had woken up from the light. She was still alone. Thankful, she looked back to the water where she watched the man moving across a battlefield.

He was a soldier caught in humanity’s second great war. Mercy had been watching him, or rather spying on him, for some time thanks to her curiosity of humanity. Though all she could do was watch as her kind was forbidden from interfering with the progression of humanity. Many times she watched him take injury after injury, and every time she was thankful there were those who could aid him, though they could never heal him as completely as she would.

Tonight she watched him rush across a field, leading other soldiers into the fight. As always she worried for him whether this was his last battle, or he would continue the fight. His men took cover in a small crater and fired off their weapons as he carried another soldier in with him, one who had fallen a great deal ahead of the crater. It was a miracle to her that he was not hit, but once again he put the life of another above his own. For a split second her heart skipped. While aiding his comrade, Mercy thought he looked at her through the water when he looked up to the skies above him.

“Mercy?” came a voice behind her.

Mercy caught her breath and grabbed the statue off from the top of the water and held it close to her chest as the water’s glow died and began to ripple once again, erasing the image of him. “H- Hello mother,” she said.

Her mother walked across the room to her. Her night dress gliding along the floor behind her. She looked at an empty spot in the wall, a spot without a statue. “Oh, Mercy, we’ve talked about this, now haven’t we?” She walked up behind her and placed her hands on her shoulders. Mercy looked at the face of the statue she held as she let her mother slip it out of her hands. “He’s different, mother.”

“He’s a mortal, Mercy. Worse yet he’s a mortal who’s a soldier. A fighter and a killer. His purpose in his life goes against our very practices.”

“He is more than just a soldier, mother, he is a protector!” Mercy said. “Isn’t that what you used to be, a protector?”

Her mother stopped in front of the empty shelf reserved for the statue. “I did. For centuries I protected them protected them. But humanity wanted our gift to themselves. They wanted immortality.” She placed the statue on the shelf, filling the empty space. A light shone beneath it. “It’s their nature to be greedy and cause harm. This mortal is no different. He—“

“His name is Jack!” Mercy interrupted. “And he is different! I have watched him save the lives of innocent men and women he has never met before. He is not fighting for himself, he is fighting to protect those who do not deserve to be caught in the middle of their war.” She lightly hung her head. “He’s a hero.”

Her mother walked to her and helped her chin up. “You love him. Don’t you?”

Mercy’s eyes began to create rivers down her cheeks as she nodded.

Her mother cupped her face and wiped the tear trails away with her thumb. “My fair, and sweet Angel. You are immortal. Already you are a little past four centuries. He will barley live for one, at most even. He is just a blink in your life.” Her mother’s eyes began to bring tears as well. “I too know what it is like to love a mortal.”

Mercy looked up to her. “R- Really?”

Her mother took a deep breath, beginning to create rivers of tears of her own. “So to protect you, I must forbid you from watching him from the fountain,” she said turning around. Within seconds she walked out of the room, wiping the tears from her own face.

“No, mother. Please! You can’t!” Mercy cried after her, but she was gone when the door shut behind her. Mercy fell to her knees in front of Jack’s statue. Letting her tears fall to the stone floor. She stayed there knowing that she could never look at him again. She could never make sure he was safe.

She looked up at his statue once more, but something was wrong. The light beneath it was fading in and out. A sign that he had earned a fatal wound, and that death was soon inevitable. Mercy watched the light. Her mind raced, she needed to help him, but no angel was allowed to interfere. She listened to her heart.

Mercy donned her wings and held her mother’s staff, the staff that could heal any wound, and wore her mother’s armor that had not been used for almost a millennium. She looked back at her city, her home, one last time as the sun rose. “Goodbye mother,” she said, shedding her last tear for her. Mercy stepped off the platform and began her descent to Earth.

                                                          ***

All that Jack could smell was the smoke of the battlefield catching up to him, and all he could taste was the blood in his mouth.

He used the last of his ammunition to hold the enemy back while his men escaped in the retreat. He bought them enough time to get away, but he knew he couldn’t lead the enemy back to them. Instead he led them on a chase after him, giving him three holes in his right side. He wished he hadn’t lost them in the woods. It would not be such a slow death. Jack closed his eyes to hide from the sunrise, hoping the pain would go away.

The pain began to fade, but it no longer felt cold. His eyes revealed a figure. A figure with wings standing over him, looking at him with the brightest armor he had ever seen. The only thing brighter than the armor was the light from the staff and her face that looked on him. He felt the bullets fall out of him without pain, and the blood flow it’s way back to him. It almost tickled.

“What are you?” he asked.

Mercy smiled. “Your guardian angel,” she said. She offered him her hand and helped him stand up. He was taller than he appeared from the water.

“But, why me?” He noticed she had not let go of his hand. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and her touch was nothing like he had ever felt. It drove any fear he had away.

“Because you’re a hero, Jack Morrison.” She closed the distance between them. “And heroes never die.” she whispered to him.

[abahwrites]

Welcome to Leaking Tarps, Pt. 1A

The bleached photograph made Angela conscious of her age, of how much time had passed – and what an exciting life she’d had. In a box full of crumpled letters, unsorted, and messy alphabetical wonders; a photograph of her with her fiancée is nothing more than a piece of paper with a digital drawing on it. She sighed as she put it back to where it belongs. She lights up the campfire to create a warmer shelter for the night; she once was a doctor, Angela once saving people’s lives, now with only a campfire in a barrel, she could only fold her hands tight to avoid the frigid weather. It has been several days since the lights went out and people are panicking like crazy. They thought when the lights out, there’ll be a catastrophic event that led many people died in their brethren’s hands. Angela would rub her chin and wonder if people lost their minds about love. Or was it something else? The box quickly entered her bag as she reloads her pistol, looking for another pack of supplies for the night.

It was six a.m.. The sun shines brightly, gives hope, dream, and another kill. The box creates a loud, jiggling sound that everyone can hear from tens of meters away, to make sure her safety is guaranteed 100 percent, she puts the box under the bridge and starts to search for supplies in downtown. Angela got only three bullets for today’s killing floor; she can never rely on this cursed weapon all day, all night. It’s a strange moment in the northern hemisphere to have the sun shines that bright. She approached an abandoned house with all of its furnishings intact. A candle stood there with its wax, still dimly lighting the room; to begin her second week of the survival of the humanity, there’s a dead body.

Today’s going to be interesting. Angela thought to herself as she searches the body for a small amount of ammunition or a waterskin. She founds another photograph instead of what she’s looking for, she gave it a look for a second and narrowed her eyes, there’s a number 17 and a cross inside a circle on the picture that correlates with an empty, blue, plastic barrel. Knowing that this image is interesting enough for a doctor like her, Angela pocketed it and went outside. She walks carefully and cautiously, observing her surroundings and found nothing but carcases of humans, beasts, and animals alike.

What she didn’t know is she began the day two hours ago with a sharp pain in her head and her neck, and she didn’t have any idea where it came from. She is waking up under that bridge that night feeling unconscious. All that she remembers from the last session of her conscious stage is she is running from a mob of undead, got her head smacked into a bent street lamp pole and off she goes falling off beneath the bridge. What a rotten luck. She chuckled and remembered the whole thing about what happened last night, slowly.

Drifting through the unscribbled streets of an Unnamed Town, with all of its contents like dead bodies, several happy families that seem to plunder everything, a horde of undead, and a mob of corrupted man and woman. Unnamed Town has been a pleasant journey for all of its visitors, with the Ancient Waterfall as their main tourist attraction, not to mention several huge art galleries scattered in this little settlement. Aside from that, the Unnamed Town seems to host many, many hospitable community members and peoples, continuously helping those who in need, be it a neighbour or even a complete stranger that just wander around town last night. Unnamed Town has many undiscovered talents, hundreds of them in one Texas-sized city. Those who born in Unnamed Town is either rich enough to live like kings, quite average to taste the upper-middle class dishes, and unfortunate enough to appreciate the praise of art collectors and critiques.

Angela enters the gun shop for any ammunition left by its owners, kicking through dead bodies and rotten stench of the undead makes the search even more painful to bear in her mind. She founds a good, factory new, automatic shotgun. It’s the newest shipment, coming through town for maybe two or three days before the blackout. The owner didn’t want to sell this baby girl. Angela told herself and inspected the shotgun. It uses .12ga shells and if you talk about this bad boy of a bullet, in the Unnamed Town – everything as expensive as .12ga is rare. The 12 Gauge itself is the second most powerful shotgun shells available in Unnamed Town, due to the rarity of its kind, many people decided to ship it from nearby cities, notably the Fredericksburg, known as “The Gunsmiths.” These “Gunsmiths” don’t play nice with people outside the town of Fredericksburg and the Unnamed Town, so Angela thought that to get a pretty neat deal with the Gunsmiths is the best thing she can do to ensure her survival rate at this point.

It is very unusual for her to sleep at eight a.m. but finding the gun shop is safe enough for resting her body, head, and her sanity. She dreamt about laying on the grass with her fiancée, somewhere outside Unnamed Town, wind swaying their hairs as they danced on the grass field. They run across many mountain flowers and beautiful butterflies, and it sounds like heaven until she tried to chase that dream, forlorn. She keeps running and running through that thought and finally awaken by a poke.

Angela gasped. “Who... who are you?”

The man replied. “Nothing to worry, I just a survivor trying to book it out of here.”

“Thank God you weren’t undead.” Angela sighed in relieve. “So, who are you?”

“As I said, I am just a survivor. My name is not that necessary for you to know.”

“Alright. Where are you heading to?” Angela asked the man while giving him her spare waterskin.

The man took the waterskin and drinks a bit from it. “Well, the news about the Gunsmiths is accurate. They are defending themselves from a constant attack from anywhere, probably bandits. These bandits aren't your regular ones, and they are who can craft anything out of something. They called themselves the Forge. Its leader is undoubtedly the descendant of the famous blacksmithing family, Raeder Forge. Now, you can guess where they got their name, right?” The man took another sip and returned it to Angela. “Thanks for the drink.”

“I see, now, what would you like to inform me?” Angela asked. “Sure, glad I can help.”

The man reported. “Well, the Gunsmiths, led by a man named Norman Fire-Serpent wants everyone from Unnamed Town, preferably alive to aid them against the Forges. If you fancy gunfights, I’ll be at their front entrance to make sure you’re not with the Forge on your way to Fredericksburg.”

Angela nodded. “Thanks, I’ll be in touch with you. Good luck.”

The man stood up and make a run for it. “You too, whoever you are.”

As soon as the man walks out from the gun shop and book it out of there as quick as he could, Angela stays for a little more time to see if she can find another set of ammunition for the shotgun. She also didn’t forget to barricade the whole place to make it a little safer... for now. Angela finds herself in serenity when it comes to inscribe and to ruin walls with words of hopelessness or words of wisdom. She wrote Angela was here. That’s a funny one, and she continued it with poorly-drawn Unnamed Town’s skyscrapers and wrote underneath it.

God Put Mercy. Have a faith. With a bouquet of flowers underneath the sentence.

Angela found an old sniper rifle laying on the floor and use it as her primary weapon for picking off the undead from top of the gun shop, alas, she got only one bullet. She sighed and facepalmed and went back down, re-barricading everything for the night. Whatever Angela did for herself will likely to have greater consequences of getting killed, plundered, or even taken as a slave by the local bandits. Angela went back up to the rooftop, and she risked it anyway. She took a shot, and the bullet penetrates up to four undead behind the first one. One shot, five kills. Angela boasted while pulling the bolt backwards. Angela went down to the gun shop, trying to make a makeshift camp for the night with camouflage nets, ghillie suits, and set up a night vision binoculars to scout for anything useful. Although the lights went out since the dawn of the undead, she still has her phone on her hands and a few camcorders.

Angela cautiously put all the recording devices all around the gun shop. During the night, she couldn’t get sleep. The groans, the grunts, the gurgles of the undead made her uneasy. Later that evening, she cautiously awake from her slumber to see the wandering undead among a hundred lying dead in the streets and the rubbles of the Unnamed Town. It’s still 02:00 a.m. and the grunts of that undead is getting louder and louder. In between her sanity and questions that never answered, she feels pity about those who turned into such beast. Preying on the lesser ones, praying that this curse will end – or at least someone put out their misery. She uses the night vision binoculars to observe more and more undead that come into her sight, the situation is nothing more than depressive, and it was hell. A living hell. For either Angela and the Undead. For the greater good of the undead, she prayed and continue to sleep – hoping that with sleeping she could get rid the hellish look of what she saw earlier. Fredericksburg may only 10 miles far, but to get there – it requires a helluva luck and critical thinking. Well, since then, Angela didn’t know that the Unnamed Town, her residence is a part of a bigger city called Yanksborough. A Texas-sized city, well known as the Leaking Tarps to the survivors.

Welcome to the Leaking Tarps, Angela. I hope you survive another day. Angela said to herself after looking a wanderer-made map.

She gave a look to the map. She saw four cities, and it’s all connected to the Unnamed Town. She only knows Unnamed Town, her residence, and the Gunsmiths of Fredericksburg – the only known blacksmith city that sells many weapons and knives alike. The other three were Macbury, Orefield, and Brimchester. The three known as Patient Zero for Macbury, the Medieval for Orefield, and No Man’s Land for Brimchester. There’s also a side note on the map.

“Never go to the No Man’s Land where you coming from Patient Zero, and don’t dare to travel to the Medieval when you’re from Gunsmiths. The Unnamed Town (Leaking Tarps) is the safest place of all.”

Pre-written second submission for day 1: Alternate Universe

[abahwrites]

Welcome to Leaking Tarps, Pt. 1B

The rumours of the fight at the Gunsmiths was true, Gunsmith was not that far from the gun shop. Her keen hearing and sharp eyes for details made her find the Gunsmith’s area easily, the Survivor that she met the other night is waiting for her at the front gate. Angela has two options, whether joined the fight or sneak through the back door, stealing every bit of ammunition and book it out to the Medieval, a short-lived mining city, covered in food and supplies. Facing hard decisions, she eventually chooses to steal supplies from Gunsmith and book it out to the Medieval. At least I didn’t need to grief any losses before this ends, right? She said to herself while running through the forest, avoiding unwanted attention. The thick forest provides to be quite an advantage, along her way seeking the back door, no one sees her – as she thought everything would be fine, she met one of the soldiers from the Forge. Well, shit. I hope they didn’t kill me. Angela cursed.

“Hey, you! Come over here,” The Soldier commanded. “We are the great forces of the Forge requires your assistance.”

“What is it?”

The soldier said. “We are planning to ambush them from here, but it seems the Chief of Command doesn’t want us to continue this program. We will give you this old assault rifle, complete with night vision scope, a fore grip, 400 additional ammunition, and an extra grenade for you to use wherever you may found your way,” he continued. “Do you know where their back door is? We couldn’t let our comrades die that fought from the front.”

Angela nodded. “I was looking for the same destination as yours, but it’s better to find it together,” she continued. “I can help, let’s go.”

The soldier gave her a thumbs up. “Perfect! Just perfect!” he turned on his field radio. “Bring the tanks, boys! Let’s tear Gunsmith for good.”

The Forge kept their promises, despite being harsh to females and treated them as slaves. They gave Angela what they offered at first, and with a smile on her face, as the Forge attacked the Gunsmith from either side of their settlement, Angela found a way to their ammunition and arsenal depots, stealing one .338 Sniper Rifle, two 9mm pistols, and loads of ammunitions. As soon as the Gunsmith fell into Forge’s hands, the surviving members of the Gunsmith are either escaped to Patient Zero or taken as a prisoner by the Forge. The Survivor’s fate is unknown.

Was I right about turned my back on that survivor?

One Forge soldier came up. “Thank you for your assistance. Here is your reward as promised and may you find a safe haven for yourself,” he continued. “Here, the Forges Seal. Use this whenever you found yourself in Forge’s territory, they know that you are a friend of the Forge and they maybe give you a little discount on weapons and ammunitions.”

Dragging her body to the hard streets of Gunsmith makes her skin itch. There is a certain feeling that she couldn’t handle, a sense that stuck in her mind for too long, way too long. Even for her age, that feeling is not going to left her body soon enough. It’s been more than a month since she awakens with back pain and a severe headache. With four weapons at her disposal, it’s time to sell one of them for a good amount of food. One she did not expect to be a serious problem, starvation.

She looked everywhere, to the world where she used to live. All she can see now is death, destruction, and doom. Fiery buildings scattered the skies with smokes and fires, the stench of the dead, and empty cartridges make it even worse. With a shotgun in her hands and pistol on her hips, it seems surreal to walk on a street where she once finds her true love. She found an abandoned building, safe enough for her to sleep for a night, she spreads the bedroll and builds a little campfire. The weather of Gunsmith is not that bad, even at nighttime. She hugged her knee and think.

Was I right to turn my back on him? Was I emotionless enough that I don’t care about anyone but myself?

And acid rain pours down from the sky, washing over the ground below, cleaning the infected blood and guts of the dead, washing over the walking dead. Angela still hugging her knee on a chair, sitting down and looking at the streets below her carefully. Angela drank a tea made from rain water, boiled for a bit. It was not her most pleasant drink, but it calms her when she thinks about how many people she could save if she joined the medic team from Patient Zero.

Was I right to kill an innocent man, trying to live off the land, and ends up killed or captured by the Forge?

Am I evil?

A continuation to “Welcome to Leaking Tarps, Pt. 1A” (Shit’s too long, so I split in two). Submission for day 1: Alternate Universe.

[mercy76week-blog]

Day 2 of the Mercy76 week, hosted by Xavirne! This day focuses around Angela and Jack before the fall of Overwatch. For this one I decided to give it a bit of a perspective between the two characte...

Eggheadcobra’s entry for Day 2 - from Deviantart 

If you have a profile there, leave a like and add to favorites!!!