Categories > Original > Sci-Fi > Deadlands - A documentation of post-apocalyptic England
Entry 3: The monsters of Bristol
As I approached Bristol I saw a long line of fences and guard outposts spanning the perimeter of the city, it seemed like half of the southern Metro force was here, all under the Bristol Metro banner. However, their duty wasn’t to protect Bristol, it was the protect everyone from Bristol. After asking around, no one knows quite what they are trying to keep from escaping, only that those who ventured into the dark, crumbling, foggy city, either came back out screaming or never came back at all. The survivors of Bristol escapades often suffer from a severe case of PTSD which eventually results in insanity. I placed my gas mask over my head and started to head towards the heavily fortified entrance of Bristol only to be stopped by another Royals soldier. I had no idea that the Royals were operating so far out from Capital City. So, whatever was in Bristol must’ve been considered a threat to humanity.
I was escorted to Metro City, a place for the guards and their families to stay when off duty. There was a Royals outpost there where I was told to enter and go to the barracks for some better survival gear. In the barracks, I found some old SAS gear. This was normally only used by high ranking officers when in the midst of battle. It was only then where I received news of a promotion meaning I went up from Lieutenant to General. I had been placed in charge of recon and intelligence. New rank meant a new set of gear and so I happily equipped the SAS uniform and Silenced Beretta and headed to the gates of Bristol. After passing through the gates I felt a great sense of dread and isolation. So far, the only monsters I had faced were deranged humans, and yet according to stories told by guards of the Bristol perimeter, mutates and freaks wander the streets of Bristol.
As I ventured into Bristol, the fog became thicker and thicker until I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, even with my flashlight on. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night, everything was dark. I stuck to the walls, they were some form of reassurance to me, something that was there no matter what. As I continued my travels, the fog began to clear, and what I saw nearly made me throw up. I was standing in some kind of park, and all across the floor, corpses. Rotting corpses that looked to be torn apart, they were missing body parts and organs, lungs had been ripped out or arms torn off. What could’ve done this I don’t know, even the Mad Hatters weren’t so twisted. Then, I heard the scream. It was no human scream though, it was mangled and distorted beyond belief. From the pile of corpses, a figure rose, it looked to be stitched together from other human body parts, an eye dangled out of socket and ribs stuck out from an open wound in the stomach. It saw me, as it ran towards me, shrieking and screaming I unloaded my pistol into the creature’s body. It had no effect, a bullet to the chest didn’t slow it down, and bullet to the head didn’t stop it in its tracks. The creature kept on running, I couldn’t kill it, so I ran. Through the mountains of corpses, I ran, pursued by a freak of nature.
As I ran I came across a bunker, the bunker had the NATO logo plastered across its doors. I burst through and barricaded the doors as best I could. I turned around to find an elevator, still operational. I entered and pressed the only button on the panel. It was a slow ride down. I slumped to the floor of the elevator as I tried to process what I just saw. Some kind of Frankenstein? It’s scream, it’s freakishly fast movements, the blood around it’s maw. It wasn’t natural. The elevator doors opened and I was face to face with a man in a NATO uniform pointing a rifle in my face. I raised my hands and dropped my gun. He escorted me from the elevator and into a holding cell of sorts. I remained there for about 10 minutes when a man in a white coat came to the door. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite figure it out.
I was now at the mercy of what seemed to be the remnants of NATO. I was taken to the man’s office, he questioned why I was there and I recounted my tale of the monster that chased me through the streets as well as my orders from the Royals to document all of my findings in the country. The man warmly smiled and shook my hand. He introduced himself as Mason Stread. He told one of his guard, the same man who pointed his gun in my face, to take me to the mess hall and give me a warm meal to eat and some time to recover.
As I approached Bristol I saw a long line of fences and guard outposts spanning the perimeter of the city, it seemed like half of the southern Metro force was here, all under the Bristol Metro banner. However, their duty wasn’t to protect Bristol, it was the protect everyone from Bristol. After asking around, no one knows quite what they are trying to keep from escaping, only that those who ventured into the dark, crumbling, foggy city, either came back out screaming or never came back at all. The survivors of Bristol escapades often suffer from a severe case of PTSD which eventually results in insanity. I placed my gas mask over my head and started to head towards the heavily fortified entrance of Bristol only to be stopped by another Royals soldier. I had no idea that the Royals were operating so far out from Capital City. So, whatever was in Bristol must’ve been considered a threat to humanity.
I was escorted to Metro City, a place for the guards and their families to stay when off duty. There was a Royals outpost there where I was told to enter and go to the barracks for some better survival gear. In the barracks, I found some old SAS gear. This was normally only used by high ranking officers when in the midst of battle. It was only then where I received news of a promotion meaning I went up from Lieutenant to General. I had been placed in charge of recon and intelligence. New rank meant a new set of gear and so I happily equipped the SAS uniform and Silenced Beretta and headed to the gates of Bristol. After passing through the gates I felt a great sense of dread and isolation. So far, the only monsters I had faced were deranged humans, and yet according to stories told by guards of the Bristol perimeter, mutates and freaks wander the streets of Bristol.
As I ventured into Bristol, the fog became thicker and thicker until I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, even with my flashlight on. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night, everything was dark. I stuck to the walls, they were some form of reassurance to me, something that was there no matter what. As I continued my travels, the fog began to clear, and what I saw nearly made me throw up. I was standing in some kind of park, and all across the floor, corpses. Rotting corpses that looked to be torn apart, they were missing body parts and organs, lungs had been ripped out or arms torn off. What could’ve done this I don’t know, even the Mad Hatters weren’t so twisted. Then, I heard the scream. It was no human scream though, it was mangled and distorted beyond belief. From the pile of corpses, a figure rose, it looked to be stitched together from other human body parts, an eye dangled out of socket and ribs stuck out from an open wound in the stomach. It saw me, as it ran towards me, shrieking and screaming I unloaded my pistol into the creature’s body. It had no effect, a bullet to the chest didn’t slow it down, and bullet to the head didn’t stop it in its tracks. The creature kept on running, I couldn’t kill it, so I ran. Through the mountains of corpses, I ran, pursued by a freak of nature.
As I ran I came across a bunker, the bunker had the NATO logo plastered across its doors. I burst through and barricaded the doors as best I could. I turned around to find an elevator, still operational. I entered and pressed the only button on the panel. It was a slow ride down. I slumped to the floor of the elevator as I tried to process what I just saw. Some kind of Frankenstein? It’s scream, it’s freakishly fast movements, the blood around it’s maw. It wasn’t natural. The elevator doors opened and I was face to face with a man in a NATO uniform pointing a rifle in my face. I raised my hands and dropped my gun. He escorted me from the elevator and into a holding cell of sorts. I remained there for about 10 minutes when a man in a white coat came to the door. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite figure it out.
I was now at the mercy of what seemed to be the remnants of NATO. I was taken to the man’s office, he questioned why I was there and I recounted my tale of the monster that chased me through the streets as well as my orders from the Royals to document all of my findings in the country. The man warmly smiled and shook my hand. He introduced himself as Mason Stread. He told one of his guard, the same man who pointed his gun in my face, to take me to the mess hall and give me a warm meal to eat and some time to recover.
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