If you've been reading my blog long enough, you know that I occasionally will do some creative writing here about once a month. I have an ongoing story about a post-apocalyptic world with gangs built around board games (thematically appropriate for this website, eh?) and I've put out two previous entries (Part 1 and Part 2 for those that want to read them) with an ongoing story. For those that don't want to read both entries, here's a quick summary of what happened so far:
Previously on "Wasteland Warriors":
Part 1: Our hero was knocked out by a blast of energy that made him sleep for decades. Upon awakening, he found himself in a world that had been ravaged by desolation and chaos. He had developed increased stamina and vitality which allowed him to wander the wastelands of what was once his home country in search of his family that resulted in naught but regret.
As he made his way west, our hero found himself meeting gangs that had been built around various board games, including the Ark Novans (Ark Nova), Rangers (PARKS), and the Martians (Terraforming Mars). He had managed to avoid conflict, but was captured by the Brotherhood of Scythe (Scythe) which consisted of many of the other gang members meeting in secret to play the game. Our hero managed to escape his bonds, but found himself swearing that he would create his own piece of paradise in this apocalyptic wasteland.
Part 2: Having stumbled across a city that had been abandoned many years prior, our hero found a garage that housed old husks of vehicles and sunk into a trance where he created monsters of destruction. Rather than using his mechanical monsters for evil, our hero chose instead to create ever-increasingly dangerous tracks in the city, utilizing the dilapidated buildings as both scrap and obstacles for his racing tendencies.
As the weeks passed, our hero saw his posse grow and several members were added to the group, all who were gearheads like him, as they sought to challenge one another on the track and increase the danger and excitement of the tracks that had been created. Grease was the first to come, and despite a rocky initial encounter, she and "Boss" as our hero became to be known as, and this mountain of a woman chose to join our hero in his wild pursuit of chaos and glory. "Crank," "Artiste," and "Wheeler" soon joined the group and became part of the regular crew. Crank being a large man with an outgoing sense of humor, Artiste was tall and willowy and acted as the groups mothering figure, and Wheeler was the final member to join, being attractive yet distant, as if haunted by something in her past, but on the road, she was an unstoppable juggernaut.
A brief interlude occurred between the arrival of Grease and Wheeler when several men attempted to steal the vehicles from Boss and Grease. A scuffle occurred and this saw the death of one of the men. The remaining two men escaped and swore vengeance on those that they thought had wronged them, but since then, there had not been any sign of danger. All had been (relatively) calm and Boss found himself happy again, for the first time in a long time.
Racing In Another Direction
I'd like to say that our lives continued onward in perpetual motion, driving ever towards the inevitable crash at the end of our days, filled with bumps and smashes as our respective lives interacted with one another, each of us racing to the end of our respective track every day, enjoying the thrill of chaos and fun. I was happy with this family that I had created, for that was what it was to me now, and I now affectionately referred to us collectively as The Thunder Crew, after my favorite game before The Fall, Thunder Road: Vendetta. I'd like to say that this ever-changing race course of chaos and fun went on forever until we inevitably ended our races, happy and old, talking about the fun we had on the track in younger days.
But some races are shorter than others.
Despite regular maintenance to our engines, which Artiste made sure that we took care of, both in our cars and our bodies, and constant adjustment of our tracks that we drove on (both physically and mentally), the madness that sat at the back of my brain eventually took over. It happened fast and my biggest regret was that it had to happen after we lost Artiste. Had the madness taken over before, I think that she might still be around.
But those are the thoughts of someone in last place, and I'm nothing if not a winner.
There's a new race ahead of me and I have my course plotted now. It wasn't one that I made, but rather one that was chosen for me. I don't like having someone else make the chosen course without my input. I'm fine with letting someone else be an architect as I'm good at driving, even on the worst of terrain.
Me and my Angel, we're a team, and monsters at that. The monster has come out of me more than my Angel. She was always a monster. A being of beauty, chrome and power. Me, I thought that I wasn't a monster and was willing to see the rational side of things. But that all changed the day that Artiste's race ended. That was when the monster was released and the madness took over.
I'm writing this down because this is one of the few times that I'm lucid enough to remember what happened. Nowadays there's only rage and fire and skin and passion and destruction and CARNAGE AND FURY AND MONSTERS AND....
...
...
I need to stop thinking about it, to relax and let the rage die off.
But I can't let it go.
Artiste is gone.
This is the story of how her race ended early:
Vampiric Onlookers
I thought that I had seen most of the different gangs as I had made my way through the territory east of my Destruction, for that is what I now called the city that I had claimed as my racetrack. I had run into some odd signage, including a set of crossed knitting needles and some buttons, which I came to learn was the territory of the Patchwork Parade, and odd mix of individuals who sought to bring about the glory of Patchwork and Calico. They fought with oversized knitting needles and shot razor-sharp buttons via their slingshots at enemies and I did my best to avoid them, although I do have a scar across my left shoulder from a button that got a bit too close to me for my liking.
There were also the Ringbearers who had taken it upon themselves to represent Tolkien's works in this new world, including Journeys in Middle Earth and War of the Ring. I had thought their funny costumes were just for show, until I had nearly been decapitated by a replica sword that had been sharpened to a fine point and several arrows found themselves embedded by my feet as soon as I intruded too far into their territory. They had somehow managed to terraform the desert wasteland into a thriving redwood forest that was tucked away in between two large mountains that had not previously been a part of the landscape. To this day, I think that there was some kind of magic used, but I'm uncertain as they were largely unwilling to accept visitors.
I had come across several more groups in my travels, most notably those who touted Star Wars: Rebellion and Star Wars: Imperial Assault as their games of choice. I found that they had actually created two separate gangs and then had gone to war with one another, each choosing one side of the fictional galactic conflict. Somehow they had managed to create working laser guns like the movies past and although they were dangerous, they kept their struggles to one another and didn't bother other gangs.
A few more stragglers became known to me as I built up my Kingdom of Destruction, using metal and fire to mark my territory. All races were open to observe, but those that came, I exacted a price from. Since food was scarce, we charged a small fee of a food item or canteen of water to enter and see the destruction that we ravaged. Grease was in charge of collecting the fee and she did it with brutal effectiveness, her size and demeanor offering no ability for others to turn down the generous offer of entertainment for food.
With these fees, we were able to survive quite well and even began offering some to those that came to us with nothing. Beggars that we called "Heaters" as they often brought scraps of metal and useful materials for us to use to repair our vehicles or craft deadly traps from. I had remembered a game called Heat: Pedal to the Metal from my distant past, and while they weren't driving, they did help us maintain the cars, so it felt appropriate. It became known that some food could be exchanged for a decent amount of scrap and although the Heaters weren't a large group as getting the scrap was dangerous, we did have a loyal following that eagerly sought to get in our good graces.
However, we soon became aware of another side of the wealth coin and despite the Fall destroying all manner of civilized society, there still managed to be those that clawed their way to the top on the backs of others. They called themselves The Gentry and fashioned themselves a the "true leaders" of the wasteland as they had chosen the game Obsession as their inspiration. These Gentry saw themselves as above everyone else in the wasteland, seemingly incorporating elements of their favorite game into their lifestyle.
The first few times that the Gentry showed up, they almost got into several fights with Grease, which amused me to no end. Their old, weather beaten top hats and dust-covered dresses were extremely out of place in this wasteland of leathers and metal, and when one of them (several times I might add) threatened Grease with the end of a cane after she demanded the entry fee, she snatched it out of the idiot's hand and snapped it over her knee, throwing the broken pieces back at the man. He attempted to come back later with a second cane and threatened Grease with a duel, but she just broke the cane again and threatened bodily harm in a deep growl. That seemed to give the man pause and he chose (wisely) to not engage in any more "shenanigans" as they called it.
But they were far worse than just some bad behavior upon entering the viewing areas that we had made for the crowds. They demanded an entirely separate area from the "peons" that came to watch our daily races in droves and raised such a stink that we ended up caving to their unreasonable idiocy and cleared out an old gothic club for them to watch from. We jokingly called them "The Vampry" due to their awful behavior and viewing stand, which seemed to spread like wildfire among the regular crowd and pissed off the Gentry to no end.
Breaking the Spirit
What fills me with the most rage is that I should have just kicked out the Vampry at the beginning when they first arrived. I saw them for what they were: awful people who used their own justification to treat others around them like lesser beings, but they brought in more and more bodies to fill in our stands and we saw our fees increase by the day. Not only did we have enough to survive on for the next several months, but we had also started creating our own society internally.
The family started to grow a bit more and several of the Heaters turned out to be fairly good at gardening. The Vampry brought some fresh fruit and vegetables which we were unsure of where they had come from (and upon reflection, should have asked), but when Styxx, one of the Heaters, offered to create a garden and grow some food for us from what the Vampry brought us, we saw opportunity. In our arrogance, we thought that we could get more fruit and vegetables from the Vampry without any consequences and then begin to add in others to our family that might be good at things aside from racing and crashing vehicles.
Artiste even stepped away from racing for some time, much to my dismay, to help Styxx with the garden. I knew that she had a heart to help those around her and despite her no longer being a regular in our daily destruction races, I could tell that she was really wanting to make a difference in the Heaters and those that sought to join us. The Heaters willingly chose to go out after races and pick up the scrap that had been lost from the cars from the various traps and crashes. It was a dangerous job since many of the traps were still active and had yet to go off, presenting an ever-present life-threatening danger to the Heaters. Yet they chose to do it day in and out, even when many of them suffered debilitating injuries, because they loved the races and saw that we put ourselves in the same amount of danger that they did, only at higher speeds, ever day.
Artiste's motherly instincts came out even more when she began working with the Heaters and we found that not only had she been an artist in the time before the Fall, but she had also had some training as a nurse, which allowed her to more effectively help the Heaters who had been injured when getting scrap, and also clean up me and the other racers after we had been banged up at the end of the day. Artiste was always humble about her abilities, even though they saved multiple Heaters from death on numerous occasions due to her knowledge of how the human body worked. The Fall may have resulted in hardier and more vital humans, but a deep gash in the leg that cut into an artery was still as dangerous as it had been before and Artiste seemed to have some kind of sixth sense when it came to injuries like that, being able to patch up the kids quickly and efficiently.
I should have seen that the Vampry were getting more and more agitated with the Heater's talk of fresh fruit and vegetables to go with the canned meat and fire roasted bread that we provided them with. They hated that we took in young stragglers that didn't have a place to go and offered them both food and shelter, considering them the "dregs" of society. They hated even more that we were being inventive with the food they had given us and were going to potentially give away fresh food, which they deemed the "true food of the Gentry," but because they had paid it as part of their entry fee, they couldn't say anything. They hated us, but they needed us for our entertainment that we provided, and most of all, they hated Artiste as she represented everything they stood against: charity, kindness and true goodness. They wanted to "break the spirit" of the Heaters, but they didn't have a direct way to do so, and so they waited and plotted in their dark corners.
I should have seen all of this, but my mind was on the track and I was increasingly obsessed with creating the "Master Track" for me and my Angel to drive through. I spent hours pouring over the race layout every night, tweaking and changing it to suit my desires. I spent even more time scouting out the various buildings that we had retrofitted for racing with Wheeler joining me as I found out she had a knack for finding hidden throughputs that I had missed on my searches.
Artiste even approached me one night, worried about how much time I spent working on the course and had advised me, in her motherly tone, to rest and relax. I spent most of the day driving, cleaning the course, and planning the "master course" that the madness was starting to get through some of the cracks. Artiste saw the madness seeping out and advised that I take some time to relax in order to let my mind heal, but I couldn't (or didn't want to) let it go. She checked on me nightly to make sure that I was doing well and some part of me could see her worry, but the obsession had taken over me.
The Monster Awakens
The night that Artiste didn't show up to check on me and Wheeler was when I knew something was wrong. I had sunk deep into my flow state, but when Artiste didn't show up at the usual time to make sure that I was doing well, I was jerked out of it suddenly. I had a bad feeling, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Something was wrong as Artiste always came every night to just chat with me (well it was more like "at" me), but I appreciated her making sure that I was ok.
For Artiste not to show up, even a few minutes late, was extremely unlike her and the pit in my stomach grew with each passing minute that she didn't show. The monster was beginning to break free of it's cage and Wheeler could see that I was getting more and more frustrated with the work. She tried to calm me down as we had developed something of a relationship in the last several months and I had begun to trust her judgement, but even her calm words and demeanor couldn't do anything to prevent the monster in my head from escaping.
I felt myself lose all thought aside from finding Artiste since I knew something was wrong. Wheeler had seen this before when I was racing. Sometimes I would let the monster out and she would skillfully direct me and the Angel from hazards when I became focused on pure destruction. She was ice cool in situations like that and it helped balance out the pure fire and rage that would come out when I raced. The monster was angry and directionless, but Wheeler was able to redirect and help point the monster in the right direction. I never hurt anyone, thanks to Wheeler's interventions, but there were several times where I got close.
This was one of those times. When the monster surged to the forefront of my brain, all hell broke loose. Wheeler knew that I would be unstoppable until I found Artiste and she skillfully directed me in my rage towards where Artiste normally wound down at night after the races: the gardens. Artiste loved to end her nights in the garden and she usually tended them after a race had concluded and the cleanup by the Heaters had been finished. She usually included some of the produce she had harvested in her visits to me and I could tell that she loved the garden that she had built.
I found out as I had talked with Artiste in the past that she had been part of the Plant Coalition, a group that originally was all about games like Photosynthesis and Arboretum and had been peaceful originally, wanting to spread the greenery again since the Fall had killed much of it. However, the group had turned war-like and began to go on rampages against the "Anti-Greeners" and that was when she had left. Artiste had wandered until she found our family and found that she appreciated the chaos of the road and the warmth of our company and had been with us ever since. The garden had been her way of getting back to her roots and growing things again.
Storming up the stairs to our rooftop garden, I found a scene that horrified me. The gardens that Artiste had so lovingly taken care of were ruined and wrecked, soil and plants strewn about everywhere. The small saplings that had been starting to grow had been yanked from their beds and were laying limp on the cold concrete of the roof, dirt scattered around them like a pool of blood. If the monster had been angry before, he was furious now and I began seeing red.
Until I realized that it wasn't my vision that was turning red from anger; it was turning red from the blood that pooled around Artiste's broken body that lay amongst the debris and dirt. There were multiple cuts and stabs on Artiste and I could tell that whomever had done the deed was angry as there were too many cuts to count. A pool of blood was slowly seeping out of Artiste's body and as I stared in horror and rage at the scene, I knew that she was already dead. Her chest was no longer moving and her skin had a pale, pallid look to it. Gone was the woman who had cared so deeply about those around her and had so much life on the track.
Her race had been cut short and I would cut others' races short now.
As the red of her blood seeped into my vision, turning it redder and redder too, I caught a glimpse of something fluttering in the wind. It was a handkerchief, made with laced edges and similar to the ones that were carried by the Gentry. On it, smeared in the blood of what I could only assume was Artiste's, were the words:
"You deserve this.
You will break.
-The True Masters of the Wasteland"
That night, everyone in the Kingdom of Destruction knew of my rage. I let out a primal roar that cut through the night like butter in my fury. The Gentry had taken it upon themselves to destroy not only my small kingdom, but also took one of my friends, my family.
Retribution would come.
The monster had fully awoken and he was in charge now.
There would no longer just be races for the entertainment of the masses to promote goodwill and passion.
There will be fire and chaos.
And there will be death.
Final Thoughts: Huge shoutout to Gerry H for the idea not only about this story, but also for The Gentry. His idea of having a group that is obsessed with Obsession was too perfect not to include and I want to say a huge "Thank you" for the idea.
I've loved writing this story and I'm surprised with where the characters have taken me. One interesting thing about writing is that sometimes characters move in different ways than you expect and you find yourself completely off the rails of what you expected. It's exciting and sometimes terrifying, so thank you for going on this journey with me.
I would love to have had a happy ending to this story, but the more I wrote, the more that I realized that there had to be some conflict. It initially started as an idea about an apocalyptic wasteland with board game gangs, but has spiraled into something more. It's always interesting to me that most stories have the hero as some paragon of goodness or someone of grey moral character and I thought it would be fun to have a character who is the protagonist that is truly a monster. It initially was formed as an idea of a revenge story, but we'll see how the Boss develops. He might become a raging monster himself that requires someone else to come in and take him down, but that is yet to be seen.
As always, I appreciate you taking your time to read through my creative writing and hope that you have enjoyed it. I'm trying to incorporate some more gangs and ideas for what they might represent in here, but I would love to have your input on it too. If there's a game that you'd like to see in this story or if you have an idea for a gang that would fit well, feel free to leave a comment below.
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