WHAT A BEAUTIFUL HELL



Bullets paraded around the dirt mound he was hunched behind. A few of the bullets whispered
death threats in his ears as they passed his head. He was in dire straits.
"How could just a couple muties stop me in my tracks like this? Usually, they never even know who killed them on
a good day." He mumbled to himself in disappointment while hugging the charred earth.
Maybe it was the hunger, or the lingering exhaustion that loomed over him, anchoring him down. Nonetheless, he
wouldn't die lying down like a sick dog. Out of all the scant items he had, his pride was the most valuable. It was
time to put it to good use.
One of the uglies was limping from the four R-91 rounds he planted into it's left thigh. The other seemed to just
brush off the two he left in it's chest.
"Do these bastards even bleed out, or what?"
He pulled his clip from the rotting rifle to check the amount left in the clip ... Eighteen left, and two clips to go. "Better
make 'em count", he instructed himself.
He cautiously spied over the mound, peering down the sights of his readied weapon. Fifteen meters, a grimacing face...
Time seemed to slow down after the exhale and trigger squeeze. Anticipation set in like venom from a snake bite.
He could hardly contain himself as he witnessed half of the hulking menace's cranium flipping through the air amongst bloody
confetti. A grin inched it's way across his parched lips to the sight of his success. "One down."
His attention was abruptly dragged back the the other crippled giant as a bullet tore into his left shoulder.
He had no time to sit and pout over the pain, he had to finish this or risk bleeding to death.
Slowly, he arose, let off two shots and dropped to the dirt agian. More fireworks whizzed past. "Missed. Dammit!"
He reapeated the same method twice, with the latter attempt sealing the deal. One bullet ripped into the throat while the other
housed itself in the mute's chest.
"Dumb luck, but I'll take it." he said to himself as he got to his feet.
Upon raiding the bodies of the two fallen mutants, he scored two somewhat worn hunting rifles, some ammo, and a frag grenade.
"This oughta' be good for a few caps in Megaton. Nice."
Megaton was just a slight walk away, but now was a better time than ever to get walking. It was gonna be dark soon
and a bullet in the shoulder wasn't something to be scauaging the Wastes with. Besides, it'd be good to get some food and
shut-eye without having to worry about what has you on the menu.
So he packed up his gear and headed west to Megaton.


TO BE CONTINUED

Alright not bad.

First off I would space out this whole thing, people don't liek big blocks of text.



Could Become:

Bullets paraded around the dirt mound he was hunched behind. A few of the bullets whispereddeath threats in his ears as they passed his head. He was in dire straits.

"How could just a couple muties stop me in my tracks like this? Usually, they never even know who killed them on
a good day."

He mumbled to himself in disappointment while hugging the charred earth.Maybe it was the hunger, or the lingering exhaustion that loomed over him, anchoring him down. Nonetheless, hewouldn't die lying down like a sick dog. Out of all the scant items he had, his pride was the most valuable. It wastime to put it to good use.

I tried making the sentences into more of small paragraphs. Also, notice how a put a single line space in between the dialogue and the rest of the context. You should do that with all of your dialogue.

I also noticed that you had some words that had been rammed together like you were in a rush. A re read could easily fix those.

That's all the advice I have right now. Take it or leave it, but don't give up.

Not bad at all. Some of your descriptive word choices are somewhat puzzling to me, such as;

Bullets paraded

rotting rifle


I don't think there's anything wrong with them technically, but they are just odd choices. The word 'parade' evokes slowness. Bullets usually aren't slow so maybe use "rushed' or something else to convey speed.

Instead 'rotting' maybe use "corroded'.

You used meters to convey distance, so I'm assuming you are not American. Maybe English isn't your first language so that could explain the word choices.If that is the case, it's an impressive bit of writing, in spite of some of the mistakes. I hope to read more.

"Better make 'em count", he instructed himself.

That is more thought than speech. If it is thought, take out those " things (my mind is like jello right now). If it ain't, but a comma before those ' things.

Quotation marks! That's it.

Usually, they never even know who killed them on
a good day.

Can you see how this could be somewhat contradictory? Also make it longer next time, this was reading a graqe for goodness sakes. Good writing style though.

Like one of the other posters stated: there's something really awkward about this line. I'd rework it without usually.
Nevermind, I just read it again.... It really doesn't work. Even rewriting the line, you can't ever know who killed you. Consider removing it completely.




Pride is not an item. Consider using possesions, since you can possess pride.

Thanks for the advice. It did seem a little cramped.

I'm still trying to decide which word processor I feel more comfortable with.

You do raise a pretty good point, but I decided to go with "paraded" to emphasize the frequency and not the pace. Most likely an err on my part.

I agree that I could've chosen a more vivid word than "rotting" though.

Thanks for the input.

A BEAUTIFUL HELL
Church Day
Ah, Megaton. A heaping mass of twisted and corroded steel was never more a sight for sore eyes than it is now.
Deputy Weld is still on his endless security shift, shooting ants, molerats, and the occasional unlucky Talon Company mercenary that happens to come within sight. He still seems to be in his prime, as the circling vultures would confirm.

The shanty town seemed to remain as it was the last time he came, two and a half months ago. He still got sized up by the passing populace, and Simms still threw eye daggers.

Yep, this is Megaton. Good ol’ Megaton.

He made his way through the eyeing settlers to Doc Church’s door. A sigh left his lips.

I don’t know what’s worse. The throbbing in my shoulder, or Church’s guff.

The rusted door screeched as he made his way in the see the good Doc. Reluctantly he made his way to the examination room to meet his fate.

“Oh great. What stupidity did you go and get mixed up in this time, Colby?” Doc nagged.

“My shoulder, a bullet, and my head still attached.” he replied with a touch of snarkiness.

Doc let out a sigh and gestured him towards the exam table. “Sit down and don’t sob like a little girl, you crybaby. I’ll fix it if you’ve got the caps.”

“Absolutely. I even made sure to pack extra to leave as a tip for your charming bedside manner. You sure know how to woo a fella.” Colby responded with more sass.

Doc groaned and swiftly gathered his instruments to prepare for the extraction.

He was crabby but good at his craft. His cockiness didn’t show, but it was heard spilling off of his tongue in every scathing criticism towards every ailing person who stumbled through his door. These poor shmucks had no choice but to take his torment while he eased their suffering. A sadistic trade.

Before he even noticed he was done, the Doc was wrapping his shoulder in gauze and shaking his head.

“I saved the bullet for ya so you can save yourself the trouble, and put it back in when you’re bored.” the bloody handed Doc sneered. “All done and ready for more.”

“Nah, you keep it. You can put it in my head for me incase I end up back here. I’d appreciate the favor.” Colby retorted with a reluctant thanks.

The newly repaired Colby grubbed fifty caps out of his worn chest satchel and laid them on the table as he got to his feet, rolling his sleeve back down to cover his wrapped wound.

Doc stayed at the table suspiciously counting the caps.

“Stay classy, Church.” Colby blared as he made his way out into the searing sun outside.

“You just make su…..” Doc said back as he was cut off by the closing door.

TO BE CONTINUED

This had the feel of a Gunsmoke episode, using full frontier quippyiness between archetypes we would all recognize; the mysterious stranger in a rustic town, and the grouchy doctor who tends to him. This is a fun, quick read. Good job. :read:

Like, Spitt said this, this is short and sweet. I have one problem, minor one really. But if I ever was in the position of the Doc, I would charge first and then do the operation. In a world of thieving bandits and murderous villains, I don't think I could just trust someone to pay me the caps instead of bolting for the door.

That all really, maybe I'm wrong. Either way, don't stop/

This line is worded perfectly. I don't know what it is that makes this one line stand out to me as much as it does, but I think it is awesome - along with the rest of your story. Keep writing!

-Pip

Thanks for the compliment. I'm still a bit rusty, but trying.

To me, the Fallout Universe (at least Fallout 3, I've yet to have play the others. ) has a Western-esque feel to it. It just felt natural to use characterize the setting like a Gumsmoke episode. I was more of a Bonanza guy myself though.

Yeah, I thought about that myself. But I used the opportunity to set up the following dialogue between Colby and Doc.
Maybe I could have turned it in another direction had I made Colby pay up first. Food for thought, I guess.


I'm glad you're enjoying it so far.
Thank you for the feedback. It's much appreciated.

I'll probably continue in the next couple of days.

Thank you.
I thought it described the role of Doc, atleast how I see him, and his mannerisms with emphasis.

I'm glad you enjoyed it, and thank you again for reading.

I hate you guys and your old game/movie references/ You Spitt with lovecraft (?). You Cannibal with your Gunsmoke. Am I the only one who doesn't watch/play old stuff?

By the way it was good. Better than my stuff for sure.

Oh, it most definitely is like a western, for sure. I have to fess up and admit I never actually watched Gunsmoke , I just used that title because it brings up an iconic image I believe you captured in your piece. :blush:

Thank you for the compliments on my comic.

id rather him use rotting than corroded its just such an ugly word

*EDIT* pretty odd timestamp up there....................

A Beautiful Hell
The Rusted City

Colby squinted while the sun barraged his face as he stepped out of Church's little miracle shop. Now that his battlefield memento was gone, he was free to get back to business. But what was first? Sleep? Money? Food?
Money wins. You can't get the other two without it.

Time to lighten the load and fatten the pockets.

Moira’s was just a few flights up. She was always willing to buy up whatever someone brought in to her, no questions asked. Caps were a comin’. A due payday.

Moira was of the more pleasant variety of vendors and traders he met in the Wastes. An oddity that defied adaptation to her dire surroundings. She seemed to be one of the few that could find the silver lining on a nuclear cloud. The optimism that she emitted was almost dangerous. She was an irradiated puddle in the middle of a road. You step in it, you’ll end up poisoned.

The Craterside Supply door stood like Pandora’s box just yearning to be cracked open.

Colby made his way in and was greeted with a pungent aroma and light smoke. She was tinkering again.

He heard stories of Moira enlisting some vault dweller a few years back to help her with research for The Wasteland Survival Guide. Either the kid from 101 was stupid or Moira made a juicy proposition. Colby skimmed through the book before and thought it might’ve been a sick joke.

He made his way to her counter, unloaded the two hunting rifles , and peered around.

“You comin’ up with anything good?” He said loudly as he tried to wave the smoke away.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t notice you. Sorry.” Moira apologetically replied back. “I was just trying to figure out a formula for a chemical to repel a Deathclaw. Those things can be pretty terrifying from what I’ve heard.”

“You actually believe those stories?” Colby inquired.

“I’ve heard about these creatures from several different drifters over the years. There’s gotta be some truth to it. It’s said to be some sort of creature created by mutants. It stands between 8 - 12 feet tall, has a muscular build and is covered in fur. Some say it can even fly. It sounds like a very interesting specimen.”

“Sounds more like they know a person who enjoys a good story. Well, it just so happens that I have one too. There was this man who came to this little place called Megaton looking to do some trading…” Colby stated nonchalantly with lingering impatience.

“Okay okay. No need to get sour, sheesh. What do you have? Let me just take a gander.” Moira interrupted, getting the hint.
“Hmm, two rifles… good condition… nice find. 50 caps each?”

“Double that and you’ve got a deal.”

“The best I can do is 55, and I’ll even throw in a Repellant Stick.” Ms. Brown tried to insist.

“A repellant for ‘Deathclaws’? Heh. You make it 80 and I won’t tell people this place isn’t worth a stop.” Colby threatened in disbelief of the scant offer.

“Whoa now, there’s no need to soil my hard-earned reputation over this. I’ll tell ya what… I’ll give 75 and 3 Cheery Bombs.” Moira defended.

“ 85 for wasting my time. You keep the little gifts” He quickly retorted as he became unglued.

“Alright, Mr. Grumpy. 85 it is. You sure need to brush up on your pleasantries.” Moira pouted.

She vigilantly dug through her beaten cash register and produced his 170 caps. It was a needless exchange between the two but well worth the outcome. 470 caps and growing. Colby was now doing alright.

He headed for the door when he was bombarded with another statement from Moira. This gal just loved to talk.

“ Hey, if you’re ever available for some work, I could sure use the help on another book I’m working on.” Moira offered.

“I’ll think about it.” Colby lied through his teeth.

He made his way back into Megaton as the sun was setting. Everything seemed slightly calmer in an odd way. The people seemed less on-edge and neon lights began to adorn the inner walls of the rusting sanctuary. Megaton readied for night.

The dust rustled below Colby’s feet at he made his way to the Common House. A day’s work done, a night’s rest earned.




TO BE CONTINUED

It's well written, but I do have a problem with Colby getting his way all the time, (It seems). Moira should have told him to stuff it and find somewhere else to trade his gear if he didn't like her price. Bad ass characters who always get their way are boring. Maybe you have something in mind for Colby that I am unaware of as of yet, but keep in mind that he needs to face a conflict that is difficult to overcome in order to keep this story fresh. Otherwise, as I said, it's well written and I do want to see more.

I know what you're trying to do here, but it doesn't really work.



I really liked this part. see alot of improvements since the first one, keep it up.

Yeah, I guess you're right. I wanna try to somehow build to a great conflict without going overboard.
One of the problems I'm having is inching the story towards that. But I enjoy a challenge.

The whole "irradiated puddle" part was kinda a film noir inspiration. Given the in-game material, I tried to use it to spin Moira's description hoping the reader would get it. Maybe I was off.


Every bit of insight is helpful. Thanks for the input.

A BEAUTIFUL HELL
Exodus To Exodus

The roasted squirrel with rice thanked Colby as it settled in his needy gut. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was the savior of his aching hunger.
He slowly arose from his seat as he gulped the last of his semi-cold beer, accepting every drop that inched out of the glass after it was finished. With breakfast over, it was time to tackle the day.

He grabbed a toothpick from the counter as he passed towards the door.

“Great grub, Leo. Take it easy.” Colby blurted out to the kitchen, opening the door to the awaiting Wasteland.

“Thanks, man. If it’s easy, I’ll take it twice.” Leo replied back without even showing his face.

Out into Megaton once again, he was greeted with the sight of gathering worshippers in front of the bane of humanity. How these people could approach the rusting eraser, let alone praise it, was beyond him. But he couldn’t go too far with his criticism… he kept coming back for safety from the Wastes.

Maybe we’re all crazy.

Making his way up the steps, he passed a lingering Simms. Colby gave a polite nod, and was rewarded with a steely gaze. Simms gave no slack to any man that occasionally stopped in for a visit, even if caps were spent. He was the shepherd to this flock and Colby was not among the herd, but accepted it. Simms was the right man for the job.

Megaton’s outside was alive with the usual happenings. Water beggars, merchants and the poor fools trying to trade with trash. He seems to see this every time he leaves. You could set a clock to it.

He pulled a worn map from his backpack to pinpoint where he would go next. He marked the places he discovered on the crusty old map with a pen, letting him know where or what it was if he wanted to return or sell his info to some cap-heavy explorer that needed some guiding. But for the time being, it was his diary.

He’d never been to D.C. Good and bad tips were given to him in his wandering days. Some told tales of sheer terror involving muties, ghouls, and the Enclave. Ghouls and mutants weren’t much of a threat, as long as there were only a couple. Enclave was a different story. They didn’t roam around aimlessly in a manageable group. They ran in heavily armored groups of four or more and killed pretty much everything that didn’t look like they did. Not a pleasant bunch.

He was also told that there was plenty of pre-war goodies to be found among the ruins, if you could manage to survive the lingering threats.

A fellow roamer once told of finding a “Pip-Boy” during his journey through the fallen metropolis. He said it was a prized find because it was only carried by “Vault Dwellers”.
It might’ve been just a rumor.

Why would a Vaultee be running around out here when they’ve got it so good underground?
To the Northwest was a supposed Vault that everyone in Megaton always gossiped about. Seems like a better place than any to investigate.

He pulled his gun and began his somber trek on the scattered asphalt toward the point of Megaton’s unquenched interest.

Nice, cant wait to see what awaits in the legendary vault 101.

I'm glad you're still writing, I know how hard it is.

That being said, I still have a problem with some of your word choices. Examples;

The roasted squirrel with rice thanked Colby as it settled in his needy gut.

I know what you're trying to do here, but it just brings a weird mental image to mind of roasted squirrel 'thanking' Colby as he eats it.

...accepting every drop that inched out of the glass

Again, inched suggests slowness. If Colby is gulping his beer, this word contradicts that.

I like the idea of a outsider checking out vault 101. :mellow: