The West Wind's Cry

[Zephyr2011]

I was inspired by several of the Fallout 3 stories and the rp "Reilly's Rejects" to write a tale about my character in Fallout 3, of course the setting isn't all the same but his past and deeds are what I envisioned of him. This is his story, or atleast, part of it. Please read and enjoy my little fanfic. Oh and before anyone thinks I'm being all egotistical with the main character's name, his name came before my username. Anway, enjoy and please comment.

 

 

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PROLOGUE: AUGUST 2273

 

Three men ran, their once prestine apparel now soiled with blood, mud, and the murky waters of the swamps of Maryland. They ran and ran, hurdling the great gnarled roots of long dead trees, wiping aside the weeds, stumbling and running each thought that this was the end. One clutched his right arm with his left, the cold dark armor had been pierced by a bullet and now his arm was nearly fully paralyzed from loss of blood and other injuries. He died first.

 

 

The feral ghoul leapt from the root of a tree like a monkey, a bloodthirsty, rotting, crazed, monkey, he grasped the poor man's leg and drug him into the grey murky waters as he tore his armor to pieces, as flesh was rendered from bone the waters turned a sick crimson. The night was brisque for August, the full moon was earily veiled by clouds, it was like the men's hope, present but in vein, and it would embody everything that had happened, and would happen that night.

 

 

The next to fall was like-wised armored, yet he still had the use of his arms and legs, and still retained his fearsome weapon, a plasma rifle, a ghoul lunged from behind a tree and pure terror shown in his eyes as he fired and obliterated the damned man, this was his fatal mistake. Another ghoul surged from the darkness and the murk behind him and he shot it as well but soon, three, four, five, eight, ten, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen, twenty ghouls were upon him and slayed him in an orgy of gore and blood his blood-curdling scream died on his lips.

 

 

The last man was not armored, but instead wore a gray uniform he looked over his shoulder repeatedly he was beyond terrified, the only reason he was still alive was because he did not wear the bulky power-armor of his comrades, and because the ghouls were busy tearing their corpses into so many pieces. He ran and ran, suddenly as he looked over his shoulder a ghoul was chasing him only a mere six to ten feet behind him, he screamed, the cold scream of death, he ran ahead, past a tree then suddenly the ghoul screeched and turned around as if it was as scared as he. He stay there, and he realized he had nearly run out of the swamps, the long dead trees remained but there was no longer any water, he could see the dunes of the beach between the trees, he was nearly there, but he let his heart recover as he leaned back against the tree. He held his head in his hands. It was a disaster, the Colonel would surely have his command for this, if not kill him altogether. They had been sent merely to secure a church but they hadn't counted on the cemetary, what was worse, he had arrogantly ordered his company to press on at dusk instead of make camp and continue come the morn. They were torn to pieces by the ghouls and it was all his fault. He was the only survivor of his entire command, an entire company lost because of an idiot's mistake. He thanked the heavens that he still drew breath now and that the ghouls had stopped pursuing him. He had no idea why the ghoul had stopped or screeched as it had, for he saw that it was unharmed, and no shot had rang out, not even that feint whisp of a noise created by a silenced weapon, what on Earth could have made it sto- then he smelled it.

 

 

Twas the stench of death, true ghouls wreak of rotting flesh and decay but this, this was worse by far, the hair on the back of the man's neck stood up as the acrid scent wafted through his nostrils, it wasn't that of a corpse, but of something altogether more terrifying. He could not describe, nor could he comprehend anything of it save for it's promise that it signaled the end of his days. It is a smell indescribable, that of which he smelled, most of it is reality, that of blood, gore, sweat, and rot however the scent the grim reaper himself brings you is something that makes you go to the brink of insanity, and perhaps even beyond it, the moment when you realise you will truly die, that there is no hope, no salvation, no escape, is a moment more horrifiying perhaps than the actual event. Suddenly the man sprinted from the tree as he heard a great sloshing through the waters behind him.

 

 

A cloaked figure moved through the fringe of the swamp like quicksilver, he could be as silent as death, and as well hidden as smoke in shadow, but above all he could instill terror like a wraith. For truely he was a wraith, gliding through the swamps of Point Lookout for nearly a year hunting his quarry, they would pay for what they'd done, pay like none other, pay...pay as much as they could, for truelly they had nothing that could pay for the vile horrors they'd done, not their posessions, not their sentiments, not their words, not their lives. He purposefully made noise he wanted to make his prey suffer like he had made them suffer, he would pay for wronging the wraith that faitful day. The Enclave officer sprinted for all he was worth but the wraith was far faster and far more cunning, the officer only fealth the sting as the gunshot tore through the flesh in his leg and fell tasting the soil and sand of the crested dune the wraith came closer, walking now, watching with grim satisfaction at the justice of this horrible man tasting the ground on which he had spilt so much blood, and having to crawl to move. The figure rose to the top of the dune and curled his lip as he kicked the officer in the gut with contemptment forcing him to turn over.

 

 

The wraith put his boot on the man's chest as he yelped in pain. He took no small pleasure in having finally hunted this wretch down. The officer's eye's grew wider with each passing second as the smell was so overpowering he nearly passed out from it's intensity and the sickening fear mounting within him.

 

 

"You b_____d. I've waited long to bring you to justice," The wraith said.

 

"PLEASE! SPARE ME! WHAT HAVE I D-"

 

"YOU ARROGANT PIG! I shall tell you what you have done, maim, rape, and murder all whom I've held dear, slaughter innocents all in the name of your goddamned lie of a democracy!" He interjected with vindication.

 

"PLEASE FORGIVE ME! HAVE MERCY!" The officer pleaded as he sobbed, now reduced to tears at his ultimate arbitrator.

 

"WHY! WHY SHOULD I LET YOU LIVE? DID YOU LET THEM? DID YOU LET HER? HAVE YOU EVER SHOWN CARING OR COMPASSION TO ANYONE BUT YOURSELF OR YOUR WRETCHED ENCLAVE?" The man roared.

 

"W-w-who are you?" The officer said in fear, he looked within himself and found he could not deny any of those charges and seeing there was no hope that he might be spared twice this night deigned to atleast know whom he had wronged.

 

"My name is Zephyr. Ah remember me I see," the man remarked at the horrified recognition in the officer's eyes. "And you tried to hunt me like a dog, you murdered all of my compatriots, my friends, and for all you and your damned government let me know, my family."

 

"Y-you're him? You're the man I sought to capture for the enclave? Your injections your experimentation, your alteration, y-you're the perfect warrior." the dog stammered.

 

Zephyr hit him with the but end of the SABR rifle he was carrying. "YOU B_____D! HOW DARE YOU PRETEND TO UNDERSTAND ME! I was a lab rat and nothing more to your Enclave and when I fought I was given nothing. NOTHING! I was forced to live like the deathclaws you now subject to your will. You, you yourself hunted me with a company of soldiers when I escaped and killed the closest thing to family I ever had! You deserve to die." Zephyr said with finality as he fired three rounds into the pleading officer's head and his screams rent through the night...

 

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That's all for now, I'll post the first chapter later tonight.

[Zephyr2011]

Alright here's the first chapter, I wanted to seperate it and the prologue so the first post would be absolutely ridiculous.

 

 

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CHAPTER 1: 2278

 

It was the beginning of a beautiful day in Jolliet, the ramshackle settlement in the ruins of the city near Chicago was already bustling at 8 AM. A caravan had just come into town and the twenty some odd local merchants were out in full force manning their stalles. Penny Lane, named for the song somebody found listed on the back of some old pre-war lp, was an important settlement being the first decent sized ruin between the Kentucky/Tennesee area and Chicago, Springfield was there but it wasn't on the fastest route to Chicago so most people skipped it to get to Chicago faster. Being south of the ruins of the third largest city in the US before the war and the only relatively defenseble place around Chicago, excepting Chicago itself of course, made Jolliet the best place for a settlement. Caravans could stop and rest before heading into Chicago for the big trading and come out of chicago and stay in the hotels for a far more reasonable rate than in the large settlements in Chicago. The caravans were Jolliet's lifeblood and therenever was any better proof of that than the Illinois sun shining down on brahmin-hide awnings, tin-sheds, and bombed out prewar homes alike as the vendors yelled out what they were selling and how they had the best prices for miles around and the caravaners milled about with their pack brahmin, buying what they need-and wanted weather it be liquer, food, entertainment or cheap prostitutes. Cigar and cigarette smoke drifted form the three local taverns and bars as the roady mercs hired by the caravans relaxed and enjoyed their time off-and their vices. Jolliet as much as it was a business town, it was a pleasure town, after-all there were three bars and alcohol outnumbered the population almost 3 to 1 in weight at any given time, hell more women residents were prostitutes than wives for that matter!

 

 

A small band walked into the town, three men and five women, one of the men stood, what to post people was, an intimidating 6' 4" wearing a dark hat akin to a that prewar business man. His hair,black and greasy for not having been in town to clean up for months, came down to barely cover his eyes. His face showed black stubble, survivors of a massacre with a knife not sharp enough for a clean shave that had been improvised for months, and his hands were large and weathered with scars, calluses, and well tanned. He wore a hooded rusty-brown cloak that had long since lost its omnipotent scent, it covered him from his wrists down to his ankles were his boots of similar coloration, tread worn with use from years of exploration and battle alike. His cloak was opened so that it billowed when there was a breeze it exposed his torso and legs for the most part, it was much like an open trenchcoat, for really he got the thing when looting a pawn shop and he came across it, that was before he put tanned deathclaw hide on it and it was still recognizable as the trenchcoat of a soldier of a bigone war (German trenchcoat from WWI). The cloak was his trademark, as was his armor, leather that was nearly black with pieces taken from Enclave Hellfire armor added to it, spaced to offer the maximum protection with the minimum noise. He cut both a dashing and daunting figure, someone you want to approach but you can't quite work up the nerve to. On his back was a pristine SABR battlerifle from long before the Great War, it was blackened purposefully to not give away one's position when using it but it was emmaculately clean and everyone new its owner dissasembled it and reassembled it every night, probly blindfolded, and the day that it didn't shoot better than any gun in town (except maybe the magnum on the man's hip) was the day Hell froze over. On the man's hip was his favorite gun, his .44 magnum. Most Magnums you'd find are scoped, not this one, well usually, he could detach or reatach the scope, as well as a silencer, in the blink of an eye, not that a dead shot like him would ever need a scope, and no one wanted to be on the recieving end of that gun, not when you've got no clue if you'll get lucky and just have a regular bullet flying at you, an explosive one, a high velocity, armor piercing, incindiary, or a radiation one.

 

 

Everyone in Jolliet knew and feared the man and his crew, it wasn't so much that they thought they were thugs, it was that they knew what the gang was capable of. The man walked into the barbor shop for a trim along with one of his crew to get cleaned up, while the rest went to parouse the wares or get drunk. He stepped into the barbor's "tent" (it was an awnining with two sides on it, a third was the wall of his house and the front had tables with his and his apprentices' equipment save for a walkway in to the stools. The barbor looked up from shaving his current customer's beard, then quickly handed the customer a mirror and walked towards the man beaming.

 

 

"Zephyr! good to see you! Jesus you need a trim." The barbor said.

 

"Ah, haha, well that's why I'm here, good to see you Erik." Zephyr replied clapping the barbor on the back.

 

"Please have a seat and I'll be right with you. Take your coat?" Erik querried. Zephyr nodded and smiled toothlessly as he shrugged of his cloak which was hung next to the barbor's away from the other customers'.

 

 

Erik Glen was a short scotsman (well, technically American but he was of highland decent and spoke with a heavy accent) at only 5' 6". He was characterized by wearing a tan shirt and pants with brahmin hide belts, and almost always in his apron. His hair and beard were red and curly, he had balded on the top of his head and his beard sprang from his chin up to his sideburns and joined with his hair, he had a mustache that curved down and adjoined with his beard. He was quite proud of the way he kept his hair and often would fight anyone who criticized it, most people learned quick not to mess with him though, he was a renowned puligist, and you don't have to check in your fists at one of the taverns. He was a character who made his caps by cutting hair with tender love and care, he was damn proud of his proffesion and his business, he did what he loved and he made sure every haircut was perfect that's how he got recurring and new customers his business grew and he had three students learning the trade from him and he made a killing in caps, he ws arguably the most successful merchant in the whole of Jolliet.

 

 

Zephyr sait in a pre-war diner stool and waited patiently as his crew member was being sought to by one of the apprentices and Erik finished up. Soon the barbor was at his side and produced some shaving cream (long salvaged from a super-dupermart) and began to shave his stubble away.

 

 

"So How've you been Zephyr? I haven't seen you around in quite sometime." Erik asked as he finished shaving Zephyr's stubble and handed him a mirror.

 

"I've been well, went down the road a few leagues and set up shop taking care of raider outposts and our usual business." Zeph replied cheerily with a nod of satisfaction at his newly shaven face, unlike most of the merchants in Jolliet, Erik new exactly what Zephyr and his crew's 'usual business' was, Erik would back Zephyr in any situation in a heartbeat and knew Zephyr would do the same for him.

 

"Ah I see, made many caps have ya?" Erik chimed conversationally now taking Zephyr over to a wash basin with shampoos salvaged from pre-war stores.

 

"Yeah, about 600 a piece." Zephyr replied sudsing his hair.

 

Erik's eyes opened wide, "Oh-hoh-hoh! Look at the entrepeneur now! And I assume you yourself got a little more than that eh?" The barbor preped his shears and razors, and his "thinning comb" (between the teeth of the comb are blades so that thick hair can be kept under control).

 

"Only about another hundred or so, I try to be fair." Zephyr replied toweling his long locks somewhat dry then sat back down in the stool.

 

"I see, a businessman and gentleman." Erik said winking knowlingly.

 

"Heh, I try to be." Zephyr replied jokingly.

 

 

Their conversation continued mainly it was small talk and soon Erik had finished "cutting back the jungle" as he called it and Zephyr grabbed his cloak and hat and bid the scotsman a good day. He strode to "Lola's Tavern" a favorite of his crew both the men and the women. When he walked in he ordered a bit of brandy and upon recieving his glass he sat down at a table with three of the women and one of the men from his crew. Over at the bar a caravan-hired mercenary asked the barkeep, a grissled and graying old man by the name of John, about the man in the cloak.

 

 

"Ah, that'd be ole' Zeph. He's a smart one, strong as an ox too, you should see the muscles on him! On second thought, you might not want to, riddled with scares that one is." John said in a slightly hushed tone.

 

"Oh really? Do tell." The merc emplored.

 

"Yeah, been through hell and back, I dunno what all he's been through, specifically I means, but whatever it is he don't like to talk about it. Y'see most mercs come in here gloating about their doins, no offense," John said hastily," but not him, quiet as can be, he'll chat you up about most anything but don't go snooping about his past, he's liable to tell you to *censored* off. And really don't try to get in a fight with him cause he'll either blow your brains out with his rifle or he'll turn your insides into mush with those rad-laced bullets in that magnum of his." John whispered knowledgably.

 

"Ah I see. Well thanks for the information barkeep, I think I'll take my leave." The merc said as he rose and headed for the door.

 

John, realising that the mercenary had just left without paying his bill called after him, "Hey, you didn't pay for your drink!"

 

The merc showed no sign of stopping and Zephyr caught it out of the corner of his eye, he rose and blocked the door. "John told you to pay your bill. I suggest you do." Zephyr said, it wasn't with malice or anger, it was matter-of-fact, just like most everything with him.

 

"Pfft, that ole' man? The swill's not worth my caps and I ain't paying." the mercenary said defiantly.

 

"We can do this one of three ways: the easy way, that's where you go pay the bill, the hard way, that's where I take the caps and teach you some manners while I'm at it, or the fun way." Zephyr retorted.

 

"Hah, just try and stop me from walking out," the merc said walking around Zephyr and stepping towards the door.

 

"Alright," zephyr shrugged, "I warned you, guess you chose the fun way." Zephyr said and sat back down.

 

 

The merc walked out the door bloated on arrogance, he didn't even have a chance. Outside the building was a trough aside from the one for brahmin and at it was a deathclaw, not a mature one, but a powerful juevenille none the less, it came up to the merc's shoulder. This deathclaw was named Mars and he stood just outside the door and the merc ran right into him.

 

 

"So, you chose the fun way eh-heheheh." Mars's low, gravelly voice rumbled, he was highly intelligent, a genetic experiment that maid him infinately more dangerous than any other deathclaw and infinitely harder for enclave to control, he had learned to speek very well. The shocked merc could only stare in terror as Mars's huge clawed hand smacked into the side of his body and sent him through the swinging door back into the bar with 3 fractured ribs. Mars yawned but it sounded more like a growl and went back to near the trough were he lounged and drank at his liesure.

 

 

"Oh, should've mentioned Zephyr's got a pet deathclaw named Mars, but I'm guessing you already found that one out eh bud?" John laughed as the merc groggily put his caps on the bar...

 

To be continued

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[Zephyr2011]

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CHAPTER 1 CONTUED: 2278

 

Three days later Zephyr stared down the iron sights of his rifle set on semi-automatic fire kneeling at the place where a window had once been in a large concrete building. They knew not what the building's purpose was before the war, they figured it was some kind of office building but they found nothing in good enough shape to determine what company it was. As he watched grimly he knew what fate would befall the small caravan coming up the road. He watched, like a statue he watched. The caravan came along side the last building in a row and then it came, the ambush.

 

 

The raiders burst from the doors and leapt from windows, there were seventeen of them. One got shot by one of the merc guards who actually managed to do something usefull before getting disembowled by a crazy raider chick with a machete. The hapless caravan of three brahmin, two merchants and four guards didn't stand a chance. It was all over in only five minutes, but in those five minutes so much blood and carnage it would have made most anyone sick. Zephyr grimly knew that it wasn't good for business to have bloodthirsty murderers that close to their base, and along their highway.

 

 

"Hurry up and get those caps unloaded and in here I wa-" That was as far as their leader got when Zephyr's bullet pierced his brain and shattered his skull on the pavement of the ancient highway. All the raiders ducked low and looked to see where the shot had come from.

 

"Where did that co-" another was silenced when a bullet tore through his neck and he lay in a pool of his and his victims' blood the only sound escaping his lips a sickening gurgle.

 

 

Zephyr had crouched below the window and moved five windows down then took two more shots in quick succession sending two more souls to the black gates of Hell. The raiders had figured out the general direction and began firing wildly at the building and its surrounding counterparts. Zephyr continued his geurilla tactics as Mike, a tall brown-haired man with almost as many scars as Zephyr, and Lara, a young woman with blonde-hair and fiery eyes, grabbed a hunting rifle and sniper rifle respectively and followed his lead. Before long only one raider was left and he turned and ran screaming for his life. Zephyr cut him down without a second thought, he deserved his punishment, a quick death was a mercy by anyone's standards for one such as him.

 

 

"Common, we'll need to clean up the mess and loot the place." Zephyr said as if he and the other two were walking through a park rather than having just killed sixteen murderous wretches.

 

 

The group, Zephyr, Mike, Lara, and the other five, left their base and went to the site of the ambush, the loaded up on whatever was worth taking, food, water, ammunition, weapons, medical supplies, anything, they moved all the bodies, including that of the brahmin into the building the raiders had come from and when they had all the valuables they could find, set the place ablaze so that no one would know of what had taken place. When they returned to their concrete fortress they walked up it's cracked and ancient steps to the second floor and placed the munitions and weapons in what was their "armory", an old storage room, about 10' by 20' with shelves and metal boxes and a row of old metal broom cabinets in the back which they used as gun lockers. They took the food into what had been the old cafeteria where Mike, their resident electrician and repair man, had fixed up all the fridges and they stored anything perishable there with the dusty old tables and lifeless, unfeeling, steel of the kitchens. Medical supplies went in what they called the infirmary, a long room they had put medical beds in and first aid boxes on the walls. Any and all caps went into the big safe found in what was once a receptionist's desk, it was a rare 36-key lock, the code to which contained both letters and numbers, they never did find out what the code was and no one bothered to try when they found the keys in what was at one time, the boss's desk, now the metal was gnarled beyond reckoning and the wood warped and splintered with age.

 

 

It was nearly nightfall when Zephyr suggested everyone get some sleep. He walked into his room which, like all the crew's rooms, had all the windows boarded up so that no one could see if someone was inside. It had once been an office, not like the cubicles that were beaten and nearly destroyed in the main part of the building, but a manager or representative's office, there were the remains of an opulent rug on the floor, a bookshelf in decent condition filled with the pre-war books Zephyr had found over the years, a desk in decent shape with an offline terminal, in the back was a bed he had dissasembled to bring in. He didn't retire immediately but rather stared out his window between the cracks of the splintered boards. He shook his head and sighed after awhile and then lay on the matress and try to sleep.

 

 

He lay awake for hours, he knew something was gonna happen tomorrow, something that wouldn't be good, he didn't know what, not by a long shot, but he knew there would be something it was like a sixth sense he had, he could feel something was coming, liek a bad omen...

 

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Chapter two will be up either later tonight or sometime tomorrow.

[Herculine]

Excellent work! Very well done!

[Zephyr2011]

Thanks Herculine, I try lol.

[Maharg67]

Excellent writing; gritty but enjoyable; honest. I liked Mars the deathclaw.

 

Only one suggestion and that is to put in gaps between paragraphs to make your writing easier to write.

 

Again, very good. :thumbsup:

[Zephyr2011]

Thanks for the input Maharg and I'll edit my previous posts and put in the spacing now. Thanks for reading.

[Zephyr2011]

Sorry to anyone who has been anxiously waiting for the second chapter, I've been busier than I'd like lately.

 

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CHAPTER 2: 2278

 

Mike cautiously slid out far enough from behind the cold, crumbling, concrete of the building to see out of one of his eyes down the road. He quickly pulled his head back behind cover and whispered to Zephyr, "S__t! That's one huge caravan! There must be atleast a dozen brahmin. I don't know what they're hauling but anything in that quantity is bound to bring in some good caps!"

 

"Good, what about guards?" Zephyr said, he was far more concerned about the mercenary presence than the haul. That many brahmin and merchants is bound to be well guarded.

 

"Not many Zeph, only looks like five of em, but they've got some impressive gear." Mike was giddy with anticipation, he'd been Zephyr's right hand man for nearly four years and they'd never seen a haul like this.

 

"Alright, send the signal but make sure everyone's on their toes, something's not right here." The click of the revolver in his magnum could be heard faintly as Zephyr grimly put eight high velocity rounds into it and made sure the right upper was in place on his SABR.

 

The caravan came closer almost to the crew's position then suddenly the brahmin stopped and sniffed nervously at the air. The point man held his hand up to tell all the other mercs and merchants to halt, he took a few steps closer his chinese assault rifle gripped like a vice in his hands. Suddenly he fell to the ground and it became chaos.

 

Lara jumped from a destroyed window onto a Brahmin's back brandishing a Chinese Officer's sword and lopped the head off of one of the mercenaries and another dropped to the sniper fire provided by Kiki, the group's youngest member. Just as the rest of the gang exploded from their positions and it looked like they were going to have an easy haul the tarps on top of the Brahmin Mike and Zeph had taken were for protecting goods, shifted and moved. An aweful ripping sound echoed through the street as combat knives sliced through the canvas and another two dozen men armed to the teeth and in fearsome black armor with a white talon emblazoned upon the chest burst from their hiding places. Lara quickly assessed the situation and pulled the plug. A thick cloud of acrid smelling smoke enveloped the melee and the crew made a hasty exit, staggering blindly through the smokee until they escaped its clutches and ran headlong for their fortress.

 

Zephyr gazed out the window, his magnum had been emptied and now held a single round in it. When they returned he had quickly attached the scope and sighted out the street where the battle had been. Most of the Talon Company Mercs had gathered round the only dead Brahmin grabbing the ammo that had been stored on it.

 

"Hey guys... When did we start carrying thi-" were the last words to escape the mercenary's lips. Zephyr had pulled the trigger and his explosive round slammed into the mini nuke he had planted. A sonicboom echoed as almost the entire company was engulfed in flame and radiation.

 

"B______ds." Zephyr swore. He swore again when he turned around to speak with his crew and saw that Mira, a red headed girl that had been with the group for two years now, had a gash in her leg and was clutching her right shoulder-and she was right handed. He quickly knelt by her as Lara ran into their medical supply room to grab treatment supplies.

 

"How'd it happen" Zephyr said anxiously looking at the leg wound.

 

"Son of-" Mira said as she gasped in pain when Lara poured alcohol on her shoulder, "Stabbed me with a combat knife."

 

"Damn. She might not be able to walk again if it sliced her achiles."

 

"I can wa-AGH!" Mira tried to stand but her leg gave way and she collapsed in a spasm of pain.

 

A loud thumping and scratching indicated that Mars was back from his hunting trip. "Mars, we've got problems! We need to get Mira to Jolliet, fast!" Zephyr called.

 

Mars walked into the room and dropped a cracked helmet with a disembodied head visible inside it. "You're damn right we do." Mars growled with his rocky voice. The helmet, was Enclave.

 

To be continued...

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[species5478]

Gets better with every entry.

[shadowmadnezz]

Nice work man :) nice to see some more Background on Zephyr and Mars.