Rustland Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Rustland

Prologue

The ancient piles of dead scrap almost blocked out the rising sun as Alan fled through them, running from his pursuer. He could hear it chasing him, smashing through piles of ancient metal and roaring great roars of mechanical rage as it hunted him. He could hear its claws clacking and clanging against the metal that made up all of Rustland. He needed a place to hide, some nook or cranny where the monster chasing him wouldn't be able to reach him.

As he ran he cast around, looking for a hole in the massive piles of scrap and old machinery. He saw his salvation; a hollow in the side of one of the huge hills of rusted metal. He crawled in, taking care not to cut himself on the jagged metal sticking out of the hollow's side. There was a sort of alcove within it and he ducked in to find himself hidden from view. It was perfect.

He crouched within the alcove, shivering in fright as he heard his pursuer approach, it's heavy footsteps thudding against the ground. He heard it stop and sniff with a wet scraping noise.

It can smell me, he thought, near panic. It can smell me!

Alan heard it approach the hole. Without thinking, he allowed his hand to become a weapon, his skin become hard, smooth and woody, tapered to a razor point sharp enough to pierce metal and skin. He stared at it contemplatively. Could he do it? Could he really kill himself and take the easy way out?

He supposed it would be better than being caught by the Automaton chasing him, a quick stab to heart or neck as opposed to being torn to shreds by the creature's corroded metal claws. He would become yet another corpse among millions, buried under the metal until the Rust took him and became one with his bones.

The Automaton lowered it's head to peer into the darkness of the cave, glowing eyes peering into the gloom. It gnashed its jaws, permanently snarling in a grin like that of an angler fish, in fury as it looked, the Rust that coated on it driving it to search. It could find nothing, but still dissatisfied it extended a tendril of old metal, lengths of sharp metal joined together by Rust. It probed the ground near Alan's feet. Realising that he would be caught unless he acted quickly, Alan grabbed a piece of metal from the floor and placed it in front of the tendril's path as it felt within the alcove. It felt again, Alan keeping the piece of metal in the way. If it touched him it would grab him and then he would be doomed.

The tendril of metal withdrew and the Automaton gave a roar of fury as it realised it had lost its prey. Alan waited as he heard it leave, its crunching footsteps echoing through the great canyons of dead metal. After a full ten minutes of waiting, he crept out of his hiding place, blinking in the bright sunlight.

He cast around, trying to get some vague sense of direction; in his panic he had gotten completely lost. He picked a random direction amongst the brown-orange canyons, and set out.

He walked for a full hour, sweat pouring down his stiff, smooth skin. The oppressive heat of the Rustlands was beginning to make him giddy, dehydration threatening to do him serious harm.

If I was back in Woodland, he thought. I could get myself a drink.

But he wasn't. He was in the middle enemy territory, in a world where the people needed no water or food. If he didn't get out soon then he would die here, whether he was being chased or not.

He jumped as he heard something behind him fall and span, hand already forming itself into a weapon. It was nothing, just a piece of metal dislodged from his passing.

Then the pile it fell from shifted and six metal claws, each the size of a man's arm and sharp enough to tear through the strongest metal, flicked up from a pile of metal. An arm, made up of nothing more than old metal held together by Rust, wrenched itself free and showed the Automaton's terrible form.

It was a vague man shape, with arms that were too long for it's body, causing it to lean forwards on its knuckles like some hellish mechanical gorilla. A barrel chest, made of sheets of metal stuck together by Rust, glimmered dully in the glaring sunlight, while its massive grinning jaws snapped open and shut in anticipation.

Alan turned and ran.

He heard it bound after him, like the time it had chased him before. But before he had managed to escape while it butchered the soldiers with him, while it was distracted. Now he was alone, and it was far faster than he.

He got barely five metres before two massive claws exploded from his chest, sending thick drops of sappy blood splattering on the ground. The Automaton allowed him to collapse to his knees, before wrenching the claws free, sending him sprawling away. Alan gasped weakly, desperately trying to crawl away, before the Automaton's bladed foot stomped down upon him, ending his life.

This was Rustland. This was war.

This post has been edited by The Bean: Feb 19 2009, 06:58 PM