Description: Angra's despair event horizon, WIP
Laughter resounded through the putrid empty hall of what was a hospital, a long time ago. The place made to save lives was corrupted, made a headquarters for those who took lives, in this case, the wastelanders. Heavy steps of powerful boots resounded through the hall, smaller but nonetheless prominent steps following it. Five tattooed men marched down the hall, four of them laughing hysterically as they held their automatic rifles playfully, waving them around, imitating gunfire, as one lone figure at the back stomped somberly, fully unarmed. One of the men turned around to the figure at the back, waving to him with a free hand so he'd hurry up.
"Catch up, wouldja Angra? No need to be so mopey! We did some good work!"
"Right." Angra muttered, being rather displeased with the mission. The deal was making a public disturbance. It didn't need to become a slaughter. They didn't deserve that much. The other men just used him to clear out anything problematic, like the law enforcement and the army as they fired upon civilians. Bastards. The lot of them. Angra fought to stop oppression, and for that alone, but he knew that his comrades fought for more reasons than that.
The men came to the end of the hall, where they entered a small room with a circular table and five chairs, made for the group themselves. The table held a large jar of a dirty looking brown liquid, and one big cup. They all plopped down on their seats, save Angra, who carefully sat to not break the chair.
"Listen, what we did today, we're gonna be in the history books! Nobody will forget the wastes anymore! We've finally done it. I'm proud of all of you. You're no longer just my comrades, no longer just my friends. You are my brothers. Our bond is forged by war for a just cause, even if the scum outside of the wastes don't understand. You're the best team I could have asked for." A man said as he chased his words with the large mug of a homebrewed drink, sliding it down the table to the center, where another one of the five people at the table grabbed it. The second drinker had a sip, before remarking something.
"So Chajin, is this a drink for brotherhood? We're all drinking from the same cup, it's a poetic thing. Japanese, right?"
"That's correct. It's a very old tradition Ouiyin. It originated back in-" Angra responded, before Ouiyin laughed hysterically.
"Damn Angra, keep the book talk for that girl down at the kitchen dispensary will ya?" He said, stifling a laugh, as the rest of the men around the table laughed along with him, albeit Angra's was embarrassed.
Ouiyin slid the cup towards another man with an eyepatch, who gladly chugged down some of the cup, before placing it down and wiping his face. "To brotherhood. To the wastes!" He heartily exclaimed, to which the rest of the people around the table repeated the chant. He slid it over to another, who took a drink quickly, and slid the cup to Angra.
"Go on big guy. I know you don't like killing, but it's alright. Things are gonna be different now. Maybe the damned UN will be willing to talk now. We'll get equality soon my friend." He assured Angra, patting him on the back.
Angra responded with a smile, taking the cup and finishing the contents with a single swig. "I'm glad."
Before they could talk further, a worried man in a uniform ran in, attempting to warn them of something before everything was rendered silent. As they sat there, time seemed to move slower. Angra could see the tip of the object break through the roof of the building, a powerful noise accompanying it as his eyes widened. Before he could try to stop it, it plummeted further, and everything stopped.
A massive explosion from the bomb spread. Immensely fast. The whole entire area incinerating in a radioactive fury. Angra could do nothing but scream as he was torn apart, the power of the bomb melting his skin and giving him such pain he had never felt before. His screams were loud, but the sound of the bomb made him sound silent. Nobody heard a thing. Nobody was there after the initial blast. And before Angra knew it, it was over. Dead silent. He lay there, alone in a crater larger than any Angra had ever seen before. Pain, fear, horror, all of these bounced through Angra's mind, body and soul. He wasn't quite dead, but was he really alive? His legs and left arm were gone, leaving him nothing besides half of a torso, a right arm and a nearly nonexistent head. He could barely scream more, but a thin raspy yelp came from his nearly eliminated windpipe.
He tried to speak, to call for help, but nothing came. His voice didn't come out, and nobody was there to hear. And Angra, for the first time in his life, shed a tear. He'd never bled before, he'd never been hurt before, he'd never even cried before. All of this was so overwhelming it left Angra starstruck.
Why didn't it kill me! Why didn't it kill me! Why didn't it kill me! I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die! he thought to himself through the pain of his irradiated body, spending a week in the exact same place, before he finally moved. Every movement felt like it tore him apart all over again, but he kept going.
Someone's got to be alive! Someone's got to be able to help me! Please, please! He thought to himself desperately as he could not speak. As he crawled for hours upon hours, using his damaged limb to drag himself towards nowhere really, just wanting to find something that wasn't broken, irradiated and dead.
Who could have done something like this! Who could advocate for such destruction and death?!? Through tears of pain, despair and horror, he found that nothing, not even a scrap remained. Angra stopped. It all made sense now. He was fascinated with monsters. Disgusting, vile, repulsive, inhumane abominations who would kill everyone and everything Angra knew and loved. And for what reason? Due to the world's failure to acknowledge them? Due to cruel governments using their home as a battlefield? Due to the oppression the residents of the wastes recieved whenever they tried to speak up? No. None of this any longer. Angra had read enough history to know that the victor decides history. Nobody would ever hear of his people's perspective. Nobody would ever protest for the 'terrorist country'. No equality would have ever come, and Angra was a fool for dreaming.
"I... I..." Angra managed to spit out of his damaged throat, before clarity of voice came to him. "I'll kill everyone who let this happen! I'll kill everyone who thought that such inhumanity is acceptable! I'll kill them!" Angra yelled to the heavens, continuing to drag himself to the ruins of his former home.
When he made it to where he was sure his home was, he found nothing. Just like everywhere else. He'd been a day's walk away from his home, and the bomb reached this far... It hit the entire country, as Angra realised. "They'd unleash such a weapon... On people? This was a weapon to kill monsters... If they want to fight with monsters... They have a deal... I will renounce my humanity... And become a monster..." Angra wearily choked, shutting his eyes and dreaming of revenge.