The West Wallaby Street Nuclear Waste Cleaning Services (WWSNWCS) was the next one of Wallace's great tax-evasion schemes. It was illegal as fuck, but anyway, they were out again in town, restoring the once bright and cheerful square and its surrounding countryside to glory.
The moped hums through the deserted streets, like a very depressed bee. The sound echoes through crumbling ruins and ghost towns. The tyre hits a solitary diseased, disembodied hand being nibbled by a hungry rat, causing the moped to jump.
"Sorry there lad", Wallace chirps as Gromit yelps in response to the impact.
They reach the town square. Dirt and debris fills the elegant brickwork and lays in dead flowerbeds. Gromit glances up at the clock tower he had cleaned years ago. How hard he had worked to get the face to gleam and sparkle. The glass and hands now lay destroyed on the ground; the tower just half the height it once was.
Gromit shakes his head lamentably.
A deranged man wanders the empty square, stumbling as if he were incredibly pissed. He yells painfully to Wallace. His skin is blue, green, purple; any colour that human skin isn't. His face: disfigured. His body: reduced to just an arm and two weak legs.
His cries instil a pain in Wallace's heart, alas, he ignores the man's pleas.
There is nothing that can be done for him now, apart from death.
The longer you live through this period of nuclear fallout, the easier it becomes to forget the basic human values of compassion (if there were any in the first place). It's everyone for themselves now.
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Cheddar and Plutonium (A Post-Apocalyptic Wallace and Gromit fanfic)
Ciencia FicciónIt has been 1 year, 230 days since the nuclear bomb was dropped in the English Channel, but it's just another day of work for Yorkshireman Wallace and his pal Gromit. Trigger warnings: death, suicide, lots of graphic descriptions Obviously, Wallace...
