Radioactive Rebellions

Radioactive Rebellions (part 1)

Chapter 1-Disfigurement

Her face, if you could call it that anymore, was worse than the home she had run from. To call it ugly was an understatement. She had shied away from every reflective surface after the incident. Children had cried and wailed at the sight. Adults recoiled, cringing, claiming that the newest generation was 'full of the damaged'. Like she had grown a second head, one that's face bore the horrors of humanity for all to see. And, what was this incident? It was the incident that changed her, Darcy Moxx's, life.

-18th October, 10:25 pm; England-

The rained poured down like tears from a newborn baby, her footsteps splashing on puddles; kicking pebbles idly and brushing against fallen leaves. Her hoodie-dark, like the sky above her, perfect to remain anonymous-did its hardest to shield the girl from the cold. It did nothing, however.

Darcy Moxx, Darce, Dar; whatever name she was called by whoever. What parents would simply call a 'bad kid'. Foster home to foster home. School to school. Friend to friend. Enemy to enemy. Never in the same space. Never in the same genre, place or with the same people for more than three months.

The air smelt of smoke, alcohol from the nearby bars, and the mist of the rain that littered the streets over and over in thunderous amounts.

Running away from 'home'-if she knew anywhere called that-wasn't hard. No, it was rather simply really, especially when her foster parents only cared about the money rather than her. The real tricky part was what to do once you were out.

Narrowed, darkly-bagged eyes scanned the areas. Strangers walking, mainly drunks. This part of town wasn't necessarily the best. She had already dodged about three pickpocketers; reluctantly, avoiding a brawl. Darcy would've rathered prison than trying to find a hotel or homeless shelter. She wasn't homeless, just. . .houseless; if there was a difference.

No, she did something different. Like any mature seventeen year old troublemaking kid would do, she decided to head out of town. Towards the mucky, cigarette-littered, dirty fields that ruined her boots. Towards a place the others at school called 'ghost town'. Why? Because it was.

A couple of abandoned buildings. Plenty of rooms to hide from the police. Plenty or rooms to store all her things.
Plenty of room for a temporary home.

Darcy didn't bother trying to figure out what the building once was, she wanted to get out of the rain; maybe smoke a cigarette she had stolen from her who-she-had-to-call Father before she snuck out the door. She pushed open a rusted door, taking out the flashlight in her old rug sack and shining it around at her new surroundings.

"Hospital?" She thought to herself, seeing a lot of medical equipment and objects in the dusty, overgrown rooms and halls.

The rain continued to beat on every surface strong enough to defy it, leaking through the cracks in any weakened area it could slip through. If Darcy didn't die by her own recklessness by the end of the month, a common cold might be her version of the plague.

Bullet-boards lined the walls, partially broken and scattered on the ground. Upon them we're many things; newspaper, clippings posters and notes that didn't seem like hospital things. . .

"Humanity's Greatest Achievement"

Darcy ran her hand along a just readable article to read the headline, holding her flashlight towards it; trying to be careful. Sure, it was bright, yes, but it was fragile due to Darcy giving it multiple throws and smacks due to her short temper.

She had to be careful; too hard of a hit and her beloved light would be snuffed out like-

BOOM