Database

I

At first, all was silent. The area had once been a raging battlefield but now was as silent as a graveyard, which was quite fitting. Bodies littered the ground. Both mechanical and human, but mostly human. There was one area that was so dense with bodies, it was impossible to tell if they were even human. It was here, that the lone survivor of this battle lied. A dull, fleshy thud rang throughout the field, the only sound besides the howling wind. The large pile of bodies gave way to a force clawing to get out. The only moving thing left on the field. A hand shot from the gap and grasped for a handhold that would help it escape. It pulled its head out of the pile and gasped for air. A young boy, no older than seventeen looked around at the horrors that no one, let alone a seventeen-year-old boy, should ever see. He tried to recall the previous events, trying to find a reason for being in the pile of bodies, as to why he was the only one left alive. All that came was the fuzzy memory of something heavy hitting his head before he fell unconscious. His eyes stung and his throat restrained the scream he so desperately wanted to release. He was alone. Afraid. He hauled his legs out of the pile of the dead and looked around. Beings of metal and beings of flesh were scattered everywhere. He looked down at his own hands. He was definitely made of flesh. Fear clawed at his throat, begging him to make a sound but all that came was a strained cough. Unsure of what to do, he dragged himself off of the pile and rolled onto the solid, bloodied ground. When his back hit it seemed to destroy the dam that had pent up his reactions. An ear-piercing scream rang out over the otherwise silent battlefield. The sobs that echoed afterwards were heart-wrenching. His blurry distorted vision landed on the other bodies surrounding him. Their cold, lifeless eyes all somehow seemed to be staring straight at him. His sobs grew louder. All of these people were alive once. They could have been his greatest enemies. Or the best of friends. He just couldn't remember. It may seem like a good thing, that this boy did not remember who was who. Which side he had been on or if he had even been on a side. It was not. This only upset him more, that he could not remember. Whoever his comrades had been, they would not be thought of by him. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and never move. Never make another sound. To close his eyes and forget where he was, to disappear. That was when he heard it. Metal scraping against metal. The sickening sound terrified him, even though he had no idea why. He forced himself to sit up and look around. He could see movement but had a feeling this wasn't a good thing. He looked around him for something, anything, to use to defend himself. He noticed a hooked blade in a corpse's hand and tore it from the dead's grip. The sound was moving closer. The thing finally came into view. A mangled, rusted being of metal looked back at him. It was old. "Assessing being." The thing said. The boy trembled. He wanted so badly to run. Or to attack, but he couldn't move. He could see his own reflection in the broken metal body. "Being confirmed as-" The robotic voice was cut off by the boy as he used the blade to disconnect its head. It's red eyes slowly faded to black. He looked at his reflection and noticed a small pouch hanging from his shirt. It sparked a single memory. A question. "Why do you always wear them?" He opened it, and pulled out two lenses, quickly putting them on. He looked around. What now? That was when another sound interrupted him. Not the sound of metal, but the sound of heavy, fast footsteps. He turned around just in time to see something running full speed at him. Before he knew it, both him and the something were on the ground. "Ow..." It said. The boy looked over at the thing that had knocked him over. It looked like the beings of flesh scattered around them. "Whoah I am so sorry I wasn't looking where I was-" It was then that the being saw its surroundings. "Holy shit...what the fuck happened here?" It looked over at the boy. "Uh...Hi? What's your name." It spoke, though rather frantically. The boy looked at the being, wondering what he was going to say. He then looked at the bodies around him and noticed that they had nametags on them. He'd use one of these as his name. "Othello". The boy looked back at the being. "My name is Othello." The being stared at him. "Do you know what happened?" Othello looked down. "I have no idea. I cannot remember anything." The being stared at him. "Seriously? Damn...You got it rough, huh. Must have been one of them new mechs. I heard they got some crazy kick ass weaponry." Othello stared at the being. "Oh! The name's Fawkes" Othello stares at the other in confusion for a moment. "I did not ask for your name..." Othello said. Fawkes gave him a confused look. "Dude, you are weird as shit." Fawkes looked down at Othello's hand, the one holding the hooked blade. "A scythe? Did you fight?" Fawkes questioned. "I do not know." Othello looked down at himself, unsure if this boy was meant to be friend or foe. Fawkes stood, and offered a hand to Othello. He didn't take it. "C'mon. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life here. Pretty sure you don't though." Fawkes lowered his hand toward Othello a bit more. Finally, he took it, and let the other pull him to his feet. "Why do you have marks on your face?" Othello asked. Fawkes put a hand on his cheek, and wiped away the marks. "It's nothing." He said. Othello shrugged. "Do you remember anything?" Fawkes questioned, to which Othello shook his head. "Shit...you could stick with me for a bit, until we find a pack that'll take you in." Othello stared at Fawkes. "What is a pack?" Fawkes stared back, his a face of disbelief. "Dude, how are you even walking!? If you don't remember what a pack is you're memory is one hundred percent fucked." Fawkes stated. Othello gave him a blank stare. "I do not want to hear how 'fucked' my memory is. What is a pack." Fawkes scoffed. "Already picking up my language? A pack is a group of people helping each other survive. It's pretty simple. Usually you offer them a service, or food, and they'll let you in. The only catch is that you have to follow the pack leader's rules. You disobey them, and you're out." Fawkes explained. Othello opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the same sound of metal on metal. "Fuck." Fawkes blurted as he pulled a short blade from a thick leather sheath attached to his belt. "If you can use those blades, I suggest you get your ass in gear and help me. If not, get behind me." Fawkes said, turned towards the noise. Othello stood beside the other and raised the hooked blades. Fawkes smirked. "Good choice."