Water Under The Bridge?
- LECTURAS 116
- Votos 3
- Partes 3
Continúa24m
Última publicación sáb, oct 13, 2012
My Family has been warring for as long as i can remember... Mind you some only took up the battle about four years back. That is when everybody's true nature shown through the masks they were so well hidden behind. People who tried to dance along the line or play both ends of the field were made to choose a side that god awful day.
The only neutral party were my grandparents themselves. No one dared bend there will for fear of their unrelenting wrath. I mean don't get me wrong my grandparents are the most caring people that i know, but piss them off and you are in some deep shit my friend.
Now though... After all the fighting... All the horrible things said and done... We are forced to make amends and suffer a great loss together. My only question is will it ever be water under the bridge?
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The year is 1964, but the surface has not felt human footsteps for nearly half a century. The Great Retreat of 1919 forced the remnants of civilization underground after World War I spiraled out of control. The war did not end-it merely burrowed deeper. Poisoned by mustard gas storms, chemical fires, and plagues, the surface is a wasteland of twisted metal and abandoned battlefields. Cities stand as hollowed ruins, their streets buried under layers of ash and dust. The sun is a faded memory, its warmth replaced by the choking heat of oil-fed infernos. Humanity crawled underground, carving vast tunnel networks and cavern-cities in the bones of the earth. Here, in the damp dark, people breathe recycled air, eat fungus grown from the dead, and drink from seeping cracks in ancient stone. The tunnels are endless, a maze of bunkers, collapsed mines, and fortresses built into the rock. The deeper one goes, the easier it is to forget the surface ever existed. War never ended-it just changed battlefields. Two factions, trapped in their endless conflict, send wave after wave of soldiers to die in the tunnels. The Golden Empire A militaristic theocracy that foolishly believes that God has not yet mankind. Their soldiers march in formation, clad in gold-plated armor, chanting hymns as they die for a war they cannot win. The Royal Nation A fractured, industrial war machine, where duty replaces faith. They ration food, force conscription, and manufacture war endlessly. Their soldiers wear hate on their sleeves, marching toward death with polished bayonets. Neither side will surrender. Battles are won and lost over mere yards of dirt, trenches collapse under the weight of bodies, and chemical gas drifts through the underground like creeping death. The surface is dead. The underground is soon to follow.
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