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Fantasy Bleeding Acid


Lethargic Egoist

"Welcome to a world of pain!"
A long time ago, there were no Scrapper teams hauling junk around, no Hunter boys hunting mutants, no warlords and warladies murderin' eachother over and over again until the earth's saturated with their blood.
A long time ago, the world was a lush, green place, where man had no worries. The chemicals ruined all that. Made it toxic. Made it Acid. And we followed suit. Everyone's got Acid in their blood now. Made us strong, but fucked us up deep inside. You see, nobody's a real human no more. It all eroded away. Nothin' left to do but survive, like beasts in a cage. Maybe that's why they're keeping us holed up in this Crater. Maybe out there somebody's watching... Laughing as we tear our throats out...

But what the hell would I know. I'm just a dying man, bleeding acid all over the place!



Deliciously insightful one
"Come in. "

And she did. The clothing layered with cloth and metal made the distinctive sound as she walked in, hands at the back like a soldier. The man who she listened to turn around in his chair dramatically. Frank, the very boss of the group, clapped his hand slowly and firmly as his two bolt rings clang against each other.

"So, my Queenie, my little bird. How is it today?"

"All good. "

"Good, good. Good to hear. What's today's mission again? Scraps? Hunting?"

"Hunting, sir."

"Good, good. What else? How's the pay?"

"It's the usual."

"Usual? Ah, and I had hoped they would pay up the remaining sum from last month. You did tell my message properly, ye?"

"All very clearly. "

"Good, good. " Frank leaned back into his tall chair with a satisfied, toothy smile. There was something else about his smile, that stank like sewage water. He waved her away, in motions like a wingless fly. She didn't, though. First time in a long time, Frank frowned.

"What is it, my little Queenie?"

"The men..." She whispered, black hair hung over her overhead and blocked Frank's sight from seeing her face.

"What about the men. "

"Oh, funny you should ask. "

It was in the sudden horror that Frank had to see the door being kicked down behind her, and man after man streamed in, each holding their guns and knives. The woman walked calmly, slowly, straight towards him, and as he was held down onto that very chair he stuck his butt in, she hopped on his desk easily and squatted down, leaning in, face inches away. Only then, he saw his obedient toy, second in command, had a grin on her face.

"This is unacceptable! You are ..."

"Oh, give me a reason why we shouldn't? You've been here in the office while we all run for you, me and my men. We get very little of your sum, and?" She pulled out a drawer near him. "As I suspect, empty. There were no papers to file, what had you been wasting time doing here then, huh?"

She grabbed what Frank's hands were reaching for. A very cold, dark, long object. He stared at her coldly. "You don't know how to use that. "

"Do you?" Said her with a wide grin, a hunter grin, as she pusheth the end of the object to his forehead. The click sound sounded familiar like the sound of her armour. Cold, cruel, effective. But cruelness was nothing in this world, nothing.


His brains scattered on the floor like water, his mouth now forever gaped, having a bloody hole above it. The woman looked at the dark object with thoughts. "It's not meant for close range. " Then without a second look at the body, she ordered. "Clean it up. "

"What should we do with it?"

"...Give it to some kids. Not the best, but it'll be the cleanest they get in this waste. "


Lethargic Egoist
"My mother told me!"
"Someday I would buy!"
"Galley with good oars!"
"Sail to distant shores!"
"Stand up high on the prow!"
"Noble barque I steer!"
"Safe course for the haven!"
"Hew many foe-men!"

The Scrappers cheered, waving their hands into the air, pulling on ropes and clapping merrily. Whatever their task was at the moment, singing these shanties made it all the easier... Or at least, it kept the boredom away. Currently, their task was waiting. To keep their ears peeled for a signal, that was the last order from their Captain. Whatever that wa-


The muffled but unmistakable sound of gunfire came from the small concrete block that their ship stood adjacent to. The Scrappers waited a few more moments, just to see if anything else followed the signal. Nothing. "Clean kill." A giant of a man commented, looking up from the card game he had going with another crew member. "This bosslady's a real professional. Good lookin' too." The other player replied, shuffling cards between his scarred hands. "TIME TO READY THE SAILS, YOU DOGS!" One screaming Scrapper waved his bell around, using its endless clanging to wake even the heaviest of sleepers. The crew slowly set to work, and a familiar echo sounded once more.

"My mother told me!"
"Someday I would buy!"

Inside the cramped building, the steady scritch-scratch of a cane against the floor announced The Captain's arrival. A couple of men parted, letting him enter the room. He winced. Seeing Frank's brains splattered against the wall... The brutal image of death still had an effect on him. He passed a hand over his sweaty brow, moving the eyepatch that covered an empty eyesocket back in place. The Captain frowned, leaning into his cane (Which was more of a harness wrapped around his left arm attached to an iron crutch with a sharp tip) and tapping his peg leg on the floor.

"Happens to the worst of 'em."
He shuffled forward, now standing just behind Queenie. Queenie... What a strange name. A name that seemed to belong more to an animal. But then, Queen felt too royal. He would settle for Q. "I wager you've made some people angry with this kill. My crew is preppin' the ship as we speak. You got any other loose ends to tie up 'fore we get out of this shithole?"

He couldn't help but place a hand on his belt, dangerously close to the handheld crossbow kept in place by a leather strap. Anyone holding a gun could turn psycho and shoot you. Black powder makes you feel powerful. Makes you too much trouble.


Deliciously insightful one
"Oh, I'm going to make people very angry. "

Said the woman as she turned around, slipping down the table edge while presenting a letter between them. On the letter, there was the signature of a name notorious to the residents of the waste. The two of them stood so closely, that they were both breathing on the yellow paper.

"We can either avoid them or be prepared when they come, either way, they will find that things weren't exactly what they were told, and certainly not as easy. " She tossed the paper away, and in the same position sliding the top of the stack of papers away, which then flew all over the floor into the scattered brain. "And this, this is our contract, Long John. I'll take it. "

Stuffing the paper into a box-like piece in her armour (and ignoring the rest), she nudged her man who was waiting on the side, causing quite a fearful reaction of him flinching. And while she chuckled, a single toothy knife raised above the heads of those men in the corner. They completely blocked the sight of what lied in between them.

The flinched man organized his embarrassed self for order and was happier when she told them to take everything valuable in the building. "Yes, boss lady. " He saluted, ready to walk away.

She pulled him back, an odd twinkle in her eyes as she lowly and solemnly ordered, again. "Call me Queen."

"Y, yes! Queen!"

Queen appeared quite thoughtful after he left, and didn't react when the others overheard and cheered. It had been years since she heard that name from another's voice. Her real name, her birth name. It became disgusting, ever since Frank gave it a twist and made it a pet name. For years, her fists had made sure no one had it on his tongue outside the office.

She was getting her name back.

Facing the Captain, the woman was expecting him to think her strange. "Queen" in its other meaning, sound pompous at best. Telling him to lead the way, she finally heard the singing outside of the door. She could see the ship, among the disfigured metal sea they now live, her men like ants over the irregular landscape.

Galley with good oars, huh.

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