yourlocal-eboyy
boots with the fur
—I’ve split everything up to make it more readable, pspspssp—
You've lived every day of your life like clockwork. Wake up, do those things you do everyday, go to sleep, wake up... the cycle is endless. Not a cycle you'd be particularly upset with at all, no, life was great. Or maybe, it wasn't, but regardless you've carried on.
Just like how you've ended every other day, you've gone to sleep. The time you did it, nor how long you've slept matters. You wake up, but something's wrong. This isn't where you fell asleep, this isn't right.
As your eyes adjust to the faintly coloured place you've awoken, you come to the realisation that it seems.. empty. Pink, blue, and purple neon signs are the only lighting in this strange place. You're on the tiled floor, and multiple other strangers surround you.
A man is standing at the counter, looking as faded as the rest of you might. He seems to be arguing with the others behind the counter. Behind the counter, there's two people. One is a young man with green eyes, orange-brown curly hair, and fair skin with the exception of two scars on his nose and one under his right eye. He wears a dark blue hoodie with a red 'S' stitched into the right corner. He's smiling as he talks to the man on your side of the counter.
As it seems, he's one of you. He doesn't look like he's from your time, however. He's wearing particularly winterish clothing. His outfit is dark in colour, and is something someone would wear if they lived up north. High up north. He has white hair, which falls into a blue gradient in some strands. His eyes are silver, and he seems to be quite confused, and the one who enticed the argument.
While the two aforementioned men are talking from opposing ends of the counter, a simple plastic barrier between them, the brown-haired man in the hoodie introduced himself as 'Steve', labelled by the name tag he so proudly pats. He then gestures to the one sitting and clicking away at a computer, the one looking you all up and down, as if to confirm something.
This particular person... well, if you could call it that, couldn't be any taller than three feet tall. He seems to have a yellow-orange balloon in place of his head, some sharp-edged triangular shades adorn what could be considered his face. He wears a similar hoodie to the other man, with the exception of its white colour. Steve introduces the smaller one as 'Little Steve'.
Steve begins, "Welcome all, faded or fully conscious, to your trip around Hell. figuratively at least. No, you're not dead, and no, this isn't actually Hell. This world's just ended, and you're the one of lucky lots who gets'ta take a world, or America-restricted trip around this wasteland."
Little Steve simply nods at his remark and continues clicking away. It seems he is simply pressing keys on the keyboard, not truly typing anything. Steve continues, “Anyways,” he begins, walking to the back and grabbing a set of keys from a bulletin board, “I’m assuming you’re the driver, little guy.” He says as he tosses the keys at the faded man who’s apparently with you. He seemed like he was to say something, but was quickly cut off by Steve, who continues to talk.
He gestures to the left of the counter. There, is a vending machine with no visible contents; the receivement area has a large door which takes up over half of the machine, which Steve begins to explain. “That machine right there’s a real wonder. I stole it, of course, but basically it‘s like a genie. You get that screen on, type what you want, and you use a request. You can literally ask for anything with the exception of living beings, more requests, and nuclear weapons. You also can’t ask for things like the AIDS virus concealed within a syringe.
However, you can get boxes of things. So like, if any of ya’ll are snackers, get some. Also, you can get weapons and medicine, ammo too, but no painkillers. Oh, and ya got 5 requests. If y'all have any questions go ‘n ask. Well, anything except for ‘Who are you?’ Because as I said, my name is Steve, this is Little Steve,“ He says, gesturing back toward the balloon person slamming his hands on the keyboard.“‘Where am I?’ That’s simple, you’re in Territory 37, the coast of Japan. Specifically, you’re in Station 4, the station straight to Alaska.” Steve continues, “Oh, and no, how you got here doesn’t matter, no, you can’t just walk out, we’ve already super-bolted the doors, and yes, you’re going to have to travel as a group all together.”
He snaps his fingers in realisation. “Oh! Also, it’s not a complete wasteland out there, we’re actually trying to rebuild society and stuff. You’re likely to meet people along the way, but ah, I’d advise the lot of you to be careful. There are some.. things.. out there that’ll be out to kill ya, people included. I’d just warn you,” He tilted his head low “Not everybody’s what they seem. There are some people out there who can be infected one day, then completely fine the next, an off and on thing. Don’t share forks, spoons, or cups with anyone except people you’re 100% sure are okay. The process is painful.”
He then sits straight back up. “Holy fuck, sorry, that was a lot. Anyways, you guys can- oh wait, oops, gotta ask for your names for ya tickets. If you’re not sure of all five of your requests, you’re cool, there‘s another vending machine on the train, but that’ll be it for a while.” He pulls out a sharpie and a notepad.
”So, who might you all be?”
You've lived every day of your life like clockwork. Wake up, do those things you do everyday, go to sleep, wake up... the cycle is endless. Not a cycle you'd be particularly upset with at all, no, life was great. Or maybe, it wasn't, but regardless you've carried on.
Just like how you've ended every other day, you've gone to sleep. The time you did it, nor how long you've slept matters. You wake up, but something's wrong. This isn't where you fell asleep, this isn't right.
As your eyes adjust to the faintly coloured place you've awoken, you come to the realisation that it seems.. empty. Pink, blue, and purple neon signs are the only lighting in this strange place. You're on the tiled floor, and multiple other strangers surround you.
A man is standing at the counter, looking as faded as the rest of you might. He seems to be arguing with the others behind the counter. Behind the counter, there's two people. One is a young man with green eyes, orange-brown curly hair, and fair skin with the exception of two scars on his nose and one under his right eye. He wears a dark blue hoodie with a red 'S' stitched into the right corner. He's smiling as he talks to the man on your side of the counter.
As it seems, he's one of you. He doesn't look like he's from your time, however. He's wearing particularly winterish clothing. His outfit is dark in colour, and is something someone would wear if they lived up north. High up north. He has white hair, which falls into a blue gradient in some strands. His eyes are silver, and he seems to be quite confused, and the one who enticed the argument.
While the two aforementioned men are talking from opposing ends of the counter, a simple plastic barrier between them, the brown-haired man in the hoodie introduced himself as 'Steve', labelled by the name tag he so proudly pats. He then gestures to the one sitting and clicking away at a computer, the one looking you all up and down, as if to confirm something.
This particular person... well, if you could call it that, couldn't be any taller than three feet tall. He seems to have a yellow-orange balloon in place of his head, some sharp-edged triangular shades adorn what could be considered his face. He wears a similar hoodie to the other man, with the exception of its white colour. Steve introduces the smaller one as 'Little Steve'.
Steve begins, "Welcome all, faded or fully conscious, to your trip around Hell. figuratively at least. No, you're not dead, and no, this isn't actually Hell. This world's just ended, and you're the one of lucky lots who gets'ta take a world, or America-restricted trip around this wasteland."
Little Steve simply nods at his remark and continues clicking away. It seems he is simply pressing keys on the keyboard, not truly typing anything. Steve continues, “Anyways,” he begins, walking to the back and grabbing a set of keys from a bulletin board, “I’m assuming you’re the driver, little guy.” He says as he tosses the keys at the faded man who’s apparently with you. He seemed like he was to say something, but was quickly cut off by Steve, who continues to talk.
He gestures to the left of the counter. There, is a vending machine with no visible contents; the receivement area has a large door which takes up over half of the machine, which Steve begins to explain. “That machine right there’s a real wonder. I stole it, of course, but basically it‘s like a genie. You get that screen on, type what you want, and you use a request. You can literally ask for anything with the exception of living beings, more requests, and nuclear weapons. You also can’t ask for things like the AIDS virus concealed within a syringe.
However, you can get boxes of things. So like, if any of ya’ll are snackers, get some. Also, you can get weapons and medicine, ammo too, but no painkillers. Oh, and ya got 5 requests. If y'all have any questions go ‘n ask. Well, anything except for ‘Who are you?’ Because as I said, my name is Steve, this is Little Steve,“ He says, gesturing back toward the balloon person slamming his hands on the keyboard.“‘Where am I?’ That’s simple, you’re in Territory 37, the coast of Japan. Specifically, you’re in Station 4, the station straight to Alaska.” Steve continues, “Oh, and no, how you got here doesn’t matter, no, you can’t just walk out, we’ve already super-bolted the doors, and yes, you’re going to have to travel as a group all together.”
He snaps his fingers in realisation. “Oh! Also, it’s not a complete wasteland out there, we’re actually trying to rebuild society and stuff. You’re likely to meet people along the way, but ah, I’d advise the lot of you to be careful. There are some.. things.. out there that’ll be out to kill ya, people included. I’d just warn you,” He tilted his head low “Not everybody’s what they seem. There are some people out there who can be infected one day, then completely fine the next, an off and on thing. Don’t share forks, spoons, or cups with anyone except people you’re 100% sure are okay. The process is painful.”
He then sits straight back up. “Holy fuck, sorry, that was a lot. Anyways, you guys can- oh wait, oops, gotta ask for your names for ya tickets. If you’re not sure of all five of your requests, you’re cool, there‘s another vending machine on the train, but that’ll be it for a while.” He pulls out a sharpie and a notepad.
”So, who might you all be?”