So, it is the 31st Century, the year 3013, it has been 900 years since War-N devastated the world.
900 years, since that ideological nightmare had plunged this planet to bellows worst than hell. There are many who survived the initial catastrophe since the first fuse was lit, but scanty are the numbers who were fit enough to rephrase, less say chronicle this disaster. World-War N, or War N as many of the youngins' of the later generations call it, was fueled by a monstrous group of terrorists called the Warheads. The ancient folk thought the Warheads were only a bunch of tough-talking nitwits and that their knowledge of computer programming could only be utilized to destroy infrastructure the scale of a tiny sub-system, or simply a few consoles if they might. It is due to the poor communication between government securities, and media to its people that ultimately resulted in the bloodiest mistake ever committed by mankind. Reason was, nobody had ever a single idea that the Warheads could possibly have actual brotherhood ties with the real world assassins and Bedouins with suicide belts. Hearsay was that with combined forces of their supercomputers on the 5th November, they hacked into the Pentagon's flawed SWAP (SuperWeapons Administration Programming) and without second thoughts, compulsively launched nuclear bombs around the world. From the ashes of a dystopian wasteland, there is but a few who could gain access to surviving technology, in the form of televisions and monitors. It was of course, the existing bodies of government that lay in fortified bunkers who still possessed such appliances, even though the rest of the world is damned. From a repeated broadcast, the leaders of states and their union could gaze at the shadowy figure as he attempts to make his bold speech. Apparently, it was only a confession, to the greatest mischief anyone who breathed to understand.
The Warheads stated their only reason, as eerily quoted by their leader, "For the fun of it."
Welcome to the Human Race.
The survivors of what dust that remains of the civilizations on Earth formed a minor government called the United States Of Earth. The United States of Earth used the ruins of Washington DC to start a project, a project called Operation: Resurrection, a project which blatantly, had lasted for close to a millenia. This audacious project consists of building a large network of anti-nuke shelters underground, and reformation of a unified, stronger loving world. Because of it, we've formed a society in these dire times. We have survived until now.
Although democracy has yet to be accepted by the faceless factions that dominate corners of the world, it had roots in our culture. Names. as you could see, have not been given for many years, names are taken instead. When a child is old enough to communicate, it is told to take a name as a symbol of freedom and free choice. Before the name choosing ceremony, a child is called by a number to symbolize the days when hell broke loose and nobody had time for names and the existing government had pretentiously just used numbers to distinguish the people that survived. The initial numbers were, macabre indeed.
I went by the name Wolf Shepard, as I took it because I am not a follower of the oppressing. I, from the very moment I seen a dragonfly break free from the bonds of a tarantula's web, decided that I want to lead the strong and not stay behind in the crowd, those who idolize the strong. I want to truly survive. I shall be the Shepard of the Wolves. If memory served me right, I am 35 as of this very moment, at the prime of my life. I took my name when I was 16. I started my military training in close-range and long range weapons when I was 9 under the guidance of mercenaries and the descendants of ancient-time terrorists. My father was a scientist of this sector, Sector-X, formidable it was as whispered by its enemies. His taken name by the way, was Hawk Scope. 5 years ago, he deserted Sector-X and headed for a place, that is No-Mans-Land. I was left with a message that tells me to go looking for him half a decade later, on the same day he defected from our proud sector. It was that day we lost a valuable asset. But it was today that I should seek to find him in No-Mans-Land. The day is today. "23-04-3013"
So, I woke up on the bunk bed as I had since five years ago that changed me, and wandered outside the tent, over the gravel road to the Depository. The lady at the counter was scrawny, but I had only known her for so long, she had no name, and was proud of it. The routine greetings ended briefly, and I was led to the hall where I was supposed to find my belongings. A great adventure was beyond me, but the beginnings shallow and broken, as derelict as the dilapidated building, which I guessed should've crumbled by now after 900 years it stood. My bunk mates used to tell me about great stories from generations past, how this building was the State's foremost university. A place they said, was the birthplace of many great intellectuals who invented the technology that is still even used today! But sadly, the edifice stands while most of those people have died off, majority perhaps, from the calamity that is, War-N, which claimed more than just their ideas but those who created them. In remembrance of those fruitful, good old days, Nanny taught me about the dignified names we call them, "Humanity's Architects", THE Architects. She couldn't be any right about that.
I went to my locker and grabbed my rifle and hunting knife from the compartments that are close to the living proof that I grew old every single time I visited. It was a calendar from 500 years back, I was using it because there aren't that many calendars since the world ended, for everyone gave them up in despair. When I was about to open the main door, I was stopped by the Mayor of Sector-X. He was accompanied by a number a soldiers wearing heavy armor. They were all holding LMGs, rustic but nevertheless, effective death machines. I did not care to take a long enough glance to see what kind as machine gun fire rained upon my head. I headed for cover and used my rifle to shoot a few of the soldiers in the legs as that is their weak spot. The Mayor was wielding a Taurus Revolver. He said, "You do not want to go out there. The radiation might not have dispersed. You might kill us all." I shouted a reply, "There is no more radiation, my father sent me a gift a few months ago. He is still alive." I felt it was rather difficult for them to accept the fact that the fallout is clear and the Earth is regenerating itself, there can be room for further growth already, nature is beginning to flourish. A reality of crops able to be sown and reaped the following season, is adversely taken in by obstinate, unknowing ears.
The mayor said with a calming voice, "He is dead. Stop lying to yourself." While reloading, I told him, "I can't lie about the truth." I found cover behind the control panel. I pressed the button to open the main door. As it opened, the air-pressure was amazingly strong and it sucked out some papers littered on the ground. A few seconds later, air pressure regulated. The Mayor and his soldiers, fearing radiation, fled towards the decontamination room. With only a flesh wound from a ricochet of an LMG bullet, I left Sector-X. I begin my journey into No-Mans-Land. I do not know what to expect. Will I find my father? I do not know. Will I live? I don't know. I could die in a few years, a few months or even a few days. No-Mans-Land is an unpredictable wasteland. Wolf out.
