Ret·ro·fu·tur·ism

/retrōˈfyo͞oCHəˌrizm/

The use of a style or aesthetic considered futuristic in an earlier era.

Chapter One

To Better Days

Tuesday, November 07, 2558 – UNSC Standard Calendar

Deep in uncharted space

UNSC Spirit of Fire

0407 Hours – Greenwich Mean Time

In the infinite black void, illuminated only by the shine of the numerous specks of light emanating from the remnants of creation's birth, drifts a colossal titan of metal. Far beyond the reaches of its ilk, it surmounted impossibilities—from a genocidal, conglomerate empire of extraterrestrials to an ancient, eldritch abomination that plagued the galaxy eons ago.

On one side of this fortress of steel, the insignia of an eagle is engraved; bearing the emblem of its allegiance. Its arrayed layers, bundled up together as if it was like hay, made all the grandest castles of the previous eras pale in comparison, while simultaneously turning their most skilled makers, craftsmen, and artisans green with envy. The behemoth's angular edges would be considered by many to be unsightly and unaesthetically pleasing—downright abhorrent. Large antennas of varying lengths protruded from it without pattern or rhythm. The spaces between the ship were evidently unsymmetrical and uneven. Its greyish sheen can be considered by some to be unappealing and perturbing. However, a single glance from even the most ignorant could even tell you that this mobile heap of metal was fabricated for an obvious purpose and perhaps that one purpose only; war.

Military engineers will be susceptible to childish glee upon careful examination of it. Its design is completely paradoxical—in the crudest sense, it is essentially a gun coated in meters upon meters of thick, impenetrable, armour, but the most scrutinous in their study of the hunk of metal can tell you that it is more sophisticated. Its sides contained openings for what seemed to be countless armaments, all pernicious in their nature. Dozens of turrets, remaining dormant until battle comes, littered every inch of space found on it. Great, steel, doors can also be observed near its underside, with their large size leaving one to wonder what they can possibly contain behind those metallic barriers.

The inscription of Spirit of Fire, emblazoned on the same side as the eagle and emboldened in white, portrays this herculean giant as less of the strongholds of old and more of a ship. A ship that spanned two-and-a-half kilometers in length and almost a kilometer in width; with its height just being a fifth shorter than its width. Inside of it housed thousands of frozen souls in an induced sleep—only the tranquil, metallic humming of the ship was the indicator of its status as still being operational. Some lights flickered in illumination within the abyss of the ship to show that signs of life still inhabit the desolate place.

In the darkness of the ship, a serene voice was heard.

"Captain, wake up. Something has happened."

And as if it was a theatrical act, the mythological titan responded to the call and immediately awoke from its frigid, decades long slumber.

UNSC Spirit of Fire

Observation Deck

0531 Hours – GMT

"I'll need to go down there. Immediately, of course."

Captain James Cutter continued his stride towards the room. He was a man of character that imposed an air of calculating brilliance, which was expected of the ship captain. Strategies and tactics were their ultimate weapon against an enemy that had all the advantages. Cutter maintained an aura that was suggestive of a man that was tested by innumerable battles. His breathing was synchronized with each of his steps. His eyes presented his shrewdness. He always remained alert of his surroundings—always ready to act should the situation present itself. Although his posture was carefree, the wary and concerned look on his face told a much different story.

The observatory was located at the nose of the ship, only at the bottom. It required a five-minute elevator ride from the Command Bridge to get there even though both areas were on the opposite sides of the ship. A true testament to human ingenuity regarding engineering. It was a small room that was pentagonal in shape, with pillars of Titanium-A armor-plating acting as supports in each of the five vertices and enclosed with countless layers of reinforced glass. The holotables and holotanks found there enveloped the room with their subtle bluish hue. The holograms they pictured depicted various star charts, planetary bodies, planetary motion and orbits, and a plethora of all other information—all of which were cross-referenced with each other to solve the enigmatic puzzle they stumbled across.

"Good morning to you too, Professor." Captain Cutter cheekily addressed the other resident of the observatory.

Professor Ellen Anders, realizing her mistake, looked up from her work and followed up with an apology, "I'm sorry Captain. It's good to see you too," Professor Anders continued while parading around the deck, "but just look at it."

She gestured to the glass flooring.

The view greeted them with a planet that was obscured by great, dusty clouds hovering in its atmosphere. Even from orbit, a casual observer can remark that a great devastation occurred there. Though it was different from what they have experienced from the war with the Covenant with how their planets were bombarded by plasma to be reduced to molten glass.

To the Covenant, a group of alien races that deemed their species' existence heretical, it did not matter whether a human world was a thriving, metropolitan, garden world or a barren, desolate, landscape. What mattered was that they were there, and their existence was an affront to their divine gods. And by extension, so were their homes.

"What is it and where are we?" the captain of the Spirit of Fire implored his most prominent researcher.

Although he was inquisitive about the planet's nature, Cutter already felt that he knew the answers to those two questions, but he stored those deep within the annals of his mind as he did not want to entertain even an inkling of that hypothesis.

The planet was reminiscent of something many were familiar with, especially to a captain of the UNSC Navy like him, as virtually every UEG citizen learned about it. Its oceans and landmasses were familiar to the bare eye and the multitude of scans performed by the ship cemented his fears.

It was Earth.

It was the cradle of humanity—the homeworld of their interstellar civilization.

But it was not the Earth he was familiar with. Nor was it the Earth that everyone aboard the refitted colony ship familiar with.

But yet, the impossibility of it taunted all of them.

"It's Earth," Anders affirmed, "but that's not even the weirdest thing about it." This seemed to intrigue Captain Cutter as he instantly snapped out of his pensive pondering.

"Oh? Care to enlighten me then, Professor?"

Professor Anders went over to a holotable and modified it to show findings gathered from the faux Earth. "The ship's photosensors found something really interesting once everything was operational." She took a moment to sort out the scans pertaining to the matter, "It seems that this Earth has high levels of radioactivity. It was as if a nuclear holocaust broke out in the decades we were gone."

This did not seem to surprise Cutter. "Yes, that was reported to me by the technicians on the Bridge." He turned to look down back at the planet, "What puzzled them was that when they examined the craters left by the supposed nuclear ordnance, they found the explosive yield to be too low to have been caused by our own. It would seem like that the nuclear devices launched were from the early days of the Atomic Age."

Professor Anders let that piece of information digest in her mind before continuing, "Of course, Captain. Curious that you bring that up considering we also can't establish contact with the UNSC on what is supposed to be one of our most militarized world against the Covenant."

That was one of the other gripes Captain Cutter had with the Earth they orbited. Upon reaching the planet, they sent a broadcast out to all possible military frequencies in search for UNSC presence.

What they were met with, however, was radio silence. No one responded—not even HIGHCOM or Earth's home fleet. Even though their ship was outdated and may not be communicating in the proper frequencies, it would be impossible to still not notice them as they drifted towards Earth. Additionally, they found no ODPs orbiting this Earth—the only thing that went around it were, curiously enough, primitive satellites that were dilapidated.

There were also no signs of human colonization anywhere else in the Sol System replica they found themselves in. The other planets and Luna were all barren and devoid of life. It was as if the UNSC or the UEG never existed at all.

"And that's not all."

"Go on." Cutter waited for what else she had to say about the situation.

"The dosage of radioactivity also seemed higher in the earlier years."

The Spirit of Fire's captain did not get the implication behind the professor's words. Upon seeing the confused look that marred his face, she elaborated, "You know how radioactivity undergoes decay? Well, the other researchers and I used that same exact principle to calculate the exact date Earth was bombarded back to hunter-gatherer societies. If you thought what we're seeing now is bad, then it was many orders of magnitude worse many years prior."

Professor Anders then hesitated, "But the thing is..."

The look on Anders' face made Captain Cutter unnerved. He braced himself for whatever she may say.

"For the calculated initial levels to be that high, nuclear Armageddon must have occurred two centuries before!" She manipulated the holograms displayed to show him the exact Gray value this Earth has been dowsed in. It was an absurdly great number.

It was only then that Captain Cutter responded in disbelief. "That couldn't possibly happen. Surely, there must be something wrong. Something we overlooked." If what Professor Anders said was correct, then there should not be a substantial amount of radiation still found on the planet. It would have dissipated in a couple decades.

"Negative, Captain," the professor shook her head before pulling up a different set of images to display from the holotable, "we did calculations with this Earth's orbit along with the nearby planets and this Earth seems to be in the year 2282."

Captain Cutter's body tightened.

"So, what you're saying is that we time travelled?"

His comment made her lose her train of thought. Their predicament was getting more nonsensical the more they discussed it. Nonetheless, she regained her composure, "I don't think so, Captain. Ignoring the fact that we'll be all awoken by the great energy surge in that undertaking, this doesn't represent our Earth in the twenty-third century."

The captain of the battered and worn ship became pensive, with the professor soon following his example. While it was true that this apocalypse did not occur in their version of history, it did not explain why the solar system they were on matched the Sol System of the UEG. All the planets in this system were even labelled and recognized as planets of the UEG.

Perhaps we travelled to an alternate universe while were in cryosleep and Serina just failed to detect it? No, that's too farfetched. The solutions Anders offered were equally as absurd as the existence of the Earth facsimile.

Cutter, however, thought about the ancient Forerunners and their technological capabilities and wondered if they had a hand in the creation of the replica. For an advanced civilization that could build megastructures that can house their own artificial sun, it would not be too far out of their reach to design a mirror copy of our homeworld. But he still could not offer a solution as to why they would go the lengths to do that.

The observatory was silent, save for the beeping of the machines and the continuous humming of the ventilation systems, as its two denizens tried to figure out the most reasonable way to approach the problem they were facing.

It seemed that several eternities passed before Captain Cutter spoke up.

"We need boots on the ground to better assess this situation. A few hours earlier, we've detected a curious number of signs regarding human life in the URNA nation-state, but what technicians are most interested in is the Nevada area. There seems to be less signs of radioactivity in there than other areas, and imaging from orbit seems to confirm this as it's relatively unharmed compared to other territories."

The captain then nodded to Professor Anders before folding his hands behind his back and walking towards the elevator shaft to depart for the Command Bridge. The Spirit of Fire took many casualties from the Covenant onslaught and had its effective crew size cut down to about fifty percent, which is about 5,400 troops. It was also fortunate that the support ship managed to hold on to its arsenal of vehicles, as Captain Cutter knew that having a vehicle complement is the key to turning tides in battles.

The captain also thought it would be wise to remain cautious when deploying troops to this new Earth. He knew nothing about how the locals may react towards the UNSC, so it would be best if they made contact with only a few people first. He would also need to remain inconspicuous when they did so as to not attract too much attention to themselves.

"Yes, Captain," Professor Anders acknowledged his decision before going back to the array of holotables to study the Earth they found in more depth, "don't forget to bring Geiger counters!"

Captain Cutter responded with a short chuckle before the elevator shut its doors and sent him off to direct the Spirit of Fire's forces.

That type of technology was prehistoric by their standards.

Friday, May 12, 2282

The Tops Casino, New Vegas

9:52 AM – Pacific Daylight Time

"Would you like some more scotch, Mr. Pratt?"

Tobias Pratt raised his head from the hard counter and groggily looked up at the well-kept bartender. The bartender that inquired about any more of his requests wore a mask of stoicism that made it hard to discern what he was thinking. His lips were pursed and his slanted eyes didn't give him any other emotion aside from disinterest. His stylish, brown, formal wear accentuated his professionalism, as not a single stain was present for such a menial job as handling liquor.

Behind the bartender, an assortment of all kinds of alcoholic beverages whose names he could scarcely recognize were presented. He had a gut feeling that his meager sum of caps would not be able to afford their exorbitant prices, so he decided to stick with the cheap stuff if he wanted to retain them.

Not that he minded. His days in the wasteland made him accepting of what ever beer he can take.

Even in the early hours of the day, numerous patrons already crowded inside the building, which made him a tiny bit claustrophobic, so he retreated in the bar in hopes of finding a sanctuary that will help him ease his mind.

Big mistake.

"Yeah, of course."

Was what he thought he replied with. He was unsure of whether or not he actually uttered those words with that much clarity or if his drunken stupor slurred his words into an incomprehensible mess. He doesn't really give it much thought as the bartender seemed to understand the sentiment behind his words and poured him a new shot.

The centuries old scotch still managed to give him a buzz. He commended the oldies from before the Great War as they surely knew how to build their stuff with how everything he seemed to find in the Mojave Wasteland from the pre-war era still seemed to work—the Big MT being case and point. He actually still can't believe he left that place without his heart. Though he didn't mind too terribly, as he knew he can just go back there to fetch it again.

"You know, drinking alcohol this early in the morning, before noon, is bad for your health."

Tobias took a hold of the shot glass before downing down the brown liquid in one swift motion. The way it travelled down his throat refreshed him, so he gestured for the bartender to give him more; which he obeyed without a question. He doesn't get paid to question someone's poor decisions, unlike the man standing right behind him.

The semi-intoxicated courier sat up straight, turned around, and then glared at the offender—a smartass draped in a lab coat standing behind him a few feet away with his arms crossed. His face betrayed a look of disappointment more than a look of worry.

He locked eyes with the man, his reflection visible in the physician's clean glasses, before giving him his well-crafted reply:

"Fuck off, Arcade."

Arcade Gannon's emerald eyes dueled with Pratt's deep, azure blue. After a few moments of tense, palpable, silence, the older man sighed and pulled up to a bar stool next to him. Tobias found it hard to stop himself from breaking into a smirk.

"Uhh… do you guys have coffee around here?" Arcade questioned the bartender, who was preoccupied with dutifully cleaning the marble countertop.

It was at this moment that Tobias Pratt used all his willpower not to bang his head on the counter. He didn't need anymore headaches. It's been seven months since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam and problems with his newly-christened independent New Vegas is already depriving him of his much-needed beauty sleep.

He's been wandering the desert for years. What he needs is a bed softened by feathers. He's tired of using rocks for pillows and grimy, musty, clothes as blankets. At least I don't have to wake up in the middle of the night with a coyote going at it with my boot. Or worse. Tobias involuntarily shuddered at the recollection of a few unwanted memories.

The bartender looked at the blond doctor quizzically before responding, "Sir, this is a bar. However, if you want me to, I can can go check our storage unit if we have some available." Part of Tobias wondered if the bartender was being serious or not. How will that even work? Are they just going to make up the price on the spot?

Gannon let out a forced laugh. "Oh, it's fine. A glass of water will do."

You idiot. That was the only thought that came to Tobias regarding Arcade's shocking display of stupidity. For a man who was raised under the Enclave, understand the machinations of the scientists behind the Big MT, and one of the foremost physicians of the Followers, he sure likes to play the part of the idiot sometimes.

"I know what you're thinking," Arcade, the telepath, said to him, "but I don't drink alcohol. Knew a lot of people who had their lives destroyed by it. Remember Bill Ronte?"

Tobias resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." The mention of the former alcoholic made Tobias turn to his old companion, "Wait, what are you even doing in here? Shouldn't you be helping out Farkas with the Freeside residents?"

The doctor shrugged. "It's a slow day. Besides, we mostly patched up everything in Freeside now. The only people left to help are the locals as most NCR squatters left already."

The courier narrowed his eyes. "So, you decided to come here to the Tops to do what exactly? Gamble? Play some slots? Didn't know the good doctor had it in him to lose his money." Tobias then looked at him from top to bottom. "Is that why you're still wearing your lab coat? You went straight from that fort to here?"

Arcade indignantly snorted at Tobias' latter comment. "Have you seen some people that manage to get into the Strip? My style is miles ahead of theirs if we're doing a comparison based on attire."

It was Tobias' turn to snort in an unrefined manner. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, doc. You smell like cough syrup."

Arcade briefly chuckled before his expression turned grave.

"Just for the record, I'm here because I'm honestly worried your health may deteriorate. You're drinking every day for hours at a time—day and night. You're clearly stressed out. Sure, I understand that New Vegas is in deep excrement, but the savior of the Mojave Wasteland can't just die from liver failure. Aside from shamefully having to put that part in history textbooks, your death is going to undo everything we worked hard to painstakingly build."

Tobias was taken aback by this, but the doctor nonchalantly continued his tirade.

Arcade tried to assuage Tobias' worries, "I know the NCR is breathing down our necks after we 'convinced' them to leave New Vegas alone, but the east is mostly secure with how Caesar's Legion has no leadership to rally around to."

While it was true that the NCR's "finest" General Lee Oliver has been raving mad about how their republic needs to take back New Vegas after their humiliation at their hands, the NCR's bureaucratic nature has been bogging down their war mobilization efforts to a grinding halt. Though there were reports that cries for war might resurgence with how the new NCR president is some bloodthirsty warmonger supported by an equally warmongering NCR Congress. The same couldn't be said for the Legion however. Those tribal slavers descended into a civil war as soon as he killed their Legate in combat. Sucks for them.

Tobias told Arcade, "It's less of an invasion I'm worried about and more of what's happening around New Vegas. The NVFA severely lacks manpower, is underequipped, and poorly trained—making our citizens vulnerable to raiders because they now think this city is ripe for the picking. Especially the ones living near the north." He then gestured for the bartender for more shots, who came back with Arcade's glass of water.

"That took horribly long for a single glass of water," joked Arcade. The bartender, however, didn't think too highly of his comedic genius, ignored his comment, and left again for Tobias' scotch.

"But in all seriousness, the president and commander-in-chief can surely handle a bunch of brigands plundering the hard-working citizens of the independent state of New Vegas, right?" winked the doctor. Tobias shuddered at the thought of a drunk Arcade Gannon if he already acted this annoying while sober.

Though he was only a provisional president before actual elections can take place in New Vegas, it has become an inside joke among his companions of his status as president.

Veronica, right before she left to fully dedicate herself in working with the Followers of the Apocalypse, always made it her sworn duty to address him as "President Pratt" and salute him every time they met each other. Though it was funny the first few times, she quickly overused it.

Boone wasn't much different. But the way he said president was carried out in a blatantly sarcastic manner. He joked about his status, or so Tobias liked to believe, and made a lot of comparisons with Kimball. He hasn't seen him much since he moved back to Novac to train the militia there in case of an NCR attack. Tobias still doesn't know if Boone would be fine raising up arms against his previous country. It's his old country too, but Boone was in their armed forces so that may not bode well for him, and he doesn't want to feel like he's forcing him to do it.

Raul and Cass were one of the worst ones though. The former stopped calling him boss and just called him president all the time now. Hell, he even liked to introduce himself as the "President's Handyman" to every man and woman he ran across to in New Vegas, much to his dismay. He even started wearing sunglasses and a suit because it was like that before the Great War. Cassidy, however, joked that he should have made himself king or emperor or something so he could have done as much shit as he wanted. Although it was obvious that Cass was just playing to his ego, he wouldn't lie and say he didn't give it any thought. He did think about that, but Arcade told him a democratic state was the best way to go begin a new sovereign nation. Though one just needs to look at how corrupt the current state of the NCR is to question the validity of that assertion.

Lily, along with ED-E and Rex, were the exception. The nightkin didn't understand what the fuss was all about and didn't care much at all, but she always made sure to try and make him happy. She even tried to bake him cookies once when he was burned out from all the paperwork he had to do, which resulted in a fiery explosion that cost him thousands of caps to repair. Pre-war tech isn't exactly cheap to repair, you know? Even with all that, however, Tobias still liked her company and sometimes wondered what she's doing back in Jacobstown.

Probably back to tending her bighorners. He smiled at the thought.

"Haha," Tobias rolled his eyes, "You know I'm starting to wonder why I even wanted to be the president anyway."

"Is it because you're a narcissistic megalomaniac whose egotistical nature made you want to assume control and did it all under the guise of alleviating the crises New Vegas is facing?"

"Impressive bar-stool analysis there, Freud."

Arcade laughed. The bartender finally came back with his scotch. God was he parched for some hard booze right now.

Before he can down it however, the doctor turns towards Tobias. "To better days," Arcade raised his glass in the air, "for the future of a free New Vegas—free from its enemies, free from its problems, and free for all to decide their future."

The grin that took over the doctor's face was infectious and he found himself smiling soon enough. God does he love it when Arcade gets overdramatic.

He lifts his newly-filled shot glass in parallel to Arcade's much larger one to mirror his actions.

"To better days."

And with that, their glasses clinked.

Author's Note:

Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged. I don't own the Cover Image.