HERSCHEL

Prologue: Descend Onto the Earth

There are many ways in which humanity has described hell. The Bible tells of it as a place of torment, misery, fear, and pain. John Milton diverts and calls it a place of a doomed soul who is often misunderstood. Dante's visions recall a sadistic torture that never ceases. Some people however, describe hell as war. A war in which the soul kills the flesh and Truth prevails, or the flesh kills the soul and Deception prevails. Either way, whichever the victor, Truth or Deception, we humans shall die, and death, like life, is painful. It is the act of taking away our only securities and replacing them with fulfillment of our worth. We find it difficult to let go. We find it easy to latch onto the things that we see, the things that we feel, the things that we love. It's perfectly natural for us to do this. It's why we exist, to see, to feel, and to love everything and everyone. That is humanity's purpose. However, when our time comes to meet the Light and enter into Darkness, we have difficulties. We become feral, violent, mutated. Something that, in some circles, needs to be eradicated to keep the sane from losing hope. Government leaders, try as they might, instill in their speeches not a hint of perseverance, but an acceptance of an end. An end that draws nearer with each passing day and each rising moon. An end that Herschel understood and, if one were honest, saved us from.

Herschel fell from the sky.

Like Little Boy dropping onto Hiroshima, he descended upon the earth hell bent on destroying the surface, the populace, and the fear. The damned crazy fear that Megaton was consistently overshadowed by.

Lucas Simms partook in what he assumed to be beer at Moriarty's. At the moment, Gob was cleaning glasses with a questionable rag as Colin hit and cursed the radio.

"Damn thing won't work!" Colin shouted as if he were drunk, which in truth, he was.

"Take it easy," Lucas replied with a slight laugh, "I'll get someone over here tomorrow to fix it."

"Oh sure," Colin said with a smirk, "just like you said you would get someone over to handle with Cornwell's bloody Church of Atom shit. You know," he said, entering the room from the back and walking over to the counter as if he owned the place, which in truth, he did. "I think you're a load of crap. You incompetent, lousy, no good son of a lawyer!"

Lucas smiled and nodded. "Dad was always the legal type." Simms pulled twenty caps and placed them on the counter. He turned towards Gob with slight disgust as every resident usually does before standing up and walking out the door.

"Hey!" Colin shouted, "I'm not done with you yet!"

"You are now." Lucas said, laughing as he exited the bar and walked towards his house.

A drunken man wearing a dark green jacket and a wife beater finally answered to sleep and Nova, who was bored out of her mind, walked into a back room and began to read A Room with a View for the eighty-seventh time.

Simms thought nothing of the sky. As he walked past the Children of Atom, Lucas simply heard the tapping of a tin wall up against a makeshift gutter all because a rat decided it the best breeding ground. A small toy windmill fluttered like bird wings. A radio played a crooning Johnny Mathis who was pleading for his love to return to his arms as a lonely woman with Parkinson's disease, who was listening to the song, had a black coffee as she sat down to close her eyes and dream of her husband, who ascended into heaven in a matter of circumstantial convenience.

Lucas fumbled with his keys as the sky broke into a brilliant spectacle of meteors and starlight. The luminance caused Simms to turn and quickly behold an explosion that ripped the ground apart in a furious thunder. Bits of dirt took to the air. A screech of metal followed.

A pause.

Approaching footsteps.

A knocking, rapping, at the chamber door.

The sheriff slowly reached for his Type 93 Chinese assault rifle that was safely resting on his back as he made his way for the gate to the city.

"Hello?" Lucas said, "Who's there?"

A knocking, rapping, at the chamber door. An adjustment of a setting of some sort.

Lucas grabbed the door handle and applied very little pressure against the door. He did not open it. Instead, Lucas stopped as soon as he heard someone rushing behind him. Jericho, who awoke from the crash, came up behind him carrying a lever-action rifle called Lincoln's repeater in hand. When he was sure he was covered, Simms nodded once and slowly opened the door. A force, greater than that of Lucas' grip, overpowered Lucas' control of the door and opened it violently.

Standing at five foot eleven was a man wearing a brown trench coat, black shirt, brown pants with black belt, and black military combat boots- on his body. As far as the face was concerned, there was nothing but a gas mask.

A soulless, colorless, gas mask.

Author's Note #1:

This is my first Fallout series story. Any suggestions to help make this better will be great appreciated and considered.

Hope you enjoy this prologue, and look forward to more.