First story of desperate survival
Hi, been promoting this game on NeoGAF and Reddit. But I had to stop by and contribute. This game is something special. I used to write regularly but frustratingly I lost the drive to write years ago. To my surprise, it seems that NEO Scavenger playthroughs are the perfect story prompts. Thanks for reigniting that drive and desire with such an awesome game:
The bandits left you with nothing, nothing but the ragged clothes on your back and a glass shard. It had been foolish to rest in such an exposed location but the desperate search for shelter from the freezing rain had trumped your nagging exhaustion. And now your mistake had cost you dearly
You head west, away from the bandits and toward distant ruins. Hours pass, rain comes and goes. The terrain is flat, offering little shelter but easy on the feet. You cover the distance quickly and soon stand amidst the long-abandoned tenements. Once these towering structures housed society's poor and impoverished; now they were naught but desiccated monuments to a time long forgotten.
You shiver in the cold quiet. Scavenging turns up nothing but dust and skeletons. These building had been picked clean long before you arrived. You continue westward into uncharted territory
Another night, another restless sleep in the rain. Hypothermia is a given now. Have to find shelter, real shelter, and supplies...or else death would be coming for you sooner rather than later.
Movement. A lone bandit in the distance. You hurriedly cover your tracks and hide. From your vantage point, you can see the rusted crowbar, the patchwork hide clothing, the backpack. Supplies, warm attire, weapons. The opportunity is too good to pass up.
You approach through the low morning fog, moving low and cautiously as the terrain grows wild and treacherous. The glass shard gripped in your hand glints in the sun. Twenty meters, ten, five. Close enough to see the filth and blood and scars.
You have the advantage. You must not waste it. You will survive.
You lunge from the underbrush, shard poised to tear flesh and draw blood. Both of you fall to the dank wet ground. The bandit rolls out of range and stands, still reeling from the ambush. You rise to your feet. You clutch the shard tight.
The bandit charges. Maybe luck is on your side. Maybe he's still off balance. You duck beneath the wild swing of his crowbar and slash.
Blood stains the hard packed dirt.
The bandit faces you now. You take a step back to gain some breathing room.
He rushes again, closing the distance between you in a moment, swinging the crowbar again. But this time you're not so fortunate. You feel something snap. A rib maybe. Probably. Jagged pain and an odd sense of warmth blooms in your chest. Hurts to breathe now, each inhale like choking down barbed wire. A wet rattling cough leaves crimson spittle dripping from your lips.
You realize your hands are empty. The glass shard lies in pieces with the blood and dirt.
The bandit attacks again. You try to avoid the blow but the pain is so disorienting, so overwhelming that you barely feel the metal crush against your legs and back. You struggle to stand. Another cough rumbles within your chest. The world sways in and out of focus.
The ground rushes up to meet you. The bandit approaches. You try to grab for his leg, try to wrestle him to the muck, to fight, to do something, but you're too weak to manage anything effective. Your grasping fingers are easily knocked aside.
You know it. He knows it. It's over.
Blackness floods your vision as the crowbar rushes towards your face. You only feel the pain for a moment before the darkness takes you completely