A Cultural Ruin

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by TujoThePanda

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A Cultural Ruin:

Summation: Decaying buildings stood burdened and crooked under the pressures of their own weight, stretching endlessly throughout the reach of what could only be described as a cultural and physical ruin. Its inhabitants had since died out centuries ago, long since replaced by misshapenly deformed mutants and horrific monstrosities. Those few hardened souls chancing a trek through such an urban ruin face an entirely inhospitable landscape, matched in its weight by cracked asphalt, cement, marble, and porcelain. No food, and no sustainable means of logistical support. And water, plentiful..but most certainly irradiated and rank from stagnation. Only the most desperate or foolhardy attempt any means of long-term residence among the crumbling ruins, eking out a pitifully lowly existence. In day, those mutated creatures lurk in the cracks and crevices they choose to inhabit, felling any foolish or desperate enough to wander near. And at night, the mutants swarm out of their lairs and surge into the streets, reveling in endless bloodshed. It spoke well of how far the world had fallen so far from fair graces, and how harsh the era of today had become. No one truly knew what was going on at any given time, asides the listless stories and rumors in circulation. But there came certainties, after the experience of the most hardened of wastelanders came to light. That life was obscenely harsh, and could end at a moments notice. Whether from the razor sharp claws at the end of a mutants reach, or with the thunderous pull of a trigger, death was a given. How quickly or slowly depended entirely on how far one would go in trying to improve their standing in life. Their skill, luck, and determination would come into play as they stood against the dangers of the wasteland. One such individual was one Tujo Musaki. Since reawakening from deep cryogenic stasis, Tujo wandered out of the rusted out blast doors surrounding a military-grade bomb shelter..and saw the wasteland for what it was. He had peered into the eyes of death long before this reflection of the world had come to light, and what little hope and optimism he had harbored just before the eve of nuclear Armageddon had died. His soul had been hardened by the death and destruction he had witnessed, and its recurrence was just more daily event in his trial of life. To survive with some prospect of long term success, Tujo had since sold himself as a mercenary. A hired gun and survivalist of the irradiated wastes, he worked sparingly in all realms of employment, but was regarded somewhat modestly by those willing to employ. He lacked the imposing look and heavy equipment of the professionals, but exhibited signs of a fairly experienced militant. And to that end, he was called upon for the missions deemed within his skill set. Search and destroy, raids, search and retrieve, rescue, defense, the list went on. In the more desperate months, Tujo would just as easily compete with the bounty hunters if it meant supplies in his pocket, or bullets for his gun. There was always that notion, deep at the back of his mind, though...The guilt that he was merely living in the shadow of the old world, and doing little to try to return this one to its former glory.

Commentary: Tujos outfit in the post apocalyptic series was largely inspired by the STALKERS gear from the post apocalyptic game of the same name; Shadow over Chernobyl. Instead of an assault rifle, he uses the heavy Thompson submachine gun, fitted out with a drum magazine.

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