Post by Mr. C on Aug 23, 2010 18:53:25 GMT -5
In a world where there are constant threats to humanity from inside and out, the coming apocalypse was merely a matter of time. Some thought the end would come from nuclear war, others from global warming, from an alien invasion, from a foolish leader, or even from the heavens above. But the cold truth of it is, the apocalypse has come and the world is now merely a smoldering rock once more, with nearly all of humanity wiped out. In a world where there were constant threats to humanity, our pathetic minds could only grasp what to do to prepare - and we even failed at that.
What we did not do, was plan for if we survived.
EUW Presents...
Shit, We Shouldn't Have Done That
What we did not do, was plan for if we survived.
EUW Presents...
Shit, We Shouldn't Have Done That
Brett Cross stood before the lecture hall, his suit jacket pressed neatly, his hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, but his beard still as burly and thick as when he wrestled many years ago. When "The Norse Hammer" retired, he turned to what he knew and that was history and mythology. There weren't many universities interested in a new professor who was a former wrestler, but he found a college out in the Midwest of the United States that actually thought it was a cute combination and were most likely fans of his from the old days. So, when he retired, there he went and taught classes full time on ancient history as well as mythology, changing from "The God of Midgaard" Brett Cross, to Professor Cross.
"So, when the end of days would come for those people, they described it as being preceded by the Fimbulvetr, a winter lasting for three years with no warmth in between, followed by Jotuns marching across Bifrost to take on Asgaard, where many great Gods would fall. Including their greatest warrior, Thor and the All-Father, Odin among others."
Cross used the wireless mouse in his hand to switch off the PowerPoint he was showing on the massive screen at the back wall of the lecture hall. He then turned about the front of the desk, and sat on the edge of it, the wood creaking beneath his weight, for despite mellowing down his lifestyle, he maintained his rigorous training and was still very much a beast of a man. He smiled up at the class, most of whom were asleep, but some listening intently and scribbling notes. The professor put a hand in his pocket and then spoke to the room after waiting long enough for the stragglers to finish taking notes.
"My question then, is this. Why would the Vikings describe their end of the world, their Armageddon, their Apocalypse, in such a way. Why does it not seem to have a parallel in many of the doomsday theories of today? For example, the Mayan calendar, Hollywood angles of alien invasions, nuclear threats..."
An attentive student raised his hand, and Brett used his free hand to motion for him to speak.
"Well, I think it has to do with the science and technology. We've definitely developed since the olden days, and now we understand that the threat to the world isn't something silly like Gods fighting in the sky, but that there are real fears we have, like a devastating war, or harmful technology."
Another student followed suit, raising her hand and was allowed to speak as well.
"I don't know if that's exactly accurate. We do certainly have newer fears, but there are still many that feel if the world was to end, it would come under religious circumstances, like the Christian Apocalypse or like... the Yugas in Hinduism."
Cross smiled and reclined on the desk, kicking both feet out in front of him and folding his arms over his chest as the discussion in the room continued. He enjoyed listening to the classroom discussions, they were generally very intelligent and animated. He liked for once being able to watch the show, and not put it on. He was pleased with this new chapter in his life, pleased with where he was now, able to calm down and relax. No more struggling, no more fighting. At times, he wondered where all of his friends had gone on to, he hadn't spoken to any of them after leaving the EUW. But he trusted they were all in similar situations to him, enjoying life outside the ring, leaving happy and healthy after their strenuous careers.
"All of what you say is true. Today, we live a very different life than we did back in Viking times. We have different beliefs, different technology, so naturally our opinions on the future and our demise would match. The Vikings knew war, so they thought the end would come in war. We know science, so we feel it can end in science, and if what you know is religion, you'll feel it will end by religious means. The point is, how can we honestly know what the future holds, when you look in the past and find that no one has been able to know, yet? Culture is what defines these doomsday notions, and I do not believe we will ever know how to react to them. Not until it... well, until it kicks us right in the teeth."
But that was before.
Brett, looking far different now than he did in the classroom let out a grunt and kicked in the door to a massive and crumbling grey building, the rotting wood on the door dissolving with ease beneath his boot. The professor stepped in to the dark building and lifted his sunglasses up on to the top of his head so he could see, pushing his graying hair back as he did. Brett left the stained and dirty surgical mask in place over his mouth, though, not wanting to risk inhaling anything he could stir up by going through this building. He had no idea how long the world had been like this.
The rest of Brett's attire was as simple and make-shift as his headgear. His clothes were tattered remains of what could have been a suit, it was impossible to tell now while they were dirty, torn and sweaty. And over his shoulder a battle axe was slung, strapped on with a make-shift sling of cloth and belts. The former Norse Hammer looked around the room, something that could have been either an apartment or an office, searching for anything he could find at all, scavenging to stay alive. Over his other shoulder was a make-shift pouch, a knapsack full of only the essentials. He stayed light, but in doing so had to constantly rummage for supplies. But as he turned to check the drawers of the stand next to a couch, he caught something in the corner of his eye.
Instinctually, running off of voices deep in his head that humans don't normally use, Brett dove, grabbing the couch as he went down and flipping it in to cover. He had no idea where these urges, this driving survival force came from, but no sooner did he hit the ground then did a man let out a yell and begin to unload rounds upon him. Brett crawled along the floor, doing his best to stay low and away from any of the bullets that pierced through the wood and foam of the bottom of his make-shift cover, looking for some kind of solution. He didn't know what he was doing, how he was doing it, or why he survived. He was not putting thought in to his survival, there was no immediate plans, he just did what the buzzing in the back of his mind told him to do. He didn't know anything except that he was still alive, still running on energy he didn't know he had and didn't understand. But, luckily for Cross, the man he was being attacked by didn't know his own survival instincts well, either.
The poor bastard was trying to show off, he was puffing out his chest, a classic defense mechanism for every animal. When you feel threatened, you make yourself larger than your opponent in an attempt to scare them off. But the brash assault lead only to stupidity, and in his bravado he unloaded the entire magazine in to the couch. Brett waited for only a moment, listening hard, a task that was easy now that the world was dead, no longer polluted by the constant drone of civilization, and as he strained his ears, he heard the man rummage in a bag, plastic, perhaps looking for another mag to jam in to the hand gun he was firing. So Cross took the opportunity quickly, again running on nothing conscious at all, and in one fluid movement he stood and deftly drew the weapon from his back, side-armed it and sent it spiraling right at the pathetic fool that never knew what hit him. The axe-blade dug in deep, straight in to the bastard's chest and he stumbled back, blood firing from his mouth in his choked off cry before he crumpled in to the corner and slid down in to a pool of his crimson, quickly-fleeting life force.
Pressing a boot in to the man's stomach, the professor wrenched the battle-axe free and wiped it clean over his thigh, so as not to let the blood rust the blade. Then, with his weapon sheathed, he bent down over the soul's lifeless body and rifled through the man's possessions before they could be ruined by the gore. He took only what was necessary, only what was deemed necessary by the buzzing in his head, cans, cloth, masks, and leaving what he felt he did not want to take, for example the ammunition the man had. Carrying firearms, to Cross, was far too much of a hassle. You had the possibility of being without a weapon if you were not accurate or careful, and it created more to carry, things that would replace vitals like food or water. Besides, the battle axe was working just fine, Cross remembered little from before this apocalypse, but things came back to him in bits and pieces, for example that he got this battle axe from an office just as the shit began to hit the fan. Cross finished going through the dead man's belongings, then placed the sunglasses back over his eyes and stepped back out in to the harsh elements, the sandstorm outside throwing his hair about and the sun's rays beaming down harshly on him.
Whatever caused the apocalypse, Cross couldn't remember. In fact, Cross couldn't remember anything from before, he merely woke up in a destroyed building and when he looked out the window, he saw the earth was ruined. He saw that whatever it was, it nearly destroyed the livability of the earth entirely. But for all that Cross didn't know or couldn't remember, he made up for it with his ability to learn on the go, learning to trust his instincts and learning to survive in this harsh wasteland. The ozone was shot, and it was important to keep your eyes and skin protected from the UV, unless you fancied being cooked alive. And as a repercussion of this, many areas who lost the most of their atmosphere, foliage was destroyed entirely and the world was a horrible desert of dust. There were also horrible gases in the air that you had to watch out for in certain areas, a chemical mixture bred of the earth's decay, human waste and the halted maintenance of chemical and nuclear factories. Here, the land was a war-zone of a scene. Cracked black-top winding in a broken path between buildings that were sand-blasted and crumbling, and any that were still standing you had to be weary of snipers at the top. There was no trees, no moss, no grass, and the sand was constantly kicking up in to your eyes, mouth, and nose. The sky was impossible to look in to, as the sun's rays took up the entire thing, making it all a scalding white wash without a cloud in sight.
But, Cross knew he had to survive. Somehow, he had to persevere. He knew nothing of who he was before he awoke, and he knew nothing of what the world was before, either. Yet, he knew that because he had lasted this long, he would naturally be one of the men to rebuild. He knew many great men would fall, but he had a feeling, that buzzing in the back of his brain that he'd be one of the great ones to live on. A story was burned in to his brain, one thing he knew when he awoke, perhaps something from an earlier time. He knew of a thing called Ragnarok, and how those called the Aesir lost their king, Odin and their gilded prince Thor, as well as many others. He knew the story of the war, he knew of the Fimbulvetr, and he also knew of the shining god Baldr who returned from the grave and would carry on their legacy.
Cross, he thought of the story every day, it was all he had from the past. He knew barely anything else, but that story was his inspiration to survive, he knew he would be this world's Baldr and not one of the fallen. He knew he was not alone, he'd seen it himself. And he hoped that one day, he would find others like him. Not the pathetic scavengers he had killed countless of already, men that were truly like him. He didn't want to walk this post-apocalyptic world alone, he wanted to become Baldr and find men like him.
Men looking not only to rebuild, but to remember.