Primis : A Call of Duty Zombies Prequel

[DeltaFlame]

Hi all, it's been a while since I've written anything, here's a pilot for a new series I'm willing to continue if there's enough interest!

"Abilsin, get down here you fool!" this wasn't unusual for Abilsin and his morning routine, his father was crass and brutish, often insulting the young carpenter's intelligence and wit. Abilsin however was callused to his fathers insults, and soon learned to grin and bare the torment, at least for the meantime. Mornings were often times when his father would gloat about his success or lash out at his mum. 
Abilsin shuffles into the doorframe and looks into the room where his father and mother are sat. His mum's face is covered by her long black hair, she pulls it back and over her ear. 
"Abilsin, your father has something to tell you." She continues. Her words quivered and and broken. His father has been abusing her again. 
"Oh, I hope it's good news father?" Abilsin says with sarcastic glee.
"It is. That's exactly what it is boy. I have been given an opportunity to open a workshop across town." 
"Excellent, father."
"I'll be leaving you and your silly mother here, whilst I work with the elite by the river.  I will be crafting chairs for the emperor himself soon." 
Abilsin turns to leave the room when he hears a large crash. 
"DON'T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME BOY." His father, tossing a copper dish across the room, causing it to rattle against the wall. Abilsin gulps.
"I-I'm sorry father. I'm happy for you..." He says, this time with more spite and anger, being mistaken by his parents as fear.
His father steps ever closer, and soon tangles his fingers through his sons scraggly black hair, pulling his head back. 
"Listen to me, you little rat. You will go down to the workshop and finish that gods be damned table set, do you understand?" His father roars into his throat.
"Yes father." He replies, before bowing out of the room to his chore.

The workshop was rather large, especially for Abilsin's social standing, the walls are lined with many cuts of wood, of many different trees. The room is glittered with projects of his own and his fathers. Abilsin swings open the wooden door, and lights the oil lamp hanging on the wall. Before proceeding to light the rest. He finally turns and sees his job, a large table, engraved with many strange sigils and words. The hours of meticulous work put into the table, a sense of pride and self respect for his handiwork, the boy struggles with the idea that soon, this table will be ruined, ate on, scratched and chipped, a sad sight indeed, and possibly the reason he's stalled so long in finishing the project. Abilsin pulls out a small wooden crate, and begins to work on the table. 
Hours pass, and the table is finished, the boy dusts off his hands and puts away his tools, proceeding still, he extinguishes the oil lamps and heads for the door. He stops for a moment and looks at the table, one last look. Suddenly, a large orange blast erupts above the table, shattering it, and many of the other projects into splinters. 
"Scheisse." 
"Hello? who is in there?" 
A hand appears from behind a large pile of wood debris, it bends its fingers into a single erect thumb, and then falls limp onto the rubble.
Abilsin slowly shuffles over to the debris, armed only with the last burning oil lamp in the room. 
"Hurry boy, we don't have much time." The broad accent says with a sigh of relief.
Abilsin quickly begins to move the wood out the way revealing the young man, a small moustache comforting his top lip. His hair, blonde and slicked back proper. His clothes unlike anything seen in the city. He quickly stands upright and dusts his clothes off, before placing his hand on his stomach in respect, bowing slightly. Abilsin throws a punch up that contacts with the man's chin. 
"You broke my table wizard." he says, trying to justify his assault. 
"Nein, it's fine. My fault child." The man replies. 
"So we were uhm...My name is..." His eyes quickly dart around the room. 
"Your name is Ed...war...d...rich...tofe...n. Did I say that correctly sir?" holding up Richtofen's dogtags.
"So well spoken child, Edward Richtofen, field scientist for group..." Edward stops for a moment, and looks around. 
"Primis will fall..." he mutters to himself before quickly grabbing Abilsin's shoulders. 
"Quickly child, what year is it?"
"Pardon?"
"Outside, quickly!" 

The harsh desert sun beats down on the sandy city. Many of the inhabitants are wearing different coloured robes and gowns. Many market stalls are set up running along Abilsin's street. This is the past. This is biblical history. 
"Scheisse, it's happening." 
"What is happening?"
"We're too late, child." Edward says melancholic and drained. Suddenly, the life had been sapped from the strange man. 
"Whatever it is, we can stop it, you appeared in my house, with little clear jars of...wine I hope... you can stop it, right?" he says, flicking at the vials attached to Edward.
"Stop it." Richtofen quickly snaps, flicking at Abilsin's hand. 
"We may be able to reverse this little one, quickly now." He says, ushering Abilsin back into the workshop. 

Richtofen quickly scuttles through the debris left in the workshop before giving up in a mood. 
"Nein, Nein, Nein! this is all useless, we need wood boy..."
Edward stops for a moment, his face lit up with shock.
"I missed your name." He says, extending an open hand.
"It's Abilsin, sir."
"Horrible name, your father must be an idiot, clearly." 
Abilsin smiles at the remark, reminiscing on the fact he has someone to confide in. His face slightly drops as he ponders the definition of idiot, but none the less hopes it's insulting.
"He is an idiot, no?" Richtofen says, turning round from the pile of wood again. 
"I don't understand sir."
Richtofen scoffs before standing up completely. 
"Abe, we need more wood." He says smiling. 
Abe nods, and soon the two venture out of the house. 

Elsewhere...
"Ah, there you are...I've found you...oh, what do you have there?"  



 

[DeltaFlame]

Primis - Chapter 2. 

"Mission log 711; It was another suicide run, same shit, different dimension. The Doc, in all his "glory" had ran off to another job tasked by his master. At this point, I've seen it all: plants erupting from the ground in the aspect of a person, phantom hounds, inter-dimensional dragons, a beast looming in the depths of a swamp, hell, I've even fought an element bearing "demon" or, as the German liked to call them "a keeper". Time is money, and I don't have much so I'll cover it all in debriefing. But in all my experience so far, I haven't seen a grown man say "how high" to an other worldly voice demanding "jump". Information of Dr. Maxis is scare at best, but he's there, and he's pulling Richtofen's strings like the puppet he is. I may be foolish to go along with the man's plan, but there's a reality more disturbing than this that must be stopped. I only fear it will be in vein. Dempsey out." 
Tank shuts the journal shut, sliding the old battered book into his pants, held in place by his belt.
"Where are you Belinski..." he murmurs to himself, peering through the scope of his sniper. His view spans across the Champ de Mars, backdropped by a long abandoned Paris. The Eiffel tower, once a glorious centre piece and constant within every dimension, now sits a rusted, overgrown obelisk to the mistakes made by humanity. The city, stricken with decay and overgrowth now resembles that of a forest, more than anything, untouched by humanity since it was deserted initially. On occasion, a wild beast will trot into view, often running off, for prey, or from predator. 
"Dammit Nikolai." He groans once more. He rolls over onto his back and peers at the night sky, shards of the moon float peacefully across the expanse, blissfully ignorant of it's old form, tranquil almost. The stars, the galaxy, all floating around up there.
"Yeah. Me too." He utters, smiling at the thought of being up there, and not down here. 
He rolls over again and peers into the scope, tweaking the bolt at the top, increasing the zoom, he adjusts the elevation and peers to the top of the Eiffel tower. A glimmering reflection twinkles back. 
"About time." 
Tank quickly jumps up to his feet, and pulls two red flares from the satchel, being used as a rest for the sniper. He fumbles around quickly, igniting them both, waving them in the air in a panic. 
"Come on...take the bait..."  
Soon, a strange makeshift plane comes into view, it soars round the tower where Nikolai is positioned, completing a 360 degree of it, before soaring towards Dempsey and his flares. 
"I've got you... a little closer..." 
The plane draws closer, the wings, made from battered cloth, an engine that seems to salvaged from junk found around an abandoned building whines and hisses. Tank quickly spins, shot-putting the two flares over the roof and onto the street. Soon, a puff of smoke appears from the tower, a large metal rod, almost like an home-made harpoon flies just behind the plane. 
"Come on...come on..." 
The rod falls through the planes right wing, becoming entangled in the metal skeleton of the 'aircraft'. 
Tank smiles, walking forward to the sniper, he picks up a small mirror, sparks a match, and flickers it towards the tower.
behind him, the plane comes crashing down onto the roof, the engine sparks up, and pops away into a slither of smoke. 
Dempsey quickly gathers the satchel, and slings the sniper over his shoulder, before walking towards the wreckage. 

"Alright fucknuts. It's time to spill." Tank says, pulling the lone pilot onto his back, and leaning over him with a bowie knife. 
"W-what...wh-ats going on...wh-ere..."
"Wah, wah, fucking wah. I've ran out of patience, Arlington. You got the slip on me the first time you little rodent, this time, you're not so lucky." 
Albert winces in pain, still in shock. 
"W-here am I?" he mutters, barely opening his eyes. Tank swings the knuckle guard round, colliding with Al's chin. He lets out a welp before passing out completely.

Eiffel's apartment carpet is completely torn up, revealing a blood red ritual circle drawn on the floorboards. Tank swings to door of the apartment open, and tosses the lifeless body of Arlington onto the floor. 
"Have you got it ready?" Tank says, exhausted. 
Nikolai points to the ritual site. 
"Thanks, pal." He says. 
"Sarcasm, nice." Nikolai replies. 
Tank, now leaning over the ritual site, turns to Nikolai. 
"No sarcasm." 
He turns back to the ritual site. 
"Do you think it'll work?"
"I've followed the Germans exact design, the same one he used the first time, my hand isn't too steady, but it should suffice." Nikolai says, pointing at each of the sigil, then pointing to a shawdy piece of paper, drenched in blood and torn at the sides, that bares the same design." Nikolai explains. 
"I used one of my vials...I prey it works." He sighs. 
Nikolai walks over to the unconscious gangster, and taps him in the ribs with his boot. 
"Dempsey, I'm not one for talking beyond warfare...and what's right...and dare I look like the enemy, but do you think Masaki is well?" 
Tank stands up, and nods. 
"At risk of also sounding like the enemy, if any of us is to come out of this alive, that man will be it. I mean, fuck. He's no soldier Nikolai, he's a warrior." 

Budapest, Hungary

"A warriors way to die, hellbeast." Takeo flicks his katana to the side, splattering blood across the wall of the church, a malnourished hellhound corpse lies lifeless nearby. The warrior reaches into a pocket, and pulls out a piece of paper, a small parchment, with the design of a similar ritual site. He then unbuckles one of his vials, and clenches it in his fist. He peers around the church and sighs, shaking his head. 
"Should I have known, I'd have rather die in disgrace." He utters to himself. He uncorks the vial, dipping his index finger into the vial, he dabs the blood under his eyes, mimicking that of tears, and then proceeds to follow the design. 
Soon, the design is completed, he corks the vial again, buckles it to himself, and then proceeds to sit in one of the pews. 
A very small orange tear appears near the altar, almost the size of a cup at the front of the church, Takeo bolts upright, and partly brandishes his katana.
"Ja, finally, I've found one of you." 
"Richtofen!" Takeo shouts in shock. 
"Ja ja, I miss you too, Masaki, niceties for later, I'm afraid we don't have much time. I've found the child, I'm using whatever residual energy left in the stone to project my voice over the aether. Abilsin, no...put that down boy. No, not that."
A bolt of lightning can be heard from the portal. 
"Where are you now, German?"
"You know, I really hate when you call me that, Takeo, it makes me feel like you distrust me still. and after all we've been through. Listen, I've found the boy, the american and the russian will be finding the arc soon. Find the conduit, and ensure the relics are brought to my position. the beacon is lit. ABILSI-"
another bolt of lightning can be heard.
"My hands are tied old friend, quickly, the future of the universe hangs in the balance." 

Elsewhere...
"Gersh...the overlords require your assistance..."

  

[Pandafunk69]

Wait...what?


Sent from my iPhone using Call of Duty Zombies mobile app