M.K. Jordan
Bio
Stories (2/0)
The Wasteland
The auburn rays blended into the purple of the clouds overcasting the desert skies. The sound of shifting metal clattered down the dusty unpaved route. A caravan made of hefty armored siding and re-inflated tires bounced heavily as it motioned onward over rock and sand. The outside a patch-work of rusted repurposed metal and tin shook with hollow echoes. However inside, a youthful figure comfortably laid across the truck’s floor. His arms resting under his head and one leg over a raised and bent knee. Just behind his head was a small door leading to the driver seat of the transport. In the chair sat a male, covered in a full suit of armor. A mix of robotics and some unknown faction of military tech. His visor blocking out all view of his eyes and nose. His mouth was covered by a separate guard that kept it unviewable. However, despite this, he still spoke out from the communicator device in the helm. His voice just as clear as anyone’s but the undertone of a muffled speaker.
By M.K. Jordan3 years ago in Futurism