Chapter 3: UDA has families.
Trigger Warning, Some Villains and other characters within this piece of fiction do not reflect the IRL views of the author, and This Novel Will contain very extreme themes, some actions will not make logical since because of the character's psychosis; some of these characters will try to logically rationalize the irrational. Which Incudes Extreme Violence, Gore, Torture, and Corse language. Will feature Adult Themes through out, sometimes making light of great trauma.
There is no Intentional subtext to suggest any of the characters political, or worldview is reflected by the Author some characters are to be driven by chaos. In this post apocalyptic, wasteland.
WILL NEVER INCLUDE NTR.
Previously on chapter 2.
"Chapter 2 of 'Lights Out: The Reset' plunges readers into a roller-coaster of electrifying suspense and dark humor. As the remnants of humanity grapple with their bleak new reality, we follow protagonist Max 'Ironfist' Shale as he dodges the dangers of a world plunged into chaos. Max's gritty determination and sharp wit shine as he navigates through the ruins of civilization, making allies and enemies with his bombastic dialogue.
This gripping chapter offers a stark portrayal of the grim dark science fiction world, with grandiose descriptions of the apocalyptic landscape setting the scene. Packed with intense action sequences, the chapter keeps the pace fast and the adrenaline pumping. Max's encounters are laced with the series' signature dark humor, providing levity amidst the desolation.
Key themes explored in this part of the narrative include the resilience of the human spirit and the struggles of maintaining hope in a world that seems to have reset all rules of society. The chapter ends with a heart-stopping cliffhanger that will leave readers eager for more, making 'Lights Out: The Reset' a must-read series for fans of pulse-pounding, gritty sci-fi adventures."
Chapter 3: UDA has families.
As I ,Timothy, shuffled downstairs, the mingling scents of bacon and eggs hit me. Lydia was a whirlwind in the kitchen, her grin bright as the mornin' pot of joe.
"Mornin', sleepyhead!" she hooted, jolly as a jaybird. "Vittles'll be on the table quicker'n a cat can lick its whiskers."
I couldn't help but crack a wide smile, slippin' into a seat at the table. "Mornin', darlin'. Ain't no chance I'd sidestep one of your fine spreads."
Our young'uns, Alex and Sara, came draggin' theyselves into the kitchen, all bleary-eyed and droopy. After a half-hearted 'hey,' they flopped down into theyselves seats.
Lydia, flippin' pancakes like a pro, asked, "What y'all plannin' for today?"
Alex just shrugged his shoulders, sippin' on his juice. "Maybe head to the park or somethin'."
Little Sara, eyes big as saucers at them pancakes, piped up, "I'm hankerin' for pancakes, Mama!"
Lydia let out a chuckle and served 'em up. "Well, ain't that a coinkydink. Pancakes it is."
We wasn't but a minute into breakfast when the air started to feel heavier than a sack of taters.
"Tim," Lydia's tone took a serious turn. "You're burnin' the candle at both ends, and it feels like this family's just playin' second fiddle to your work."
My gut twisted with guilt. "Lydie, honey, I know... but that there UDA's growin' faster than kudzu, and it's all hands on deck if we're gonna keep 'er steady."
She gave me this look, the disappointment heavy as a wet blanket. "I git it, Tim, but there's more to life than work. We gotta find us a middle ground."
The kiddos shot each other looks, clearly catchin' on to the storm brewin'. I felt low as a snake's belly, seein' concern in their lil' eyes.
I was tryin' to keep my eye on the clock, but that worry got the best of me. "Lydie, I'm really sorry," I murmured, "We'll do right by the kids come hell or high water."
She drew a big ol' sigh that could've blown the leaves off the trees. "It's startin' to look like we're just hitchhikers in your world, Tim."
Truth be told, she wasn't wrong. The UDA had me hog-tied, but I was determined to shake loose. By the time the dishes were squared away, I felt a fresh wind in my sails. This day was gonna be different. I aimed to give my clan the time they deserved.
Steppin' out under God's blue sky, I felt bound and determined to keep my word. Sure as the creek runs, my kin come first and foremost.
We moseyed toward the fishin' hole, soakin' in the sun's kind rays, and I couldn't help but sense the makings of a day worth rememberin'.
"What sorta fish y'all hankerin' to snatch up today?" I asked, eager as a pup with a new bone for their answers, expectin' they'd hanker for them speckled perch – or specks as we call 'em hereabouts.
* * *
As the mornin' sun ascended, kissin' the heavens with its fiery lips, its warmth seeped into the soil, much akin to the comforting glow of a well-sipped honeyed bourbon that lingers on the tongue. We stood by the babblin' creek, its waters performin' a ballet as lively as our sprightly hopes on such a fine day. Our fishin' poles, akin to noble scepters of yore, each cast servin' as a royal summons to them sly perch lurkin' in the creek's glassy depths.
Little Sara, with her bubblin' childlike exuberance, skipped from stone to stone, her pigtails keepin' rhythm with each jubilant bound, paintin' the very essence of joy and innocence against the day's canvas. "Daddy," she called out, her voice tinged with that unmistakable spark o' mischief that twinkled in her bright eyes, "Bet ya can't snag a whopper bigger'n the one I'm 'bout to reel in!"
Alex swiveled, his features sculpted into a mock-serious expression, an uncanny reflection of those lofty characters from the stories I'd weave by the fireside. "Now Sara," he chided, his voice drippin' with a playfully sage tone, an imitation of those we'd overhear jabberin' about high politics and clandestine power deals, "it just ain't fair to challenge Pa. 'Round these parts, his fishin' prowess is spoken of in hushed, reverent tones."
A warm glow of pride bubbled up within me, more soothing than a mug of hot cider on a nippy evening. I let out a hearty chuckle, proclaiming, "We'll just see 'bout that," my voice as robust and unwavering as the current of the mighty river that carved the earth. "Remember, the true art of fishin' lies in the patience of the wait and the harmony of listenin' to the river's secrets, not just in landin' the grandest catch."
As we settled in by the edge of the creek, the chatter turned from the mirth of our sport to the reflections of days long passed. Timothy cleared his throat, a somber note finding its way into his Appalachian twang.
"Ya know, 'fore all the skyscrapers we see today were even a thought, 'fore this land was rebuilt, there was a time when folks feared the earth had breathed its last," Timothy began, a distant look in his eyes. "Lest not for the AI coming up with efficient ways to rebuild, we'd have nothing but cinders still, and the comfort 13 years ago, enough to conceive of you, Alex. Thanks to the security that we have helped to build within this world."
Alex paused, fishing pole in hand, and Sara nestled closer, a seriousness gripping their youthful faces.
"What was it like, Pa?" Alex queried, his tone matched by the stillness of the air.
Timothy looked out over the water, finding the words. "It was a time when the world itself seemed to have turned its back on us. A war like no other had scorched the earth, leavin' behind no victors, only survivors. It was the survivors who gathered, bandin' together to form the city state we now call home."
"How did they make it through the nuclear winter?" Sara asked, her voice edged with the innate curiosity that only a child could muster.
"The fallout's winter was long and dark, but not as brutal as some reckoned it would be. The predictors—people who tried to divine the future from punch cards and numbers—they calculated it all wrong. If it had happened as they said, there'd be more graves than folks walkin', well, there is more graves, but lest we have each other," realizing he shouldn't make less of what happened, "and there is more waste than seeds in an apple," he explained, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken stories.
Lydia chimed in, her tone lighter, lifting the shadow of Timothy's words. "But humanity's got a knack for clingin' to hope—like a stubborn weed that won't let go of the earth."
A chuckle broke from Alex, breaking the solemnity. "So we're weed people, then?"
"That we are, son," Timothy replied with a grin. "We took root again in what was left, buildin' up from the ruins and learnin' to cherish the small blessings—a creek teemin' with fish, a night sky unpolluted as badly by city lights."
"Pa, did you ever think, back then, you'd end up fishin' here with us?" Sara's voice was soft, full of wonder.
"Never in my wildest dreams, sugar," Timothy confessed. "But here we are, dippin' our lines in water clear of that old poison, breathin' air that's been given back its freshness."
Lydia reached out, taking Timothy's hand. "We've come a long way from those days, haven't we, Tim?"
"That we have, Lydia," he squeezed her hand back. "And these moments, the ones we share here in nature's bosom, these are the ones that stoke the fires o' hope inside us—for a future brighter than any blast could ever burn out."
Their conversation wove through the lull of the afternoon, each word a stitch in the fabric of their shared history, as the creek murmured its ageless song.
They absorbed my words, their youthful visages alight with earnest contemplation, imbibing the wisdom of the wild as parched earth soaks a gentle rain. For that fleeting moment, the relentless machinations of the UDA and its grandiose dreams seemed to dissolve into the ether, leavin' us enveloped in the quaint serenity of our secluded anglin' retreat. Thank god for those biologists for having eggs that would last the fallout. lest we'd not have fish anymore.
Then, like a bolt from the blue, Alex's line twitched with a formidable tug—as if the earth itself had decided to underscore our teachin' with a practical demonstration. Alex set to the task, his reelin' as fluid and poised as a prima ballerina's pirouette. "Pa, I got one! And it's a behemoth!" he exclaimed, his voice a symphony of youthful triumph and the sweet taste of burgeoning skill.
"Steady now, son," I encouraged, glidin' to his side, my feet acquainted with the earth's contours like an old friend's handshake. "Let it tire itself, then you can escort it in, smooth as silk. Seems you've got the makings of a fishin' maestro."
Alex's prize was a testament to his skill—a speckled perch as grand as the tales of old, its scales flickerin' with the day's light as if adorned in countless tiny jewels. "Pa, you reckon the UDA would spare a thought for ya if you stayed away?" he jested, his query layered with a hint of earnest wonderment.
My laughter resonated, rich and full, as I aided him with his impressive catch, the earth beneath me as familiar as an old hat. "Son, that mammoth machine will rumble on, with or without my hand at the wheel. But here and now, in this simple act of fishin', we find the moments that truly embroider the tapestry of life."
Quick as a flash, Sara's line danced, and a spirited squeal escaped her—a symphony of astonishment and unadulterated happiness, as pristine as the dawn. I knelt beside her, my advice as soft as twilight's embrace, and whispered, "Now, sugar, hold steady and true."
The brilliance of Sara's smile, as she triumphantly brought in her catch, eclipsed the creek's sparkle, as if she had ensnared the last golden rays of the sunset in her tiny hands.
"Pa, are we gonna grill these up?" Sara's query, laden with the simplicity of a child's wonder, served as a poignant reminder of life's unadorned pleasures after hours spent beside the murmuring stream.
"Certainly, love," I assured her, the anticipation of our day's concluding meal kindling my spirit as I visualized the fire leaping beneath the dusky sky.
the sun's lingering warmth. "We'll have ourselves a splendid feast tonight, set against the backdrop of the stars twinkling above us, like fireflies."
As evenin' wrapped its cool blanket around us and our rods lay still, a peace settled in my bones, remindin' me of the lessons I'd passed down to my young'uns—patience, a content heart, and the wisdom of seein' the grand tapestry this world weaves. The sunset, in its fiery splendor, blazed like the last hurrah of a firecracker on the Fourth of July, spreadin' its vibrant hues across the heavens. I began to speak, hushed and reflective, "Life's full of twists and turns, like this river here. Ya have to keep movin' with it, learnin' when to dodge the rocks and when to ride the current."
Their solemn nods, heavy with understanding, told me they were takin' the essence of my words deep within. As the shroud of night wrapped us tight, I felt a certainty that the bonds we shared would hold fast, no matter what storms might come our way.
"Pa?" Alex's voice, delicate as the touch of dew, reached my ears.
"Yeah, son?" I responded, my voice a soft echo of his own.
"Think we might come back here next weekend?" The hope in his voice was as clear and pure as the waters we'd fished in. With a smile as bright as the moon above, I replied, "As sure as the creek flows and the stars keep their vigil in the sky, we'll return, unravelin' her mysteries together. We might do a hog hunt! Just the two of us, while the girls go shopping…"
A fierce joy sparked within me, like a flame rekindled. "I reckon we could. Yeah, we sure as the night is dark will," I promised, with the certainty of the very earth beneath our boots.
Our journey home was carried on the wings of an easy lightness, the kind that only comes after a day drenched in nature's embrace. My heart felt as full and resplendent as the moon risin' high, bigger than the bucket of fish we shared between us.
When Lydia appeared, her presence cuttin' through the dusk like a beacon, her power to light up a room was as undeniable as the moon's light. She teased us 'bout the clever fish eludin' our hooks, her voice dancin' with mirth. "Tim, them fish givin' us the slip today?" she jested, her eyes sparklin' with the same mischievous light I'd fallen for all those years ago.
I let out a hearty laugh, the sound rollin' like thunder in the quiet of the evenin'. "Lydia, if them fish got the wit to swim against the current, then by golly, they're wily enough to outfox us every now and then!"
Her laughter mingled with ours, as free and effervescent as the bubblin' creek by which we stood. In that moment, I was reminded that there ain't nothin' in this world quite like the time spent with your kin, with the wild whispers of nature serenadin' you all the while.
* * *
The warm radiance of the sunset reverberated through the windows of the Jones' comfortable living room, creating a peaceful setting for their family game night. They had after dinner. Timothy had obtained a high-quality virtual reality system, offering a realm of fancy for the tired.
"Y'all ready for an adventure that'll knock yer socks off?" he beamed with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morn.
Lydia, her heart swelled with the hope of togetherness, mustered a tender smile. "Sure as sugar, I'm buzzin' like a bee for some family fun," she affirmed, her voice a mix of excitement and a twinge of somethin' deeper, a hidden hurt.
The world within the goggles was a verdant valley, lush and brimmin' with fantastical flora. Lydia, Timothy, and them kiddos—Alex and Sara—stood digitalized, decked out as daring avatars.
"Look at them bunnies, Mama!" Sara squealed, her gaze glued to the glowing gadgets.
Lydia laughed, her merriment minglin' with melancholy. "Cutest critters, ain't they?" Yet the lightheartedness lingered like fog 'fore the mornin' sun cleared it away.
"What 'bout them purple thangy-thangs, Daddy?" asked Sara, her eyes glintin' with curiosity.
"Ah, those 'uns are obstacles that'll slow us down," I responded with a grin, proud of their inquisitiveness. "We gotta avoid 'em at all costs if we wanna maximize our score."
"But what 'bout the bunnies, Daddy?" Alex chimed in, his enthusiasm infectious.
I chuckled, "'deed, ye hardly mentioned them cuties. They're hidden all over this here world, and findin' 'em earns ye extra points. Y'all best keep yer eyes peeled for them furry critters." Thank god I know how to mask this accent; just a little thought.
"Okay, let's get movin'!" Lydia exclaimed, her voice a mix of determination and excitement.
As we navigated the virtual landscape, I couldn't help but marvel at the wonder it inspired in our kids. It filled me with joy to watch them explore this fantastical world, their faces aglow with awe and amazement.
Suddenly, the sky darkened, and sinister creatures emerged from the shadows. My heart raced, a surge of adrenaline pumpin' through my veins. I barked orders, directin' my family through the fray, our hands clasped tight as we faced down the menacing monstrosities.
As the digital danger dwindled and the avatars adjourned, Lydia's voice carried a certain solemnity. "Tim, honey, on Sundays, sure as a sermon, I'm as happy as a hog in slop, playin' here with y'all. But the rest of the week, I might as well be whistlin' solo in the wind."
Timothy's avatar froze, a pixelated portrait of surprise. The room fell silent, as quiet as a creek on a still day.
Alex's avatar, arms akimbo, approached Lydia's. "Mama, why's Papa cryin' in the game?" His question, sharp as a switchblade, sliced through the Stillness.
Lydia's gaze glided toward Timothy, seein' the man behind the mask. "I reckon we've been playin' pretend in more ways than one, haven't we, dear?"
Timothy's tears trickled, twinklin' like dew at dawn. "Lydie, lovin' y'all is like breathin'," he sobbed. "I'm bustin' my back, aimin' to afford these antics and adventures, not knowin' it's costin' me my kinfolk's kindness."
Sara's sobs sent shivers through the silence, seekin' solace in a sullen room. "Papa, don't be sad. Mama, please don't be mad," she whimpered, wishin' for a way to mend the woe.
The games gave way to genuine grief, as the Jones family faced the facades fallin' like foliage in autumn.
Timothy, tremblin' 'midst his turmoil, tried to tender his truth. "Every minute working at UDA, my mind's on makin' our tomorrow's shine like the doggone stars in the sky."
They went to bed, the buoyancy of their game night buried beneath burdens and baleful blues. Lydia lay awake, alone in the ache of her heart, while Timothy took to the couch, cradlin' his cryin' cheeks with his hands.
Sara's soft snores spoke of sleep's sweet surrender, and Alex's dreams drifted, detached from the day's despair.
In the umbrage of night, under Appalachia's archin' sky, a family forlorn found their fragilities framed in front of them, facin' a future uncertain as fog in them rolling hills.