Revolutionary Type - Part 3 (Novella)

Here is an ongoing story I have been writing, with the intention of it being a Novella called - Night In The Western Wastes.

I used November as a way to participate in NaNoWriMo, I did think I'd have this finished by the end of the month, but here we are in December and I'm still chipping away at it. I don't mind that though, because I am enjoying the story and characters.

---

A Night In The Western Wastes

Chapter 1

Night In The Western Wastes - Part 1

Night In The Western Wastes - Part 2

Night In The Western Wastes - Part 3

Night In The Western Wastes - Part 4

Night In The Western Wastes - Part 5

Night In The Western Wastes - Part 6

Night In The Western Wastes - Part 7

---

Sin

Chapter 2

Sin - Part 1

Sin - Part 2

Sin - Part 3

Sin - Part 4

Sin - Part 5

Sin - Part 6

---

Lost For Words

Chapter 3

Lost For Words - Part 1

Lost For Words - Part 2

Lost For Words - Part 3

Lost For Words - Part 4

Lost For Words - Part 5

Lost For Words - Part 6

---

Revolutionary Type

Chapter 4

Revolutionary Type - Part 1

Revolutionary Type - Part 2

---

Source

---

       The place stank. That was the first thing M'Trada noticed about it upon reaching the ground below the landing pad.
       Sludgy muck made it hard to walk, and with every step he heard a squelching noise. The immediate area was sparse. There were poles, and support beams all around, causing what seemed to be a tunnel of landing pads. Lights from above lit the way but cast large shadows from the structures. What seemed to be disused tech was also strewn about the place, half submerged in liquid dirt pools. In a way, the pools reminded him of an old Trisken tradition of bathing in something similar. Years had passed since his last one.
       Hobbling workers, and many - what seemed to be - supervisors, overlooked them all. He heard creaking steel from above and looked up to see a watchman, striding around his nest with a rifle in hand. Each pad seemed to have a few of these manned nests.
       "They keep an eye on the place," the man spat, "much more effective having riflemen watching over us than it would be to have cameras."
       "I can imagine that," M'Trada replied as he continued to walk.

       The place filled him with discomfort, and everything in him was telling him to leave. Just get back in the transport and go. Andron and Mari would be okay, after all, he took full responsibility for the money owed. No money is worth coming to a place like this. Still, he marched forward, trying to show no sign of fear; he forced himself to feel comfortable.
       Crovin was a piece of work. A slimy Alid with a treacherous way about him. He probably sent M'Trada here as a way of hazing him. There are plenty of other people working for the pencil-necked freak. Plenty of people better suited to picking up some stuff.
       Arien was cool. There was no sign of her being uncomfortable. Not even with the leering of the mutants that inhabited this place. Every person seemed bent, broken, or maimed from the work that went on her. The soil even felt uneasy. As if it was reeling in fear from each step. Like it was a living organism of sorts, churning in pain at the presence of people. The place and those who worked it were all damaged wrecks. If dirt could speak, this place would be screaming.

       Ahead of them was a large gatehouse, overarching steel, bent in places, and rusted. Arien passed beneath it and started to descend steps, disappearing into the ground.
       M'Trada reached the top of the steps. They were wide; large enough for five people to walk side by side. The wall had a handrail, which felt caked in dirt and grime, and as he took hold of it, rust broke away in his hand. Slowly he took a few steps and stopped.
       "Keep going," the man behind him ushered him forward.
       He felt like he could slip at any moment. They were slick with greasy, wet dirt. "I feel uneasy on my feet." He complained.
       "What? The steps in the city are paved in gold, and washed daily, I take it," the man started to chuckle, which caused him to spit another hocker of phlegm.
       The steps and streets in The Western Wastes were far from clean, but he felt no need to argue with the fool about it. M'Trada knew it would be a futile effort.

       He continued to walk, and entered utter darkness, separated occasionally by lights mounted on the walls along the way. To get to lit areas, he had to walk blind.
       At the bottom of the steps, Arien was waiting for him with a face of thunder. Crossed arms she stared as he made it onto - mostly - solid ground.
       From down here, the sound of heavy machinery working further below was apparent. On the same level as them, he could hear people screaming, whips cracking, shouting, and coughing. They were at a crossroads, to the left was all the noise of people, straight ahead seemed to be quiet, and so was the right.
       "Come on, we don't have all night." She said impatiently, as she turned to walk to the right while waving him to walk closer to her.
       They gained a bit of distance from the hobbling man escorting them, who seemed to struggle to keep pace with them.

       She looked at M'Trada and then glanced behind them. "Are you armed?" Arien asked.
       "Of course," M'Trada replied quietly.
       "Good." She said as she looked forward. "I don't trust the owner of this place, so be wary."

       I don't like the fact I've been dragged here, so you don't have to worry about me being on my guard. M'Trada thought as the two of them walked through the damp tunnel in silence.