Chapter Text
Prologue: The Day the Bombs Dropped
October 23rd, 2077. Missiles flew and bombs dropped, all as the 59 years and 10 ½ months old Victor Scaletta watched from his private train. So much for avoiding nuclear annihilation, but now what? Victor shrugged; he was likely going to die from the residual radiation sometime soon, if not at the hands of those few survivors. The machine gun turrets on the roof of the armory car would kill some, but not enough to stop the rest of them.
The real question that took his concentration was simple: what would he do if neither the radiation nor survivors didn’t kill him? Victor merely chuckled to himself as he calmly considered his options. Go back to the Don’s Daughter Hotel? Nah, it would be a ruin thanks to the bombs, and he had closed it a few days ago for 'renovations'. Go to New York City? Don’t be ridiculous; practically speaking, there was no way the Chinese wouldn’t have targeted that dump. True, he had some ancestral roots; his great-grandmother Francesca’s parents had brought the family to America through there, but there was no serious chance that their graves had survived the bombs. Even if he did want to head there, the radiation would be a serious issue, not to mention that there was no guarantee that enough of the railroad tracks were in good enough condition to get to New York. So what about New Orleans?
“Fuck. That.” Victor said aloud.
Even before the bombs, Victor personally hated that city to the point where he only went there twice for only two reasons. The first reason was because he had wanted to meet the man he was nearly named after, which was when he developed a hatred for the place; that second visit only happened because Joy wanted to see Mardi Gras.
This time, Victor put his hand to his head as he tried to calm himself in the fact of a blood rage. Joy Scaletta, his only daughter. She had died in Alaska, ‘fighting the good fight’ for her country and all that romanticized shit, but he knew how she really died. So did the bastards who were supposed to be her comrades. Victor huffed with resignation; her killers too were dead. If the bombs didn’t get them, a nuclear winter in Alaska would get them. If not…
Suddenly there was a loud crash, prompting Victor to get up from his chair. Tracking the noise, he walked towards the dining car, a half-smile beginning to form across his face. He had actually forgotten that he still had Chompers as company.
When he reached the dining car, Victor could only chuckle at the mess. Chompers had destroyed only a few of the tables and was starting to eye another one when Victor went from chuckling to outright laughing. Chompers’ ears perked up and he turned around to look at him. Chompers was, despite the utterly uninspired name (talk about an understatement), a cougar Victor had adopted during a hiking trip a few years ago. Age-wise, Chompers was at this point hardly in adolescence and the police had frequently delivered written complaints about Victor’s taste in pets, but that was a long time ago, and wild cats tend to be vicious bastards when they’re hungry.
“What, ya hungry? Stop breaking tables then, Chompers. I’ll bloody feed ya, ya overgrown pussy cat!” Victor crowed in a sickeningly cheerful tone.
Chompers simply stared and broke another table. Victor could only laugh as he walked toward the stove. It was just him, a mountain lion and an obnoxious vampire aboard a private train, and they would do just fine. Provided another apocalypse didn't happen anyway.