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Occupied Riverdale	By : nodrogg Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 9580 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Archie & Co, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Occupied Riverdale
Author: Baron Waste
Summary: Riverdale lies under the heel of enemy occupation, and its once-prosperous citizens must come to terms with the harsh new realities of life - and with the invaders, one way or another...
Rating: AU, N/C - Violence, rape, graphic sexual content
Pairings: Archie / Betty, Reggie / Veronica
Feedback: Sock it to me.
Characters: Once, in another life, they were known as The Gang.
Author Notes: Technically this is a 'crossover,' combining Archie Comics with the world of Iron Storm [which I don't own either], but incorporating developments and expanded concepts of my own devising.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters here and am not making any money off the story posted. So there.
Occupied Riverdale
Occupied Riverdale - Chapt 1
Betty Cooper saw the child's ball roll into the street at the same moment she saw the Mongol armored truck approaching. In the agonizing slowness of a dream she saw the little boy run out in front of it, little arms outstretched to seize the ball. The half-track rolled on, bearing down on the boy. Her string bag of canned goods fell clattering to the sidewalk as she sprinted out after him.
"Oogwee! Oogwee! Astanaveetyes! STOP! ASTANAVEETYES!" she screamed, the Russian and Mongol phrases tumbling together, but the half-track rumbled forward, unheeding. She was too far away, too far... The little boy stared at the approaching machine uncomprehendingly. Betty screamed in horror, sprinting forward, palms out toward the onrushing truck.
Did the massive machine slow, ever so slightly, or did some grace of Heaven speed her feet? She would never know - all she knew was that she reached the child, snatched him up as though he weighed nothing at all, and ran stumbling out of the way of the Mongol vehicle. The ball disappeared under its treads.
"Shtob tee s'gorel, govnyooki!" she screamed the filthiest Russian she knew, tears spilling down her face. "GOVNYOOKI!" She kneeled on the dirty, littered pavement, hugging the boy to her. He was grimy-faced and far too thin... as were so many people now.
"That's some nasty talk, bitch." The coarse voice came from behind her, and she turned, still on her knees. Three Wolves stood grinning at her, all but identical in their brown 'Wolf Pack' uniforms and Mongol mohawk haircuts. One of them she recognized: Ron Barkley, once one of the 'discipline problems' at Riverdale High. He had her string bag swinging idly in his hand, with its precious, paltry few cans of ration food. The other two looked vaguely familiar also, but they were all of a pattern.
"You ain't showin' the proper respec', ain't that right, boys?" Shark grins. The leader hefted his billyclub.
"We maybe let you 'pologize."
Betty knew what that meant. She started to get to her feet - and pain exploded in the side of her head. She was knocked sideways, sprawling on the pavement.
The leader swung his weighted billyclub up and into his other hand again. "Where you goin', bitch?" He put the end of the stick into the crotch of her jeans, and started rubbing, grinding it upwards and back. "We just gettin' started wif you."
Sick, dizzy, Betty couldn't see the little boy - had he run away? One of the other Wolves had grabbed the hem of her raveled sweatshirt and was dragging it upward, pulling her arms and undershirt with it. She barely noticed; the blinding pain in her head and her groin filled her world - but the cold pavement against her bare back jabbed into her awareness.
"You smart, bitch, you ain't got no damn bra on..." she heard the leader muttering. No, that's true, she thought disconnectedly; no electricity meant no washing machines, not any more, and it just wasn't worth the effort to keep washing them by hand... She heard rather than felt the zipper of her jeans break and shred apart, as rough hands ripped her pants open with brutal strength.
Lying on the pavement, she heard the automobile engine approaching before her attackers did, but at the squeal of brakes they looked up, and all three jumped to their feet.
"Victory to the Baron!" they chorused.
"Whose glory we serve," Reggie Mantle replied.
- - - - - - - - - -
The Great War began in 1914. It ended in 1964.
For fifty years the armies of the West had fought against the fanatic Russian Mongol legions of Baron Nikolai Aleksandrovich Ugenberg. This megalomaniac, who had rolled out of the Far East to break the back of the Bolshevik Revolution, had decided the best interests of humanity would be served by establishing a Eurasian Empire stretching from Japan to the Atlantic Ocean. For fifty years blood and treasure had been sprayed at the advancing, limitless Mongol hordes, holding them in Eastern Germany before the massive entrenchments of the Friedrich Line - deep and wide trenches, thick belts of barbed wire, machine-gun positions, concrete bunkers, tunnels and command posts. Like the Thirty Years War before it, the Great War went on... and on... and on, entire generations thrown into the fire, as the old nations of Eastern Europe disappeared into a shattered, desolate wasteland of starvation and rusting wreckage.
Then in March 1964, the mad old Baron died. His son and heir, Baron Fyodor Nikolaievitch Ugenberg, was as ruthless as his father was demented, and in June of that year he unleashed a terrible new weapon, built for him by his brilliant Japanese scientists. The light of a thousand suns ignited a terrible fireball that instantly incinerated tens of thousands of hapless Allied troops, and in the churning wake of that atomic blast the Mongol hordes rode through the broken Friedrich Line. Twice more that immense mushroom cloud boiled up into the sky... and by September the yellow banners of the new Baron Ugenberg had reached the English Channel. Seven hundred years after Ghengis Khan, his ordained and official reincarnation had finally conquered the Frankish enemies who had so long defied him.
Great Britain, the United States, and the League of American Nations, all bled white by the long war and shaken by its savage ending, agreed to the Armistice and signed the Treaty of Westminster in April 1965, ceding broken, terrified Europe to the uncouth masters of the new, terrible empire of 'Eurasia.'
A strange, uneasy peace began.
- - - - - - - - - -
Half naked, Betty lay motionless on the street, staring blankly into space, her wrists pinioned over her head by the bunched sweatshirt under a Wolf's boot. She looked dead.
"Report," Reggie said crisply. The leader stood straight, saluted.
"Slugai noochi, Noyon," he said. "Speakin' dis'espectful." Slugai was the Mongol word for serf, or slave, and applied to every American in Mongol-occupied territory, while inuchiri, or "noochi," meant 'infidel,' or 'thought criminal.'
"I see. So you're administering 'Field Punishment No 1'... What's her labor classification? Did you get her labor card?" He didn't appear to recognize bright, beautiful Betty Cooper in the half-starved, threadbare wretch before him, which was hardly surprising; the last year had wrought drastic changes in both of their lives.
"Uh..." A rough hand burrowed into her jeans pockets. "Uh.. here it is, Noy -"
He was interrupted by another girl's horrified voice.
"Oh my God, Reggie - it's Betty!"
Betty had recovered sufficiently by this time to take in more of her surroundings. The three hooligans who had started to rape her were standing at attention before a slightly battered but spotlessly clean Ford convertible. Its driver, a slender dark-haired young man in a clean, neatly pressed and decorated brown uniform looked down at her expressionlessly: Noyon-Komandir Reginald Mantle, local commander of Ugenberg's Wolf Packs. Beside him -
There was a flurry, a flounce and a flash of thigh, and a vision from a lost world had leaped bodily from the car and was kneeling over her. Breathtakingly beautiful, clean-scrubbed and well-fed and perfumed, her lovely green eyes twin pools of horror: Veronica Lodge.
"Oh, my God, Betty..." Jewelry sparkled at her ears and throat; she was wearing a rippling, gorgeous coat of sable mink - one of her mother's? It matched the gleaming, raven-black hair that framed her face as she bent over Betty. Under it was a shimmer of satin and a dramatic show of thigh.
"Oh, Reggie, please, we've got to help her!"
"Yeah?" He regarded her with that same vicious shark smile. "Says who?"
Veronica turned her horrified gaze up to him. "But - Reggie, it's Betty! Betty Cooper! We can't just leave her here, with these..."
"Troop Captain Sanders says she is noochi. He is empowered to make that decision." There was a smugness to Reggie's tone, but an odd weariness too. He looked, at that moment, considerably older. "I see no reason to interfere."
"Well, I do." Veronica reached down and gently pulled Betty up to sitting position, her sweatshirt bunched in her lap around her wrists. The slender, dark-haired girl reached for that grimy shirt - and drew back squeamishly, hesitated, bit her lip. In sudden decision she tossed back and pulled off her beautiful mink coat, draping it around Betty's bare shoulders.
There were audible gasps from the three Wolves, who had lost their street swagger and now goggled at her like the teenage schoolboys they had been, mouths agape. Under that mink Veronica Lodge was essentially nude - a tiny, transparently sheer satin fishnet chemise concealed nothing of her beauty, merely accenting the sleek curves of her body. Kneeling on the dirty, broken pavement, she looked like a sparkling, raven-haired goddess of alluring beauty.
Betty, on the other hand, looked all too mortal, bruised and dirty and terrified; she huddled in the lustrous fur coat and stared up at Reggie like a rabbit looking at a dog.
- - - - - - - - - -
The world did not end with a bang, but with a pop. Without warning, every electronic component in Riverdale had flashed and sizzled out in a stink of scorched plastic. Television sets, home computers, transistor radios, electrical generators - anything more complex than a simple flashlight - suddenly stopped functioning. ATMs, cash registers, refrigerators, traffic lights, all sat mute and dark. Only the last was of no great importance, for there was no traffic - automobiles sat immobile where they had stalled, useless. Electric power, and everything that needed it, was simply gone.
"EMP," Dilton Doiley said. He was sitting with Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper outside Riverdale High School. It had been a week since the power had gone off - a week of quiet days and early bedtimes, as life after sunset was lit only by flashlights and fire - but Principal Weatherbee had had manual typewriters and ancient mimeograph machines brought out of the basement and sent student volunteers door to door with hand-typed flyers - school would still be open, classes would still be held as best they could, until the present emergency was over. It worked surprisingly well, especially after the discovery that some of the older Diesel schoolbuses would still start...
"Which means what?" Betty asked.
"Electromagnetic pulse," the serious, bespectacled boy answered. "It's just a theory, but when the Army set off that A-bomb at Johnson Island, it popped circuit breakers all the way to Hawaii."
"And that's what's happened to us?"
"I tried replacing the fuses on my Dad's car," Archie protested. "They were fine - that wasn't the problem."
"It happened too fast for the fuses to act," Dilton replied. "They react to big, slow surges in current - this would be like getting hit by lightning. Essentially, everything that uses electricity, or makes it - just burnt out." He looked around gloomily.
"That explains why Ronnie's telephone doesn't work," Archie said. "She's lost without it."
"I like the quiet," Betty smiled. "No loud trucks, no cars thumping and blaring their ugly noise - and look at what a beautiful day it is! Look at the sky!"
Archie had to admit that she had a point. The hazy, polluted sky he'd known all his life was gone; the arch of heaven now glowed the very color of Betty's eyes - the clearest, purest, loveliest blue he'd ever seen. At night, with the lights of Riverdale and the highway gone out, the stars were fat diamonds strewn across the sky, more and brighter than he'd ever seen...
"I'm hungry," Dilton said. "All our fridge food has gone bad."
"You sound like Jughead." Archie pushed at the smaller boy. "Always hungry."
"You wait," Dilton replied darkly. "How long do you think grocery stores stay stocked, with no trucks resupplying them?"
And he was right, of course. Day followed day, and the power stayed off.
At first it was fun. People came together over candlelight dinners; neighbors who hardly spoke to one another before, now worked together as a community. Canned foods were shared; what few diesel trucks and buses still ran were used as ambulances - and one even served as a school bus. A simple system of IOUs was set up as payment.
But the power never came back on. No trucks appeared on the empty highway - grocery stores were not restocked. The candles were used up. The canned foods ran out. The streets stank of uncollected garbage. Fires burnt out of control. The school bus was discontinued as diesel fuel dwindled. Batteries, propane, even lamp oil became priceless luxuries. There were no fire trucks, no police cars. The civilized veneer began to crack. People began to leave town, to hide - and to fight. Family pets began to disappear from back yards as the spectre of starvation stalked the town. Families locked their doors at sundown, and gripped loaded guns if they had them, waiting. Gunshots in the night were not investigated until morning - if at all.
And no one knew anything. No television, no telephones, no radios, no newspapers, no automobiles - Riverdale's world stopped at its horizons. Was it all, somehow, an accident? How far did it extend? Travellers on foot or bicycle from Midvale or DeCarloville had reported the same situation everywhere. Only an occasional far-off contrail was seen in the sky; no leaflets were dropped, no official signs or vehicles were ever seen - the rest of the world might have vanished. Was anyone doing anything about it?
The answer to that arrived with the first Eurasian armored column.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Betty Cooper is my friend, Noyon-Komandir Mantle," Veronica said, kneeling submissively to him. She kowtowed, putting her forehead to the ground in Mongol fashion - and in the process displaying herself completely to the three mesmerized boys behind her.
"Holy shit," Ron Barkley breathed.
"- And she used to be your friend too." Veronica straightened - and, unmistakably, winked at Reggie.
He looked at her, thoughtfully, and looked at the Wolves, still breathing heavily - and looked back at her for a long moment. Their eyes locked and held.
Veronica's hint of smile vanished. "Reggie... ?"
"You flout my authority at your cost," he told her. "My men have found a noochi, and I see no reason to deny them the exercise of their appointed powers. You wish to spare her? Very well, then - you will replace her. Captain Sanders."
"Sir."
"'Field Punishment No. 1,' Captain."
"Yes, sir!" Their huge grins had returned, and one of the Wolves was already rubbing his crotch in anticipation.
"Do not damage her, Captain. That's an order." He waved to indicate the dusty, abandoned automobiles that still lined the street. "Do it on a car."
"Oh, my God, Reggie, no God, Reggie, please, omigod omigod NO-O-O!" Veronica's voice rose to a shriek. There was a brief rip of wispy fabric, and three figures braced and positioned themselves around a violently squirming fourth, while muffled screaming continued.
"You are a slimy, filthy bastard." Betty Cooper stood with Veronica's mink draped over her shoulders, holding up her ruined jeans with small fists clenched. "You gave Ronnie to those goons - You stinking, filthy bastard."
"Ungrateful? You'd rather it was you?" Reggie turned to her, and Betty involuntarily stepped back. All weariness was gone from him; a horrible dark hilarity was in his face, a happy hatred that had always lived in him and now skull-grinned from his eyes, given free reign at last. He was, she suddenly realized, quite completely insane.
"Our little Ronnie was trying to manipulate me by flattery, show what a man I must be, to own such a treasure as her," Reggie laughed, raw and harsh. "What kind of man lets a woman dictate his decisions?" He turned his gaze back to where boots scuffled and a bare white leg kicked wildly, heel drum-pounding the side of the abandoned car.
"Tolka slaboyobki ee durachki nebol'nik padeliya k' zhenshinam," he murmured to himself. It sounded like something he had memorized.
"Hot damn!" Ron Barkley staggered back, his grin as wide as his skull, dragging his pants up with one hand. "God damn." He hopped, adjusting himself. "I did it." He raised his face to the sky and howled, "VICTORY TO THE BARON! I JUST FUCKED VERONICA LODGE!"
To Be Continued
- 1
- 2
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