This is an RP about the end of the D.C. Crusade. Yes, the very same genocidal zealots who came and either killed everyone in your settlement for loving ghouls, or came, killed the ghouls, and took over the settlement. The very men who, from a ceratin point of view, brought an rather chaotic form of order to D.C. As this RP spirals downward, the Capitol Wastes will once again revert to the way it was before the Crusade's Empire and it's reign. This is the End. This RP starts one month after the end of the "Crusade vs. Claws Pg. 9" RP.
Factions: The Crusade, the Last Legion (Time for Run4's traitors, lol), the Tribal factions
- You don't have to be part of a faction, but you can ally yourself with one (if you hate the Crusade, go to either of the last two)
Crusade PFC Hawkins was drenched in irridated rain. Inside the trenches, just about everyone was either nervous, scared shitless, or both. It was really happening, wasn't it? Numerous military setbacks, weeks of hard fighting in the north and south, tales of FairFax and of 7th Hell's remaining troops rallying to Colonel Roarke. The stories of tribals capturing troops and scalping them, the tales of the ferals and the rumors of unrest at York up in the Northeast. It was all coming to end, wasn't it? Hawkins was scared out of his mind. After the Void, he had reverted back to his usual self. Rice was gone. DeSoto was gone. Drake was long dead. How many guys were left? Just him and Harrison? This time, there would be no golden gun for their salvation. Moore had been full of empty promises and lies. Now it was coming back to haunt them. Gripping his G36C, he motioned for Harrison to follow him, and continued down his usual patrol route in the trenches. It was dark, smelly, and rainy, and this area north of Jerusalem was a rather dadly hellhole, even for guys with combat expierience in New York against MoS troops like Hawkins. Whatever. It didn't matter. Everything had just hit the fan after Jerusalem had been breached. Now Hawkins and his buds just had to wait for the storm to arrive.
Fireman0504 Here's to the Crusade! The most common enemy since the Enclave! Been a good run boys and girls!
Stefanie McRae picked her way through the ruins of D.C. She'd been out scavenging for supplies for the last day. Today'd been a good one. She came across an old, abandoned drug store. Now she had a shit ton of Buffout to fuel her addiction, and she'd been able to finally secure and get rid of her crave for Pork N' Beans. She'd been hiding out in D.C. for about a month with the groups she'd met up with outside of the place they called Jerusalem. She was simply waiting for them to make their move so she could head back to Zanadu and get on with life, such as it was. She'd done a pretty good job stocking up on things here though. She'd even come across a Mister Handy unit in an abandoned house. "He" called himself Jeeves, and he was everything he was cracked up to be. He was helping her haul water and food from the day's scrounging at the moment, as she picked her way back toward the hideout, she heard a distinctive 'thud thud thud' overhead. Ducking into a pile of rubble, she watched as Jeeves moved inside another building and the VTOL moved overhead. If there was one thing these Crusaders did right, it was make the D.C. ruins safer for everyone. They'd pushed the Super Mutants to near extinction, something that the Brotherhood of Steel had been trying for two decades to do. They'd also eradicated the feral ghoul population and destroyed most of the Raider gangs who prowled the ruins. The only ones left were the Brotherhood of Steel, and they largely kept to themselves around their Outposts at the Mall, the White House, the Citadel, and the GNR. Stefanie walked back out as the sound faded and continued on her way.
Mathis Alexander had watched as this Crusade came into order, the devastation and genocide they caused to an already flawed world. Being a historian, Mathis had already recorded most of the events that have happened recently, this including the Crusade's obvious downfall. At the beginning Mathis was temped to join the extremist organization, but after seeming the destruction and war they caused, he reconsidered. Being the wanderer he is, he won't likely stay in D.C for much longer. He was considering heading to Austin after hearing about the Outcast's sudden Exodus there. Something important was going on in that city, but it would have to wait. He would stay in D.C for the time being to record the last breaths of this imperial faction. He spit as he loaded up to move out. Grabbing his Ak-103, or "Chinese Assault Rifle" as they called it around here, he left the partiality destroyed apartment complex he was resting in. To his north was the remaining Crusade forces, he would go and observe them today, he had a feeling in his bones that something was going to happen.
With that Mathis walked into the rising North, oblivious to what events linger in the near future.
--Cerebral plague 12:54, 21 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack had been with one of the others from the group from earlier. They were approaching a house, unaware of what was inside of it. He had his M79 grenade launcher out, filled with the buckshot shell. Signaling to the man behind him, when he finished picking the lock, he would bust in and shoot anyone on the the right side of the room, then the left would be cleared by Jack. When he was almost finished, he heard talking. "Do you think it was smart to hide in here Phillip? I mean, the Crusade will find us, and they'll kill us for our relationship. "Don't worry Thomas, we'll run away from all this, head to the country, or that Oasis place. That's filled with people that would respect us for who we really are!" Jack was trying not to burst out laughing, he hoped to god that they weren't talking about what he thought they were talking about.
Sergeant Aaron Kingly of the Rivet City Police looked out over the pile of slag that had once been liberty prime.The brotherhood hadn't even bothered to move it.He had cheered as the giant robot obliterated crusaders and had been the first to sign up for what Harkness called the Freedom of DC Corps.Most of rivet city had joined in the end and now deep in the bowls of the ship men and women were being trained by harkness and given Guns from traders on the Marketplace.The Crusade would burn and the citizens of rivet city would stand by the campfire and laugh.
Hawkins stood in the ruins with Harrison, completely alert. Word was that the tribals were moving for their monthly migration from the north. Except this time, it wasn't monthly. They'd been coming towards this point in the defenses, known as Gilead Point, every day now. Gilead Point was the last strong point before Jerusalem. It was the epitomy of week's of hard work of shoveling irridated dirt shit and removing dead trees for barricade cover. It was centered around an old skyscraper, once known for the lavish guests it used to hold as a hotel. Now it was the last line before a complete and utter military defeat. Hawkins, now a Sergeant, motioned for his men to follow him, their orange-colored eyes glowing in the rain of the day.
It was quiet, as usual. Nothing had happened since the end of last week, when the tribals had started gathering in force. Captain Frederick Thomas; asshole commander, former New York Garrison soldier, and now the sole leader of the the defense of Jerusalem's meager territory, sat on the top floor of Gilead Point. His desk was old and creaky, and it shuddered when he placed his power armor helmet down upon it. An aide walked inside, his voice clearly nervous. "Sir." He began. Thomas acknowledged him. "The Tribals just hit another patrol. In force this time. CCI, or what remains of it, is reporting that they're marching, and even with their primitive gear, will overwhelm Gilead." The aide finished. Thomas cursed under his breath. Sure, he been under this situation only monthes before. But he had resources; men, supplies, VTOLs; he had time. Now, the Last Legion was coming, the Tribals were marching, and whatever remnants of that blasted waster army was gathering too. Thomas waved the aide off, and turned towards his rather crumbled up map. He had some last-minute last stand planning to do.
Colonel Nathaniel Roarke marched with his soldiers. The Last Legion had been growing by the day as more and more Crusade soldiers defected to their cause. They had just destroyed another attack by Wastelanders. These pin pricks were becoming more and more common the closer they got to DC. But Roarke smiled nonetheless. He saw his target ahead. The waters of the Potomac River. He signalled for the Diplomat to his right to move around with the camera.
Roarke marched over his makeshift bridge. A truck pushed into the river with some scrap metal to bridge the gap between it and the banks. Hardly glorious, but this was a momentous occassion. As he stood on the center of the bridge, the Diplomat took the picture. Colonel Roarke crossing the Potomac, war following in his wake. The eyes of his T-51b glowing the same menacing red of the BRA armor his soldiers wore. He had been glad to make that modification. It scared the shit out of anyone who fought him head-on. Jerusalem would be his. Moore, Thomas, Taggart and any other commanders left would hang at his orders. The Crusade would be his.
Fred pulled up the dossier of his former ally, Colonel Roarke. Such a sad tale. They'd been childhood allies, back when they used to play pranks on Moore, like that time with the stun grenade under the toilet in Moore's tower retreat. Of course, Adam had taken full blame for that one. Moore had been really pissed about that. Fred continued to look through the dossier. Distuinguised service record. Several medals, including a Legion Merit badge, had attached to his record. Now, Adam had defected, and he was marching against the very thing that had given him purpose. Fred needed to stop him here. He needed to convince him that what he was doing was wrong.
Hawkins and his respective platoon patrolled the streets. As usual, the wasters scattered, the feral ghouls got shot down, the super mutant at the corner got blown to bits, and the enemy tribal patrol got obliterated. Nothing unusual. However, what was unusual was that the Last Legion had been sighted in this area; in fact, they were in sight. An advance party of several men, still clad in crusade equipment, rounded the corner about the same time as Hawkins and his men. Everyone stopped. Wasters watched from alleys and windows. The occasional dog squealed. Hawkins, aswell as everyone else present, immediatly raised their weapons. Harrison barked at the defectors. "Drop your weapons!" He roared, his rifle pointed true. The enemy sergeant repeated the very same sentence. "Do I have a kill order, Hawkins?" Harrison roared, the tension rising. "Hawkins, I need an order!" He yelled again. Hawkins was frozen. It was against the code. Crusade soldiers never shot their own, no matter if they had defected or had deserted. "I need an order, Hawkins, dammit!" Harrison said again. The enemy soldiers held their positions too. It was completely silent. Not a bird moved. The rain became a figment of imagination. But both sides refused to fire. Instead, Hawkins and his respective enemy commander did something crazy; they lowered weapons. Harrison, in disbelief, let his shotgun droop down. The enemy sergeant nodded in sympathy. They were still brothers. No matter whose side they were on, they were all Crusade, through and through. In old times, this would have been considered Christmas Day. Not that it mattered, anyhow.
The device gave a long whining noise, and Conor Strauss responded by giving it a strong thump, at which point it abruptly stopped. He glanced over to Worthington, who was checking over the rest of the equipment, so Strauss nodded to himself, flicked a switch and brought the speaker to his mouth. It didn't matter who was listening, this needed to be said.
"Good afternoon, Capital Wasteland. You're listening to Claws Radio, which has been suffering some unexpected downtime these past few months. Your regular DJ, Jason, isn't here. In fact, he and the rest of the Claws are galavanting 'round the country with the wind at their heels. 'cept me. I'm Conor Strauss, third down the chain of command of the group, and in the absense of my associates, I've taken charge of what's left, which consists of a base, some robots and a few turrets. As I'm sure a few of you know, there was a military strike against the Crusade occupants about a month back. I was a part of that strike, as were many others. The thing is, and let me be honest with ya; I'm not sure whether the damage we did made the situation here in D.C. better, or worse. It seems the whole place has gone to hell, and between the infighting and the fallout from that nuke, lots of people have died. At the risk of sounding like J.H. Eden, I'm going to just say that things will get better. I've never been good at speeches and shit, but I know the Wastes as well as any of you and I probably know how the Crusade operates a lot better, so just trust me when I say things will be alright. Thanks for listening and have a nice day, Capital Wasteland. If you want some music, switch on over Galaxy News right now, Three Dog sounds like he's just finishing up his weather forecast. Peace."
Strauss flicked the switch back to its off-position and placed the speaker on the table, leaning back in his chair and peering up at the dim lights of the Super-Duper Mart. Strauss sighed as his robot helper turned off the equipment. He wasn't sure who, if anyone had just heard that. He doubted that people would be too interested in a station that had been down for months, but he had to get that sort of message off his chest to somebody, even if it was just a mole rat who'd burrowed into an abandoned shack with a working radio. He tapped a few buttons on his Pip-Boy and tuned into GNR, listening to the music playing. "Maybe" by the Ink Spots, he'd heard Three Dog call it before. He'd always liked that song since he first heard it, and it always managed to cheer him up, somehow. Worthington, after finishing shutting down the gear, hovered over and poured Strauss a glass of whiskey. The robot had excellent intuition. He sure felt like he needed it. And so, punctuated by the music, the noise of Worth's dual rotors as he hovered and the sounds of gunfire and lasers outside as the turrets and reprogrammed Sentry Bots defended the base from whatever threatening had gotten near this time, Strauss simply thought to himself in silence for some time.
Domingo Velasquez slowly stepped back into the interior of El Oso, "The Bear", and looked around one last time at the newly established wasteland on the edges of the zone that had been wiped out by the Fat Man OMEGA the scavengers in the area had spoke of. The men said that they had "seen a cloud go a mile high above the surrounding area", and that if he had a deathwish, he could go right ahead. Of course, Domingo was completely prepared for this and had hidden within the sealed cockpit of El Oso as the radiation crackled around him with the aid of his Geiger counter. Despite this risk, however, the search for supplies yielded nothing but ash and death, so he had headed for hime. The old, gutted Sherman Tank had shuddered away from the hot zone and headed back for Rivet City, its empty trailer rattling along behind it.
Tuning his set in to the "Claws Radio", he caught the end of Conor's broadcast. He smiled a bit at the thought of better days on the horizon. So he raised the Claws Radio headquarters via a reverse-broadcast, using the same frequency to broadcast his message back from the small antennae on the back of the old, disarmed tank. He picked up the reciever and cleared his throat. "Conor Strauss," he said aloud, his Hispanic accent echoing around the buzzing, humming, clanking interior of the Sherman tank. "I've heard of the Claws. Their exploits are honorable, and I am going to let you know I am willing to pitch in and help your noble venture in any way possible. My name is Domingo Velasquez, and I am the pilot of El Oso. I wish you luck in your ventures, and may good fortune shine on your path." And with that, he hung up the reciever and turned off the radio.
Another few hours passed before the retrofitted tank arrived outside Rivet City, and Velasquez slowly climbed out of the top of the tank. His bullet-riddled jacket clung tightly to the grey T-shirt he had taken to wearing instead of his usual bare-chested-ness. He saw the bridge was out for once, and realized maybe things were going to get better after all- for once, he didn't even have to buzz into Rivet City. And so he quickly passed over the long bridge and into Rivet City's cool interior. He lowered himself into the marketplace and looked about, taking his usual seat at Gary's Galley and enjoying a cold scotch. Yes, He thought, Things are getting better already.
Riley Alan was following Conor since the main group split up a few weeks ago. They settled in an old "store", which Conor remarked as the base for a group that Riley had not heard of. He sent Cat out the last day to find ammo, and since Cat was such a good hunter he had made it back alive, and with a few 5.56 clips.
Mathis had traveled with a trustworthy caravan to Rivet city, previously known as the safest place in D.C, now it was a complete warzone. Although recently things had lightened up, the opening of the bridge said that. He looked over to his companion whom he did not know the name of, "Goodbye friend, be careful traveling the wastes, war still lingers in the air." With that Mathis proceeded to the ship-turned-city to rest. Tomorrow his intentions would turn towards the north, towards the still living Crusade. As he walked to rusted bridge, one thing caught his eye. To his left was an old Sherman Tank, like the ones he had read so much about. Strange that he would see one here, and working too. He would study it, but he had the feeling the owner wouldn't like him doing so. Mathis greeted a guard as he passed into the marketplace, heading towards the local bar to get something to drink.
Dom took another draw from the bottle of scotch, emptying it and placing it on the table in front of him. With the bottle on its way down to the table, Dom's cocked head met a man coming down the main ladder to the marketplace. He didn't seem to be one of the people that had come around in recent times, at least the times that Dom had been there. So before he went to Flak and Shrapnel's to pick up his latest shipment of supplies bound for the Citadel, Dom decided to meet the newcomer. So he picked up a bottle of vodka from Gary's Galley and met the newcomer halfway, along the way hoisting the brown, square bottle up to his face level.
"Ah, hello, newcomer. Come, join me in a toast." The clearly slightly inebriated Dom declared, before heading back to his table and hoisting the bottle. "A toast!" Dom shouted, holding the bottle up again. A few of the other people at the assorted dining tables turned their heads to look at the Hispanic man with the rediculous handlebar moustache and greasy black ponytail swinging his vull bottle of vodka around like a club. "A toast!" Dom repeated again, before adding: "To the continued prosperity of the Capital Wasteland! May the Claws and the Last Legion bring in a new era of prosperity, where the shadow of the Crusade bastards no longer hangs over us!" And in one fell swoop, he tore out the cork of the vodka bottle and drained its contents in one mighty swig, slamming the emptied bottle back onto the table.
Stefanie gingerly picked her way through the rubble of Bailey Crossroads. Her and Jeeves were winding thier way through an old, bombed out building. Well theres a little somethin somethin Stefanie thought as she smiled to herself. There was some type of unfinished structure out the back door. She followed the ramp down to a deactivated ham radio. Gazing up, she followed the cable of the lift up to the bridge of a crane. Feeling the car sway as she stepped aboard, Stefanie activated the controls. The gate shut as the car went deep down into the ground, passing by many mag-sealed doors. When it stopped, the door before her opened automatically, revealing a crumbled entryway. There were signs of occupation, relatively recently. By Jeeves' calculation it was roughly 16 months ago. Stefanie examined the first room, then walked into a corridor. There were cots set up, and blankets and rations left everywhere. She turned to the left and entered a storage room. The heavy doors were open, but the room was completely empty. Eveyrthing in there had been taken. Shelves lined the walls. Stefanie could guess it was something good. She walked into a generator room to her left. Everything was operational. In fact, it seemed the generator was keeping the systems in this hidden fortress running. She exited the room and walked down the hall. Ignoring the junk-filled room on her right and walking into a room with a strange, egg-shaped, pod. She read the inscription on the side. "U.S. Army Simulation Training, Operation Anchorage." She had no idea what that meant. Jeeves didn't either, but he referred her to "current events." That is, the Chinese occupation of Alaska. Stefanie shrugged and re-entered the room outside the door. She found a host of small tools, as well as a work bench, an oven, and two refridgerators full of food. She was lucky and found a few assorted drugs and meds laying around, which she quickly pocketed. She exited the room and headed back up the hall, noticing a set of stairs on her right. She went up and came into a room. There was some foot lockers and a few beds. On the table she found a note, stamped with a red cog that had a single sword bisecting it. She read it aloud to herself.
"Here this day, July 19 in 2278, Protector Casdin of the Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts, did take refuge during the Siege of Fairfax. On the morn of the glorious 20th, did our Brothers relay news of their victory over the Crusade. So begins that which we've all striven to see, the Great Exodus. May Steel be with us."
So the Crusade could be defeated Stefanie thought to herself. This looked like as good as any place to make a home as long as she stuck around in D.C. "Time to settle in, Jeeves," she said. "Yes, ma'am," the robot responded. She smiled. Such a gentleman he was. Stefanie switched on the radio. Long as she was staying, she might as well stay entertained. She'd scavenge a little more tomorrow. Stefanie layed down on the bed and listened as Jeeves went about his butlerly business.
Aaron kingly pulled up a chair at garys gally "the usuall gary" 2 bottles of cola and a glass of scotch slid his way.He raised his glass "to rivet city!".Pausing he turned to see a Heavy set stranger who he had not seen before "so stranger who's is that tank outside the city"
"That would be my tank, senor." Domingo slurred slightly, straightening the collar of his jacket as he stumbled to his feet. "I am Domingo Velasquez, last known survivor of Bart's Hollow, Leader of the Seven Sins Mercenary Company, and virtuoso of the wasteland scroungers!" He half-announced, half-drunkenly shouted to all those assembled.
Jacob Vaughton (Oh Yeah, he's back to finish the job he started in Fairfax!) walked with the slow, easy grace of a consummate soldier. Every step made hints at whipcord strength and blurring speed. Even for someone who didn't know who he was (which was pretty much anyone outside of the Enclave and the DC Ruins), it was clear that he wasn't a man to be taken lightly. Even going on 41, he was quicker and stronger than anyone he knew. Any human he knew, anyway. It was his people skills that let him down. Otherwise, he'd be an exemplary member of society. He was gruff, blunt and abrupt. He was surprised people put up with him, even in the dire circumstances where he worked with others. The only people he had ever really "clicked" with were the Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts, but they had left right after the Siege of Fairfax, almost three years ago now. He often thought about how Ranik, Sam, Carter, Hamilton, Ramsey and Jackson were getting on. Probably being hailed as the Brotherhood's greatest heroes. They deserved nothing less.
But they were as good as a million miles away right now. With the Crusade and some splinter group called the Last Legion moving against each other, DC was about to find itself caught between the hammer and the anvil again. And on a scale not seen since that fool Bren Tenkage had led his band of misfit imbeciles against the Crusade. Jacob watched from his vantage point on a ridge above the Last Legion forces as they marched past the Northern DC Ruins, passing not three hundred yards from the National Guard Depot. He knew well that these soldiers would be the end of the Crusade. The Outcasts had defeated the Crusade once, and now this Roarke and his Legion would bury them. That attack on Jerusalem really had broken the back of this once united, leviathan, insurmountable foe. All Jacob had to do now was find a way to get rid of Roarke after they dealt with Thomas and his lot. Otherwise it'd be nothing more than replacing the wolf with the tiger.
Dutch Holmes stood from the ridge, his new aviator sunglasses as ominous as ever. Donning his usual black jacket, jeans, and combat boots, he watched from his camp as the Crusade splinter-faction known as the Last Legion set up camp just past the Northern D.C. ruins. Typical. Gilead Point was where Dutch expected them to attack. Once that was taken, there would no significant force left to oppose them. The Airborne were tremendous fighters, but they lacked something the Legion had x2; numbers. That would be their downfall. Holmes loved the entire scenario. Let the two sides destroy each other, then smash both of them with an Enclave attack. Then hopefully, the Tribals wouldn't be foolish enough to make the Enclave waste resources and time on them. Smiling, Holmes sat back down on his camping stool, ripped open a ration pack, and started chewing. Vulgar. Immediatly spitting the contents back out, Holmes continued to watch the Legion from it's camping site.
--Cerebral plague 20:16, 22 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack was sitting in the house he recently captured. A few Crusade would be deserters were in there, but were taken care of. He was at his little snipers perch, watching as the group of Crusade soldiers were marching towards Jerusalem. There was something odd about these men though, not waving the flag, and had just marched by a house with a waste lander looking out the window. Without Shooting him in the face. These weren't regular Crusade, they were serious. "Perhaps I should shoot?" He had the shot, he could escape before they could reach the house. He was thinking over it, and decided to kill the one right behind the leader. He took aim, compensating for the drop. He fired, and got up. He started to run down the stairs, heading out of the building.
"you have a TANK!.Where did you get it.Never mind im part of the organisation called the Horde we could use a man of talent like yourself"
"Radley, 3rd Company brought their artillery along, yes? I want those howitzers to shell that building and it's grounds to dust. And I want it done ten minutes ago." Roarke said, annoyed that they hadn't killed that man in the window. So much for assuming a man in a poncho was too mentally disturbed to pose a threat. The prick had shot one of the defectors from another battalion. If it had been a Last Chancer, he'd have had fifth company and the Last Legion's own artillery set up and turn that hill into a hollow.
Jacob clotheslined a man who came running out of a house. Putting a foot to the man's chest, he pointed his gun at the poor sap's head before he realised he knew this guy. Cerebral fucking Jack. That assassin who had fought against the Crusade in Bren's fool war.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Jacob said, almost shouting. He wasn't expecting that. Then, he heard the characteristic puff of a far-off mortar shot. Then the boom of a large-bore howitzer. He hadn't heard sounds like that since Jerusalem. That meant that himself and Jack were in deep shit.
"Move!" Jacob shouted, dragging Jack to his feet and taking off at a sprint as shells screamed overhead.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 20:56, 22 April 2009 (UTC)
To someone who fought the Crusade at Jersulm, seeing Weston like this would have been a shiock. To those who didnt know him, they did'nt care. For that mtter, almost no one else BESIDES the fightes at Jesulm cared. To them, he was just a crazy drunk. To Conor, to Jack, to Jackal, eve to Jacob, he was SOMEONE. The only person outside of the Assualt group was Marshall. At least he cared. Stumbling across the Marketplace, and getting a few glancesfrom the guards, he came up on a Hispanic man who looked like he had some cash.
"hhhheyyy, buddyyy. Wanna spare a hhhero a drinkkkk?"
"How about a drink among heroes, Weston?" Jackal said loudly, right into Weston's ear. Weston jumped at the rasping Irish accent of everybody's favourite Ghoul wanderer. Jackal slapped Weston on the back, nearly knocking the inebriated young man flat on his face.
"Beer for the boy, and lots of whiskey for me. He had a head start." Jackal shouted to the bartender. Gareth or something. Garibaly? No, Gary! That was his name. Shit, was he going senile or soemething? Damn, that'd be a shame. Anyway, everybody would be better off without the Crusade. He seconded the tank-driving stranger's salute of the Last Legion. He ignored the salute to the Claws. He was't happy with Bren, inviting him down to DC and fecking off without a word. Twat. Anyway, drink!
Strauss had smiled as he heard the message, and had decided to pack up his gear. "Riley," he called out to the other sole human resident of the Super-Duper Mart, "Me and Worth are hikin' down to Rivet City, see what's going on down there. You coming?" That had been several hours ago; they'd been heading there since then. (Up to you whether Riley's coming Krush, "they" could easily refer to just Strauss and Worth) And now, after passing the old Jefferson Memorial, they could clearly see the city-ship in the distance. Strauss smiled fondly as his memories of living there flushed back to him. Another thing to be pleased about was the distinct lack of Super Mutants shooting at him as he walked. Guess the Crusade are good for something.
Riley stood in a small area of the Super Duper Mart. It had a small makeshift lab, a few chems, and a terminal. Wonder who used this.. he thought. To the left of the table, was a box, and inside the box was a few jugs of molasses, some wonder-glue, and a bottle of dirty water. Beside the box were hollowed out grenades. Now Riley was curious, and poured the three substances into the grenade. He then put a small fuse on it and lit it with his match, and threw it through a window. It exploded into a stick substance that boiled hot under the sun, and would probably stick anything too it like a trap. "Lets try some Nuka-Cola," Riley said and poured half a bottle of Quantum into the grenade, followed by a handful of Abraxos. He then threw this grenade out the window and it exploded with the same sticky black substance, but it was burning this time, "Wonderful." Riley then typed his findings into the terminal for anybody to find after him, and stocked up about 6 of his special grenade, and then started to follow Strauss, "Yeah I'm coming."
"Jesus Fucking Christ man! Why the hell did you just tackle me!" Jack was running along with Jacob as the mortar hit the building behind him. "That wasn't necessary! Why the hell would that be necessary! I didn't even shoot your friend, or someone you know! I was just trying to kill some one today, and how the hell did you even know I was in there?" Jack was running along, as another mortar hit the building. How the hell did they even know where the shot came from, there was no glare, and I was hiding in the shadows, you would have to have already known I was there to figure out where to mortar. I got there before they even made camp....
Fireman0504 I'm gonna have Stefanie bump into Conor, Worth and Riley while scavenging
Stefanie woke up and looked around. "Wonder how long I was out?" she said. "13 hour and 28 minutes," Jeeves said, hovering into the room. She smiled a lopsided smile at him. "Thank you Jeeves," she said. "Where are we going today?" the Handy said cheerfully. "I'm gonna go solo today," she said, "too many close calls with all the soldiers in the area." She'd been listening to reports of some force called the Last Legion moving in. She didn't want to risk Jeeves, bless his circuitry. She made her way to the elevator. "I hate to be a bother," Jeeves said, "but I get rather uncomfortable being alone." He sounded almost sad. Stefanie had found him diligently maintaining a house in L'Enfant. Didn't even know about the war. Now he got nervous he'd be left alone again. "Don't worry," she said to him, activating the lift, "I'll be back for you." She smiled as the door closed and the lift brought her back into daylight.
"In case you forgot, my human contact is generally short and violent, Jack." JAcob said, shouting to be heard as the mortars hit the building. "As for how I knew you were in there, I heard a sniper rifle, and assumed it was a Crusade Loyalist. The tackle was instinct. I could have hurt you pretty badly, why the hell were you running like a fool?"
Meanwhile, Roarke had called a halt to the bombardment. Maybe that poor wastelander hadn't been the one to take a shot at them. It had been an AP bullet, and completely disintegrated the soldier's head. It could have come from any three directions. Roarke had sent scout kill teams to deal with the other two. At the very least, they'd scare the fool away. Rather than Moore, who saw Wastelanders a a lower form of life, Roarke saw them as a source of support and power. They were still lower-class citizens, but useful nonetheless.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 21:46, 22 April 2009 (UTC)
"And to all the poor bastards that died in Jesrulam, 'eh?"
Weston clanked his beer woth Jackals wishkey, before taking a seat.
"So, Jackal, how've ya been?"
Of course, a cople people stopped and looked at the Ghoul and the, well, Non-ghoul. Sharing a drink. The Crusade would roll over in its grave for that. But, they were in there last legs, so what matter does in make? Thyey foughtr thecrusade on THEIR owhome turf and the motely group of fighters still won. Of course, they all had spilt up, but when they were together they were a nearly untopple force.
Hawkins watched as the enemy platoon left the way they had came, parting ways with the men from Hawkins' platoon. Hawkins was truly saddened. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Hawkins could've sworn he had even seen some of those men before, back during war with the EMAA back in NY. Turning away, Hawkins was about to leave himself when the unexpected happened. Tribals. "There's a whole shitload of em'." Harrison said, cocking his shotgun. Hawkins surveyed the group. More tribals then his own men, that was for sure. They were scattered in different buildings and alleys, wielding primitive and low-grade weapons. Hawkins mouthed a whisper to Harrison., not looking away. "Harrison, have Fiorello set up the minigun and and open up as soon as they charge." Hawkins said, unslinging his assault rifle. Tribals were... unpredictable. Even when they had ranged weapons, they still charged you like they were carrying katanas or something. The lead tribal, clad in a yao guai fur coat and wielding a massive warhammer, roared something incoherent. "Fucking natives." Harrison said, motioning for Fiorello to finish up quickly. The massive A3 gunner gave an ok signal, and hefted his massive mini-gun. The lead tribal roared again, and was met with other roars of approval from the many tribals. They charged, whirling their weapons. Fiorello just turned in a circle, his minigun opening fire. In a circular motion, he cut down the first wave with ease, 5mm rounds tearing through the crowd of natives. The remainder that didn't get cut down were met with gunfire and swords by the platoon. Each soldier of Hawkins' squads were equipped with either combat shotguns, G36Cs, officer swords, and desert eagles with extra .357 clips. More than enough fire power, Hawkins had said. Slamming the butt of his rifle into the first tribal, he shot a trio of bullets into the native, and then kicked his neck sideways, snapping it in an awkward position. Of course, the next thing to fight him, as luck would have it, was the massive tribal leader, who brought his warhammer down on Hawkin's rifle. The weapon snapped in two, and forced Hawkins back, making him fall on the ground. Drawing his sword, he blocked the hammer at the last second as it came down to his head. The sword was sturdy, but it held as the tribal brought the hammer down again and again. Finally, exhuased, Hawkins dropped the sword, tired from blocking all of the blows. Of course, however, Harrison fired two shells of buckshot, killing the massive tribal. He fell over Hawkins, blood spattering all over his body. "Jesus he's heavy!" Hawkins said, struggling to push off the brute, drew his .357 from his holster and fired it twice at the next tribal to try and skewer or crush him, the rounds ripping through his face and causing his brains to explode in blood and meat.
"Well, first of all I just shot some one in the face, and the guy right next to him had a pair of binoculars, and he looked over at my direction first, and started yelling. Which is odd, as armor peircing bullets tell you if he got shot in the front or the back. I assumed that he by chance looked at the one house I'm in. So, I immediately started running, as I knew he would start mortaring. If I hadn't I would of been blown to bits by Mortar fire right now." Jack kept running as he realized Jacob was
Domingo looked hard at the man who was advertising himself as a fellow mercenary through bleary eyes swimming in a third full bottle of vodka. "No, friend, I am sorry. I'm freelancing right now... Maybve another time though?"
And then Weston's voice mumbled through the buzzing in his ears and the low voices of the people around him. "Hero, you say? Such a man de... Deserves more than just one round... He deserves... Several rounds!" Domingo laughed loudly as he turned the "hero" towards the bar, only to find that another man had appeared in his place. And this one smelled like buzzard bait- ghoul, or someone who had rolled in Brahmin shit for weeks. "Ah, we are among many heroes today! Everyone, a drink for the returning heroes!" Domingo shouted, even louder, as he drained Bottle No. 3 of vodka.
He took a seat next to Jackal and Weston at the bar. "So then, you're re... Re... Returning - yeah, that's it- returning heroes from the war against the Crusade Bastards? Good job, good job. What're your names, then, heroes? No doubt we'll have heard of your exploits by way of the radio! Three Dog has quite a way with finding these morsels of information... No doubt I've heard your names, but still. The drink and all, you know."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:16, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
"Three dog, Bah! You picks names that people will know even before he says it. Like Jacob Vaughton. Yeah, i met him. And Celbral Jack. Met him to. But deoes Three Dog care about ME? No. Should he? Why Not? I went from being a normal wastelander who joined up with a group of craziesand took down the biggest fort on the East Coast. And Do i heven hear a mention from Three Dog? Nope."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:24, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
(well, someone had to hear of you. A guy with a M79 really is'nt that common.)
Aaron Ramsey coughed as he downed his last shot of whiskey, another day spent, another day wasted. He'd been here for almost three years now and still no sign of Jay, he'd recently considered accepting the fact and returning home, but he didn't think he had the will to do so. After leaving unexpectedly and everybody expecting him to at least return with his dear brother, coming back empty handed would be an embarrassment. He downed another shot, these things would wait, for now he was going to enjoy himself. "Bartender, what's the name of that missy over yonder?" He pointed his thumb to an attractive woman across the bar, she was obviously drunk. The bartender stared at him for a moment, "You haven't been around here too much have you? That's one of the meanest bitches in the whole damn wasteland. She'll chew your cock up and spit it all over your face, unless your into that sort of shit." The bartender left Aaron with a shocked face and half a glass. And I thought Megaton women were bad... Aaron rose from his seat and started to leave the bar. From behind him he heard a cheer from some drunk, but it was what he said afterwards that caught Aaron. He mentioned Jacob Vaughton. Yes, Aaron had heard of this legend, but he also heard of who Vaughton had worked with. One of the names was Ramsey. Aaron joined their conversation.
"Yes, Vaughton, quite a legend isn't he? I'm Aaron, and who might you gents be?" He caught the attention of the group.
Stefanie wound her way through the Metro tunnels. It really was a boring walk, now that the Crusade had destroyed every living thing this side of the Potomac. Stefanie didn't mind. Then she didn't have to watch her back while looting or scavenging. She busted into a medical box on the wall. Looking inside she took the Stimpak, Blood Pack, and RadAway. She was going over to Falls Church today. She'd heard from some other scavengers that there were a few choice office buildings over there. To be honest, they were probably picked clean, but then again, the whole of D.C. was picked over a dozen times. There was always something new to get ahold of. Stefanie listened to the gate creak as she went up the stairs into the street. She peeked above the wall. Nope, no sign of anything out here. A a few days back she'd had a close call with a patrol of Crusaders entering D.C. They were just the Combat Armored troops and there were only three. The green, inexperienced, probably conscripted men had no chance against a fighter like Stefanie, but she did suffer a few cuts and bruises. She had taken their equipment and sold it to a trader that'd passed by yesterday. It slowly seemed like the wastse were going back to how she remembered them. Just then, she heard some footsteps. She ducked into a doorway and pressed her back flat against it. She flexed the fingerson her Power Fist in anticipation. The footsteps got closer.
Silas popped out behind Weston. "Three Dog never talks 'bout me neither, boy. He jus' don't like the people don't b'lieve in his 'good fight.' Don't worry 'bout it."
--Cerebral plague 12:45, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack was still running with Jacob. Jacob was faster then him, and was obviously less fatigued. So, Jack was surprised that Jacob stopped first. Jack huddled (What? couldn't think of anything else) to a stop, and looked at Jacob. "Why'd you stop man?" Jacob pointed over there, at the building. He started walking to it. He said something about "Something's In there" and started walking towards it.
Paladin Marcus Andrews sat behind the bar in rivet city with his assistant and second in command Knight Captain Alexander Michell "you best be right bout this Michell last time we came to DC we ended up lossing most of our forces in the west" Alex nodded "sure as sure sir the DC crusades dieing sir and we have a duty to make sure there well and truely dead" Marcus nodded "hey is that Weston over there" Alex paused to look "yup should we say hello or sir as you put get drunk".
Marcus grinned his XO had no sense of humor "il see you back at camp later" He walked over to weston and saw that silas and Jackal were with him. "well boys whats been happening since i left?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 19:27, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Westton looked the Brotherhood of Stel soldier in the eys. He left them. How he got out of Jersualam, no one knew. Or, just Weston.
"Fuck you, boyscout."
Weston took a large swig of his beer before turning to the newcomer.
"hhhey, i'm weston. Weston, AKA Henhmen. Nice to met ya."
Once gian, Weston ook another large swig of his beer before turnin to Slias.
"Welcome back Slias, round of beers on you?"
Alex grabbed westons shoulder "don't insult me BOY i on my own could kill you".Marcus laughed "let the boy go alex" he turned to silas "want a glass of Balma silas?"
Jackal eased his machete back into the sheath and watched as Alex stepped away from Weston. That prick (Jackal would use a stronger word, but its unsuitable for the internetz) needed to have some manners put on him. Jackal considered battering him in the jax (bathroom for you non-longo speakers) to teach him a lesson. Maybe drown him in the toilet bowl and ressuscitate him.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in, Alex and Marcus. My God, last time I saw yee was in that attack on Jerusalem. Thought you lot might have been dead. I had dibs on yer arms." Jackal laughed.
Marcus grinned "what would you do with power-armored arms jackal usefull as they are"
"They'd go great with the rest of my trophy rack." Jackal said calmly. Alex glared at him. Jackal was loving how easy it was to wind this bollock up. He downed more whiskey, and then slammed back a tumbler of Balma that Alex handed to him, with a smug grin on his face. That was some strong stuff. Jackal was lucky he was a Ghoul, otherwise he'd be suffering one bitch of a hangover after drinking that. He really wanted to show off, and throw a knife across the room or something, but Harkness would skin the lot of them if he did, so he kept his knives in their little sheaths, sewn into his armor.
Micheal stepped onto the boat, he hated boats, especially ones with police. He moved down to the Muddy Rudder to see some faggot yelling at some other faggot. And a ghoulie waving his machete all over the place. Not as bad as yesterday, Micheal thought.
Marcus pulled out his own glass of balma "barkeep 2 botles of balma please and i know you have some as i sold you some" 2 botles slid down the table.Marcus poured them into the glass and passed them round "Drink up" Marcus drouned his own glass and turned to alex frouning at him "what boy don't want a drink or a smoke or even beter some AC" He smiled alex was easy to wind up.
He turned on his seat to see a new person enter the bar "whos that?"
Strauss paused to glance around. This was the first time he'd seen this part of the ruins without a visible Super Mutant. He took a deep breath and glanced at Riley. "Man, it's quiet, huh? And not too quiet, for once." He glanced up at one of the several vantage points overlooking the nearby city-ship that were normally occupied by Frankensteins. "Hang on a sec, I'mma go see if I can't scav any ammo from that there camp." He began carefully climbing up the rubble towards the remains of the camp.
Domingo started on his fourth bottle of vodka as he turned back to the arguing group. He found that it had now expanded quite a lot, and that the inebriation was fast approaching its peak. A fight would erupt soon if he didn't jump in at a strategic moment with something important to say... Might as well go now?
He shifted in his seat, stood and faced the group of arguing men. He slammed a heavy, veiny fist down on the table. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, there's no need for this argument. We're all friends here, for now... Please, let us drink to the success of the fight against the Crusade instead of beating the tar out of eachother."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 21:09, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Weston looked at the Hispanic. Dominic? Domino? It was something or other. Raising his own beer, he did something that resmbled a salute before cloaasping. Staggering to get back up, he fell agian, before finally regaining his footin.
"Yeah, sure. To the fight against the Crusade....would take a Kings Ransom to get me back in it."
Meanwhile, in the car park of Wheaton Armory Roarke stood over the bisected body of a raider, and heaved his Field Ripper around at the next one, the upward angled blow cleaving him in half from groin to chest. Then Roarke had to kick the body off the whirring teeth as it juddered and twitched on the blade. Then, he pulled off his party trick. He thrusted the Ripper. For a weapon that wasn't designed to thrust, it was incredibly effective at it, tearing a large hole through another Raider. Fools, heretics, fighting a superior foe as if they were able to win. If nothing else, this proved that Raiders could interbreed with vegetables. He then kicked the last Raider to the ground and rammed his Field Ripper down into the man's chest.
"Captain Raze, I want this building stripped of everything not bolted down. If there are any weapons left, we're getting our paws on 'em." Roarke shouted to a shotgun-toting man to his left. He signalled for the rest of the Army Group to move up, and begin setting up camp around the bunker. Away from the radiation hotspots, of course. The last thing they wanted was for someone to die from Rad Poisoning or worse, turn into a Ghoul.
--Cerebral plague 22:21, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack and Jacob were near a house, picking at the door. "I don't know what you were talking about Jacob, I didn't hear anything." Jack then finally picked it, as he grabbed onto the knob. Jacob readied his gun, before kicking in the door. "Jacob, I just unlocked it, why did you do that?" Jacob grinned for a second, before going back to the cold hard expression he nearly always used. Jack looked inside. There were dead ghouls inside, not even feral. Some of the bodies were decapitated, and the rest were mangled and shot up with bullets. "Wonder which Crusade did this" Jack said as he stepped inside.
Aaron obviously wasn't going to get much information out of these guys, they were all drunk too the bone. If he stayed much longer he was sure a fight would form. He wanted to avoid that. "Good drinking with you fellas, but I gotta hit the road. Peace." With that Aaron left, not but getting a small glance from any of the men. They probably had already forgot he was there, typical. Aaron left Rivet City, it was too crowded to sleep in, especially in these times. He would sleep in the same office he'd been sleeping in for the past year and a half, good enough for him. One last look at the floating town, and then he continued into the wastes. He hurried, it's never good to out at night.
Silas raised his glass of Balma to Aaron as he left, then turned back to Weston. "Amen to that, mah friend," he said in a speech punctuated by drunken gurgles and high-pitched squeaks. "Ah *hic* think that 't's total bullshit thatcha din't git paid. Stay outta them jobs, *hic* they'll be th' death a'you."
Si, senor, those jobs will be the death of you... If the wilderness doesn't kill you first... Then- then *hic* the actual... Actual bad guys may get to you first!" Domingo hiccuped again, placing his tenth empty bottle on the bar and checking his watch with bleary, bloodshot eyes.
"Ah, it is time I should be picking up my shipment and leaving. I will see you around, I guess?" The mercenary nodded either way, before making his way to Flak and Shrapnel's, picking up the crates of weapons they had supplied on an ancient dolly, and making ihs way carefully up the stairs, back across the bridge, over to his tank and away from Rivet.
Thomas finished his orders, and then stepped out from Gilead Point's lobby. It had been decided. Thomas, with the majority of his forces, would attempt to persuade Adam out of his crazed rampage. They would re-unite both sides, turn on the wasters and those damnable tribesman, and crush them, then re-establish an iron-grip of western and northern D.C. If this failed, Thomas would simply attempt a suicidal attack in order to get himself killed. That way, he couldn't be at balme for Moore's foolish mistakes in the coming days. Thomas watched from the trenches, standing above them and observing. The men marching before him were a sad lot. Regardless, most of them were New York veterans from 1st Legion, and the remainder were what was left of the traitorous 2nd Legion. Those few loyalists from 2nd Legion had earned Thomas' respect in not having defected to Adam's new Last Legion. They were truly the example of an ideal soldier. Immediatly marching to them, Thomas watched the sun as it was finally covered up completely by the rain which was now falling.
Hawkins watched Wheaton Armory from his perch on the hill. Behind him, Harrison and the platoon were waiting, completely silent. Hawkins pulled up his binoculars. Watching the massive amounts of troops, Hawkins couldn't help but feel nervous. Finally, his eyes met his suspected target. Adam Kowalski. "Harrison," Hawkins whispered, "get me that sniper rifle from Anderson." Harrison complied, bringing forth the rifle. It was completely suicidal, yes. But if Hawkins did kill him, they could end the entire conflict and re-unite both sides. "Harrison, get the platoon ready to start sprinting on a mile run, yes?" Hawkins said sarcastically, and loaded the rifle. Adjusting the scope, his crosshars met Adam's distinct set of power armor, the sights resting on his head.
Stefanie had to be losing her marbles. She stepped out from the doorway and no one was there. She sighed as she felt her body relax. She reached into her pocket and popped in a Buffout. No reason at all, other than her addiction. She wanted to kick it, because when there was no Buffout around, she felt like shit. But now, Buffout was in huge supply after finding that drug store. She had enough to last for weeks. Months even. Wow, she thought to herself all alone and I think about my drugs. I need some social interaction. Jeeves was nice and all, but he was so butlerly. Most of his responses were "Yes Ma'am, No Ma'am." Stefanie decided she'd head for Rivet city. Maybe cash in some of the day's find for some caps. Visit Cantelli's for some Buffout, and see what was shaking at the Muddy Rudder. Gary's was good for food, but Stefanie liked to lay low. Old habit from her slave days. And that Sister guy was walking around there. Slaving bastard. Stefanie had levelled with him weeks ago. He said one word to, about, or around her, she'd stomp his nose out the back of his head, rip his head off, rip his arm off, and use his arm to bat his head off the flight deck like a baseball into the bay. She chuckled to herself. That was the Buffout talking. Or was it? Maybe she'd do that anyway when she got there. She sat down to eat some lunch first. MMM, Pork N' Beans!
Riley heard something to his left, around the large building, so he sent Cat to investigate. He heard Cat growl and then jump on somebody and a small shriek. It sounded like somebody Riley knew. When Riley turned the corner he found Pork n' Beans splattered everywhere and Cat laying on top of a struggling Stefanie McRae. "If you'd just stop eating Pork n' Beans around me maybe this wouldn't happen.." Riley said with a laugh.
Strauss grinned to himself as he opened an ammunition box to reveal it was filled with several dozen 5mm rounds. Should fetch a pretty penny at Flak and Shrapnel's, he thought. He looked out from the vantage point to notice the distinct lack of Riley or Cat in the visible vicinity. Stuffing the box in Worthington's storage compartment, he began to climb down the rubble-ridden pathway, almost tripping over several times due to the hindrance of his Power Armor. As he managed to get back on the ground, he heard Riley's voice coming from around the corner of a nearby large building, so he went around to investigate. He then burst out laughing.
Stefanie pushed Cat off of her and got to her feet. She looked up to see both Riley and Conor Strauss laughing their posteriors off. If there'd been mutants around they'd come running with how loud they were laughing, but with no mutants, Stefanie was free to express her discontent to Cat. "Bad Cat, BAD! Very BAD!" she said, shaking her finger at Cat. The pooch looked at her confusedly and then began licking the Pork N' Beans off the ground. Stefanie shook her head and looked up at Riley. "You now owe me some Pork N' Beans!" she said loudly. She smiled. It was good to see these two again. "You boys out for a stroll?" she said, putting her hands on her hips. Between the laughter Strauss managed to tell her they were headed for Rivet City. Stefanie winked and pointed at the two, before grabbing Riley in a headlock. "That means you can buy me lunch when we get there, eh Rilo?" she said, grinning. It was nice to have some human interaction again.
Vrrrr... the growl of a diesel engine, the clunking of loose metal and jangling of poorly-attached treads could be heard about two hundred yards south of Stefanie, Riley and Cat's position. The angry sounding vehicle soon rolled into view- a dilapidated, turret-less Sherman Tank with with a scrap-metal trailer crudely attached to the rear by a crudely attatched trailer hitch. A pair of floodlights on top of the tank flickered to life, settling on top of Stefanie. Soon, a man's head popped out from between the headlights, shadowed by the backwash of the floodlights. A Hispanic voice caled out, "Hey, who's there?"
Stefanie paused for a second, then dropped Riley, who fell to the ground with a thud, then rolled behind some rubble. Stefanie then scampered behind some rubble as well, while Strauss and Worthington moved toward another building. "You first!" Sefanie shouted back as Cat began growling. Stefanie was getting upset. All these setbacks. Cat eating her Pork N' Beans, this guy with his goofy vehicle, it was getting dark and Rivet City would be closing soon. She peeked up from behind her cover. The guy was yelling something in some language she didn't understand. The only thing she could make out was that he sounded drunk? "I can't understand what the hell you are saying," Stefanie slowly annunciated. She heard the engines turn off and then footsteps coming toward her. Her fingers flexed in her Power Fist. She was in a bad mood now.
Domingo turned his head back and forth across the top of the tank, looking about briefly to see if anyone else was around before he pulled himself out of the tank and stumbled off the side, none-too-elegantly faceplanting into the hard-packed dirt of the Wasteland's floor. Taking a few seconds to lift himself up, he pushed himself to his feet and shook his head. In perfect english, he responded: "Sorry, I'm a little bit inebriated at the moment. Who are you, and where are you going?"
Stefanie started chuckling. "I can tell that Mister. I'm Stefanie McRae. We were headed to Rivet City. Cat ate my Pork N' Beans," she said, pointing to the dog that was emerging. Strauss, Worthington and Riley were all getting up now. The drunk man looked at the dog and then at Stefanie, then at the dog, then back at Stefanie, then once more at the dog before saying, "That's not a cat." The group started laughing as it dawned on the man that Cat was the dog's name. Inebriated indeed. "And who might you be?" Stefanie asked.
Roarke was pitched backwards by the impact of the bullet. Either the shooter wasn't a confident sniper, or they were aiming for his head and hadn't compensated for a drop in the bullet's trajectory. Roarke lay still for a second, taking a few deep breaths to make sure he didn't have any injuries his adrenaline was trying to hide. He signalled to the nearby soldiers that he was ok, and stood back up. His own snipers were already returning fire. Three of them recorded kills. Only the Crusade or BoS would have had the backbone to take a shot like that. Given that he was rapidly approaching Crusade territory, Moore was trying to have him eliminated so as to avoid a war he couldn't win. By killing Roarke and letting hundreds, if not thousands (Roarke had yet to complete a head count) of bloodthirsty soldiers loose on the Wastelands.
He waved a medic away. His armor had stopped the shot. Thankfully. At least the lad that had shot at them earlier wasn't still following them. He'd have used an AP round and taken off Roarke's head. But the Colonel had more important things to consider. One of his patrols had brought in a CCI agent. The poor spook had probably spent enough time stripped to his underwear with his feet in a bucket if ice-water. The interrogation probably wouldn't take long. And if the man was unco-operative, Roarke would just have to cut off one of his feet, give him a single crutch, and force him to march with them until he broke.
"Hello, my name is R-I-L-E-Y. Riley. Repeat?" Riley said to the foreign man, Oh, I guess he's smart, shit he thought, "And yeah, my dog is named Cat,".
Domingo hiccuped a bit as he turned slowly towards Riley. "You're... You're a strange one, Riley." He then stumbled as he turned back towards Cat, who was standing off in a shaded portion of the area where the Sherman was parked. He looked briefly at the dog and its odd-looking backpack before he turned back from the dog and back towards Stefanie.
"Well it seems fate or some similar set of circumstances has bound us together. I just came from Rivet City, and I was going to drop a weapons shipment at Megaton... But I can turn around for a quick detour." He gestured back towards El Oso. "I reckon if you sit on top, you'll fit just fine..." A couple of shouts from the ruins briefly drew his attention. Most of them are explitives, which only means one thing.
"Raiders," Domingo hissed as he quickly ran over to El Oso and removed the wires from the batteries powering the floodlights, plunging the group into total darkness. "In the trailer, quickly." The Hispanic wheelman whispered harshly as he pulled his .32 pistol from his jacket and crept towards the ruins.
Thomas cursed Roarke's name several times, punched his messenger, and sat down in the trenches. Fuck! Who had authorized the men to open fire? It was hopeless now! They'd have to fight the enemy in an open, fucked-up battle. Worse, it would be their own flesh and blood. He looked towards his messnger. The unfortunate soul had been the one with whom Thomas had relieved his anger. Tossing a bottle cap to him, Thomas gave another set of orders to him for relay to CCI, then set about the business of attempting a crude set of negotiations. If it failed, maybe he could call reinforcements from New York. No... that wouldn't work. It would take days, maybe weeks, for any type of help to arrive from the north. Frustrated, Thomas leaned against a trench wall, slamming his fist into the mud and stnading in the rain.
Stefanie quickly hopped up on top of the Sherman, as did the rest of the group. Domingo hopped in and Stefanie heard the engine growl as the tank lurched forward. Stefanie looked toward the shadows. The raiders mustn't've been around long, the ruins had been nearly totally clear for the last month. Regardless, the tank swung back around and headed for Rivet City. She looked back at the trailer where Worthington and Cat were, then back at Riley and Strauss, who were readying ranged weapons. Stefanie scampered along the hitch to where the weapons shipment was and looked for a ranged weapon. A Power Fist was not going to do much good if a firefight broke out from the tank. She'd left her Scoped .44 with Jeeves to travel lighter. She popped a Buffout as she dug out a hunting rifle and a few rounds of .32 ammo. She loaded the clip and sat tight, waiting for anything or anyone to appear from the darkness. She looked at a minigun next to her and shook her head. She had no clue how to properly operate that thing. Strauss looked at her quizzically, judging her confusion, then shrugged as she noticed him. Great, now they think I'm a drugged up idiot who lives for Pork N' Beans she thought. Maybe she just should've stayed home with Jeeves and ridden the storm out.
Gunshots. Aaron cursed. For once in the past few weeks, he was actually getting some good, well-deserved rest, and this happens. Raiders he guessed, he'd seen a bunch of them around here recently. Aaron had considered relocating, but his current home was so isolated. Nobody knew of it, it was out of the way from any wasteland creatures to linger into, and it had a good supply of food. He rose, shoeing away a familiar rat that had been living with him, and he grabbed his Ak-47. He's had the same rifle from when he left Austin, luckily it used the same ammo as the rifles around these parts. Aaron looked to the window, seeing the thin rays of light shine through the makeshift barricade. He peered out of one of them, taking a few seconds to adjust to the light. Below him was the same Sherman tank he saw in front of Rivet city not but a few hours ago, except this time it was being chased by raiders. There were about three, maybe four people inside of the tank, two of them shooting. The raiders were casing them, running faster than the normal human. Aaron shook his head, he thought of the amount of drugs those anarchists inject each day, it made them nearly superhuman. Disgusted by these people, Aaron jutted his rifle out the gap between two boards. He aimed down the sights on one Raider readying a missile launcher and shot. The first shot hit him in the shoulder, causing him to lose grasp of the large weapon. Aaron ended it by firing another shot into the poor soul's head. His weapon was surprisingly accurate for what model it was, but Aaron has spent quite some time tinkering with it, making it 'More effective'. He smiled and continued to fire. Two raiders fell dead, one laid bleeding out of a very serious wound. Unlike his forgiving brother, Aaron did not care for the lives of strangers. The only people he really cared for was his family, and one of them was missing right now.
The tank riders looked at the source of the shooting, that led to Aaron. He kicked some of the boards out and showed himself. "There's a safer route to Rivet City, just take your next right and keep going until you hit the downed bridge! I'll meet you guys there!" He shouted from the window, pointing his arms to the right. Aaron didn't take the time to hear a response, he just grabbed his things and left for the downed bridge. So much for that home...
Stefanie ducked as shots whizzed by her head as she sat in the trailer. She nozed her hunting rifle over the rail of the trailer and fired a couple of shots at the approaching Raiders. One shot hit out of the five she fired as she emptied her clip. She hit the raider in the shoulder, but to her dismay, he got back up and kept coming. She cursed. The raiders' fire pattered across the hull of the tank. She fired another clip off. The shosts all missed. The bouncing of the tank, combined with her lack of awesome shooting ability made it very tough to achieve a hit. She popped in a Buffout and fired off another clip. She stood up and looked ahead of the tank as the raiders began breaking off pursuit. Rivet City was thankfully within huge view. The large looming aircraft carrier so very inviting. Stefanie was looking forward to a drink at the Muddy Rudder. The Market was closeed for the night, but the Rudder was always open. The Sherman ground to a halt and Stefanie got out, putting the hunting rifle back in the trailer. She put her Power Fist back on as a figure emerged from the darkness.
Riley was much better with his telekinesis right now, he could lift one of them at a time as long as Riley didn't move. But that was a setback, so Riley didn't bother trying, instead he just jammed the weapons of his enemies. Riley then began to move debris from a building on top of the raiders.
(moved convo to talk page)
Strauss was spraying glowing red death as fast as he could tap the trigger of his Laser Rifle in the general direction of the Raiders. Bastards wanted his robot, his armour, his weapons, this guy's tank. And probably Stefanie's body. And Cat. And that random dude up there's cool haircut. They weren't getting any of it it. Not by a long shot. To Hell with ammunition conservation! One of them seemed to pause to whack his gun a bit, apparently checking for a jam, so Strauss took the liberty of incinerating his face when the distraction presented itself. He glanced over at Riley, who seemed to be in deep concentration, and shrugged. He's probably yelling at them in their heads or somethin', he thought as he dropped his rifle for a moment and prepared a grenade. "Hey, look, here's a freebie for you thieving bastards! Yeeaaaaaah!"
As Strauss's grenade exploded, a large bang could be heard on top of the building next to them, a giant rock was being rolled off the side of it. Riley's nose was bleeding, but nobody or him seemed to notice. The rock then fell off the building and landed in the crowd of raiders. (you decide how many are left k? lol.)
Aaron grasped the wall as the explosions rocked the ruined building, apparently these guys didn't hear what Aaron had said not but 5 minutes ago. Staggering to a window, he watched as a large bolder crushed a good amount of raiders on the ground level. Two or three stragglers tried to escape, only to be taken out by Aaron's bullets. He looked around, it seemed clear enough. The young fighter scaled down from the third story he was on, meeting up with the tank people as they were looting the raiders, as well as killing off survivors. He recognized one of them, the tank driver, from Rivet City. The guy still seemed a bit tipsy, but much better then from the last Aaron saw of him. Hoisting his rifle on his back, Aaron went to greet his companions. He approached the tank driver, "Ran into a bit of trouble I see, damn good thing you had that tank. They might have stolen my hair." He looked around. The man had three followers, one skinny-lookin' girl, probably an addict, and two frustrated white guys. "Quite a group here, where you guys headed?"
Fireman0504 NOTE: Stefanie is not meth-addict skinny. She has toned muscle from her pit-fighting career, which still goes on in fight bars
Stefanie dropped over the side of the trailer. She looked at the new guy who'd just emerged from the building. She placed the Huning Rifle back in the trailer as he approached. Behind them, the form of Rivet City loomed. She looked at Riley. "Hey, your nose is bleeding, "she said. He grinned lopsidedly and wiped the blood from his nose. That falling rock had really saved the day. She looked at the man who'd just approached the group. "We're headed into Rivet City," she said cheerfully, "at least I am." She flexed her bicep as she fitted her Power Fist back onto her hand. She wiggled all of her fingers to fit it properly. The man in front of them had put his gun away, so he obviously was not an enemy. Leastwise not now. Stefanie extended a hand. "Stefanie McRae," she said, winking, "and who might you be?"
Fireman0504 She knows. She's just smart enough not to mention it in front of a newcomer.
Aaron chuckled a little, he wasn't sure if this woman was trying to show off or what, but he did underestimate her. Now closer, he took back his earlier thought of her being an addict. Aaron bowed his head, "Aaron Edward Ramsey, Ma'am, no part of any organization or group, just searching for someone." He raised his head, "Pleasure to meet you." Aaron quickly glanced to his right, observing the faded figure of Rivet City. Upon looking back, he noted one of the men to Stefanie's left, a man with a bleeding nose. Aaron didn't recall any real fighting going on with the raiders, and nobody got hit or anything. He stared at the man for a few seconds, thinking. Afterward he turned back to Stefanie, "Why exactly are you lot headed to Rivet City?"
Riley wiped his bleeding nose.. and again. Finally it stopped. Headaches were gone, but now he was having random nosebleeds every time he attempted to use his ability further then he could.. "I'm Riley," he said to the new person that had appeared from the building, "Getting supplies."
Fireman0504 He used it around her at the end of the D.C. Uprising. Plus it's been a month since then. Im' sure they'd talked since then. :)
Stefanie looked at the man. "So cordial," she said to him, "it's nice to meet you." She said, smiling. She turned to take a look at Rivet City. "I was going in to trade, then I ran across these white devils and them Raiders. Now the Market is closed, so I'll prolly hit the Muddy Rudder, then shack up in the common room for the night. I don't know what these two are up to." she schuckled, giving Riley a playful shove. "Thanks for helping us out. If you're not runnin with a crowd, I'm ure you'd be welcome to run with ours, though we're kinda scattered all over D.C." Stefanie was trying to be careful not to reveal too much info. She figured she'd better stop talking soon, before she did overstep her talking bounds. You couldn't just trust everybody out here. This Ramsey seemed good enough though. "You wanna come into Rivet city?" she said, "I'll buy you a drink."
Aaron crooked his head. What did she mean by 'we're kinda scattered all over D.C'? He thought these guys were just some travelers, not some organization. With all the war going on here recently, he wouldn't be surprised if these guys were a part of it. And that's the last thing Aaron needed, a war on his hands. But he was hungry, and it was seldom that Aaron passed up a drink. Against everything he mind was telling him, he accepted the invitation. "Sounds great, and I've really got nowhere else to go, my old home just got blown up." Aaron pointed to a 6th story window, now just a crater, where his hovel used to be. Aaron stretched, he still had barley woken up. He looked to Stefanie, then to the rest. They don't look like an organization at war, but looks can be deceiving...
From the tank he heard his tipsy comrade yell something at them, most likely something about getting ti Rivet City. Aaron went with the flow and agreed, "I'm with him, we should get to the city, never know what comes out at night." Sudden memories of the monstrosities at Austin flashed through his mind, he had to take a moment to breath. Luckily nobody noticed, weakness was something never to be shown in the wasteland. Jay had told Aaron that, Jay had told Aaron everything. Slowly, Aaron walked to the tank, deep in thought.
Stefanie sat back up on the tank. Rivet City was in view. It'd only be a couple minutes. They did have to get out of the streets before nightfall. This newcomer, Aaron Ramsey, seemed like the quiet type. Troubled even. Maybe he was just weary. "So where ya from?" she said to him. "Austin," Ramsey replied. "Where is that?" Stefanie asked. Ramsey looked at her as if she'd just crawled out of a hole. (Which she did if you read an earlier post. Haha.) "Seriously," she said, "where is it?" "It's a few thousand miles southwest of here," Ramsey said. Stefanie nodded. It was time to stop asking questions for now. "You a local?" Ramsey said to her. "Me?" she said surprised, "I'm not, I'm from Zanadu, up in Baltimore. I was from here originally, then I got sold." Ramsey looked at her sympathetically. "You're a slave then?" Stefanie lowered her gaze to the ground. "Used to be," she said, "they sold me from D.C. after I killed my first master when I was seventeen. He tried to rape me. The guy who bought me put me in the pit fights in Zanadu. It's a slaver town. Full of fight pits, brawl bars, and of course The Cell. Spent the last five years killin' and cripplin' men and women that they sent me up against. I still fight now, but I do it for a living. Can't be more honest than the blood, sweat, and tears put into it. Gets me caps and prestige in Zanadu. I'm 22 now and I'm pretty much feared in that town. Nothin' says 'don't mess with me' like snappin' a guy's neck in front of half the city. My last master was killed in a slaving raid when I was 21. We had a bet; if I outlived him, I'd be freed. That's what happened. It was kind of sad though, because even though he was my master, he was pretty good to me. Didn't beat me, or hurt me, or try to rape me. Taught me a ton about fighting and shooting. He respected me. He just needed me to make him caps, that was the deal. I got a healthy cut of course, but slaves in Zanadu can't do much with caps. I was champion on five circuits and fought twice in The Cell." Ramsey simply nodded, listening. "Sorry," she said, "didn't mean to bore you." Stefanie looked back at the ground. She thought for a second that she'd spilled way too much info on herself. Oh well, she was close enough to be able to handle herself if he tried something, though, she figured he wouldn't.
The tank ground forward and closed the distance to Rivet City's ramp in a few minutes. The group climbed down and headed up the gangway. "Store's closed," Stefanie grumbled, "stupid raiders." The little group of people walked across the bridge to the ship. The night guard nodded a welcome and Stefanie looked over to see Strauss stop the drunken Domingo from falling off the deck. They went inside. "Muddy Rudder anyone?" Stefanie said, "first round is on me."
Domingo, still wearing his leather tank driver's helmet, stumbled across the gangway to Rivet City, once havint to be steadied by Strauss to keep himself from taking a plunge over the rusty railing into the radiation-permeated Potomac below. Nodding a quiet thanks, Domingo turned towards Stefanie. "Never one to turn down a drink, last one there buys the first round!" He shouted, making a drunken lope (it couldn't really be called a run) towards the Stairwell.
"Howbout first?" Riley said when Domingo was out of ear range, since Riley didn't really feel like running right now anyways.
Marcus Andrews sat in the muddy ruder with his XO Alexander.The crusade were dieing and in his view that could only be a good thing.He paused to look at the note Alex had given him regarding what was left of there forces.It was definetly not good they had left there Opressors in new york and out of the 50 reinforcements from new york only 5 of them were in power armor.
He looked up from his drink to see Strauss a Girl and that tank driver enter the room "hello boys drinks on me"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 19:56, 27 April 2009 (UTC)
Weston looked up at the name of Strauss, before his eyes go wider.
"Strat? Where'd you go man? " Weston said in a druken tone. However, he had manged to regain his blance and lose some of his, well, drunkness.
Stumbling on over to Struass, he noticed both Riley and Stefine.
"Hey guys! Long time no see? Whos the other two guys with ya?"
Oh, great, one of the assholes from the cave, Riley thought to himself, "Hel-" Riley said but was cut off by a random drunk screaming jibberish. Then just as Riley tried to say it again, the drunk screamed again and then threw a bottle of vodka at Stefanie. Stefanie was outraged at the vodka all over her clothes, and whacked the man in the face with her Power-Fist before he could throw his Whiskey. The Security then came and beat up the drunk before throwing him off the boat. (Can you have Jeeves just randomly fins your location right about now? I wanna add weapons to him!)
"Rivet City justice for ya, baby!" Strauss whooped as a Power Fist and then a police baton came crashing down on the drunk's head, which, in turn, sent him crashing to the floor. Two uniformed Security officers mumbled something to eachother before picking the man up and carrying him upstairs, presumably for deposition in the Potomac. "I'd hate to be him tomorrow morning. Shit, anyone smoking in here? 'Cause you know what vodka is like, one little spark near Stefanie and she is--" Strauss was silenced by a terrifying glare from the clearly-not-impressed former slave.
Jack was heading back to Rivet city. He and Jacob split up to further avoid the Crusade, and he was reaching the building. Seeing a tank outside, smelling like some baked potatoes strips he had eaten before, which had been a delicacy in pre-war times apparently. Going into Rivit City, he headed down the stairs. The shops were all closed, so he figured he might as well rent a room. He walked around, looking for the hotel. Accidentally, he walked into the local bar. Right before he walked out, he noticed a few familiar faces.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 23:41, 27 April 2009 (UTC)
Weston reagianed his blance after a guard kncoekd into him in order to stop the yelling Drunk. Turning his head back to the group, Weston grinned.
"So, how ya'll been? Have'nt seen you guys since...well, Jersulam!"
Weston had taken a seat at one of the stools, Weston looked around the bar. Nearly empty, save for a couple people he did'nt know. Just this little renuion of people...and a guy who smelt like crap. looking up towards the entrace, he saw a face that he recongized after a second.
"Jack! Your here! Were just missing Jacob and this will be a real party!"
"Your missing Holmes," Riley added, taking a sip of his whiskey.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:11, 28 April 2009 (UTC)
"Who, blind guy? Well, i did'nt really like him. He could'nt take a joke very well."
"Weston, if you want to call a guy a dick, call him a dick. By the way, how much beer have you drunk exactly? Aren't you a minor?" Weston then tried to flip off Jack, but held up the wrong finger.
Aaron sat on a stool as these people conversed on old times, it seemed to be somewhat of a reunion to them. Of course, Aaron hadn't been recognized by any of them considering he'd been searching the desolate of wastes for Jay in the past 2 and a half years. He heard one of them mention Jacob, Aaron wondered if he meant Jacob Vaughton. Jacob was Aaron's only tie to his lost brother. He had heard of the Brotherhood Outcast's battle against the Crusade in Fairfax, and from what records show, a Defender Ramsey was in that battle. Aaron had no doubt that it was Jay, it had to be. After this battle, the Outcasts headed West. Aaron often wondered if his sibling left with them, but he had to be sure. Jacob meant something because he was said to have fought in the same battle, alongside Aaron's beloved brother. He would find out soon of his brother's whereabouts, soon enough he hoped. Aaron downed a glass of whiskey, he felt excluded from the group, all of them talking about previous times together and the such. He'd stay with them, for the time being.
Fireman0504 Sorry Krushster, I got plans for Jeeves
Stefanie was pissed. She was covered in Vodka, and now Strauss was cracking jokes. To be clear, she wasn't pissed at Strauss, she wanted to make more of a mess of the drunk who'd been thrown out. She took a shot of whiskey and a Buffout. She grinned at Strauss, "Where do you think they took that drunk?" she said, "I wanna go use him as a rug." Strauss and Stefanie and Riley chuckled. Stefanie noticed Aaron sitting by himself. "Hey Loner," she called, "come on and meet some folks, have a drink." Aaron shook his head. He was clearly thinking of other things. Stefanie turned back to the group. "Hey there Weston! How's D.C. been treatin ya?" Before Weston could answer the door to the Rudder burst open again. "YEW FUGGIN' BATCH!" a slurry voice said loudly. Stefanie turned, smiling. That drunk had somehow gotten back in. This was going to be fun. Weston tried to grab her shoulder but wasn't quick enough. She levelled the man with a left-handed punch with her brass knuckles, then stomped hard on the back of his head, smashing his teeth all over the floor. She dragged him over to the bar and ordered two drinks. The first she splashed on his prone body. Then she stepped up on his chest and stood on him drinking the the other one. She recalled stunts like this against slavers in the bars at Zanadu. Add some humiliation to the defeat. She laughed and looked over at Strauss. "Told ya," she chuckled, shrugging. He shook his head laughing. "Who wants a round?" Stefanie shouted to the group. She couldn't understand what they said, so she assumed it was a yes. She looked down at the drunk she was still standing on. "You are rude and don't get one," she said smuggly. He just winced and barely struggled on the verge of unconciousness. "Order up everyone," she said, "it's on me!"
Marcus laughed as rhe drunk hit the floor."Alexander drag that man out" he pulled up his chair and pulled out his Balma "if you want something stronger drink this" he passed the bottle along.
Domingo looked towards Stefanie, a half-level smile spreading across his glowing face. "I'll order up, then!" He slurred, calling the barkeep over and calling in several bottles of vodka for himself and anyone else who may want them."
"Give me two! I haven't gotten drunk in over two months!" Jack walked over, and picked up a bottle of Vodka. He then started to start drinking it as fast as he could.
Riley was on his last drink, hes had too much. He then began to open his last can of Pork n' Beans, which, surprisingly, Cat didn't try to claw at and lick off of everybody. Once he was done, he seen Jack start to open one, and Cat jumped on Jack and his Pork n' Beans splattered on everybody around him.. which was Stefanie, Weston, and him.
--Cerebral plague 02:01, 29 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack had something jump on his back, he didn't really know what it was. However, instincts came to him as he immediately drew his knife, and tried to cut what ever was on hims throat. He stopped right before realizing it was Ryley's dog, and lowered the knife. He got up, and put the dog off him, and watched as the dog licked the pork and beans off his poncho.
Stefanie looked around. She was a bit tipsy. She stepped down off of the drunk guy she was standing on, who was now unconcious after she had stomped on his head a couple times. She now had more Pork N' Beans on her. She slid over to the bar next to Jack. Looking back, she watched as the two Rivet City Security Guards dragged the now unconscious and somewhat bloody man out. Again. This time she was confident he was not coming back. She ordered up a shot of whiskey for herself and a bowl of Pork N' Beans. Cat had them and now Stefanie needed some. She popped in a Buffout and looked at Riley. "Keep Cat away from my supper," she said, winking. She dumped a bag of caps on the table to pay for all her comrades' drinks. The bartender passed her a bowl of Pork N' Beans and her shot. Took the shot and began eating her beans, then gave Cat a little look as he approached. "Riley, I swear if he jumps up, I'll make YOU my next rug," Riley chuckled and called Cat, who came back. She finished up and stood up, dizzily grabbing the bar. "I think I'm gonna head up to the common room and to bed," she said. "Night all, you guys gonna be here in the morning?" Without waiting for an answer she headed up to the common room for some sleep.
Setting up for the battling part of the RP... though the socializing and barfighting is a good time because that's Stefanie's home environment...
Aaron finished his last shot, that was... 7, he thinks. Although it takes quite a lot of drink to get Aaron drunk, but 7 shots of Vodka was enough to get him a bit careless. Looking around, he had noticed Stefanie had left for bed. Aaron turned to the clock, it was only 11:21, Guess it was her bedtime... Meh, she was too kinky anyway, there ought to be some other poon in this dump. Aaron rose from his chair, stumbling only a little. He looked back to Riley, the man seemed silent, depressed even. Across the bar the Tank driver, whom he had still not gotten the name of, was busy gambling with some unfriendly faces. Strauss and Jack were in mid conversation with a duo of former(or present)soldiers. Aaron didn't spot Weston, but he wasn't really looking. The tipsy Austinite walked past Riley's dog- or cat- or whatever he wanted the damn thing to be. He scratched it's head as it was licking up some Pork & Beans, "Good Dog- I mean, Cat.... Ah fuck it, Good animal." He heard Riley chuckle from his stool, Aaron mumbled something and moved on. Just as he was going to give in and get some sleep, a certain woman, Trinnie, entered the bar. Aaron had been with her before, twice by his count, but she truly never got old. He approached her. It was time Aaron had some fun.
Jacob, having arrived with Jack, was stood back, arms folded. Mostly, it was to take up less space as he leaned against the wall of the muddy rudder. He was so still that in spite of his size, people didn't seem to notice him until they were right next to him, which led to many drunks jumping back and falling over as they realised there was a large man in a duster with an assault rifle over his back standing less than two feet from them. He watched everyone in the bar, even Brock, the bouncer. Stefanie had been getting quite drunk, but she had just lef for the common room for some sleep. He almost felt sorry for the fella who had followed her up, talking to her and standing real close. Security would either find him screaming and tied to a bed, or screaming and tied to a grenade.
He scratched Cat's ears as the dog sauntered over to him. In spite of his dislike for the vast majority of the human race, he liked dogs. Couldn't care less for cats, the way radiation had affected them turned them into big mean-spirited things the size of a mule. He didn't really want to think of what that mountain lion mutant thing would have done had he not introduced it to the business end of a shotgun. But dogs, they were great. Feral in most cases, but otherwise, great. He sat down at the bar, next to Jackal. He didn't like drinking. His fast metabolism made the stuff go right to his head, and that led to accusations of being a lightweight, in spite of him being able to drink for longer and recover much faster (in fact, he had no idea what a hangover felt like, he always slept through them) than anyone he had ever wound up drinking in the vicinity of. He drank a little bottle of whiskey, and then one of burboun. He needed to catch up to everyone else.
Domingo was working his way through his third bottle of vodka and was now pretty clearly inebriated, as his face was beet red and he was supporting himself by using the table as a counterweight for his seat. He looked across the table at the three shady types in front of him. Who are these guys? He blearily thought to himself, as one started talking about something. He mentioned "shipment" and somehow immediately understood what he meant.
With a drunken roar, he rolled the whole table- vodka, food, cutlery and people included- over onto the floor and pinned it on top of the shady guys, managing to extricate their purpose with a few shouts: They had indeed meant to buy the weapons shipment off them to supply an anti-Ghoul militia in the area, no doubt working with the crusade. Too drunk to perform any other acts (or even really hold his gun), Domingo stumbled to his feet and also headed for the common room. Leaving his vodka on the bar.
Karen and her squad were sitting in the ruined parking lot outside of Rivet City, "Some Crusade ones were just receiving a 'package' in there," one squadmate said, "Yeah, and we are here to destroy it or take it for ourselves," the other squadmate said. "The package is in the common room, the sellers are in the Muddy Rudder, a bar. We're going in to take the package, don't kill unless you need too. Put on your Rivet City security uniforms now." Karen said to her squad, and about five minutes later their Black-Ops armor was in a box beside a trashcan, "Lets move."
Riley laughed at the table being thrown at them, and wondered where everybody went. About 10 seconds later Riley downed ANOTHER vodka, and then passed out. He had a short dream of burning to death, wonder what that meant. (No, just a coincidence, not gonna happen)
Stefanie rolled overas the door burst open and Domingo stumbled in. He looked drunkenly over to the right. There was a man tied to the bed with four socks and a pillow case. One sock was tied in his mouth, gagging him. Stefanie looked over at him and shrugged, then looked at Domingo. "He wanted to play," she smirked, "I'm just saving him for later." The man shook his head rapidly and mumbled through the gag. Stefanie stood up and helped Domingo to another bed, tucking him in. "Just sleep it off pal." she chuckled. He mumbled something as she tucked him in. She looked back over at the tied up guy. "I'll get to you later," she said, "I'd do it now but... well... I'm tired." she grinned. She layed back down in her bed and rolled over.
I'll be working for the next twelve hours.
MArcus stood up from the bar "michell keep an eye out for the others im going to the room's" he walked past the stairway and made his way to the botom deck.As he aproached the room a voice called out "Password" Marcus checked it in his mind "chocolate" the door opened and he walked in.
Riley woke up from his dream, and, he didn't feel as drunk anymore and seen Strauss had carried him all the way up to the Common Room. And, somehow, Cat had managed to get a hold of the twenty cans of Pork n' Beans that were in his backpack.. as everything was covered in it.
"... You did? That's awesome!" Strauss whooped drunkenly, throwing a fist into the air. "Did I tell... tell ya about the time me, Jack and a few others were getting chased by Crusaders and dogs and shit? I musta killed like, five hundred people that day! Hah!" He paused to take a swig from the bottle of vodka in his hands. "Yeah, you did, ten minutes ago," One of the soldiers he and Jack had been speaking to remarked. Strauss paused. Ten minutes had passed? Odd. He turned away from the group, almost falling over in the process, to face his ever-vigilant robot, which was hovering boredly until it noticed that attention was being directed its way. "Worthington, how... much have I drank? D'ya know?" Strauss asked, concern and alcohol lining his voice. "Consulting recent observational memory..." Worthington responded, traling off. The two soldiers and Jack were looking in his direction now. Worth seemed to hold it off for as long as possible. "... one bottle, Master, and approximately another half if my guesstimation of the volume of the one in your hand proves correct." Strauss could have sworn there was a certain gloating smugness to his robot's voice. A fit of sniggering broke out behind him. "...Count that again?" Strauss said, bewildered. "One and a half bottles, Master." The reply was too fast for him to have actually done a proper analysis and the smugness was so much more apparent. Jack and the two soldiers broke down into laughter. Confused, Strauss took a step forwards, and almost tripped over a stool as he did.
Jacob was starting to lose the liking he held for that particular dog. Getting Pork 'n' Beans everywhere. A-fucking-gain. Jacob wiped some beans off his shoulder, and cleaned the bean-coated parts of his duster off with some dirty water. He needed to find one of those spiffy leather ones like Skyler wore (he doesn't know Skyler's dead). Blood, guts, pork, beans, everything just wiped off the stuff. He was not going to try and make one himself, given that he had struggled to sew all the holsters into this one. He had discovered the hard way that sewing is harder than it looks, sewing his duster to his trousers on more than one occassion.
He watched as everyone else got wasted, as he just sat there, staring into his drink. GNR was on, and Three Dog was playing some song called "Thrill is Gone", by someone called, something King. Blues. It suited Jacob's mood. He stood up and wandered up through the bridge tower, ignoring the people as they walked by. He stepped out onto the flight deck, and spread his arms out to the side as the wind hit him. It felt strange, standing on this flight deck, without Super Mutants taking pot-shots at him. It felt good.
Cromartie was exhausted from all his walking, “this has to be it” he thought, looking at the large rusty air craft carrier. This was his first time he saw a boat of that size, there was nothing like that in the United Kingdom where he was, the boat he travelled from wasn’t even half the size. Cromartie made his was up the metal tower, connecting to the carrier, slowly approaching the door. There was a guard posted outside, wearing black shiny combat armour, also wearing a security helmet.
Rivet City Security Guard: “We want no trouble new comer”.
Cromartie: “I wont”.
Cromartie pushed the rusty metal door open, his eyes noticed the sign saying “ Muddy Rudder Bar”, he followed these sign down the stairs, he journey made him thirsty and he needed a rest, also thinking that maybe he could get some information on the surrounding area. Cromartie opened to door slowly trying not to get any attention in the bar, pulling up a stall he sat down and asked for a drink.
Im not good at speech grammar, hope this is good
Domingo rolled in his sleep on the cot, somehow managing to gather the pillow in the straps tying the tank captain's helmet to his head and rolling it over on top of himself. Awakened by the sudden pressure atop his head, the tank driver-drunkard was jerked awake and briefly struggled underneath the cot, eventually dragging pillow and helmet off his head and onto the floor. Velasquez checked his watch and noted it was about three-thirty in the morning, a long time since he had first showed up. Shrugging, the latino pushed himself off the cot and headed for the Muddy Rudder, hoping to pick up a quick breakfast from the small establishment.
Jackal had noticed the newcomer arriving at the bar. Not a local accent. English, if memory served. How the hell did an Englisman get to DC? And more impotantly, how stupid was this guy, sitting next to an angry-looking Ghoul with the Tricolour (Irish Flag) printed on his shoulder pad? Jackal was in no mood to gt angry at him for no reason, so he just sat there, watching the little Englishman. No sense taking risks. After all, "The Empire on Which the Sun Never Sets" was just a fancy way of saying God didn't trust them in the dark. (I'm joking here).
Jacob leaned on the pew in front of him in Rivet City's church. He sighed, as he looked up at a picture of the Crucifiction. He wondered if there was a heaven (not that he'd be headed for it), ever since Fairfax. Actually, ever since Old Olney, when that Deathclaw had nearly impaled him. He was thinking about the Outcasts now. They'd come in really handy with this war between the Crusade and the Last Legion spilling over into every part of the Capitol Wastes.
Riley looked at Cat, "I vow never to eat Pork n' Beans around you, anymore," he said. Riley was wondering what he would eat, maybe some Salisbury Steak or something.. He then fell back to sleep.
Karen and her team had infiltrated Rivet City, the security guards were dumb enough to believe that Karen was one of them. "Idiots," she said out loud, "Let's back into this room, get our stealth-boys out maybe?" the second squadmate said, and they did that. Then, just for the heck of it, Karen grabbed the first person she seen, (not one of her squadmates) and pulled him to her and burned the guy to death in horrific blue flames.
Cromartie was drinking his drink, he noticed a Ghoul looking at him. He didn’t stare much at the ghoul, as he thought it might be rude, sipping his drink. Cromartie was thinking about his past, all the hatred, and savage ways, he leaned over to the Ghoul and asked him.
Cromartie: “Excuse me, can you tell me about the surrounding area.”……
Waiting for the ghoul to reply, he didn’t look pleased at Cromartie.
Jacob jumped. Had he just heard a scream from down the corridor? Definitely. Or was that just the burboun talking? He sat down and listened a little more intently. Then he saw a sober person rush past, toward that room that was always empty. He got up and followed, slowly, so as not to get a headrush, which, coupled with the amount he had just drunk (he counted three bottles, and a few beers Strauss had insisted on buying him), could prove catastrophic in the neatly packed seats of the church.
He stepped around a corner, his M1911 drawn, and watched as the woman walked away from the room, shrugging. She looked at him and said something about ashes and nothing else. Jacob shook his head. That wasn't right. The last time he had heard a scream like that was . . . when he had lit a raider up like a lantern. Those were the death screams of a burning man. Jacob went to investigate. As he opened the door, he did indeed see nothing but ash. So he closed it, and slammed the isolation bolt home. Now that the door could only be opened from the outside, anything that may have been in there was staying in there.
Unless they're telekinetic and can open the door that way. If they're not, someone will open it at some point anyway.
Jackal looked at the stranger. Ponce. Asking about the area.
"Well, its a big place. There are some really nice folks over in a place called Evergreen Mills. They love it when you walk right in and slap 'em on the back of the head. It's like some kind of tribal greeting. Same up in Paradise Falls." Jackal muttered.
I kind of G2G sorry guys--Calonord 19:58, 29 April 2009 (UTC)
Karen was melting the door, hard, but possible. It slowly turned red, and then blue, and finally white hot. A gaping hole started to emerge in the middle where her hands were, and she could pull the bar off the front, and get out. "Move, I'll go to the Common Room where the package is, and you two go to the Muddy Rudder, find the seller."
Jacob strode back into the Muddy Rudder and sat down next to Jackal, on the far side from some stranger who was asking about the friendly people of Paradise Falls and Evergreen Mills. Jacob was about to take a pop at the apparent Raider sympathizer, until he heard Jackal talking about how much they liked it when you shouted at them from a long way off, and how they fired their guns as a form of greeting. Jacob had to make a conscious effort not to smile his crooked smile. He looked over at Strauss who was now standing on a table, talking and miming the escape from Jerusalem to a growing group of women and children. Then he looked around the room again, spoting a stranger, with dreadlocks and a strange smile on his face. Jacob nodded to him. He could swear he had heard that man introduce himself as a Ramsey to some strangers earlier.
Domingo was wandering past the empty room Jacob had just sealed when he noticed the scent of something burning. Looking around, he noticed nothing amiss, but the blood suddenly rushed to his head and he was forced to lean over. He placed his hand against the door and steadied himself for a second, only to encounter, in a very painful manner, the results of Kate's handiwork- the destabilized door tipped over and Domingo plunged through right after it. The double *thud* of Domingo and the door echoed all the way to the Muddy Rudder.
Coming to after about thirty seconds, Domingo found himself face-down in a pile of ashes. Sputtering as he twisted around, pushing himself off the ground and brushing the ashes off his face, Domingo immediately ran for the Muddy Rudder.
Colonel Roarke had given marching orders three quarters of an hour ago. The 7th Hell Zulus were up and ready, and the rest of the Last Legion were about halfway through taking down their tents and loading them back on the trucks and pack Brahmin. He observed his army as it grew again, as several units of Crusaders had arrived in the night to join them. He was whirling his Officer Sword through his hand, spinning and rotating it, trying to stave off boredom.They were beginning the march on Gilead now. And about time too. Now that the supply units had caught up, they could go gung-ho for the place. And when they arrived, it would rain blood.
"Lets go!" He shouted as the campfires were put out and the last tents were packed and stowed. "We march on Gilead Point. There, we will strike the first blow against the Crusade. We will shake the ground with our fury. Let Fear be our harbinger, may death walk as our servant and let sorrow stagger in our wake. We will leave nothing but widows and orphans behind."
In spite of the brutality implied in that last sentence, the soldiers following him cheered. They wanted to bring the Crusade down as much as he did. However, wanting to do something and doing something were two different things. He had felt it himself, the revulsion towards killing those he had once called brothers.
Cromartie still drinking from his drink, he nearly finished it. He pulled out a wod of cash and handed it to the bartender.
Cromartie: "Another one please".
Cromartie looked around, he enjoyed being in the bar, everyone was doing there own thing. No fights or arguements, Cromartie could see him getting use to this.
Jack got up, and started walking towards the door. It was 4:00 A.M., and he was going to sleep. When walking towards the door, Domingo rushed into the room, clearly exhausted. Jack walked past him, as he started yelling about something. He was personally to hung over to give a shit. All he wanted to do was go to his room, and sleep. Going down the hallway, he noticed an odd shimmer...
Captain Thomas stood watch from the rained down trenches, his binoculars in hand. "They're marching now, aren't they?" Captain Reust said, his hand resting on the ball of the hilt of his officer sword as the rain continued to pour. Thomas sighed. "Yep. Nothing we can do to stop them now. They'll smash and pillage until we're all dead and burning at the stake, just like at Yonkers last week." Thomas said, still eyeing the enemy from a distance through the rain that had grown heavier. Reust slapped Thomas on the shoulder. "We both knew it was coming. There was nothing you could do to prevent it." Reust said resigningly, and walked back towards Gilead Point's lobby area.
Roarke watched through the rain. His binoculars could pick out the men on the walls. The artillery would be done setting up in about five minutes. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his side, then reached back and drew his field ripper. He performed a few stretches and swings with the heavy weapon. It weighed about as much as a Super Sledge, but Roarke was used to the weight and balance of the immense weapon. For safety, he didn't turn it on. Eventually, man and weapon became one, as if the ripper was a part of his arm, an extension of himself. Of course, he was careful to stay out of the range of Gilead's arc of fire.
A runner charged up to tell him that the sappers had finished their preparations. Roarke smiled. Even with the slippery mud, which would require resetting of the guns after each firing, the big guns would give them the advantage.
"Fire!" Roarke yelled as he waved his ripper in the air. The big guns roared in response. Lobbing high explosive shells over the walls, and battering them with shells. The walls would fall eventually.
The trenches, as misfortune would have it, were behind the walls rendering the occupants useless until, heaven forbid, the walls fall to the enemy. Thomas looked above him as the wall segment in front of him exploded in hundreds of concrete rocks. Damned artillery. Immediatly, Thomas waved a platoon forward as quickly as possible. They needed to fill the gap to prevent a major breach. "Get on the sides of the fucking breach, dammit!" Thomas screamed angrily, drawing his pistol. Soldiers gathered on other side of the wall opening, their guns and helmets the only thing poking out from the breach. A crew of two replaced a machinegun as quickly as possible behind the breach, as the enemy began to pick off soldiers on the walls and move up the hill.
Roarke watched as a breach formed. Then, as laid out in the fireplan, the artillery shelling the inner courtyards began concentrating on the breach. The wall began to crumble away as the constant shelling began to strain them ever more. Roarke smiled. He and the Last Chancers would have no inhibitions with regards to killing those bastards behind the walls. He would wait until the breach was mostly cleared and the local militia performed the forlorn hope attack. But, now was not the time for that. He decided to allow his etiquette get the better of him. He lifted up the bullhorn lying next to him and raised it to his mouth.
"Soldiers of Gilead, I give you this one chance for surrender. I beseech you, do not turn a deaf ear to this offer." Roarke shouted down the bullhhorn. He knew the Airborne would never surrender after such an offer. And that was exactly what he wanted.
Aaron exhaled, he didn't get anywhere with Trinnie, but he truly didn't want to. He puffed out smoke from his century-old cigarettes. He had been trying to quit, but he had not. Growing up in Austin, you quickly realize how fast life can be ended. What are the chances of him living longer than 40 anyways? He already decided to go back to Austin at December this year, there was no hope for his lost brother. Aaron sighed as he even thought of Jay, the idea that he could be dead, rotting in a hole somewhere... it disgusted Aaron. It disgusted him to a point that he had even considered ending it now, saving him from a similar fate. But he knew better, he knew that he couldn't abandon Jenn like that, and that's the opposite of what his brother would want him to do. No, he would hold out for now. Aaron's attention was faulted by the arrival of a person, hopefully a friend. The man greeted Aaron, his voice sounded hardened and battle-worn. But most importantly, he introduced himself as Jacob. "Jacob? Vaughton?" Aaron was surprised to find this man of legend here, "Aaron Ramsey, pleased to meet you." They shook hands, Vaughton having somewhat of a stunned look on his face. Just as Aaron was about to speak, Domingo burst into the bar. Aaron looked to Jacob, "We'll talk later, for now, let's check whats going on."
With that, Aaron and Jacob approached Domingo as he ranted.
"You can go to hell, Roarke!!!" Thomas screamed back, using his own bullhorn. His soldiers cheered him, and their guns fired off into the air as an act of defiance. "So be it." The voice replied. Thomas poked his head out of the growing breach. He watched with laughter as a wave of wasters armed with nothing but old hunting rifles and lead pipes charged him in basic similiar brahmin outfits. What was Roarke doing, trying to waste resources? Thomas signaled for the machineguns covering the breach to hold until they could see the whites of the enemy's eyes, then raised a fist. As the waster militia charged inward up the hill, weary and tired, they were cut down by mass fire, not even getting the chance to raise weapons in defense. Thomas waited as another wave came up, and drew his sword, already bloodied from the dead wasters at his feet.
Apparently, word of Jacob's exploits with the Outcasts had reached Austin through Ramsey. This guy had the same mannerisms, but clearly wasn't a blood relative anyway. Unless Ramsey's father was incredibly gullible. He and the Austinite moved up the stairs with Domingo raving about something like a shimmer, like heat haze. Jacob knew that only Stealth Fields made that shimmer. He noticed it just as one barged into the room. Jacob opened fire, but missed. Damn beer goggles! They damaged more than your sense of taste in women apparently! Whoever it was deactivated the Stealth Field, because it was apparently of no use any more. The man raised his hands, and Domingo and Aaron were launche backwards. Jacob looked at the man, who returned an equally puzzled look. Then the man picked up a garden gnome and threw it at Jacob.
"Ow, what? Jesus, is that all you can do? But still Jesus, you could have someone's eye out like that!" Jacob shouted, distracting the man long enough to shoot him in the legs, blowing out his kneecaps.
Roarke watched as the forlorn hope attack on the breach faltered. He ordered for the guns to fire into the breach this time. Thomas wouldn't be getting away this time.
The first Black-Op fell to the ground, and in a his dying breaths he drew his pistol and started firing on Jacob. He then died as Jacob jumped and crushed his skull. The second Black-Op then came at Jacob from behind, smashing a glass of vodka in his eyes and drawing a knife, which he then used to stab Jacob right into the back of his knee-cap. (Ohh thats gotta hurtzorz!)
Jack was walking down a corridor, when he saw Jacob being stabbed threw the knee. Knowing that this was in fact not friendly bar behavior, he drew his ballistic knife. Firing at the man's neck, he walked over and removed the knife from Jacobs knee, and stabbed the already dead man's heart with it. Just to be sure of course!
Jacob spun on his bad leg as another BlackOp appeared from his Stealth Field (although, all things considered, he'd probably have two bad legs now), and delivered a wild, blindly swung punch at his attacker. Unfortunately, Jackal had just jumped the said attacker and was vigorously stamping on his head and chest as he struggled to regain his feet. The punch hit Jackal in the back of the head, launcing him forwards, to land in a heap on top of the pool table.
Jacob wiped the last of the vodka out of his eyes. He was pissed at that (I know from experience that vodka in the eyes hurts). As the Black-Op got back to his feet, Jacob punched him twice in the chest and twice in the face, breaking a few of his ribs, and his nose, respectively. Then, as the BlackOp regained his footing, he performed a dramatic display of his skill, waving his hands and such. As he finished in a relaxed fighting stance, with his knife pointed at JAcob's heart, all Jacob could do was sigh.
Then he drew a Sawn-Off Shotgun and blasted the poor fucker in the face, splattering his brains all over the spectators.
Riley sat on the cot face upwards but awake, he didn't want to risk Stefanie tying him up or something like that. He just had a dream that the whole ship was about to explode or something, with blue flames, but, how would that be possible?
Karen entered the Common Room (yes, Riley and Karen are in the same room) and moved into the back area. There she found a safe, and inside, a note. Fucking assholes, Karen thought, as the note read "Looking for the shipment? Sorry B! I took it for myself! A, if it's you, run before the buyer finds out." Oh well, Karen thought to herself, and she then realized that there were gunshots coming from the lower areas of the ship, and then she thought, Oh, looks like I need ANOTHER new team.
Domingo looked over at Jacob, seeing the mercenary had everything under control. "Sir," Domingo piped up as he rubbed the lump on his head garnered from slamming into a wall a short distance away. "I'm gonna go ahead and check on my tank. All the fighting has me a bit worried about the security of El Oso." ANd with that, the big latino sprinted out of the Muddy Rudder, past the common room, out onto the flight deck and towards the entrance.
Fireman0504 See what I mean? I'm away at work and you guys advance the storyline a ton! Dang! I missed out.
Stefanie rolled over in bed and opened a single eye, looking at Riley, who was now sitting up. She shook her head slowly as he gazed at her. Someone was in the room. The man tied to the bed next to her shivered in fear, his muffled sounds barely squeaking through the sock in his mouth. Riley slowly shook his head back. Cat layed on the floor, emmitting a long slow growl. Stefanie could smell a peculiar odor, like something burning. She heard the sounds of fighting down in the Muddy Rudder. This wasn't normal fighting. It sounded serious, guns and all. She wanted to get down there to help her friends. She NEEDED to. She couldn't, Riley was talking to her. Telling her she needed to stay put. Finally she couldn't take it, she leapt from the bed and sprinted to the door, opening it. Riley slowly got up as she left. The door shut behind her and she headed to the stairwell, passing Domingo along the way and skipping the last bunch of stairs. She skidded to a stop at the top of the Muddy Rudder's stairs and looked down at the carnage. "What the fuck went on here?" she said, "Riley's creeped out upstairs and all this shit, what the hell just happened?" Stefanie had pretty well recovered from her drunkeness and was now confused. She jumped on the back of the first hostile person she saw, who was grappling with Weston. She rode him to the ground, punching him in the back of the head until he lost conciousness. She stood up and luned into a drunken bargoer, throwing him into a wall. She turned as guns started blazing all over the Muddy Rudder, and crouched as she seeked out another hostile target.
Cromartie watched the fight, he didn’t want to be involved because he was the “new guy”. He didn’t want to make Enemies, as he is new to this country and area. The fight was different compared to the ones back at the Raider Lands, more serious looking.
Karen moaned lightly at the note, and then burned it too ashes. She then slowly escaped to the Muddy Rudder to check on her squadmates, and finish what they started.
Riley got up and started to follow Stefanie slowly.
Aaron watched as Jacob took down another one of these soldiers, them an truly was brutal. His glace was broken by a fist to Aaron's face by a thin, yet muscular looking man. Aaron stumbled to a table, upholstering his .357 Revolver in the possess. The man loaded the shotgun in his hands, but he was too slow. Aaron put two holes in him, one in the neck and one in the shoulder. The BlackOP, who he was fighting, fell to his knees gurgling blood. Aaron shot him again in the head, just to end his misery. Afterward, he looked over to Jacob, who was busy reloading his weapon.
"I just saw Domingo run out to his tank, I think we should follow him. Rivet city isn't seeming like the best place to be right now."
Alex ran into the room screaming his head off "theres a group of psychos in the bar".Sudenly marcus sat bolt upright "get the men up and ready.Contact those EMAA aseholes and tell them they best have those reinforcements here soon.Head up to the purifier with the men il catch up with you."
Domingo was still sprinting for the walkway when he noticed a mysterious woman in Enclave BlackOps armor in the staircase. Pressing his back to the wall outside the Staircase, Domingo poked his head through the doorway and watched as a small piece of paper spontaneously burst into flames in the woman's hands. Reacting in a manner mostly fuelled by his heavy drinking, lack of sleep and questionable sanity, Domingo pulled out his .32 pistol and fired all 5 shots into the stairwell. Three shots went wide and pinged into the couch, wall and file cabinet on the left side of the stairwell, one embedding itself in the door behind Karen and the fifth pinging off the floor at Karen's feet. Domingo, ignoring the fact that his bullets all completely missed, lumbered into the stairwell.
"So you're the one that's responsible for the Enclave here." Domingo stated, leaving no room for response as he threw a heavy left cross at Karen's face.
Karen was taken by surprise, she didn't expect that her cloaking would turn off at this point, Damn it, need to reenable that stealthboy next time, she thought. As she burnt the paper, she evolved it into a small white fireball. "Come an' get me!" she yelled at the man, as she threw her first fireball at him. She then drew she Cryolator (yes, a ICE gun) and started firing.
Jack was running through out the ship, searching for more hidden enemies. He had his Chinese assault rifle in his hand, and had just kicked in a door. Walking into a room, he heard gunfire. Quickly exiting it, he came upon a woman near a staircase, and the tank driver. Apparently she had some sort of modified flamer with her, as she shot fireballs from her hand. Jack aimed and fired, spraying the wall with bullets. It was too late however, as she already went for cover. Soon, Jack was getting fireballs thrown at him, and tried to duck for cover. The tank driver was already in a room, blind firing on the women. Jack looked out, just for a second before she pulled out an Ice Gun and started firing.
"Aww man, this is so wrong." Jackal muttered to himself as he sprinted up the hallway and blindsided the girl, slamming her into the wall and then to the floor. She rolled over and kicked at him, but he jumped back out of the way. Bad choice, he realised a as she fired at him with that ice gun thing. The bitch was trying to turn him into a freaking ice cube! Noway was he going to turn into something that floats in your drink!
And so, seeing discretion was the better part of valour, Jackal dived down the stairs, rolling as he landed to dissipate the impact. Then he pulled his own gun, firing the SMG and shotgun parts simultaneously. That forced the ice queen back into cover. Jackal whooped and moved back along the stairs to get into a position to fire at her again.
Karen was in cover wielding her Cryolator, when she realized she could kill them all very easily without even firing her gun.. or hands. She dropped the Cryolator and put both her hands on the floor, heating it, for what she was trying to do was suck all the oxygen out of the room. After all the walls were purple and red, and the 3 men were on the floor, out of breath, she ran out onto the bridge. But this one, Jack she heard, was able to follow her, so she blasted him off the bridge with blue fire into the radiated water.
Jackal was up and going after that bitch. Whatever that party trick of hers was, he was about to show one of his own. The Flying Burrito. As she ran from him, he jumped, gaining massive height and distance (or so his drunken brain thought), and dropped, heels first, into the backs of her knees. As expected, her feet were launched out from under her and she dropped right down on her head. Right, he thought. Time to pretend to be a gypsy at a wedding he thought as she got to her feet. He threw a savage jab, catching her off-guard, slamming her to the brige. She kicked out again. This time, Jackal failed to dodge and dropped, his leg gone numb from the pressure-point strike.
He rolled over and swung his freshly drawn machete, striking sparks off the steel bridge where her neck had been a split second before. They were both out of breath, but she could run. She dropped off the bridge, into the water, as he pulled a deagle and crawled to the edge. She was long gone or already had a stealthboy active. Either way, he couldn't see her any more. He cursed, loud and foul at that. Then he crawled back towards the ship. He'd be feeling this in the morning.
Karen swam to the shore and brushed herself off, she could see the Jack person swimming towards a ladder on the ship, she shot her Cryolator and missed a few times, but froze the ladder and made it fall back into the water. But it was too late, he was up already, time to move.
Jack, after climbing the ladder sat down for a second. He was drenched in radioactive water, and his poncho was ruined. Looking at the women running away, he yelled "FUCK YOU"! He then preceded to assemble his repeater. He looked through the scope, adjusted for the incredible drop, and fired. The woman fell down, it looked like he hit her leg. "Let's go Enclave hunting". The other members of the group rushed up to the en trace, and started to follow.
.357 rounds pelted the ground around Karen's feet. "Hey! Get the fuck back here!" Strauss bellowed from the bridge, aiming his D'Eagle lopsidedly and one-handedly, his Power Armor compensating for the recoil. After the gun began to click in protest, he ejected the empty magazine and threw it in her direction. "Bitch!" He yelled. Worthington was much more coherently, albeit silently, peppering her with plasma bolts. Strauss heard Jack mention something about hunting, so after struggling to reload his pistol he followed.
Karen clutched her left foot, and pulled out a .44, "Bastards!" she screamed, and threw it away. After injecting her foot with a stimpak and wrapping a bandage around it, she activated her last stealth-boy and started to run away into the morning sun.
Jackal hobbled along on a makeshift crutch, donated by Seagrave Holmes. His leg was still, to all intents and purposes, dead. It was the feeling you got when you hit your hand really hard with a heavy hammer. Numb, yet somehow throbbing with pain nonetheless. And he had an itch. Which the numbness prevented from going away when scratched. This was doing nothing to lighten Jackal's mood as he limped back into the Muddy Rudder, just in time to see Jacob staring down anyone that came close. That guy made Jackal's skin crawl. As much as a Ghouls skin could.
Meanwhile, as the sun rose over Gilead, the Last Legion, specifically, the Last Chancers, AKA 7th Hell Zulu Company, moved up the hill, firing constantly to keep the defenders in the breach pinned down. Roarke, leading them spotted Thomas in the middle of the group, ordering that they fire. A genius plan struck him. If he let Thomas live and run crying back to HighCom, he'd spread more discord than word of Roarke's advance ever could.
"Thomas is mine. Beyond that, let the heads roll, lads!" Roarke bellowed to his troops.
He rushed the breach, his feild ripper rending the first Airborne soldier in half. Then, Thomas moved on him.
"Don't do this, Nate." Thomas shouted.
"This is beyond either of us, Freddy. I'm sorry, but this can't end any other way." Roarke sighed. Thomas thrust his sword at him. That exact same thrust Roarke had taught him. Roarke blocked the thrust and reversed the rotation of the ripper chain, sending Thomas reeling. Then he stepped through, slamming the side of the ripper into Thomas' head. Thomas fell, stunned as Roarke towered over him, the eyes of his T-51b armor glowed a menacing red.
"You can go fuck yourself twice over, Roarke." Thomas said, and drew his Desert Eagle as Nate brought the ripper down ontop of him, shearing into the handgun and slicing it in half with ease. However, that was all the time Thomas needed. Rolling away, he paused to get up on his feet as gunfire from behind attempted to pierce his own power armor. He turned back to Nate as he reached for his sword, moving back again to engage him. "You've allowed some twisted, perverted version of the same code we both pledged allegiance to to turn you into the monster you are now! What happened to you, Nate? What went wrong?!" Thomas said with indignation and resignment. "You are turning on the very men you fought beside little less than a year ago!" Thomas roared, and once again engaged Nate, twirling his sword as he parried the massive weight of the field ripper, which was quickly wearing through Thomas' sword.
Domingo ran right after Karen the whole way, clomping through the oxygen-dried hallway gasping like a fish about to be strung out in a sushi bar, before making a break for the bridge. He arrived just in time to see Karen plunge into the water. Still sprinting full bore, Domingo leaped over the railing and, temporarily forgetting that little natural law called gravity, flailed his arms and legs back and forth as if attempting to run forward on thin air. That obviously didn't work out too well, as Domingo soon pitched over forward, narrowly missed the flight deck and fell headfirst into the water. Floundering for a second beneath the irradiated seas as his overladen jacket dragged him to the bottom, Domingo tore the leather encumberance off and kicked for shore, dragging the jacket behind him. He pulled ashore just in time to see Karen take off running and activate her Stealth Boy. Staring blearily ahead, Domingo spotted the outline of the woman crossing the sun and immediately went for El Oso. Starting the old tank, Domingo rolled it forward as fast as the vehicle would move while still encumbered with its payload of weapons bound for Megaton and followed the shadow, using his floodlights to spot the footpraints left behind by the fleeing woman.
"Nothing went wrong with me. It went wrong on me. The empire I swore to defend is falling apart, and I was stuck in a dead-end dropout frontier, wasting the best soldiers in the Crusade up in the frozen North." Roarke roared. The wounds on his spirit were still fresh, and he struggled not to cut Thomas in half as he rained blows down on his guard. Roarke then spun back the other way and bisected an Airborne Templar coming at his back. He carried on the swing,rounding back on Thomas, knocking his sword away. Thomas then pulled one of Roarke's own tricks on him. He kicked into Roarke's knee, staggering him.
Roarke roared and bulled into Thomas as he regained his footing. He slammed his head into Thomas', their helmets cracking together like two charging Brahmin. They swept their swords around again, Roarke reversing the rotation of his ripper chain again, almost disarming Thomas.
"Time to end this, little brother." Roarke snarled as he stepped forward and swung again.
Stefanie ran pst Strauss, who was blazing away from the bridge, with his weapon. She was trying to catch up to the rest of the roup as they followed the now-moving tank. The odd woman was making her getaway, though a whole lot of people had been killed in the process. Everyone Stefanie knew was still there and accounted for, though that ghoul was hobbling along on a crutch. Stefanie slowly jogged to a stop, trying to catch her breath. Always one step behind, she was. God damn it. She popped in a Buffout and looked around. She didn't see Riley anywhere. Strauss was putting his weapon away and the others seemed to be gathering at the bottom of the ramp. Stefanie walked over to join them.
Jacob looked at Stefanie and nodded to her. They all watched helplessly as Domingo's tank lumbered off, sweeping back and forth with it's floodlights. Jacob sighed and raised his scoped .44 revolver, but the bitch had disappeared from view before he could get a clear shot.
Jackal wasn't happy at all. His leg was starting to wake up, after he injected another Stimpak into it. He looked around at the gathered crew, all watching Domingo speeding off as fast as a Pre-War tank minus turret could go. Which was about walking speed. Unlike a running soldier, it wouldn't get tired. Jackal scratched his head, looking at Strauss and Worth. Strauss had removed his helmet and was looking quite flushed fromthe fighting. Jacob was looking frustrated, bandages wrapped around his knee. There was no bone or connective tissue damage, but it still hurt like fuck, going by the look on his face.
Aaron cursed. "What the fuck just happened?" he bluntly spat. He was pissed, but confused at the same time. They killed about two of the mysterious visitors, the last one slipped right out of their fingers. Drawing a cigarette from his pocket, Aaron began to smoke away. His left arm was bleeding from a far too large piece of glass that sliced him and he his left eye was beginning to blacken. Turning back to the group, the whole gang was gathered here. Stefanie was approaching them now. Maybe he was with the wrong group. He'd been with these guys one night and he was already nearly killed, but they were his only small link to Jay, where ever he may be.
Domingo stormed off with his tank, leaving the rest on foot. Aaron would follow his companions for now, but he had a bad feeling that something very bad was going to go down.
Domingo continued scanning the path ahead of him, watching the floodlights scan across the hard-packed dust futilelyin search of Karen's footprints. Even setting out, he knew he was fucked trying to find his stealthy escapee, but he might as well have given it a try.
Eventually, the pillar of black smoke that definitely wasn't exhaust from the engine forced Domingo to stop and go after the fire extinguisher stored in the former gunnnery compartment. Opening the engine grates from the exterior of the tanks with a pair of crucible tongs salvaged from the wreckage of Early Dawn Elementary School by the GNR plaza, Domingo gave the interior a healthy spraying out with the fire extinguisher and then spat on the old powerhouse for good measure before replacing the grates.
ANother half hour passed before El Oso and Domingo futilely crawled back to Rivet City, Domingo looking disheartened through the pilot's small viewport on the front. He stuck his head through the entry hatch, hauled his torso out and again flopped face-first onto the tarmac. Brushing himself off as he stood, he proceeded to angrily throw his tank captain's skullcap onto the ground and stomp on it, throwing a hail of curses loud and wild enough to bring Jericho to his knees in surrender, until his face glowed beet red and the helmet was thoroughly beaten to a pulp. Having calmed down enough to speak coherently, Domingo, now entirely sober by the adrenaline rush that had taken his system, shrugged at the assorted group.
"We've lost her," Domingo said in astonishment, half-admitting the fact to himself and half telling the group of his failure. "Just give me another hour to fix El Oso and her engine problems, and I'll find her this time."
Riley ran outside to the bridge. "What happened? Did Karen escape??" he said.
"Riley, first of all, a Enclave woman that could shoot fire from her hands and had an Ice Gun just came through, killed a few people, and left with the Tank driver over their trying to chase after her. Of course with a vehicle that can move three miles per hour. I also have to buy a new poncho, and treat the second or third degree burns on me. Now, I have a question for you Riley. Who the fucking hell's Karen?"
"Karen.. she's that woman that just left!"
"Ah yes, I forgot that your a mind reading psychopath. Anyway, I'm going to go get drunk, then try to find some one that can fix a third degree burn in the morning." Jack then started walking to the entrance, and paused to look at the guard who's body was scorched.
Sefanie smiled at Jacob as he nodded to her. She was happy he was finally warming up, at least a little to her. Normally he stared right past. Oh well. Domingo had thrown a temper tantrum, Aaron was confused, and Jack was irrate over his burned poncho and was headed back to the Rudder to get drunk again. Stefanie cocked her head to the side. Hadn't drunkenness left them vulnerable to their current situation ain the first place? Stefanie shrugged. Booze did sound like a good idea. Riley showed up and mentioned someone bamed "Karen." Jackal hobbled about, adding his oh-so colorful view on the situation. Simply that his leg was fuckin' hurt and he wanted a drink. In his own old-man, ghouly way, Stefanie had to admit Jackal was kind of a cutie. Speaking of cuties, the guy Stefanie left tied in the common room crossed her mind. She wondered if he was still there. She decided to go take a peek, then hit the Muddy Rudder, then, if security hadn't found him, likely with the huge cleanup, she'd play with him a little. First thing first though, Stefanie headed back in for some more booze.
Cromartie walked slowly and left the Rudder Bar….
Everyone gets some kind of feeling he will be back.
Stefanie sat back down at the bar in the Muddy Rudder. She looked around and watched the security forces milling around. They were cleaniing up bodies and getting things back in order. Belle Bonnie looked at Stefanie from across the bar. "I've seen some fights in my day." she said, "but I think that tops them all." Stefanie looked back at her. Jack had just walked in. "Ge that guy some vodka, and get me a shot of whiskey." Belle looked slightly annoyed, but she was constantly being a bitch to customers, so Stefanie did't really care about being a bitch to her. Most of the patrons had left, either to the infirmary or to be loked in in their own rooms, or they were killed in the fighting and were being dumped off the boat to become Mirelurk food. Stefanie downed her shot and ordered another. She was slightly disappointed that security had released her "prisoner" in the Common Room, but ah well. She ordered another shot of whiskey.
Domingo walked back into the Muddy Rudder and took a seat next to Stefanie. Although he was completely sober now, his face and hands were smothered in sticky grease and oil, and his face was half-obscured by a stolen Raider Arclite helmet, which he used as a welding mask. He ordered up a bottle of vodka and swivelled towards Stefanie on the barstool.
"Tank's broekn down," he admitted, "it'll take at least a week to fix before I can get to Megaton. Looks like I'll be stuck here for a while."
"What needs repairing? I was a machinist before the War. And I've got a degree in engineering. I'll take a look if you don't mind. That is when my leg wakes up." Jackal said as he sat down next to Domingo. He was eating what could only be described as the ultimate sandwich (in Post War terms anyway). It was Yao Guai meat, with a bit of Mirelurk claw meat stuffed between a pair of chargrilled Brahmin steaks. He commented on that bitch's trick with heating the floor had come in handy for cooking this stuff. People began to grimace as it dawned on them that he had used the superheated corridor floor as a frying pan.
"And I used to be a mechanic in the Vault I crawled out of, so I could probably throw a spanner in the works, as it were." Strauss chimed in as he lowered himself into a seat. He'd said that in a rather low tone of voice, as he knew what sort of reception former Dwellers got in most settlements. He knew from his time living here that Rivet City was no exception and had learnt to keep his mouth shut pretty quickly after he first arrived there all those years ago. His thoughts drifted off to where the fellow Dwellers of 94 were now as his eyes followed some small Post-War flying insect as it circled a light dangling from the ceiling.
"Any way you can help would be great, guys." Domingo said, starting into his vodka. As he downed the first few gulps and placed the bottle on the table, he turned towards Jackal. "The bolts for the cooling fan stripped out on the way back, and the whole engine is at risk of exploding if we don't replace the fan and the bolts, or find a new and more effective cooling system. Any high octane fuel you would happen across would help as well."
Then he turned to Conor. "As for you, the cam shafts in the engine have become jammed with grease and they're operating at half of their original efficiency. A lot of the moving components fused in the engine's excess heat as well, so that could be a problem. See what you can do."
Domingo looked down at himself. "As for me, I'll go out and look for replacement bolts and scrap metal I could salvage to replace the treads, they're coming loose in a bad way and I'll need to repair them before they fall off. Along with the drive wheels, those are becoming damaged as well."
Stefanie looked at Domingo. He was covered in grease, oil and sweat. He'd sobered up, but now looked like he could use a drink again. "It's not such a bad place to be stuck," Stefanie said. "We're safe from most threats. Though, anyone with some of them whirly birds is about the only thing that can get here. That and super secret stealth boys." Stefanie shrugged, before tossing some caps down for Domingos vodka. "You know what the others are gonna do? I was gonna sleep, then trade in the mornin', then head back to my little underground house over in Bailey. I actually got quite a bit of salvaged scrap stockpiled there. You lot are welcome to pop in and take what you want. No charge!" Stefanie winked and patted Domingo on the back.
"Guards say war's breakin' out all over the Capital Wasteland again though. Somethin' about a last Crusade or somethin'. Seein ' as it's almost mornin' I'm thinkin' I'll drink the rest of the night, trade, then try to get back to Bailey in the mornin' anyway. Hopefully, the war'll be not so spread yet tomorrow to where I can get in and hunker down. I've met them Crusaders before. They're tough sons of bitches, so I'm gonna try to avoid them. What chance does a professional bar fighter have against an entire army right? Eh, once everythin's settled down, I'm goin' back to Zanadu. Prolly to take up fightin' again, I'm ready for my wanderin' days to be over for a while." Stefanie didn't know if Domingo was even listening, but that's how she got when she had a few drinks in her, super talkative. Oh well. She popped in another Buffout as some more of the crowd began trickling through the door. She greeted them with a wave and a smile. Some looked mad, some indefferent, some in dire need of booze. "So what's the plan?" Stefanie called out as she, Domingo, and Jack turned around on their stools.
"Ordinarily, I'd say let the Crusade and the Last Legion beat the snot out of each other, but we at least need to keep an eye on them in case Tenkage and his band of merry morons show up again and make things worse. Again. I reckon shadowing Roarke is out of the question, after the poncho wearing genius here took a shot at him. His soldiers would be on high alert for anyone after that." Jacob sighed, indicating Jack as he mentioned the poncho.
"I say we let em beat the shit outta each other, and then swoop in with more of your ninja friends and beat the life out of anyone that's still breathin." Jackal said. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his machete. "I want Frederick Thomas dead by my hands. We have a history together. Let the rest of em pick each other apart I say. Then I'd like to settle down in Underworld after that."
Stefanie cocked her head. "Who's Tenkage?" she said, puzzled. "and what morons will he show up with to ruin the day? Not that it hasn't already been ruined." she mumbled, opening a can of Pork N' Beans, then looking at Riley and Cat, to ensure her threat still stood, should Cat jump up. "I like Jackal's scavenging plan. We kill the dead and wounded, and we reap the spoils of war. You've seen their tech, we could be rich rich folks, or at least well-equipt folks. Not that you aren't Mr. V." she looked at Jacob, who she knew had dozens of hideouts scattered everywhere, with more weapons than you could shake a repellant stick at. "Where's the main fighting happenin?" she said, downing another shot of whiskey, "and are the yahoos who spoiled my beauty sleep gonna show up and gum up the works again?"
Domingo looked forward into the bar's display case as if looking straight through the hull of Rivet City, out to the horizon. "After I get El Oso fixed... I don't know. I'll probably keep wandering. Maybe I will head west again. Maybe I'll check things out to the north, or head down to Florida. I've heard there're promising trade posts down there." Domingo smiled at Jackal and Stefanie's qualmst about the Crusade.
"I was never fond of them myself. Then again, when you're a mercenary, you get paid by someone who hates someone else, anyways, so I figured I might as well not like them as well. They never really treated me special, but they never attacked me either. We never really got along though, so I guess I've been looking for an excuse to get up and shoot them at my earliest convenience." Mulling the thought of a head-on engagement with the Crusade over for a second, he turned back to Jackal: "You've got my support, friends. No matter what happens with the Crusade, I'll be following right behind you."
Considering his support of Jackal's scav team, he turned towards the flesh-rotten fighter and nodded. "Sounds like a good plan. If I can ever get El Oso fixed, then you can dump your stuff on me and get it where it's going. Fee waived, of course."
Strauss simply at there in silent contemplation after that. At first he was wondering how the hell he was going to help Dowhatsisface. He'd never worked on a vehicle before; let alone a tank; let alone something with a freakin' internal combustion engine. That sort of setup was dated at the time of the war. It baffled him how the strange tank driver had managed to get it into working order, let alone find fuel for it.
Then, as the conversation around him drifted to the future, he began to think about his own. When the hell where the Claws coming back? Directly after he joined the rest of them had sauntered off to Cali and had been gone for over a month. They'd probably gotten themselves killed on the journey there, he pessimistically speculated. What would he do until they were back? Fight the Good Fight? As if some divine force was waiting for the right moment, the radio across the bar from him which was formerly playing a GNR broadcast degraded into bursts of static. He groaned quietly, brushed a speck of mud from his helmet's visor and looked over to the others.
Piping up as the conversation fell on the Crusade, Strass broke his self-imposed silence. "I'm game for anything involving wiping those bigot bastards off the planet," he proclaimed.
"Tenkage.. Tenkage.. Bren Tenkage.." Riley said to himself, "He leads the Claws, which are a merc group, they are stationed in the ol' Super Duper Mart,". He then grabbed some whiskey and poured it into his mouth slowly, "Did somebody say that girl, Karen, could throw fire?" Everybody looked at him strangely, as nobody had said it, but somebody thought it.
Aaron waved away the barkeep as she offered him a beer. He was sober and would like to stay that way, for now at least. Aaron looked around, people had already gone back to their normal card games and conversations, acting like the whole fight never happened. Exhausted, Aaron rose from the rusty stool and walked up to Domingo, who was in conversation about the Crusade and such with some of the others, but he didn't hear much. Aaron nudged the man's shoulder, "Hey man, whenever you need to get some scrap metal, tell me. I'm dying to get some fresh air." He looked around for a second, thinking, "Until then, I'll be on the deck. Peace." With that, Aaron left to group. Whenever he had come to Rivet city, he always found the deck to be the most peaceful and quiet. At least recently, without the overwhelming Super Mutant threat.
"What?" Strauss said, staring blankly at Riley. "How can you "throw" fire? That's physically impossible. Your hand would go straight through it and come out with some severe burns. She must have had some form of modified Flamer grafted into her combat suit, but she wasn't throwing shit, Rile."
"Bren Tenkage huh?" Stefanie set her shot glass down and took another one. "Never heard of him or The Claws. Don't you mean Talon Company. I've heard of them. Found one of those bastards snoopin' around my lift. Needless to say I strung him up, from the girders. He was alive then, but I had no way of feeding him. Pretty sure he's dead now. I dunno. He was one of the guys you're talkin' about?" Riley shook his head slowly as Stefanie went back to eating her Pork N' Beans and took another shot of whiskey. Stefanie watched as Aaron left. Going up for air or something. She smirked. He seemed like a good kid. Too good for this part of the country. Stefanie then chuckled again because this thought made her seem like a jaded old woman, when she was in fact still an attractive young woman, though being a slave, wanderer, scavenger, and pit fighting champion she had a lot of life experience. Oh well. She went back to thinking about the Talons, er Claws, er whoever they were, and how the small group didn't need another faction showing up to screw things up.
"Then how can I lift things without even touching them!?" he said, "Thats physically impossible.." he then lifted his whiskey to his mouth, without his hand. "Maybe she can make fire the same way I can lift my whiskey??"
"You can do magic, though, remember?" Strauss pointed out, giving a lopsided grin to signify that he wasn't being serious. Riley did have a point, though. Not much made sense in the modern world. "But honestly. Where'd you get the idea she was "throwing" fire in the first place? It makes a lot more sense that she was using a weapon. Exerting force with your mind is one thing, but sparking flames out of nowhere is just crazy."
"It's quite simple, really." Jackal said, his inner engineering nerd bursting out. "It's oxygen saturation. All she needs is a concentrated solution of Hydrogen Peroxide, a pressurized can and some way to siphon off the oxygen at high pressure. Oxygen saturation causes spontaneous combustion in a lot of cases. One moron I worked with used an oxygen tank to blow dust off his suit. His sleeve caught fire when he walked out the door."
Jackal then realised that he was talking to a group of people, who, apparently other than Jacob, had no idea what he was saying. Of course, Jacob could be just as puzzled as anyone else, because reading him was like reading Mirelurk Language. Impossible, mainly because Mirelurks had no written language, but Jackal was not in the mood to think straight.
"Aaand of course, she must perform this complicated process naturally, right, Riley?" Strauss asked rhetorically, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He had no idea what the Ghoul gunslinger had just said, and was too tired and tipsy to really be paying attention to it anyway, so he was in a sort of nodding-along mood. "So she had Hydrogen Peroxide sprayers in the wrists of her sleeves or something. Hey, you never know."
"No, Conor, she had a container of Peroxide. If she just sprayed the Peroxide around, she'd just bleach our hair and give us alkaline burns. You need a valve to keep the oxygen flowing, but not the peroxide. That's what starts the fires. I'd show you what Oxygen saturation does, but these people are mighty protective of their oxygen cylinders." Jackal said.
Jackal then leaned on the bar. Everything had gotten a whole lot more complicated ever since his run-in with Tenkage. Bregrod, that boat, shit, he'd never told Jacob about the boat wreck in his safehouse! Anyway, there had been all that business with Thomas and shit. Jackal sighed. His brain was addled. He needed sleep. And a lot of it.
"Peroxides and saturations and sleeves... why don't we just shoot the bitch in the face?" Stefanie commented whimsically. Her comparatively simple mind was working in overdrive and still not comprehending what these geniuses were talking about. Suddenly she felt really small again, almost lower than them. She reached across the bar and grabbed the hot plate, her hand recoiling at the very tingling of the burn, so fast that she didn't feel a thing. Least her reflexes were still good, even though she was drunk off her rocker. The group was still discussing the abilites of the mystery woman when Stefanie poured four shots and did them all simultaneously. She staggered to her feet, looking for something more to eat.
"That would have worked, if she hadn't tried to turn me into a drink cooler with that Ice Gun of hers." Jackal murmured. Stefanie was the kind of person they needed around to keep things in perspective. Only Jacob was as blunt, abrupt and practical as she was. The Wastelands would have been free of Frederick Thomas long ago if Jackal had forgone Ghoulifying him and just shot him dead. Jackal was almost ashamed at himself for that. He wouldn't make the same mistake this time. If he ever met Thomas again, he'd cut him open like a dog, and put a cartridge of buckshot in his head. Jackal also admired her ability to take multiple shots at once. All she had to do now was do that while dangling upside-down from a stair railing and she'd have mastered one of Jackal's own party tricks.
"Wonder why she'd have an Ice Gun and a Flamer anyway.." Riley said, as there really was no point, as the two counter eachother. "I need another drink," he said, and then ordered another whiskey.
Stefanie walked over to the table where Brock, the Muddy Rudder bouncer was sitting, eating his YumYum Devilled eggs. Stefanie reached down and grabbed one. She ate it quickly and reached for another. Brock grabbed her arm. "Put it down and this goes no further," he said. "Let me have it and I won't humliate you in front of everyone here that you supposedly 'intimidate'," she snapped back. He tried to stand up but she pushed him back into his seat. Suddenly Jackal grabbed her arm. "Come on there firecracker," the ghoul said, "take another shot over with us." Stefanie grudgingly accepted the offer and walked back to where the group was, to a waiting shot of whiskey. She downed it and ordered another, along with some YumYum Devilled eggs of her own. Eating them, she listened as intently as she could to what they were discussing about moving against the Crusade, and dealing with the flame throwing lady, and fixing the tank. Stefanie's mind was too clouded to think straight, but she was getting kind of itchy. She needed some excitement. Maybe she'd challenge someone to a fight up on the deck. Eh, this wasn't that type of place. If she were in Zanadu again they could just go into a cage and do it. She needed a thrill. She popped a Buffout in her anxiety and took another shot of whiskey.
Jackal leaned on the bar, counting his misfortunes. He was sitting in a dingy bar, with an ex-slave cage dancer, or was it cage fighter? He guessed the latter, after all the girl was handy with a power fist. He was in the presence of a Vault Engineer, a tank-driving arms dealer, an assassin, who had yet to name himself, and Jacob Vaughton, a certifiable card-carrying psychopathic mass-murderer was less than ten feet away. Knowing what he knew, Jackal was glad he wasn't a stranger, otherwise, he'd be shitting bricks, planks and bullets. At least his gear didn't need any major repairs. The fact that he was a Ghoul detracted from his happiness somewhat, but he hated wallowing in his own self-pity, so he pushed that thought away the second it came to him.
Jacob was back to leaning on the wall, watching everyone moving around or sitting still. Playing cards, drinking, arm wrestling, etc etc. All very calm compared to the chaos going on less than ten minutes ago. Again, Jacob was so still, he almost seemed to blend into the wall. He started cleaning and sharpening his knives, one by one. He spotted a small child trying to count the knives, and then give up after a while. Jacob didn't bother changing expression. That kid wasn't the first, or the oldest, to lose count of Jacob's knives as he pulled them out of his sleeves, boots, armor plates, and one out of each side of his collar. More than any one man could ever conceivably need. And in spite of that, Jacob knew he had killed at least two people with each and every one of the blades.
This is quite a bit behind the other posts, chronologically
Roarke took another swing at Thomas, his Field Ripperknocking his off balance again and again, as the officer sword struggled to hold up to the roaring chain of the blade. Then, in a surprising act of compassion, Roarke stepped away from Thomas. He handed his Field Ripper to a Last Chancer, and drew his own Officer Sword. The two of them lunged back at each other, blades ringing off each other as they moved with renewed vigour. In the early morning darkness, the blades struck sparks off each other, sending fat orange sparks flying through the air. He pulled Thomas off balance with a parry, and slammed his elbow into Thomas' face, cracking his head back and sending him staggering. Just as he was about to lunge forward and make a potentially lethal thrust, Thomas regined enough of his senses to land a kick that nearly floored Roarke.
So Freddy still had some fight left in him. Leaving him for dead without killing him was starting to look more and more difficult. At least there were soldiers on both sides inside the breack, with Last Legion veterans pushing the Airborne back. Years of experience in almost constant battle had brought the 7th Hell Zulu Company up to their level, and even in BRA, they were going toe-to-toe with the best the Crusade had to offer. Roarke was as proud of them now as he had ever been.
Domingo looked around the room before noticing what he needed. Somewhere down the bar, buzzing incessantly inside its metal casing, was a Pre-War desk fan, the kind that cheap people used on hot summer days to put a breeze right in their face and keep them cool. For now, though, Domingo had other ideas. Slipping off the barstool to his feet, Domingo casually walked over and snatched the desk fan right off the table. He was about halfway to the door of the rudder when Brock shouted, "Put the fan down, thief!"
Domingo, paying the moronic bouncer no heed, continued on his course through the door. He was about hatwo steps away when he suddenly felt the uncomfortable feeling of the cold steel muzzle of a gun being pressed to the back of his skull. Wasting no time with banter, Domingo kicked out with his left leg, catching Brock in the gut and spinning him around, where Domingo turned and planted a headbutt at the base of Brock's neck, flooring him hard. Domingo then retreated back to El Oso with his prize, a 200-year-old desk fan.
Boy did that sound rediculous.
"Serves you right, Roarke!" Thomas said, and twirled his sword once again, removing his helmet and wiping away the blood that formed behind from his nose. Rubbing it gently, he slammed into one of Roarke's bodyguards, slicing through his BRA armor and cutting the neckline material, blood speweing out in a controlled arc. However, before THomas could move to combat the next threat, he turned once again as Nate came to wield the ripper again, slamming it into Thomas' sword. The chainsaw created sparks as it once again competed for supremacy; Nate's brute power and skill versus Thomas' swordsmanship.
Roarke swepte his sword up in an undercut swipe, then reversed his grip on the hilt and lunged it downwards at Thomas, nearly impaling him. He was really pressing the advantage now, and by the loooks of it, Thomas was starting to feel the pressure. Roarke grinned inside his helmet, but still didn't want to get cocky about it. Getting overconfident tended to lead to severe injury and death.
"See Freddy, this is why I was decorated as a Master Swordsman and you weren't." Roarke shouted as he disarmed Thomas, forcing him to dive to the side to recover his sword. Roarke then pressed the advatage yet again, striking at Thomas before he could rise. Thomas, now fightin on one knee, was in dire strait. Until Roarke turned to cut down one of Thomas' own Praetorian bodyguards. Roarke stepped away from Thomas, and kicked the Praetorian's dropped sword up into his free hand.
Roarke smiled as he whirled both blades in his grip. His T-51b's plates were all shaved down a little to allow greater agility and movement in close quarters. Thomas gulped at the sight of the two blades spinning at angles his armor would never allow. Roarke just advanced, striking from every possible angle, pushing Thomas back again and again.
Riley was full of beer again, and fell unconscious waiting for somebody to carry him up to the Common Room again.
"Jeez. I'm dead and so's Riley by the looks of things. I'm heading up to the Common Room. Night, guys. Or morning, rather." Strauss gestured for Worthington to follow him before picking up Riley in his arms (again) and slinging the psychic over his shoulder. After a few minute's walking, he'd managed to get them both to the room, and, after dumping Riley onto a bed and paying no heed to another man tied to one with socks, started taking off his Power Armor and settled into another bed afterwards.
Riley woke up in the Common Room, to the radio being turned on to the Enclave broadcast.. "Dude, shut that shit off," Riley said to whoever turned on the Enclave radio, "I said, turn that shit off." he said again, this time through telepathy, and the man shut it off and fell down, "He must've been drunk," Riley commented before getting up, and seen Stefanie playing with another man tied to a bed with socks.
Strauss was snoring loudly with one arm hanging off the side of his old naval cot. Cat wandered over and started licking his hand. Then the dog started sniffing around his bag on the floor for the scent of Pork 'n' Beans, but ran off when Worthington began to spool rounds into his minigun.
Riley ran over to Worthington and deactivated him before any 5mm bullets could fly at his dog.
Strauss woke up suddenly and rugby tackled Riley before he could deactivate his robot, but told Worthington not to shoot the dog.
Jack had just woken up. It seemed that next door, a mini gun was starting up, but it was probably just his imagination. Getting up, he walked next door, and looked inside the room. "I'm going to go loot some Crusade shit, who want's to join me?"
"Me!" Riley said, after pushing Strauss off of him.
"We're in." Jackal said behind him. Jacob was standing next to the Ghoul, nodding in agreement. He flexed his hands. They all needed to get out of here. Jacob had just come down from the roof, or deck, he wasn't sure which to call it. Talking to Aaron Ramsey, who had just arrived (not leaving the Ramseys behind, can do the conversation in flashback) behind them. Jacob flexed his hands again, watching the others for their reactions.
Riley was shooting some raiders, as was just about everybody else, they were all following Cerebral since he had said something about Crusade loot around here. Then, suddenly, they heard something they hadn't heard for a while.. Super Mutants. But, these ones were big, they had Gatling Lasers and some sort of Laser Shotty. Shit, Riley thought.
"What the hell?" Strauss asked, his confused tone shining through despite the mechanical edge his helmet gave his voice. He was truly baffled. They looked as though they were halfway through becoming Behemoths, having similar faces and the same sort of hunch, but not being as big. Before he could say anything, he saw the Gatling Laser fire up. "HOLY FUCK! Get down!" He yelled as he dived into cover, pulling out his Laser Rifle.
Domingo rolled El Oso up and over the low rise behind the super mutants, coaxing the newly repaired (and upgraded!) tank along at a steady 20 miles per hour. He eventually rammed right into one of the first mutants, knocking it flat on its head and rolling on over.
Jacob vaulted over the side of El Oso and booted a Super Mutant in the chest. One of the big ones. Unfortunately, it just tanked through the blow and sent him sprawling. Then, he landed a good half-dozen punches before it could blink. It blinked, and that was about it, until Jacob landed lucky number seven, hearing the glorious crack of bone. Then it responded with it's own boxing technique, launching Jacob backwards, and bringing its Gatling Laser to bear again.
Jacob rolled away, swearing as he went. He pulled out Mother's Woe and fired a three shot burst into the Mutant's chest. It burst apart in a glare of blood, guts and igniting incendiary material. At least Jacob's HEIAP ammunition worked on these shits.
"The cavalry has arrived!" Strauss cheered as El Oso rolled up with Jacob in tow. Those modifications he and Jackal had done to the tank earlier in the morning were coming in handy (yes they did shut up kk thanks), as was the Super-Ninja who was now laying into the mutants. Slinging his rifle and picking up Impact, he charged at one that was focused on Jacob and swung the hammer heavily into its back. An audible boom resonated throughout the area, and the Super Mutant yelled something about its back hurting incoherently while looking around confusedly. Strauss was surprised he hadn't shattered its spine in one hit - no, that's your inflated ego talking, Conor - but it didn't really matter, as Jacob proceeded to shoot it in the face with that explosive ammunition of his, spattering Strauss in smouldering brains and flesh.
Riley picked up one of the dead "Mini-Behemoths" Laser Shottys.
Strauss did the exact same thing, tossing it over to Worthington who caught it in his manipulators and deposited it in his storage compartment. He'd have to dismantle it later and see whether there was any improvements to the basic AER9 it had that he could transplant over to his own rifle. The fact that it seemed to have two separate Microfusion Cells looked mighty interesting.
Domingo climbed out of the top hatch of El Oso and looked at the untouched third Super Mutant, the one he had plowed over with the tank's new front-end ram (really a snowplow reinforced with steel and studded with rusty iron spikes). Looking at the gun port next to the pilot's seat, where a coaxial .50-caliber machine gun would usually be attached, Dom called out to Jackal.
"Jackal!" Domingo shouted. "See if you can find the wrench in the tool kit on the top of the tank, I'm going to mount this laser chaingun inside and we're going to need to remove the gun cap to fit it." After all, with El Oso and its new top speed of 35 miles per hour, its front-end ram and 25-ton girth, who would mess with the tank after it had a fucking laser chaingun bolted to the front?
Jackal muttered incoherently about having a Masters Degree and having to do a simpleton's grunt work as he went about his job mirthlessly. Fuckin humans. No respect for Ghouls. Jakcl was 230 years old, for Gods sake. So this guy had no respect for his elders either! Jackal calmed down and began to take a little bit of joy from the manual work of loosening bolts and readying the welding plant in the crew compartment. He was also sporting a dashing new aviator's cap, complete with chinstraps hanging out of the sides (Like the ones Super Mutant Masters wear), and the idea of looking like a zombie pilot amused him no end.
Domingo looked at the entry to the crew compartment, holding the square backpack to the laser chaingun and pondering how he was going to get it through the round hole in the top of the tank. At a mental impasse, Domingo spent a few minutes pondering how the pack was going to fit through before he eventually decided to just lower it through the patched hole where the cannon had originally been machined off. He carefully retracted the locked-on patches of ramshackel iron armor, slinked through, carrying the chaingun and the pack, and crawled forward to the pilot's compartment where Jackal had already arrived with the welding apparatus.
"Thank you Jackal," Domingo said, "Now can you help me figure out how to boost the power on this gun?"
Stefanie crouched behind the tank. She was lacking in any sort of ranged weaponry capable of dealing with these new breeds of Super Mutant. She felt pretty useless at the moment. She also felt pretty hung over. Two hours of sleep in the Common Room didn't do it. Stefanie popped in a Buffout as she spied an Overlord carrying a gatling laser in from the side. She jumped up over a pile of rubble bringing her Power Fist down and smashing the weapon. She ducked under a backhand swing from the mutie and punched it's knee. No give. She rolled to the side to avoid a hammer blow that smashed the ground and punched the mutie in the lumbar. She punched twice, dropping the mutant to a knee before avoiding another backhand blow. She ran up the kneeling mutie's back, her metal spiked boots digging into it's skin while giving her traction on it's back. She slammed her Power Fist into the back of it's head and neck repeatedly until it finally collapsed onto it's face. She smashed and smashed, punching and stomping the back of it's head until it stopped thrashing beneath her. With it's head a smashed gooey mess on the ground, she looked up, receiving a nod from Jacob Vaughton. She smiled as they moved on. She still wondered where they were going.
"What the hell were those things? They looked like Super Mutants," Aaron paused for a moment, "But much, much bigger." He reloaded his assault rifle, putting in his last magazine. He knew that he should've bought more ammo at Rivet city, but he was a bit low on caps at the time, and still is. The exhausted wastelander rose from behind his cover, walking over to Domingo's tank. Jackal and him were busy configuring with a new menacing addition to the vehicle. He approached Stefanie, who was looking more and more out of it by the second. "You alright? You look like death... no offense." He would wait for her response to offer medical help. Over his life in Austin, Aaron had acquired quite the talent in medical expertise. He gritted his teeth as he thought of his time as a Union field medic, all of the wounded, the dead. To this day, he still has not seen anything, or anybody, as savage as the Southern Enclave. He vividly remembers one battle when they raided an "experimental hospital". The horrors seen there, they haunted his every dream. He had tried to save a small girl, most likely around 8 or 9, whom had been severely mutated and engineered on. It seemed that she was in the miste of being turned into another horrible creation. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes, had been cut open in the matter that her eyelids and the skin around the eyes had been removed. She had stitches keeping them from closing, along with around her mouth. When he did come to her rescue, he already knew the outcome. There was no hope for her, she was going to die. But her eyes, those beautiful eyes, looked at Aaron with such grace, such hope that she was going to live. Aaron couldn't bear to remember much more than that, only that the little girl had died.
Aaron seemed to trail off in thought, not listening to his companions. He turned back to Stefanie, not sure if she had said something at all. "Say what now? I-I wasn't paying attention."
Stefanie wretched and threw up. She shouldn't get drunk twice in one night. Aaron was standing there, but her kind of wasn't pying attention. She staggered over behind the tank and wretched again. She really wasn't feeling right. Hopefully there wouldn't be too many more encounters with these Overlord Super Mutants "She walked back over to Aaron, who was staring at the ground. "Ramsey, AARON!," she said, snapping her fingers. He snapped up. "You got somethin' for nausea?" she said. He shook his head. Stefanie started walking over to find Strauss. There was no telling what Worthington was carrying. Hopefully he had something. Maybe she could convince Jacob to swing through Bailey so she could get Jeeves and some of her supplies. She needed somehing as she popped a Buffout to steady herself. She stretched her arms up and flexed her muscles, trying to feel better.
Meanwhile, Jacob was sitting up on the back of El Oso, surveying the carnage, a group of Super Mutants that were Behemoths in the making, on a par with Deathclaws in terms of sheer power, but with heavy weapons. Jacob sighed. By killing off the weaker mutants, the Crusade had, in fact, strengthened them as a whole, leaving only the strongest, craziest and most cunning alive. Maybe the Last Legion would do a better job of killing off these overgrown rodents.
Jackal sat looking at the pack that came with the Gatling Laser. There had to be some way to keep that in place so it didn't bounce across the crew compartment and kill someone. He motioned to Jacob to gie him a hand with it. After running through the instructions quickly, Jackal picked up the arc welder and pulled on his arclight helmet. After a few moments of tack welding, he took to welding the frame surrounding the backpack to the bodywork of El Oso properly. That should simplify things a little.
Alexis Ashton bashed his way through the dirt and stoped as he saw a tank travling along.he then turned to see more mutants chasing after him.Ah crap he thought he started running towards the tank "HELP ME im out of ammo and being chased by mutants!"
Jack got up and started running at the man. It seemed he looked relieved for a second, before being clotheslined by Jack to the ground. Jack, then using the last of his grenade launcher ammo, fired at the several super mutants running after Alex. Taking out his Chinese Assualt rifle, he fired into the mutants who had survived the blast, killing them quickly. "That's for the Enclave Base, jack ass."
Alexis pulled himself up "jack you idiot im not the one who knew what was going to happen" he dusted himself off and searched the mutants he grabbed some ammo for his .44 and turned back to jack. "so can i tag along with you?"
Domingo looked over at Jackal expertly weld the pack's frame into the wall of El Oso and replace the components. Domingo did the honors of plugging in the last few wires before sliding into the pilot's seat and looking at the controls, starting the tank up with the various mechanical methods required (I don't know how to start a tank, okay D':) and turning it away from the assorted members of the group. He zoned in on a lumbering Super Mutant, well inside the range of the Laser Chaingun.
"Target ahead, bearting two-five-zero, liningg you up for a shot. Go ahead and fire the chaingun when ready, Jackal." Domingo said, still adjusting the tank as the Overlord finally caught the scent of burning fossil fuel and turned in the general direction of the formidable new tank.
"sweet jesus that thing is working"
Strauss flipped down his helmet's eyescope and lifted his Laser Rifle, pressing the stock firmly against the shoulder of his armour as he took aim on the spot of flesh between an unsuspecting Frankenstein's eyes. He continued to move alongside Domingo's tank at quite a pace, the braces in his Power Armor's arms allowing him to maintain his aim despite pretty much running. While one of the Super Mutants came to focus on the tank, yelling something about it and drawing his target's attention away, he fired. It screamed and clutched its face, shouting something about "EYE HURT!". What the fuck are these things eating for breakfast? Titanium? Regardless, he followed up with two successive shots that brought it down as the barrels of the tank's new Gatling Laser began to rotate.
Alexis ran alongside the tank taking pot-shots with his .44 magnum the servo-motors in his wrist piece acounting for the backlash one of the bullets hit the mutie in the chest.He caught up with strauss "nice to see you again strauss reminisant of the first time we met isn't this"
"Alex! Seven fucking years, man!" Strauss laughed as his old acquaintance greeted him, lowering his rifle momentarily to slap Alex on the back lightly. He smiled to himself underneath his helmet as he recalled the times when he was first adapting to the Wasteland. His smile was wiped away when he recalled the incident with the Enclave. "I'll talk to you later, man. In the meanwhile, there's Uglies to toast!" He said as he peppered one of the Mutants Alex had shot (but not killed) with laserfire, sending its hulking carcass crashing to the floor.
Jacob fired his M72 at the next Mutant to show it's ugly face. Sadly, it was a standard Super Mutant Master. Nonetheless, Jacob felt that indescribable pang of satisfaction as it's head disintegrated. The next shot he cracked off caught an Overlord, tearing a large chunk out of the muscle on the sides of it's neck. And it was still alive, somehow. Jacob grimaced as he fired a second shot, the 2mm bullet punching through the Mutant's head and igniting on the inside, blowing out the back of it's skull. So a hypervelocity HEIAP bullet still did the job. Jacob leaned back on the top of El Oso and took more pot-shots at the Super Mutants, killing some in two or three shots, some in four. And a few in five. These things were fucking tough. Well, actually, he only killed one for each different number of shots, but he was so used to killing Super Mutants in one that it felt like a lot more.
Alexis grinned at strauss "Lets go mutie killing!" he shot at one of the muties with his .44 the servos in his wrist reducing the backlash.He jumped on top of the tank and fidled with the obselete stubber."ah-hah" he sprayed another of the muties with bullets
Riley climbed onto the tank.
"I believe the point where the Crusade fought their splinter group or something, I'm not really sure, is up ahead. I'm going to go scout out, and come back in a few minutes to see if there all done blowing each others brains out. Lastly, how the fuck can you guys fit so many people in such a small tank?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:18, 5 May 2009 (UTC) (I'm....back)
Weston, now being sober and having a headache, moved along the D.C Ruins. Someone was kind enough to leave a note that they left Rivet City in search of loot. What they forgot to mention, however, was that it was Crusade loot. Following some rather obvouis tank-tread paths, he soon found the group's postion. Of course, he had to sprint in order to catch up with them, before hopping aboard the tank.
"Hey fellas, where we going?
"Well, look what the metaphorical cat dragged in. We're headin' some place up north, north-west I think, along the Potomac. Gonna go hunt us some Crusaders, scav some gear and technology, all that jazz." Strauss responded, moving alongside the tank (which was now going at walking pace) casually. There was nowhere near enough room for another person on the tank, let alone somebody in Power Armor, so Strauss was the one who had to walk. God damn logic.
"If you were a bit smaller I'd have Cat lift you,"
Jack was looking through his Sniper Scope. It seemed that the whole place was a battle ground, most of the dead were in BRA's(Snicker), although on a count it turned out that those with power armor outnumber the dead men wearing BRAs (Snicker once more) slightly. He got up, and started to head back to the group.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 01:16, 5 May 2009 (UTC) (Aww, g2g to agian. My renwned activy here has been renswed!)
Aaron looked at the tank, filled to it's limit with people. It is true that he wanted the rest it offered, but he was doomed to walking with tired legs. Jack had taken point and was scouting out the area, looking for the Crusade. Aaron wasn't sure about engaging the Crusade, especially not when they are at war. His companions held the claim that they were only going to scavenge, but Aaron knew better. These guys obviously had some sort of previous feud with the extremist faction, the type of thing that could only spell trouble for Aaron, who was, as of now, neutral to the Crusade. He had seen the effects of being on their KOS list and it's not pretty. They would send people after you in your sleep, murdering you while you dream. That was something Aaron defiantly wanted to avoid, he has had enough of that in Austin.
He looked over to Stefanie, who was busy hurling the remains of her last dinner. Sighing, he slowed down and waited for her to catch up. "Here, take some of this," Aaron pulled out a bottle of Kaopectate and placed it in her hands, "It'll lessen the nausea, but it's been known to be quite addictive, so..." Aaron really didn't know how to put this considering it was a junkie he was talking to, "Just be careful with the amounts. I know about your addiction already, I could see it in your eyes."
Stefanie took the bottle and chuckled. "In my eyes huh? I'd've figured you could see it with all the Buffout I take?" She gave him a friendly slap on the back before taking a dose of Kaopectate. "Picked up some baggage in Zanadu. Got this habit, got my past, who knows what else I got. Only fortunate thing is all this damn radiation kills most disease that comes along. Only time I ever felt like I was doing somethin' good was cage fightin'. Then I'm only doin' what's good for me. I've crippled people, killed people. To make a living. Thats the cold facts out here though. Everyone does it." Aaron was looking at her woefully. He had to be thinking of what a bleak outlook she had. Stefanie looked over to where the group was filling another Super Mutant with holes. "If you look at it close, we're all the same. It's how we carry ourselves between all the drug addiction, the fighting, the killing, the buyin' and sellin' of humans. I can stand here and have this conversation with you now, because outside the cage, I understand. I understand notions of 'peace' and the value of human life. I understand that Jackal in there is just as good as Strauss over there. That being a ghoul makes him no less human. That's the difference." Stefanie was starting to feel better. "Ignorance precipitates violence out here. That's the way it is now." Stefanie turned to Aaron and gave the bottle back. "Who are you looking for? Jacob said something about 'Outcasts.' If that's the case, I have something that may help you."
Alexis sat on top of the tank squezed between Alex(Rily but alexis knows him as alex) and a harsh looking man(Jacob) looking down at the walkers."if you want il swap with you Conner"
"Si, where are we going?" Domingo popped his head through the driver's hatch to see a crowd of people had gathered on top of a tank normally capable of seating four people...
"And you all realize there's a trailer directly behind you... Right?"
Alexis looked behind him to see the trailer "ahh il ride in there.Conner get up"
Jack came back, and noticed the amount of people on a tank. He soon forgot about that, and started to tell people about the loot there. It seemed that Stefanie was drooling for a second, before coming back to her senses. They then headed off, with the tank slightly less loaded with people.
Jacob crouched and picked up an SCM Officer Sword from the edge of the battleground. The place was a graveyard. There were some fresh graves dotted around, presumably those of the Last Legion Soldiers, while the Airborne Loyalists had been left to the crows and the Feral Ghouls, which Jacob scattered by firing a P90 M-Heavy in the air, and then into any of the Ferals that didn't scatter. He scratched his chin as he looked around the battlefield. It looked like the trenches had after Fairfax. He shuddered. This was only a skirmish.
"Happy Christmas." Jacob called to Stefanie as he tossed another SCM Sword to her, and then another to Ramsey. He was strategically ignoring the newcomer. Mostly because Jack, who was essentially Little Jacob, was pissed with him for some reason. Jackal picked up his own SCM Sword, one of those fancy-ass Praetorian models, with the ivory-style handle and the double-tempered blade. Seeing that there were superior varieties dotted around, Jacob not-so-subtly tossed the sword he had picked up first and went searching for a Praetorian sword.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 22:15, 5 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston was sitting atop the Sherman tank, Assualt rifle slung over his back. In his hand was a Nuka-Cola. His robot took one too many bullets during the route to Rivet City, after running into some Raiders. Looking around him, he noticed that Jacob was walking around a small battlefield, as was Jackal. In fact, the whole scence struck him as odd. Once, he manged to get a outdoor movie theater going. The movie that was problay the last one the people watching saw was a movie based on World War 2. There was a scene where the soldiers were riding atop a tank alike this one. Expect, they were laughing, talking. They also were'nt moving through a Wasteland. Finshing off the Nuka-Cola, he threw it off the tank watching it smash agiasnt a runied wall. Checking his ammo, he had at least 10 clips, not inceluding the one already chambred. When that ran out, he could switch over to his SMG, which was plenty of ammo. When all of those ran out, well, he had his friends to cover his back.
"Hey, whats Christmas?"
Jack heard Weston say something, he wasn't sure. "What Weston?" Weston took a moment to reply, "What's Christmas?" He seemed curious about it, and Jack suddenly remembered what it was. "I read a book once, long time ago. A picture book, for children I believe. Anyway, Christmas is a holiday celebrated by a group of people, some sort of religion. It has to do with their Messiah being born, and a fat guy in a red suit. Sounds silly, no?"
Domingo plucked Jacob's sword out of the air as he combed the remains of the battlefield for anything worth the trouble of searching. He withdrew a small foil package from one of the pockets of his leather jacket and unwrapped it, revealing a perfectly preserved granola bar. He bit down into it as, with his free hand, he tied the SCM Sword to his belt. If Jacob wasn't going to settle for inferior technology, Domingo would content himself with whatever he could salvage. This meant more pay for him, when the goods made it to Megaton, anyways. Hell, those people hadn't even managed to get to the fresh water yet. They would pay top dollar for any guns they could get, considering all they had for a guard was a man who stands on a fucking bridge above the entrance all day.
By the end of the search, Domingo had dragged five Laser Rifles, eight Laser Pistols, three SCM Officer Swords, two intact suits of T-45 Power Armor, one suit of Combat armor and enough bullets to keep the Megaton residents going for a week, all of which was currently being stowed in the back of the trailer, sorted away neatly in field-procured Enclave supply crates. Satisfied with his work, Domingo leaned against the trailer and clenched a cigar inbetween his jaws. Clipping the tinfoil-covered end off, Domingo carefully struck a match and felt the smoke cover his lungs.
When he heard Foster talk from on top of the tank, Domingo looked over to the man and pulled the cigar out from betwen his teeth. "Christmas," He attempted to explain, "was an old religious holiday based on the burning of Jesus Christ by Arab soldiers after he began preaching Taoism to the people of Iran. We used to celebrate it by passing around fancifully wrapped, expensive gifts and eating massive feasts at dinnertime."
He smiled a bit. "Don't you see why we don't celebrate it anymore? It's wildly impractical."
Stefanie examined the sword, swinging slowly in wide arcs. Swords were never her thing. Fortunately, this was more of a large machete than a sword, though by the looks of it, it was made more for thrusting than slicing. It was still much better quality than most of her stuff. She slung the sheath across her back and slid the sword in it. Stefanie looked down at a dead Crusader wearing a Power Fist. More her style. She placed her foot on the dead man's arm and pulled, removing the Power Fist from his stiff grip. She threw it onto her pile of things. Hopefully someone would help her move her keep into the trailer so she could get it safely back to her bunker. If she had Jeeves here he'd be happy to carry it. She was making out fairly nicely. She did leave the Power Armor to the others. Despite making a profit from slavers in Zanadu, there was no way she'd be selling those egotistical morons Power Armor. She half listened as the others dicussed some long-forgotten holiday. Eh, she reached down and picked up a Combat Helmet. She ran her eyes over it briefly before tossing it on her pile. She really needed some help stowing this stuff.
Aaron propped himself against a crate of ammunition, 5.56 he believed. Domingo sure was carrying some precious cargo, it'd be no surprise if some greedy raiders were tracing them right now. The rest were in some conversation about religion, Christmas to be exact. He had read about it, not interested. Buddhism though, he'd always curious of it ever since visiting the Tibetan Temple in South Austin. Unlike Jay, Aaron was not very faithful. He had thought about it at times, but ultimately ignored religions. Maybe once he was older. Right now, he was more interested in what Stefanie was talking about. She was busy swinging her new sword around. Aaron disliked the things, reminded him too much of the Biosoldiers in Austin. He continued with their earlier conversation, "Stefanie, I know what you mean by human values. I've killed. I've killed men, women, and children even. I'm not proud of it, but I do it out of survival. I've never been to Zanadu, but where I was born, this place seems like a fucking paradise. But growing up in the damnedest pit of hell and then comin' here, it just kinda stuns you to the point that you just don't want to kill out of pure jealousy. Why is it fair that these people can live peacefully here while I'm always terrified, fighting and starving, knowing that any second you could be decapitated or captured?" Aaron scuffed, shook his head, and pulled out a cigarette. The smoke he inhaled in the tobacco calmed him, "Heh, guess I'd be a hypocrite if I called you an addict, eh?"
Aaron pulled the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out little rings of smoke, a trick he learned from a certain Miles Parker. "So, you said something about the Outcasts? You see, I came here in search of my older brother, Jay Ramsey. 11 years ago he left Austin with a band of Brotherhood of Steel guys headed east. I won't go over the details now, but the point is that I want to know if he still lives. In Austin, we already declared him dead, but that's not something I can so easily accept." Aaron exhaled, he'd been tired of saying that same paragraph, "Please, just tell me what you know."
Stefanie sighed. "Your brother was cast out of the Brotherhood of Steel. He is among those brothers known as Outcasts. I've taken up residence in whatis apparently an abandoned outpost of theirs. My Mr. Handy Jeeves uncovered records of their departure to the West Coast. Your brother's name is Jay, correct? If so, his name was among the survivor's list following the battle in the city of Fairfax to the west of D.C. If he 's still alive, I think he went with them back west. Accordin' to records left at the bunker that is." Stefanie flexed her fingers with her Power Fist. "That's what I know. Sorry if it's not enough. Jacob knew the Outcasts well. You should talk to him." Stefanie gazed over to where Vaughton was picking through loot. Stefanie turned back to all the other loot scattered everywhere and went back to picking through it as she popped another Buffout.
Alexis looked through the pile of dead plenty of power armor and a load of fancy ass swords he picked up some more ammo and scrap for his armor.
Riley finally woke up, and found that he was in the trailer suddenly. Strange. And Cat was missing! "Where the fuck is my dog!!" Riley yelled, and found that Cat was biting at Stefanies power-fist. "Better not go off on him." Riley told her, laughing.
Stefanie circled slowly around Cat in a fighting stance. She'd fought animals in the pits as well as people. The slavers called it a "creature feature." She looked up as Riley shouted to her. "I'm gonna sock your dog right in the suck hole!" she said to Riley, "he's after my Pork N' Beans again!" Cat growled lightly at Stefanie who looked back at him. "Cat come!" she heard Riley shout. Cat backed up and happily trotted to Riley. "You lucky pooch!" Stefanie said. They had managed to get her share of the loot loaded into the trailer, but now they were making a stop for a little break. She hoped Domingo's contraption would hold up enough to get her stuff to her bunker, or "safe spot," as she called it. She still didn't know how she was gonna get everything back to Zanadu. That was a matter for another day. She popped in a Buffout and plopped down on the ground. She needed to take a load off. Most of the others had ridden on the tank, but she was too slow. To the south, a heard of Brahmin passed by. Wonder if it'd be easy to ride one of those? she thought to herself, chuckling.
Jack was dragging dead bodies over to the Trailer. He would half to strip the armor off them later, then let the raiders take care of them. Well, not the raiders, as Jack was against Necrophilia. Deciding that he would either make a large pit, probably from a mini nuke, or just burn the bodies after they died. It seemed that the Crusaders had already moved on, leaving most of their dead behind.
Strauss sifted through the pile of corpses and abandoned munitions. His first priority was .357 ammunition for his Desert Eagle, which he found in copious abundance. In the process, he recovered several grenades of various kinds and a few nifty-looking swords. He balanced one in his hand momentarily, pondering its applications, before putting it away. He deposited the majority of his loot in Worthington's storage compartment, which was rather packed, and dusted his hands off. Finally, he removed one of the fallen Crusader's gasmasks and peered at it. Wonder what those glowing goggles are powered by.
After that, he began to help Jack load the bodies into the trailer.
A crowd of Sweepers were storming through D.C., they had managed to escape the Enclave before they could be brainwashed. They smelt humans, and they saw tracks, and began to follow the tracks. (They are not near the tank yet)
Jackal sat in the trailer of the tank. What was Domingo doing with four oxygen cylinders here. Then, a thought struck Jackal. He knew how to make a thermal lance. And now he had the materials. He detached the barrel from a DKS Sniper Rifle, and began to stuff it full of iron filings. He then welded a small metal shield to one end and hooked the Oxygen tanks to that end. He had to jury-rig the splitter, but if he only used one tank, the valve would freeze and the lance would be useless, so it was worth the risk.
"Hey, Domingo, I think I just found a way for you to cut a hole in El Oso to make that escape hatch." Jackal shouted. Domingo looked at him, a strange look in his eyes. Apparently, he had been joking when he talked about cutting a hole in the side of his beloved jalopy.
"Well, that's ten minutes of my life I'm never getting back." Jackal sighed. He had set the pressure on the tanks and got the small torch, the hand-held acetalyne torch ready for setting it up and all.
(There is a point to this. A thermal lance can cut clean through steel, concrete, stone, and Sweepers)
Domingo sighed as he looked at Jackal. "Just put it up on top of the tank, set it directly behind the plow. Maybe we'll find a use for it."
Domingo couldn't hear the Sweepers closing on the tank, and he also couldn't see them due to limited (read as: almost nothing) visibility from the pilot's slot. The tank pilot did, however, see some lights in the distance. Slowing the tank to a stop, Domingo poked his head through the pilot's hatch and looked towards the group assembled on the ground. "Stefanie!" Domingo shouted from his post. "Is that your fortress, up ahead in the rubble?"
Fireman0504 Be aware: Stefanie has all sorts of scavenged gadgets and gizmos down there. Nothing outrageously rare or powerful, but possibly useful. She is one to pick up all the "shiny things." Haha.
Stefanie climbed up on the tank to get a better look. "Does it look like a whole in the ground?" She noticed the obvious shape of a crane rising up above some girders. The cable extended down to her lift. It was indeed her "fortress." Stefanie chuckled. It had never been called a fortress before. Her Safe Spot was deep below and she smiled, knowing how happy Jeeves would be to see her. She wondered if he'd prepared supper for just her or for her company too.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 23:49, 6 May 2009 (UTC)
"I hope theres food.."
Weston got off the tank and slung his Assualt rifle over his shoulder. Lifting the brow of a combat helemtt from his first engament with the Crusade, He looked at it. He had painted several things upon it, such as kill tallys, which now stands at 12, and some slogans such as "Born to kill" or a "Don't trad on me"=. The last one he found on a pre-war book, something about a 'Reavltion' or a 'revolutin' or something of that matter.
Jack was sitting down, minding his own business when he spoke. "We should loot the Claws HQ."
Alexis was sat on a rock fidling with a piece of his armor when he heared jack talk about looting the claws HQ."huh why would you do that theres no good loot and aparantly theres turets guarding it"
"Then we raze it to the ground. If at all possible we should salt the earth too. The turrets will be no problem. After all, they were put up by employees of Bren Tenkage." Jacob sneered. Apparently, he still rather disliked Bren and the Claws. Although, the sentiment was shared by the entire Capitol Wasteland, so he wasn't the only one thinking it.
"I'm in. And I call first dibs on the loot." Jackal piped in, sitting down at the back of the room, reading a copy of Pugilism Illustrated.
Stefanie listened as the group discussed looting the Claws HQ. She still didn't know who these guys were. Apparently the wasteland had a vendetta against them though. If the rest of the group disliked them that was good enough for her. "I'm in," she said. "You guys wanna crash here for the night? There's lotsa cots down there. And, I been scavengin' from all over D.C. so I got lotsa loot down there. Spare parts, ammo, weapons, booze, food. Jeeves can fix us up a good meal. He hasn't had company in a long time. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Plus we're underground a ways and away from everythin' that's up here." Jacob looked at her. "You know what this place is right?" Stefanie cocked her head to the side. "This is my safe spot," she chuckled. "This is the D.C. outpost of the Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts," he said sternly, "Tell me, did they leave anything down there?" Stefanie shrugged. "A little bit. Some records and holotapes addressed to the Brotherhood, a list of soldiers who left on somethin' they called 'the Exodus,' and there's a safe down there I can't get into. Most of the stuff down there I put there after finding it everywhere. You guys can come on down if you want and check it out," Stefanie said, stepping onto the lift. Jacob looked at Aaron Ramsey, who now looked very interested in the situation.
"I'm in! I wonder what kind of shit they left down there.. or did you take it already?" Riley said to Stefanie, "also, when we get to the Super-Duper Mart, I'm takin' the terminal, I left some of my stuff on it."
"In my experience Stefanie, anything that can't be opened by normal means, can be blown up. Also, the claws shit were going to put in a pile, then we take turns grabbing the shit we want. Also, we each get to have dibbs on one object, that fair?" Jack walked over to Stefanie, and went on the lift. "Anyone else want to come?"
"You guys wanna come in for supper or not?" Jack stepped on the lift. "I'm not sure what's in the safe, and I don't want to risk damagin' it. It's prolly somethin' good too. I haven't gotten rid or taken any of the historical stuff, I figure that'd be important to someone. Maybe sell it to the Brotherhood. Of course, it seems a few of you had deep connections with these Outcasts, so maybe you can just have it. We'll figure itt out after supper." she smiled. "Anyone else?"
Strauss followed Jack to the lift, glaring at him. "Hang on a second, Jackie. I just happen to be living in the place you're talking about looting." He suddenly interjected, sounding rather annoyed. All he recieved in response were blank stares. "... So?" Jack responded nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side, "it's not as if you can't find a new place to live." The bounty hunter did have a point. Wasn't he meant to be holding the fort for the group until they came back, though? The same group that everyone seemed to despise... he sighed. Maybe it was time to leave the Claws. Wasn't really a full member, anyway. All I did with them was go to Vault 106 to patch up Bren. Before he joined, all he heard about the Claws was helping people this, fighting Talon Company that, offering aid to strangers and then some. But the fact that they left meant that they must have cared more about their own asses than anyone else's. The reality of it had only just dawned on him.
"... Okay, nevermind," Strauss said, resignedly. "You guys can do whatever the fuck you want with the place. I'm taking the turrets, the Sentry Bots. In fact, I'm taking them, no negotiations, since I set up half of it."
Stefanie listened to Strauss. Apparently he was a Claws member. He seemed cool enough. And now from the sounds of it, he was leaving the group. Oh well. Once everyone was aboard, Stefanie activated the life. They were sent several stories down and it finally stopped at a set of heavy doors. They opened revealing two turrets that tracked back and forth but did not fire, and a greeting from a Mister Handy hovering in the room. There were crate and weapons and barrels and all manner of scraps and bits neatly arranged throughout the room. "Good evening Madam!" Jeeves said. He sounded almost extatic for a robot. "It is so good to finally see you- Oh! You have guests! I was anticipating on only your return. I have dinner ready in the kitchen for you." Stefanie looked at her companino smiling as the group got off the lift. "Thank you Jeeves," she said, "I see you've cleaned the place up. Would you mind fixing dinner for the rest of our guests?" she said. "Certainly, Madam!" The robot promtly hovered off to the kitchen to complete his task. "Make yourselves at home," she said as they entered the hallway. It was lined with cots and more crates and barrels and weapons and assorted loot. The group began to make themselves at home, looking at different trinkets and gizmos and weapons. "Supper will be ready in a little bit," she said.
So conner had finaly goined a group well good for him though now it seamed he was leaving them.He pulled up a weapons crate and sat on it."if were going to loot the claws HQ we have to do it soon.Most of the wasteland want it burnt down and il bet they'l start soon"
Domingo looked over at the group, where Jeeves hovered off to was deserted. Seeking out a seat (he decided he would explore later), Domingo finished off his cigarette and stuck the butt into his pocket. "I wouldn't advise going after the Claws HQ with anything less than a squad of Talon Company mercenaries," The sagelike tank pilot advised, "There've been increased readings of raiders gathering around that area, coming up from the memorial bridge downriver. Money's on them planning a siege and raze attack; bust down the defenses, then smash through the doors and burn the place down."
He looked around at the assorted members of his party: A warrior Weapon, a ghoul scavenger, a pit fighter, a mercenary, a professional assassin and a technician- and himself, of course, a tank pilot. "On second thought," Domingo said, "We'd probably be alright. But we can spare an extra day to eat and rest here on Stefanie's hospitality before we crack the HQ open like a lobster."
Alexis started to fiddle with his data-pad looking over the data he had recorded earlier he looked at the details forb the tank again."domingo that tank of yours what make is the cannon"
Jacob surveyed the place. He ran his hand along the list of names. Survivors of Fairfax. One name stuck out to him ahead of the others. Jacob Vaughton. He smiled. Then a lump formed in his throat. The Outcasts had been the closest thing he ever had to a family since, well, his real family were murdered. He scratched his chin as he considered what might have been if he had joined them in the Exodus. Austin, and more. He looked around again. Everyone seemed to be happy sitting down, looking at things. Jacob sighed and found a nice quiet corner, where he slid down a wall and sat there, staring into the middle distance. So much had happened, he hadn't really taken it all in. The weight of his actions in the DC War were still washing over him. He had spared the Wasteland from the inevitable retribution the Crusade would inflict after Tenkage's attack on them. But he had struck a deal with the Enclave. He had sold his soul for the sake of the people.
Jackal was sitting in a makeshift chair, comprising of several sandbags he painstakingly piled up for the last five minutes, essentially forming a large beanbag chair. He lounged backwards, and watched Jacob wander off deeper into the facility. That man was an enigma. He then pulled a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and lit it up. Domingo looked at him in horror at the treatment of the hand-rolled tobacco stick. Jackal responded with a grin that made Domingo's expression change yet again. Domingo now looked utterly confused.
Domingo sighed as he watched Jackal mutilate the cigar by ripping off the foil piece with his teeth, then light it up. He merely produced another cigar and clenched it between his teeth as he turned towards Alexis.
"It doesn't have a cannon." Domingo said around the stick clenched in his teeth. "I don't know if you've been hitting el magico maleza (The Magic Weed, Marijuana), but you just rode for five miles on top of a Sherman Tank that's been completely disarmed for the better part of two hundred seventy years." Turning back towards the rest of the group, he kicked up his feet and leaned back against a pile of ammunition crates, relaxing his legs and dozing underneath the fluorescent lights.
Now he thought about it that was a stupid question.Alexis pulled out his own stash of alcohol and drank it in a long gasp."so domingo were do you come from?"
Stefanie walked down the hallways. Everyone was relaxing, taking a load off with no gunfire, no rubble, no explosions, no beligerant drunk wasters, no overzealous bigot Crusaders. Just food, drinks, smokes, and good company. She smiled to herself. Offering this hospitality was the least she could do to the closest friends she had since her parents were killed. She retrieved two bowls of Pork N' Beans from the kitchen and set one down for Cat. She ate the other as she walked into another room where Jackal, Jacob, Domingo, and Alexis(?) were sitting. "Enjoy my D.C. safe spot," she said, "Company is welcome any time." Jeeves hovered over with an assortment of food. "Good day, gents," he said politely, "care to take a sample of any of my delicious food items? My mistress here has enhanced my already notable culinary skills with the benefits of a Radiation Extracting Food Processor. You'll find that the extracted radiation allows for a very notable increase in flavor. You are welcome to sample any of my delightful dishes." They all stared at him. Stefanie broke out laughing. "You're always so polite Jeeves," she said. His primary sensor swiveled to look at her. "Madam, I am programmed to offer my services with friendliness and pride. If you would like me to explain this again, I would be happy to run diagnositc .427... again." She continued laughing. "No, it's okay, I'm fine." she squeezed out between laughs. "You have quite the sense of humor, Madam." Stefanie settled down. "o ahead guys, he's really a good cook, take whatever you'd like."
Domingo lifted a plate off of Jeeves' manipulator arms and looked over the plate. It was Mirelurk Cakes, one of his favorite dishes, that had been fried and breaded with some vacuum-sealed Pre-War bread crumbs. Biting down into one of the savory cakes, he felt the tastes spread across his tongue- Slight traces of thyme, cayenne pepper flakes, garlic pepper...- before swallowing the mouthful.
He swivelled on his seat back towards Alexis. "Well, I am formerly from a small settlement in the south of the former Socialist Republic of New Mexico. Raiders came along and destroyed the settlement, took me as a slave and retreated. About ten years later, I escaped, killed the slavers and travelled cross-country to the Capital Wasteland. I found El Oso in a decomissioning yard, halfway torn apart on a conveyor belt with its turret ripped to scrap beside it. I managed to get it running and drove to the Promised Land." He smiled. Apparently 'Promised Land' was some sort of code for 'Capital Wasteland'.
"I've been all over the continent- as far south as Nicaragua and as far north as the Labrador Peninsula. I've traded goods for the better part of five years, and I've always found my way back here. Fate, I guess."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 18:13, 10 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston was chowing down on some Brhamin Steak. He had'nt that for a while, and he saw it on theplate...well, it looked like Jackal wanted it, but he got to it first. Weston was sitting atop a table, 2with a Nuka-Cola near him. His helment was off, reavling a head with a almost buzz-cuted brown hair with straks of blonde in it. Of course, he actually left his Assualt rifle at the door,. No one would steal it here. Normally, he would have had that thing strapped on his back in fear of something going to take it. Here, they were safe. He knew most of the people here from the Assualt on the Crusade vase, only Domngio and the new guy was nw. Domgino semmed cool, however. Not many people could figure out how to get a tank working.
"Well, Domgino. If you really wante dto arm it, i foud a old water-cooled machine gun near here. we couklld go there, Weld it on and BOOM! You have a armed tank."
"Well," Domingo said, "I've already affixed a laser chaingunin the coaxial mount, but we could bolt it down in the trailer and have a rear-facing armament." Taking a drag on the cigar and another bite of Mirelurk cake, he nodded in Weston's direction. "But for now, we'll rest and recuperate, and mount the machine gun in the morning. It'll wait for us."
The horn of a steamboat swept across the landscape, and soon after a steam engine could be heard. The sound of a slowing pace, then silence. After a few minutes there came the sound of the elevator, and then doors opening.
Domingo cocked his head at the door, lifting his .32 pistol from the interior pocket of his jacket and clenching his cirar tighter in his teeth (because what proper badass snuffs out the cigar shortly before he jumps headlong into a possible confrontation?) as he took aim. Eventually, the elevator doors slid all the way open, revealing...
A tall man dressed in a brown duster, holding an M3A1 Grease Gun in one hand and a small map of the are a in the other. Muttering to himself, the man stepped forward, saying something along the lines of, "Well, I guess if I just go straight I should end up at the simulation room eventually," before he ran right into Domingo- which was pretty much, for a man like Roland Rockfort, a cotton ball being shot into a concrete building.
Picking himself up off the floor, Roland found himself staring straight down the barrel of Domingo's .32. "Now now, friend," Roland said calmly, "no need to point a gun in my face, I'm not here to harm anyone."
"Yeah right," Domingo said, blowing smoke right into Roland's face, which caused the small merchant to enter a coughing fit. "I'm telling you," he shouted, "I'm not here to hurt anyone!"
Jacob spun Domingo to face him and then slammed a fist down on each of Domingo's shoulders, driving him to his knees. Then he administered a heavy-handed knee-kick to Domingo's chest, sending him sprawling. Then he extended a hand to Roland and heaved him to his feet. Jacob looked genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.
"Where the hell have you been Roland?" Jacob shouted.
Alexis looked on with astonishment at the scean.Jacob had just floored domingo and helped the newcommer to his feat."so you know each other then"
Stefanie shook her head. Even with a night of peaceful rest Jacob started a fight. She chuckled to herself though. Guess that's just the type of guy he was. Stefanie stepped over the sprawled out Domingo, who was trying to catch his breath. "And you are?" she said, smiling. Maybe Stefanie was just too friendly with all of the newcomers that showed up at any given time, but then again, that's what living in a slaver town would do to a girl. Make her yearn for a friendly face. Social interaction. Everyone in Zanadu was scared of her, or looked down at her because she'd been a slave. Wasn't her fault she was born that way. She finally had friends now though, in D.C. Problem was all the danger here. This guy was in her safe spot now and if he tried anything, which she betted he wouldn't because Jacob, though friendly now, hated all things bad and was probably as likely to pull the man's legs off as he was to stop Domingo from putting a hole in his face. Now she stood with her hands on her hips, awaiting an answer to her curiosity from anyone.
Domingo fell headfirst onto the ground. Luckily, his helmet prevented too much damage to what little brains he may have had left at any given time. However, hearing the name "Roland" seemed to put a bit of dapper cheer in his step. Every merchant in the DC ruins had heard of the brave seafaring Roland Rockfort, who had fought from every coast on the green (really more brown) earth. "Sorry for hurting you, Sir," Domingo aologized hastily.
Roland nodded in appreciation before he turned back to Jacob. "I've been in California with the Brotherhood. The Outcasts send their regards, Jacob." He turned towards Stefanie next, greeting her cordially in much the same way as he had first greeted Jacob all those years ago:
"I am the night wind that blows howling across the seas and river of this earth, the legend that all men who ply these seas speak of in fear or admiration. I am the undisputed king of the Seven Seas, Roland Rockfort!"
"By that extremely long title, you probably also have the second or third largest ego in the wasteland Mr. Rockfort" Jack said, as he took a bite out of an apple.
Roland looked over at Jack, stifling a schoolgirlish giggling bout as he looked at that rediculous poncho. Quickly stifling his laughter, Roland managed to come up with one of his signature almost biting retorts.
"I thought having a massive ego would make advertising easier. It's like a used brahmin salesman; the more over-the-top their personality, the more people will want to "buy, buy, buy". It makes sense, if you think about it, Pancho-man." Roland also said 'pancho' wrong, pronounsing it "pawn-chow".
"Well, it's nice to meet you Mr. Rockfort," Stefanie said, "can I interest you in some supper and a place to stay for the night?" Jeeves hovered toward the group laden with more places of delicious smelling food. "Good day my good chap, Jeeves is the name. Can I interest you in some culonary delights the likes of which you haven't tasted before?" The cordial Mr. Handy asked the newcomer, Rocjfort, spinning to offer him some food.
Aaron, tired and focused, barley heard the commotion in the other room. He, along with Riley's dog who was sniffing his leg, was busy going through the Outcast's abandoned battle reports. Oh yes, it mentioned Jay. It even had a whole biography about Aaron's brother, along with every other Outcast of course. Jay seemingly didn't mention his scared past which intertwined with Aaron's. Although the dreadlocked Austinite was mentioned, but only as a relative. It seemed that big ol' brother wasn't the most truthful of the bunch. Jay even claimed to have been born in a peaceful community... Bullshit. But Aaron's quest was done. Jay had headed back home just as Aaron had made this campaign to find him. A sense of depression and regret filled Aaron, both Jay and Jenn probably thought him to be dead as well. It seemed that now he would just head back to that hellhole and try to put this three years of wasted life behind him, something that did not sound appealing to him. Although it would be worth it just to be with his loved ones again. He thought of Jay, Jenn, and himself, sleeping on the rooftop of the UT tower, just gazing at the stars. And then the sirens would ring and fear would instill our hearts once more. Times like this always reminded him of his(More like Jay's) lost uncle, Jacob Ramsey. Jay had gained his ancestors journal of his last moments after Union scavengers had found the book. Aaron had read it quite a lot, studying every aspect. Apparently the early pioneer had been one of the first to witness the Cataclysm start. But the text was truly mortifying, this lone man knowing that these were his last minutes before a grisly death. If only the man had survived.....
Aaron heard his name called from the other room, causing Riley's dog to scramble to the source, probably thinking he was getting food. Aaron rose slowly, stretching his limbs. He grabbed his Shotgun, his Ak-47 being lost somewhere in the wastes, and walked through the door. Everybody seemed to be all stirred up, Aaron could only guess it was from the arrival of some stranger. Aaron turned his head to the ghoul, Jackal, "Hey man, who's the new guy?" Aaron asked with a thumb pointing towards the newcomer.
"Well, I can answer that for you Aaron!" Jack got up from his chair and struck a pose. "He is the night wind that blows howling across the seas and river of this earth, the legend that all men who ply these seas speak of in fear or admiration. He is the undisputed king of the Seven Seas, Roland Rockfort! His entrance, not mine by the way." Jack sat down again and took another bite out of the apple.
Aaron chuckled as Jack mimicked the so-called legend. So the guy had an ego, and was, for some reason or another, lurking around in Stefanie's safe house. So far he seemed a bit suspicious. But one thing did interest him though. This Ronald was mentioned in the Outcast's records of the battle of Fairfax. Maybe Aaron would talk to him about that later, but now he was hungry as hell. He turned to Jeeves, "Pfft! Hey robot! Get me somethin' to eat, I'm starving!"
Strauss had been introduced to two different types of blandness in his life; the tasteless, nutrient-ridden food from a Vault Food Dispenser, and the tasteless, two-hundred year old stuff you find out in the Wasteland. What he was eating now, decidedly, did not fall into either of these categories. Simply put, it was probably the best-tasting meal he'd had in his life. Jeeves had turned what he suspected was once called a preserved Salisbury Steak into a culminary masterpiece. "Hey, Worth," Strauss called out to his robot, "why can't you cook like this?" He asked, culminating in a brief chuckle before taking another bite. The robot pointedly ignored him. "Aww, look, he's jealous." Again, the silence. Strauss shrugged. Conversation would only distract him from eating, anyway.
Roland looked over at Strauss's coment, and the dejected looking Handy that seemed to follow him around so much. "Robot can't cook its own meals?" The merchant smiled, digging around in the cargo-laden pockets of his duster before he came up with a head-sized cube hidden somewhere within the lining. "I've got just the thing."
The box had several wires dangling off it, and the interior components loked a bit old, but otherwise it looked sound enough. Roland pointed out the "radioactive" sign on the casing and said, "I've got a food purifier right here, perfectly sized for a Mister Handy of your model. Two hundred fifty caps, and she's all yours."
Jack was sitting down, twirling the massive revolver in his hand, bored. He then heard the Roland fellow talk about a food purifier. "Roland, I suppose you do know that what you just pulled out is one of the oldest scams in the book, right next to the talking Mole rat." Strauss then turned around to look at Roland, staring at him.
After staring at Roland for a moment with one eyebrow intent on escaping from his face up to the sky, Strauss broke out into laughter. "Don't try that with me, man. I used to be a trader myself. Besides, Worth can condense his own water, and I think I got a food sanitiser sitting in his storage compartment. Moira Brown from Megaton gave me it after I wrangled her a Mole Rat to dissect a few years back. Nice lady," Strauss said, trailing off as he chewed at a mouthful of steak thoughtfully. "Upon analysis of my storage compartment's contents," Worthington suddenly chimed in, "It appears that my Master is correct. Your product is not necessary, nor will you succeed in selling it off for such ludicrous prices." With that, the Handy returned to its smug silence.
"I'm serious." Roland said, completely deadpan. From those pockets, he again produced a chunk of food. He held the food up to his Pip-Boy, wchich crackled as the built-in geiger counter ticked away the rads. Smliing in satisfaction, he said, "now watch as I insert the meat in question here..." Opening one of the panels of the machine, he then proceeded to do something very strange.
He actually rolled up the sleeve of his trench-coat and undershirt, then took out a small knife and cut the skin off his right forearm. Placing his hand into a small hollow, he rolled the skin back into place, then the undershirt and finally the jacket, before unfolding from his clenched hands a tiny fission battery. Taking the loose wires and binding them to the fission battery's poles, he waited as the small machine hummed to life and stood clear as it crackled a few times. "And now we wait five to ten minutes for it to purify the food."
What Roland hadn't expected, however, was the fact that the machine actually burst into bright red flames as it sat on the small table in front of him. Roland, in a bout of explitives fit to make even the dirtiest of foul-mouthed men cringe in horror, half-jumped and half-teleported as far from the flame as possible. As usual, Domingo came lumbering over with a fire extinguisher and hosed the machine off
Roland smiled a bit, carefully thumbing the machine's interior components open until he reached the fried, charred, rock-solid piece of what may have at one point been food. Holding up the pebble-sized burnt chunk to his Pip boy again, he showed the Pip-boy readings to everyone, noting out loud that "Not a single chunk of radiation is sensed on this thing, at only the cost of every internal component." Looking down at the charred, smoking husk of what was once a food purifier, he sighed.
"Perhaps I should've put a bit more work into fixing it before I decided to go out and market it..." The merchant shook his head as he scooped up the charred rubble and placed it back inside his jacket. "Perhaps I can interest you gentlemen in something else, though?"
The man walked his Brahmin towards the structure that he THOUGHT should've been there. Fortunately, he was not particularly disappointed, as the elevator shaft soon appeared to him. Checking over the elevator mechanism and tapping on it a few times with a finger, he nodded, satisfied that going down on it would not end in a cataclysmic plummet down to his death. He stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button to go down, first preparing his shotgun in a position pointing towards the ground.
The gun could be brought up if someone nasty decided to pop up out of nowhere and try and kill him. After all, if travelling most of the Midwest and East Coast had taught him anything, it was keep your weapon close, and your wits even closer.
Jacob raised an eyebrow as he heard the rumble of the elevator. With a heavy sigh, he put down his Brahmin Steak and stood up, shooting Cat a look that froze the dog in its place as it went for his food. He drew one of his Desert Eagles, working the action, checking the breach and chambering a round in a strange one-handed movement involving what should have been too much strain on his fingers. Luckily, he was a Warrior Weapon, and the damage the powerful mechanism of the Desert Eagle would inflict on a human hand barely registered with his strengthened body. Even so, he hated doing that one-handed. It was showy, unnecessary, and time-consuming. But he went and did it anyway. He pointed his gun at the elevator, waiting for a target to come into view.
Jackal stood up, trying to mimic Jacob's hand movements as he drew his own Desert Eagle, but found that his Ghoul hands couldn't apply the necessary force to hold the gun still and cock it with one hand. Instead, the action snapped forwards and launched the Desert Eagle from his grip. He scrambled across the room to pick it up as the elevator continued on its agonizingly slow journey downwards. He aimed his gun at the doors, just as Jacob did. Everyone else seemed to be following their lead, a little apprehensively. Mostly because Jacob's sense of danger was startlingly accurate. So if he had a bad feeling, something bad generally came next.
Hopefully Jacob's Common-Sense (it's a pun on Spidey-Sense) was wrong this time.
Crap another person was coming down,It was like they atrackted them by the dosen.Why was the elevator locked.He decided to ask stefanie about it.Still it never hurt to be prepared he pulled the ammo box from his backpack and started reloading his .44 magnum.The dangerous looking man across the room looked like he was geting ready as well.The elevator slowed to a halt."Stop who's there!"
Domingo heaved a mighty sigh as he rolled his sore shoulders forward, cracked his neck and back, and stood up straight. Plucking the .32 pistol out of his jacket, Domingo trained the muzzle on the elevator door, holding the little pea-shooter one handed. He looked over at Alexis, his brows depressing at the thought of this one man's stupidity.
"He's in an elevator, dumbass... Where is he supposed to go, with walls on three sides, a forty foot shaft on one side and several heavily armed gunslingers on the other?"
Alexis was surprised at Domingo's question.An elevator went both ways and the guy inside could just go back up.He cocked his .44 anyway though.
"Domingo its an elevator idiot it goes both way's the guy inside could just go back up."
He was completely surprised at domingoes question surely the man knew that elevators go both ways.
"You're calling him an idiot when you're the one demanding someone with a steel plate door between them and us stop and wait for us to riddle them with lead? Jeezis, kids these days are dense." Jackal sighed to Alexis. Jacob looked equally peeved at him, and was shaking his head slowly.
Jacob edged closer to the door, ready to open up with a couple of HEIAP rounds, just in case who or whatever was in the elevator turned out to be aggressive. He flexed his hands around one of the handles to open the heavy doors and spun it. As the door ground open, everyone was surprised to see a perfectly normal, and quite cordial looking man standing there, with his pistol close at hand. But all the same, his finger wasn't on the trigger. Jacob gave a signal indicating the all-clear.
"Who the hell are you?" Jacob asked the newcomer.
The Brahmin mooed concernedly as the traveler next to it clutched the shotgun with a steady hand. As he got closer and closer down towards the bottom, he heard voices and shouting coming from inside. Fortunately, it didn't sound like they were setting up an ambush to kill him and take all of his merchandise, so he relaxed a bit, until the door opened. He nodded his head to the angry-looking man with the big pistol, and takes the cigar out of his mouth with his free hand, saying, "Durandal. Now, if none of you are trying to kill me.... Which I don't think you are, unless I'm suddenly famous....." He shrugs slightly, and pats the spooked Brahmin on the left head, calming it down a bit.
He then slides the three-barreled shotgun into a holster on his back, and rolls his shoulders slightly, saying, "You're not raiders, else you would've just shot me without provocation. You're not rival technologists, else you would've just tried to steal all of my things, or, again, would've just shot me dead and taken my things. 9/10 times, I end up in a firefight. Pretty rare when I find a place that isn't trying to kill me, even in the Capital Wasteland. Now Nawlins.... Bit of a different story.... But that's me rambling on. Since I told you who I was, I think I can at least beg the same question from the rest of you?"
Roland and Domingo holstered their respective weapons as Durandal introduced himself calmly, noting the fact that the technical studiologist was to be a resource of use in the future. Both stepped forward at the same time, almost racing to make the trader's acquaintance first. For all anyone knew, they may have been racing, because they were both half jogging by the time they made it to the door of the elevator.
Roland, however, got the upper hand as he backhanded Domingo out of the way with the flat of his robotic hand, nearly flooring the man with ease. The Hispanic man stumbled back, but quickly darted under Roland's outstretched arm and hauled ass up to the elevator doors. The two reached the door at the same time, and simultaneously blurted out:
"Domingo Velasquez, freelance merchant."
"Roland Rockfort, seafaring trader."
The two glared at eachother, as though they had some sort of long-running rivalry and it was bound to come to a head eventually. Of course, they probably didn't. Domingo (and probably Roland) were inebriated and would probably be sleeping off their hangovers hung from the elevator shft like caterpillars in their coccoons.
"Jacob Vaughton. If you've been around DC for a while, you'll have heard the name. Along with a lot of crap about breaking the Crusade. Before you mention that, I'm not a hero. I was there, and I knew what to do. That's all." Jacob said flatly, spinning his pistol and stowing it in it's holter.
"Jackal. I had another name once, but this one suits me better these days." Jackal said, sticking his own D'Eagle back in his pocket, grinning his skull-like grin at Roland and Domingo. He'd lost the belt he kept the holster on during that battle with the Super Mutants, so he was reduced to this.
They both stepped away from Durandal with a curt nod each and looked to the others for their responses. They both kept one eye on the "Technologist" anyway. Who knew whether or not he'd stab them in their sleep and lift their gear.
Durandal simply nodded slightly like an absent-minded bobblehead at the introductions, noting the Desert Eagles, and quirking an eyebrow. "Desert Eagle. Decent firearm, although I think it has too much recoil to be entirely effective, not to mention a pain to find spare parts and maintenance. Sorry if I criticize weapons, that's part of my job." He finally gets back to the other traders who scrambled over to greet him, shaking their hands and nodding, saying, "Traders, huh? Well.... There's a bit of a difference between what I do, and what you do. I keep the choicest bits for myself, unless there comes a deal that I can't refuse, or if people just rub me the right way."
He nods to Jacob, saying, "I've spent the last 5 years wandering the ruins of the Midwest. They got a bit of troubles over there, but I am rather good at making it through places unhurt, especially with a bit of Brotherhood support here and there. So no, I haven't really heard of you. I mostly don't pay attention to stories of heroism anyways, most often the "heroes" are exaggerated greatly, with three arms to carry guns and the ability to carry a Gatling Gun in one hand, or they aren't actually heroes at all." He simply shrugged at the last part. His voice stank of well-tempered cynicism, cultivated through years of hard living.
Thomas swerved once again as Roarke brought his massive weapon to bare again, finally connecting with Thomas' sword one last time. The field ripper broke the sword in half, both pieces falling away to the side. Thomas raised an eyebrow, since he was helmetless, his T-51b helmet having been shot to pieces by enemy forces, which were now pouring inside the walls in an attempt to finally storm the interior of Gilead Point. Thomas frowned. He was weaponless, and fighting unarmed against someone of equal skill and better armament was just complete suicde. "Hmm... it's seems we've reached an impasse, Roarke." Thomas said, stroking his ragged moustache and beard. This day just wasn't working out for him.
"Riley Alan, lives here," Riley said, "No you don't!" Stefanie yelled at him, "Now I do," he said back. And then Cat jumped at Durandal and attempted to rip his bag open until Riley pulled him off. "Sorry, but you've got Pork n' Beans that he wants," Riley said, petting Cat.
Roarke shook his head. He whirled his Field Ripper around himelf and brought the flat side of the blade to bear on the side of Thomas' head, knocking him out cold. Now, just to leave him there, and let him run home to Moore and spread panicking word of Gilead's fall. He moved on, his Field Ripper rising and falling in roaring, blood-soaked arcs as he split soldiers from head to groin and bisected them at the waist. His soldiers flooded through the breach behind him, firing at close range or engaging the Airborne in melee combat.
Roarke stood up straight as he split another soldier, scattering his guts across the nearby melees. He surveyed the carnage from this position at the start of the trenches. This battle was already won.
"Name's Strauss. I guess you could call me a philanthropist." Strauss explained, extending a hand towards the newcomer. However, he retracted it when he saw Cat jump for the stranger's bag, and then burst out into laughter. "Don't mind Cat, he's the craziest dog we know. I mean... a dog. Named Cat. Right? Haha."
Cerebral Jack walked over to Stefanie's robot, grabbed a bottle of vodka and sat back down. "New comer, lets get one thing straight. When we loot shit, you don't get anything because you showed up late. Another thing is that Riley can read your mind, Jacob is from a project that gives Wastelanders super powered combat skills, and everyone else is mentally insane." Jack sat back down, and took a swig of Vodka. "Oh, and I kill people for money."
Durandal was most notably unconcerned about any of the strange motley crew present, nodding to each one in turn as they introduced themselves, and finally acknowledged each one in turn, saying, "Right, so Riley...." He didn't really do anything to stop the dog from attacking the bag. After all, he kept his more valuable components stowed away from the food. He took Strauss' hand and shook it, nodding to the rather rude assassin that spoke up, saying, "Don't care, don't care, don't care, don't care, and don't care. That about cover it, or am I missing a don't care in there somewhere? Those years in the Midwest have almost scavenged me out, so I'm looking for a place to stay for a bit and then move on, not a place to find relics." He shrugs, and crouches down instead of sitting, saying, "So, before I relax for a bit, anyone willing to trade anything...?"
Roland immediately stood up. Looking through his trenchcoat pockets, he rummaged through every last bit and scrap of technology he could find before pulling out one of the myriad components stored in those pockets.
"What don't you have?" Roland said casually. "I can give you a show of my stock if you want."
Dutch Holmes continued to watch the ragtag group that had helped him earlier in the months before. Well, half of the group anyway. Watching them through his binoculars, he grabbed his duffel, filled with all of auxiliary equipment and gear that he didn’t have on his person, and set down the path from the area he had set upon. It took relatively ten minutes to reach them, and by that time, he already had guns raised at him. “Calm down, Jack.” Holmes said, sitting down on a broken over log near the Brahmin caravan. He wasn’t supposed to associate with wasters, but it wasn’t on record anyhow. Jack lowered his weapon, as did Connor, Stephanie, and the newcomer, Durandal. Holmes stood up, stared at his rad signature through his aviator sunglasses, and sized him up. Not very intimidating, except for his weapons. Dutch turned towards Jacob. “Just the man I wanted to see.” Dutch said, his hand ready to move for his sidearm at a moment’s notice. Dutch turned towards the group. “I presume he’s not as itchy on his trigger finger as he was when we escaped, eh?” Dutch said.
Aaron Ramsey threw a half-eaten roll at Jack, who then spewed some pretty nasty curses at him. "Ahh, shut up Jack. You're just as insane as the rest of us." Dodging a counterattack from Jack consisting of him tossing the same roll back at Aaron. Casually, the Austinite picked it back up and continued eating. "Aaron Ross Ramsey, immigrant from down in Austin. The South's a bitch, I'd say stay away from there brother." He downed a glass of purified water, "Either nobody else asked or I just didn't hear them, but I'm gonna ask it anyway. Mind tellin' us why the hell you're down here?"
Just as the newcomer was about to speak, Jacob again rose sporting his pistol. The mans got some sort of damn third eye for sensing shit, and it wouldn't be a surprise either. This was a very strange group of people. Aaron rose, shotgun aimed at the door. He was ready to kick over the table in front of him and blow whoever entered to little bits. It'd give Stefanie's cocky robot something to do as well. The new newcomer entered, but instead of being killed on sight, everybody lowered their weapons. He addressed Jacob and the others, apparently he knew them. How the hell is everybody finding this little underground home? Aaron shook his head and returned to his drink, he just wished he had some more smokes to clam him.
"Listen, Mr. Durandal," Stefanie piped up to the arrogant trader, "this is my home, and these are my friends, see? And you don't just come on down here actin' all arrogant and uppity like, and talkin' down to us all. You'd've come down here with a little more class and a little less ass, I wouldn't be inclined to toss you back on that elevator myself and send you back up into D.C. for the night. Then again, if you're gonna refine your behavior a bit and act a bit more civil, while disregarding Jack, our local sociopath, I'd be inclined to offer you a meal and a place to stay for the night." Everybody, including Jacob, raised an eyebrow at Stefanie. Well, almost everybody. Jeeves was busy cleaning up Aaron and Jack's mess, while Jack sat grinning from ear to ear. Durandal stood up. "So, what's it gonna be there Durandal, you gonna come down to our level a bit? Or are you gonna start packin' your goodies and headin' back up top?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 19:28, 15 May 2009 (UTC)
"Since when di we have a level? I mean, we have a guy who, sorry, TWO guys that can kill people like crazy, a ghoul that never dies, this hudini guy, two robots, a tank driver, a Outcast wanna be thing, and then we have mwe, who is rather dashingly handsome, to say so my self."
Weston had put away his 10mm SMG and was sitting down on a now vacant chair. Of course, he still was ready to pull out his SMG and rain hot death upon the new comer, who he now flipped off.
"I must object, Mr. Weston. As an Enclave soldier, I must say that I am, in fact, better looking than you." Dutch said. He hadn't been this social before. Ever. As the girl rolled her eyes, Dutch and Weston shot each other a look of competition. Dutch turned back towards the newest member. "I presume we haven't met before. My name is Dutch Holmes. Only the people in this room, including a select few others, know my name. However, almost everyone on the east coast, or northeast and the far west, know my face. That is all you need to know. However, you should also know that me and that man over there," Holmes said pointing towards Jacob, "come from a rather deadly line of people. You'd do wise to avoid crossing me." Dutch said, his sunglasses pulled away by his hand. His blind eyes revealed, he smiled at the newcomer, then replaced them.
"Ignore the blindness. His other four senses form a nice little radar set. It'd be wise not to fuck with us. The Crusade did and they got fucked up." Jacob said, then lowered his weapon to show he wasn't going to start a fight, in spite of threatening Durandal. All things considered, this guy didn't seem too bad. He hadn't shot at them yet anyway. Who knew, maybe he was already an enemy of the Crusade. Which made him an ally to Jacob. Unless he was a Raider or slaver of some sort. Or if he worked for the likes of Raiders, or employed them. Which would technically make him a Raider.
Jacob! Stop trying to find a reason to hurt the poor man! Jacob thought to himself as he realised he was going through the criteria for winding up on his bad side. If he was to list them all, he could be standing there like a moron for hours.
"Well, as a fellow scavenger, I'd like to welcome you to our little circle of psychopaths." Jackal said, with his skull-like smile. But in spite of the kind words, he was the only person in the room with a weapon still drawn. Stefanie seemed to be a good judge of people, and if she didn't like this guy, Jackal, and pretty much everyone in the room had her back all the way. Of course, they had no reason to shoot the fella, so Jackal then decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and holster his shotgun at last. The tension in the room lifted as if by magic. Then, with Jacob still eyeing up the new guy, Jackal sat down and practically inhaled the massive Warrior Weapon's Brahmin Steak. Stuff tasted like crap compared to Pre-War stuff, but he wasn't about to insult Stefanie or her robot for the sake of food he'd never have again.
"Oh, and Weston, I can die just like anyone else, lad." Jackal sighed. "I'm just better at not getting shot than most!"
Riley was wondering how so many people knew where they were, "Did somebody put a sign up saying, 'COME IN HERE PARTY!' or something before we went down the elevator??" Riley asked. And then, immediately after he said that, Dutch Holmes from Jerusalem comes out of the elevator shaft, "Tell me, are there any more people following you?" he asked Dutch, and then everybody had their hellos before Dutch could answer the question. Riley then noticed a shiny weapon sticking out of Dutchs bag, "You didn't have that shiny thing last time we seen eachother.. what is it?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 21:01, 15 May 2009 (UTC)
"wait! Don't ask him! He'll problay kill you!"
With a glare from Dutch, Weston shut up and went back to eating a peice of flaming hot dog meat, which Cat growled at him to no end for.
"I've been traveling." Dutch said, looking away from Weston closing the army duffel to block the weapon from view. "Let's just say that this... thing, is not man-made. More specifically, I borrowed it. From a company. A company's building, more exactly." Dutch said, sittind down again. "It's... sorta strange as a weapon. I've prefer not to talk about it. Also, you weren't that hard to track. Jacob was, but not the lot of you. Your not the most easily blending group of wasters." Dutch said, mocking Riley slightly. Rubbing the waster on the head, he smiled alittle bit, turning back towards Jacob. "He's grown alittle since we last saw him, eh?" Holmes said, laughing alittle. Some of the group chuckled. He looked towards Riley. "We'll talk about that... thing, later. Specifically, with you, little man." Dutch said, whipsering in his ear. He turned back towards the new comer once again. "I presume your going to introduce yourself?" Dutch said, pulling out a beer and tossing one to Weston.
"He already has. His name's Durandal, he's some kind of Technologist. A scavver that keeps the best stuff in his own back pocket. Can't say I blame him, the way things are going these days." Jacob said, relaxing a little now that Holmes was here. As much like a miniature Jacob as Jack was, Holmes was about as close to a little brother as anyone could get. Likewise with the other First Gen Warrior Weapons. Hale and all. Jacob produced a bottle of burboun and took a swig before offering some to Durandal, who accepted graciously, apparently having taken Stefanie's rollicking to heart.
Jackal merely sat back happy in the knowledge that he was the only person ever to have stolen something from Jacob Vaughton and got away with it. Food always tasted better when it belonged to someone else. He swore as Karma made Cat steal what was left of his own Brahmin steak.
"Ha, you stole from Jacob?" Riley whispered to Jackal, who was sitting at the same table as him. He turned to Durandal, "Oh and Durandal, don't steal Holmes shiny weapon, since your a "technologist" and all.." Riley then began eating his own steak well Cat ate Jackals. He then went off into the lab-like area and disassembled his Tri-Beam.. maybe make it a Quad-Beam?
Jack jumped up from the chair startled. "I just realized something! The crazy Enclave guy is less of an asshole then usual!" He yelled out, pointing at Dutch Holmes.
"I should rip out your throat and use it's vocal cords to play jump rope with. No, maybe I should use your intestines." Dutch said, shutting up Jack immediatly. "If the Enclave found out I was associating with wasters, I'd have my head cut off." Dutch said, taking a plate of the brahmin steak. Ripping it apart rudely and downing it in less than a minute or two, Dutch wiped his mouth with his blackened jacket, excused himself, and headed in the direction of Riley, carrying his duffel. Entering the small labs area, he approached the smaller man, who was tinkering with his tri-beam. Removing the rifle, he placed down on the table. "You seems to know alot about techie junk. Tell me what the hell this is. God, I haven't even loaded it yet with the ammo I found." Dutch said, throwing down some ammunition and the rifle onto the table. "Well?" Dutch said. Dutch was experienced with weapons, but this thing was beyond him.
"I should rip out your throat and use it's vocal cords to play jump rope with. No, maybe I should use your intestines." Dutch said, shutting up Jack immediatly. "If the Enclave found out I was associating with wasters, I'd have my head cut off." Dutch said, taking a plate of the brahmin steak. Ripping it apart rudely and downing it in less than a minute or two, Dutch wiped his mouth with his blackened jacket, excused himself, and headed in the direction of Riley, carrying his duffel. Entering the small labs area, he approached the smaller man, who was tinkering with his tri-beam. Removing the rifle, he placed down on the table. "You seems to know alot about techie junk. Tell me what the hell this is. God, I haven't even loaded it yet with the ammo I found." Dutch said, throwing down some ammunition and the rifle onto the table. "Well?" Dutch said. Dutch was experienced with weapons, but this thing was beyond him.
"Definitely not human," Riley said, "Alien.. musta crashed somewhere and those G.A.I. guys found it.." He then looked closer, and noticed it had been taken apart once before, "Looks like the G.A.I. wanted to put this on their robots, but didn't have the tech.. it's been disassembled once." He then opened it where it had been opened once before and seen the firing mechanism, "Yep, Alien, no doubt about it.. uses some sort of advanced laser tech and has multiple lenses.." Riley then reassembled it and looked at the inscriptions, "There's a strange symbol, stands for '4', did you see anymore of these weapons?"
"I was too busy fighting off other fucking problems. But before I left, I took a lookie at a terminal. Said something about there being five of these scattered along the east coast. Gave alittle info, too. Said the one labeled numero tres fired heat rays. The numero uno rifle fired heated fiery plasma shit. The second fired regular plasma shit. Dunno about the fifth one, though." Holmes said, taking the weapon back from Riley and waving it around in one hand. "Well, hand me one of those ammo cells." Dutch said. Riley raised an eyebrow, but complied. "Well, here goes nothing." Dutch said, moved the rifle to recoil against his shoulder, and aimed down the hallway he had come, where the rest of the group was eating. Slowly squeezing the trigger, Dutch recoiled heavily as horizontal laser blades rocketed out in a burst of four, searing the walls and moving down the hallway, where the group was. "Fuck!" Dutch said, tossing the rifle to Riley. Running down the hallway, he came to enter the room as everyone had raised an eyebrow. The Mr. Handy robot wasn't happy either. His left arm was gone, the stub smoking and sparks flying. Poking his head out of the hallway, Dutch smiled. "Just alittle testing." Dutch said.
Riley poked his head out of the room.. there were dissolving lasers stuck in the wall! "Alright then.. it shoots laser blades." Riley said almost calmly, "Nice." Then Riley pulled the trigger again down a hallway where there were nobody, but nothing happened and the gun emitted a beeping noise, "Cool-down I guess, this gun sure is powerful.. they probably couldn't make it semi-auto."
Jackal had dived backwards over his sandbag chair to avoid a laser blade and was now sort of half lying on his shoulders and upper back, with his legs sticking up in the air, D'Eagle pointed straight upwards.
"A warning would be much appreciated next time there maverick." Jackal shouted from his less than dignified position.
Jacob lowered the D'Eagle he had pointed at the room Holmes had just come from and gave the blind man a disparaging look. Apparently, he didn't appreciate being interrupted while trying to find out who the hell ate his Brahmin Steak. He holstered the weapon and sat down, staring at Cat, who lay down and put his forepaws over his eyes. Then, the dog moved one paw to check if Jacob was still staring at him, which he was, and darted the paw back into place. That was reason enough for Jacob to decide that the dog was guilty.
So Jacob pulled a can of Pork 'n' Beans from his duster and threw it over some sandbags. Cat then jumped over the sandbags and crashed into the second row of sandbags laid behind them. Justice served.
"Not completely my fault." Dutch said, his hand running through his hair. Riley came back inside, handing him the weapon. Some of the group raised eyebrows. "Yeah, this is the thing that took off Robot's arm over there." Dutch said, pointing towards the Mr. Handy. "Not my intention, but new guns are always nice to play with." Dutch said, tossing the weapon to Jacob. "The terminal said there was four more of the damn fuckers." Dutch said, downing another beer and collapsing on a pile of sandbags.
Jacob caught the laser blade gun without looking up from a newly acquired Brahmin Steak. He spun it in his hand, checking the balance and weight of the weapon. Standard carbine balance, as expected. He looked it end to end and then pulled the trigger. It made an aggravated hiss, like a white-hot piece of steel being dropped in ice-water. Jacob raised his eyebrows at that and nodded as Riley mentioned something about a cool-down period.
Then he smirked as Riley shouted something about Cat lying between two rows of sandbags, looking rather dazed and confused. Jackal openly laughed. It was then that Jacob realized that it had been Jackal who stole his food! Without looking up, he pulled another can of Pork 'n' Beans from his duster and threw it straight into Jackal's face, right as he went to sit down. Caught off-guard, Jackal stumbled backwards and fell over his chair again, swearing loudly. Justice served. Again.
Stefanie came into the room livid. Jeeves was missing an arm and hovered lopsided. "God damn it you bunch of idiots!" she screamed at them. "Put that fuckin' gun away, NOW! You've already shot up Jeeves." The Handy hovered into view, "Oh Madam, tis a mere flesh wound, I--" "Quiet you," Stefanie said to Jeeves, "you've got no flesh." The Handy hovered toward another room, bumping into a wall before continuing. "You bunch of apes wanna go mess some place up, go back to the Muddy Rudder. You're wrecking my home here in D.C. I let you in here to stay the night and enjoy my hospitality, I feed you good food, and you shoot my robot and wreck all my shit! You're a bunch of dumbasses! If you weren't my only friends in the world I'd be forced to start kicking as much ass as I could until I probably got ripped apart. Bottom line: RESPECT MY SHIT!" Stefanie popped a Buffout and took four shots of whiskey, she needed to cool down. "Dutchie, honey, please keep your new gun in your backpack." Stefanie followed Jeeves toward the room he'd gone into before calling Riley over. "Can you help me save him?" she said.
"Uhh.. sure," Riley called out and then rushed to follow Stefanie. "Where's the arm??" he said, but then he poked his head out of the room to see that it was lodged into the wall by a laser blade. "Could you get that out for me..? 'Ya know, with your Power Fist??"
Alexis sat motionless through the whole mad incident with the rifle and jacob throwing pork and beens at jackal and cat.That alien weapon looked cool though he'd never seen a weapon like it if only he could get his hands on it.Like that was going to hapen though theres no way dutch holmes who was aparently part of the enclave was going to let him fidle with his gun.Still though he wanted to do somthing.Jack had said about raiding thr super duper mart and it would at least get them out of this hell hole."So are we going to sack the SDM or are we just going to sit here and do nothing?"
"Give it some time, Lex." Jacob said as he wrenched the Mr Handy's saw arm from the wall and tossed it across the room to Riley. Riley played hot potato with the arm for a few seconds until he could get a grip on the part of it without the still-whirring saw blade.
Jackal laughed a phlegm-laced laugh as he sat back up on his seat. If he'd still had a nose, that can of Pork n Beans would have broken it. Fuckin Jacob Fuckin Vaughton. Throwing things around, knocking people's dogs unconscious and looking intimidating. Before the war, people like him were put in rooms with padded walls by men in white coats.
"Yeah, we'll sit tight for a while, I can still hear the artillery at Gilead, so we don't want to run into fleeing loyalists or the Last Legion rearguard, now do we?" Jackal said, ignoring the fact that the look on Jacob and Holme's faces said they were weighing up the option.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 11:49, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston had gone into shocked silence though the whole inident, every since the laser blade flew through the air. Now, with his senses coming back, slowly of course, he brought his hands down from a surrender postion. Shaking his head, he now looked around at the orginzed chaos. Riley was trying not to get anything from him get cut off from the whirring blade, Jackal was looking mighty pissed, even for a Irishmen, Jacob was thinking, Dutch was also thinking, the new guy...well, he did'nt see him. Domingio...was somewhere, and then there was Alexis, who was also thinking.
"Well," Weston said while standing up, "we could at least watch the battle right? I'm sure some of you have stuff to be able to watch the battle from afar, and, if that fails, i'm sure Dutch can use his...his...how do you say it....his Extra sight powers? To help us...please don't hurt me dutch..."
"You're saying you want to go watch two armies of self-righteous psychopathic zealots rip each other new assholes for the next few days? We'd either be captured and shot or killed by the crossfire. Or wouldn't get close enough to see with the smoke from Gilead poiint as it burns. If we're goin anywhere, we go to torch that damn Super Duper Mart." Jackal said flatly. (That is another event that may not be added definitively to our Fanon Events Timeline)
"He's right Weston. The Last Legion and the Airborne are both veteran forces. The fighting's probably going on inside the walls now." Jacob said. "Roland and I saw the Airborne fighting in close confines at Fairfax. It's not a spectator sport like the Hole or the Cell. Its fast, brutal and bloody. So much so that a pool deep enough to drown a man in formed at the far end of the trenches at Fairfax. I'd know, I executed a Crusade sniper that way."
Domingo looked at the wall, downtrodden by Stefanie's kicking him out. He heard Stefanie talking to Riley about Jeeves' manipulator arm, then looked at Jacob yanking it out of the wall. "I'll help you out," Domingo volunteered as he plodded off after Riley, carrying a toolkit he had no doubt stored in the knapsack he'd brought with him from El Oso.
"Yeah, it's no fun. No fun at all." Roland agreed softly, flashing back briefly to the trench fight at Fairfax. "It's as close to hell as you can get in the wasteland. It was raining, it was cold, and men were dying everywhere. The only thing that was worse than the breeding pit for Biosoldiers in Austin." Having made his statement, Roland sat down on the ammo crate, looking off into the middle distances with his eyes winking slightly.
Alexis had seen a huge number of things during his travals but he had never seen somthing called a biosoldier.The name cunjoured up images he would rather not think about of men mellded with metal.Still as a Scientist/Medic it would be intresting to find out about them."I may regret asking this but whats a Biosoldier?"
Roland shook his head as he looked over at Alexis. "Biosoldiers," he attempted to explain, "are an Enclave experiment. They were wonce men, maybe. You could barely recognize them now."
He stood up, looked at his knees, cleared his throat. "Their arms and legs have been replaced with swords, all of their joints replaced with ball bearings that allow their limbs to rotate 360 degrees. They have no nerves in their body, so they can't feel pain. Body shots do nothing to them. The only way you can kill them is by knocking off what was once maybe their head. It's been suspended by something along the lines of a gimble attached to their shoulder blades that must feed commands to their limbs somehow. It's gory, strong, and absolutely fucking terrifying." He sat back down. "It's not the kind of thing you'd want to come across on a dark night without the biggest gun you can find on you."
Alexis grimaced they did not sound nice at all.If they were an enclave experiment though why wern't they in the capital wasteland.The enclave were here as well he decided that it would be worth asking."Why arn't they in the capital wasteland then.The enclave are here as well?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 13:09, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
"Ask Mr. Holmes over there. He might now...of course, that does'nt mean he'll tell you."
Weston was back to sitting down and was petting Cat, who was sitting near his leg. In Westons hand was a bottle of Nuka-Cola, which he was taken small sips every 30 seconds or so.
The Sweepers hissed. They smelled something strange. Not natural. They smelled smoke. From an engine. They found the source, but it also smelled of prey. Lots of prey. Ghoul, man and something much, much stronger than man. And more things stronger than man left a trail into the place. Time for the hunt.
The first Sweeper crashed through the door at the top of the lift shaft and charged down, it's impossibly strong claws digging into the steel of the shaft, allowing it to climb down like a spider. When it burst from the bottom of the shaft, having peeled back the ceiling of the lift, it almost filled the corridor. It scuttled along, in search of prey that was sure to be hiding down here.
Jacob had heard the noise at the top of the shaft first. Something big had just come along to crash the party. He had heard that screech the last time he went near Texas, and was glad he had never come into contact with whatever the hell made it. But it looked like he was about to do so now. He calmly drew Mother's Woe from his back and pointed it towards the now closed door, whic erupted inwards with a roar of beast and broken metal. What came hurtling into the room was something from nightmares. A beast that was a man's worst fears made manifest.
"Sweepers!" Roland yelled as everyone rushed to cover.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 13:32, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
Slamming a Maginze into his Assualt Rifle, Weston pointed it at the 'Sweeper'. He had never seen one, he was shiitng his pants, and was confused as hell. Firing off the entire clip at it, the creature did'nt even flinch. It's giant tail hit poor Cat, sending it towards a wall where it limped away. Bringing up antoher clip into his gun, Weston looked at the Sweeper. It's giant mouth was open, and moving towards him. Not having enough time for the Rifle, Weston took out the SMG that he still had hostlered, and firied into the creatures mouth. 30 10mm rounds went right into it, and the Sweeper fell down dead. Getting behind his peice of cover, Weston reloaded and looked around the room.
Stefanie stopped dead in her tracks as the came round the corner from one of the other rooms. "I thought I told you guys to-" her jaw dropped in horror. "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!" she yelled, turning back the way she came. She emerged seconds later wearing her Power Fist and armed with a particularly vicious-looking Combat Shotgun. She began firing off rounds indescriminately at a second beast that was squirming it's way through the elevator shaft doors. "No more houseguests," she said to herself between blasts. The buckshot tore huge chunks of flesh from the creature as it writhed. Between everyones gunfire, the creature was laying on the floor wriggling around. Stefanie climbed onto it's back and noted the wires and sensors leading into the back of the thing's head. She gave a pull and found them solidly attacheds. By this time the group was shouting as a third Sweeper was scuttling into the room. She quickly punched her hand through the beast's thick skull and ripped out the source of the cords. She pulled free a half-man-made, half organic fleshy mess of parts. The third Sweeper reared up and Stefanie rolled over and away, grabbing her Combat Shotgun and barely avoiding the claw that impaled the now dead second Sweeper. She rolled until she hit a wall before a large hand grabbed her collar and pulled her to safety.
"Well," Dutch said, impaling a sweeper and pulling back Stefanie, "I could observe for you Weston, maybe kill some of them, but I'm not in the mood right now." Dutch said, twirling his katana in one hand and slicing off the head of the sweeper, blood spweing all over Riley. "Stefanie, I'm terribly sorry about your home. But these aren't Enclave. They're missing certain... devices on their collars." Dutch finished, spinning around to be pinned down by a sweeper who had just exited the elevator shaft. "Go fuck yourself!" Dutch said, spitting in it's face. Before the disgusting vermin could even register the spit, it was impaled with lances of gunfire, exploding all over the room. Wiping his face, Dutch gave the group the bird, then sat up, wiping off his bloodied jacket. "Dammit!" Dutch roared, then calmed down as the sweepers were easily dispatched as they came inside.
"Dammitdammitdammitdammitdammitdammit..." And so on. Roland sprinted away down the corridor, not bothering to waste time with dealing with the sweepers. He was well gone before the first one was even killed, his trenchcoat flapping awkwardly. He had seen the Biosoldiers and knew how horrific they were, but seriously... Sweepers were amplifying his Austin-related PTSD by fifty times; the horrifying encounters he'd had with Enclave-controlled Sweepers there were bad enough. He wanted nothing more to do with these things, and he was determined to be gone by the time the next ones were down.
Domingo, however, was headed in the opposite direction. Pulling a random pair of weapons out of one of the ammunition crates in the boxes lining the corridor, and without bothering to check what kind of gun it was, or even if it was loaded, he tied down the knife he had salvaged and sprinted off in pursuit of the Sweeper. Along the way, he passed the retreating Roland and stopped him dead in his tracks by barricading the doorway with his girth. "Where are you going, camarada?" Domingo said quietly.
Roland scratched his foot on the floor. "Away from here. I was done with Sweepers in Austin, I never wanted to see another one. Unfortunately, I have. And I don't want to be here to find more."
Domingo punched Roland in the chest. "You're a pussy, Roland. Either stand here and be a coward, or join us in defending this home. I will not wait for you." And with that, Domingo was gone.
Roland stood, stunned, before he took off after Domingo.
Meanwhile, the Spaniard with the Skills (like that?) charged at one of the Sweepers, pulling out the gun he had stolen from Stefanie's storage boxes. He found, much to his surprise and dismay, that it was a Colt Single Action Army revolver, one that looked not entirely unlike it belonged on display in a museum. The chambers were empty as well, and there was no ammunition to be found. Growling a curse, DOmingo went after his knife- a Soviet SMERSH-5- and went right at the Sweeper who was coming down the elevator shaft. Diving forward into the shaft, straight through the enfilade his comrades had crudely set up on the elevator shaft, and caught a Sweeper with a vicious cross-cut from the SMERSH's wickedly sharp blade. He stabbed down into the beast's skull-plate, sinking the knife deep into its skull, only to be smashed in the ribs by its wildly flailing tail and be thrown back into the hallway as the dying Sweeper proceeded to freak the fuck out and spasm wildly before dying.
Roland lifted Domingo to his feet, looking worriedly at his fellow trader and friend. "Are you alright?"
"Flesh wound, camarada." Domingo said, feeling his ribs as he noted that at least two were minorly fractured. He coughed a bit and went to sulk and nurse his wounds behind a wall of crates. Roland held up his Grease Gun and started hosing the elevator shaft with fire from the .45ACP submachine gun, hoping that the next Sweeper to come down would be dissuaded by the pile of corpses and pain-inducing bullets currently shattering the Elevator's walls.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 15:00, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
"You know, how come we always have crazt stuff happen to US. I mean, can't another group of people have crazy half-anilaml aand half-machine people attack THEM?! I mean, were in a UNDERGROUND home for Chirsts sake!"
Hands shaking, Weston attemped to light a Cigar that he found a few weeks ago, but failing. Grumbling, he put it away. Looking for Cat, he found him hiding in what was once a cabinet. Coming out slowly from the cabinet, Cat wandred around for a bit. Weston looked to where Rolan was firing in the eleavotr shaft, problay sacring away what was chasing them.
"I'll check for any remaining ones. Just don't get this goo shit on my jacket anymore." Dutch said, gripping his katana and moving towards the elevator shaft. Looking, Dutch motioned for Roland to calm down with the spraying, then moved into the broken elevator. Looking up, Dutch didn't see anything but darkness. Turning backtowards the crew, he signaled it was clear. However, a hidden Sweeper had lodged itself farely stealthily, and dropped down byheind Dutch, who remained oblivious.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 15:11, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
Westons eyes grew very, very, very wide in the fraction of a second. Pointing very slowly towards Dutch, Weston began muttering untellingble warnings. Walking backwards slowly, weston tripped on a chair and fell to the ground, butt first.
"DUTCH! RUN!" he finally got out. Luckily, it was right before the Sweeper decied to attack, and dutch dodged out of the way.
Not even bothering to register his enemy, Dutch rolled to the side as a massive claw swept past where his head had been. Bringing his katan to bear, Dutch barely had time to move into a combat position before he was thrown off of his feet by the claw once again, his white t-shirt and part of his jacket ripping apart and a gash appearing across his chest. "Fuck!" Dutch said, lying on his back as the sweeper slammed it's foot down on his chest, knocking the wind out of him and then bringing it's deadly tail upwards for a strike. Dutch was just doing every thing he could to keep it's head away from him. "Dammit, somebody shoot the thing!" Dutch said. However, he knew that impossible. With both of them so close, any attempt to fire would hit both of them. Then it hit him. "Riley, Jacob, somebody get the damn alien gun!" Holmes roared, still wrestling with the sweeper.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 15:26, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
Grabbing the Alien gun,. or, "the damn alien gun" as Dutch said, Weston took a quick look at it. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Bringing it up to his shoulder, muttering something along the lines of "Don't Miss", Weston firied. The laser blade went striaght into the Sweeper, making it fly back and become pinned to the wall. Sadly, it was still alive, and was finshed off by Mr. Homles.
"Holy Shit! This gun is...is....out of this world!"
Breathing heavily, and holstering his M1911, Dutch grabbed his katana, sheathed it in it's unadorned scaabbard, then removed the trench knife next to the bullet hole in the sweeper's head. Tucking it into his combat boots, Dutch motioned for Weston to reload the gun and check the elevator. Looking around, Dutch noticed a smiliar situation with the rest of the group, Kicking over a dead sweeper and snapping it's neck to be sure, Dutch used it as a cushion to sit against, and began to nurse the gash on his chest, removing both his torn shirt and black jacket and applying bandages around his body to cover the wound.
Strauss took a deep breath before lifting Impact high over his head and charging at one of the strange beasts. The creature gave a sort of warped barking noise and brought up the hump on its back, like a wild(er) animal challenging a rival male over a mate. This didn't deter Strauss in the slightest. It batted a massive arm at him, which told him something about the creature's depth perception because he was still several metres away when it tried to attack him. Eventually, as he drew near, he sprang up into the air - his Power Armor's servomotors carrying him further than a normal human could leap, despite the weight of the suit - and, with something resembling a battlecry from the mouth of warriors old, brought the long-hafted hammer down on the creature's head.
He hit the ground in front of it in a crouching position and observed its reaction. It seemed to be dazed, both claws clamped over its head, which was, in turn moving from side to side as though it was trying to shake something off. Strauss laughed slightly and glanced over his shoulder to see how the others were doing. They were all having their own fights, doing fairly well. It was five seconds later that he noticed Worthington hovering beside him, staring in the direction of the Sweeper in what could be described as the robotic equivilent of abject horror. He looked at what Worth was so concerned about and almost dropped his Super Sledge.
The creature had recovered fully. No long-term injuries, no concussion, whiplash, brain damage, nothing. The most powerful weapon in his arsenal had done nothing to it. Impact was useless against it. To make things worse, it was staring back at him. It had its head tilted to one side quizically. If he could read the facial expressions of freaky mutant animals, he'd guess that it was trying to say "And your point is?" He could vaguely see its tail moving in his peripheral vision. But still, he couldn't get over the surprise just yet.
"Aww, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me--"
The tail lanced forward, punching clean through his armour's chestplate. He felt a sharp pain in his torso which told him that it had gone deeper. He was just getting to grips with the situation when he felt his body lifting several feet off the ground, and then, with a jerk of the sharp appendage, found himself flying into a wall.
Hennard shook himself. Scum-man boomstick try hurt Hennard. HENNARD MAD! HENNARD KILL! Inside Hennard's head, the kill switch went off. Hennard opened his mouth and began to speak. "Scum-man bad. Hennard kill. Kill man. No run. Just DIE!" Hennard swung George off its back and the weapon's barrels spun. Scum-man scared. Scum-man try run. No run quick. Run slow. George roar, kill scum-man. Scum-man turn into pretty colors.
Hennard closed the distance to the brutally mangled corpse of the unfortunate waster. Scum-man smell...nice. Scum-man look tasty. Be tasty? Hennard taste. Taste good. Hennard eat scum-man, he very tasty. Hennard no hungry. Hennard see tin-man. Tin-man bad. George kill tin-man. No more tin-man. Just pretty colors.
Dutch cocked his head sideways as Connor Straus slammed into a wall. Apparently, there were still sweepers afoot. Drawing his M1911 and clutching his chest, Dutch moved to slap him on the back of the head and get him slightly aware of himself. "They're insensitive to your hammer. I don't know why, but they are. However, they don't like bullets,as you can tell." Dutch said, placing his M1911 in weaponless Connor's hand. "I want that back at the end of this." Dutch said, then drew his katan and engaged the sweeper, blocking it's tailstrikes with his sword while still coughing from his wound's weakness.
Domingo looked over just in time to see Strauss go flying past his head. A terrified Roland also looked in that direction, his eyes totally phased out, his face stony and expressionless. Holding the heavy, poorly-balanced Grease Gun in one hand, he vented the contents of the magazine into a Sweeper near the one that had stabbed Strauss in the chest. The beast roared, turned on Roland and took a mighty swipe with its right claw. Instinctively, Roland brought up his left arm and grappled the hand, crushing down so hard that the claw literally shattered in his gip. Pulling back hard, Roland snapped the beast's arm clean off its body, blood and gibs spewing across his chest. Tossing the arm to the side, Roland proceeded to brazenly march right up to the beast, stick the muzzle of the Grease Gun right into its half-open maw and empty the contents of his clip's remains into its mouth. Flesh and blood erupted from inside the beast's head and mouth, spewing more gore across the front of Roland's clothing. Blinking as the beast finally collapsed, dead, Roland doubled over and puked on the floor in front of the sweeper.
Meanwhile, Domingo quickly got to work with his toolkit, removing the breastplate of Conor's power armor and assessing the damage. "Senor, what hurts?" Domingo asked- a logical but entirely stupid question. Rephrasing it, Domingo asked, "What hurts the worst? We need a medic over here!" He shouted, waving as he sprinted off after his SMERSH-5, still loyally embedded in a dead Sweeper's forehead. With a sickening slurp, Domingo pulled out the goo-covered knife and looked at the dirty blade. Sighing, he flicked the excess gore off of the blade and wiped it on his pantleg.
Strauss searched through his small bag for a Stimpak, but there was no sign of one. He sighed heavily as he noticed that it was still bleeding quite profusely, and then reached out to put his hand over the wound to stop it. However, before he'd reach it, he found that another hand had been clamped over it and yet another was whacking him round the back of his helmetless head. He stared up at the man who'd delivered the strike. Dutch Holmes. He allowed his hand to fall limply back to the ground and then, seeing Dutch's mouth move a few times but not hearing a thing, felt something being put into it. He looked down, curiously. A pistol. He'd left his D'Eagle on a table. This might come in handy. As he struggled to his feet, he began to hear things clearly again.
However, he still couldn't get back up, for some reason. Maybe his body was just being an asshole and didn't want to. He gave up all efforts as he saw Domingo run over to him and get to work with his toolkit. "If you... mess up my... my armour, then... I'mm fff-fuckin' kill ya..." He mumbled weakly. This apparently did not faze or reach Domingo, as he continued, and then queried him on his wounds. "My... chest... big fucker stabbed me..."
Dutch matched the sweeper's tail strike for strike, whirling his katana with precision and skill. However, his weakness from his chest gash was getting the best of him. Bringing up the sword to block another strike, Dutch raised both eyebrows as the monster, instead of moving it's tail again, charged him, tackling him and biting at his face. "Fuck it! ot again!" Dutch roared, searching for a weapon. Grasping his holster, he realized he had given his pistol to Connor. Searching for something else, he came across his katana. However, he still had to bring back both hands again to stop the tail as it came down for his face. "Fuck! Dammit, somebody shoot the thing!"
Strauss abruptly shoved Domingo away and lifted the M1911 he'd been given, taking a careful aim on the Sweeper's head. He wasn't about to just deprive Dutch of a weapon and suddenly become useless in a fight. That would be a rarely half-assed way of expressing gratitude. With that, he emptied as many bullets as he could into the creature's head (when he did, in reality, hit its shoulders, neck and chest as well due to an unsteady hand) until the gun started to click in protest. He allowed it to slip from his grip and sighed, throwing his head back and peering at the ceiling.
Riley watched as Weston fired the Alien blade launcher, "1 hour and 30 minutes is the cool-down time for that gun it seems," he yelled out to Weston as he kept pulling the trigger for it. Riley pulled up his Tri-Beam and rolled, dodging a tail strike that would have sliced his head clean off. (I don't know how Riley would win this, Samantha even needed help!) He shot the thing at the Sweeper and one of the lasers hit it's eye, it screeched in pain while Riley continued shooting in the same place. Then, it sent its tail flying at Riley which sent him flying down the hall next to Strauss. Riley aimed his Tri-Beam and shot it one last time and it screeched and died. Riley took out a stimpak and gave it to Strauss, and then grabbed a sword off the floor and stabbed the Sweeper that had Dutch pinned several times, before it loosened its grip and Dutch shot it in the face.
Alexis recoiled in horror at the sight of the sweepers."sweet mother of god"he cried Another sweeper apeaderd forom nowhere and started heading towards struass.Drawing his .44 magnum started to unload the magasine into the mutated thing.The gun clacked in protest as he finished the magazine.The sweeper contineued to moved towards strauss.No way in hell was he letting a sweeper finish of one of his only friends.He called out to dutch."Now would be a good time Mr.Enclave!"
Picking uop a nail board lying around, Weston cocked it back like a baseball player about to hit the ball. Instead of standing still though, he was running. Swinging the board towards the nearst Sweeper, which Alexis just finshed unloadeding on, and hit it in the face. Being knocked back a little, Weston kept hitting the Sweeper. To almost no avial, the Sweeper knocked Weston backwards sending him flying towards a wall. Hittingh it with a rather loud thud, Weston sutmbled back up. Charging back into the fray, he contuined the assualt with the bloody Nail Board. This time, he got lucky. A Rusty nail went right into the Sweepers eye which was now howling in pain. Leaving the nail board imbeded, Weston grabbed a pistol that was on a table, but was now laying on the floor. Picking it up and working the slide, he aimed at the Sweeper.
7 .50 rounds into a Sweeper later, and one was dead. The noise itself was unpleasnt, to say the least. The recoil was worse. He had a bloody nose from trying to fire the gun one-handed, and his arm was like hell. Reloading a spare clip into it from another Desert Eagle lying around, Weston looked around. A paranoia set in rather quickly, in which Weston was going rom to room looking for a Sweeper.
Riley was looking for Sweepers, but couldn't hear or see them anymore. They were dead. "Nasty mutherfuckers," Riley said.
Coming out of a room, Weston had a look of utter exuhastion. Half-collasping into a chair, Weston turned to Rielt.
Right before Riley could answer, Cat jumped out of a closet and jumped at Weston, knocking him over. "Right there," Riley said laughing.
Alexis colapsed onto an ammo crate.Why the hell did all manner of beasts and strange things find this place it was definetly time to leave.Before that though he wanted to restock and find out aabout those things.he turned to jacob and jackal."Two things,One what the hell were those things and two can we get out of here and raid the claws HQ before another freak of nature finds its way in".
Dutch, reclaming his pistol and katana, stood up, rubbing his chest. Replacing his jacket and sunglasses on, he looked towards the man known as Alexis. "Those were Enclave Sweepers. Nasty little buggers. Even as a genetically modified super soldier, I can say that they have given me a run for my money before. It's not that they're tough to kill; it's just they have a long reach if you use melee techniques, and if you use bullets, be prepared to expend alot of them. Short version; they're fast little fuckers." Dutch said, grabbing his duffel and placing his alien rifle inside of it. Sitting back down on the sandbags, Dutch dropped his stuff in a pile except for his pistol, which he promptly reholstered and slid into place on his pantsleg. Grabbing the first of the dead sweepers, he grabbed it, pulling it into the elevator shaft. "Well, what you standing around for? Help me with the stuff. We can't just leave it in a lady's home like this correct? IOr mayeb you want to eat it for dinner?" Dutch said, grinning. That got the group moving.
Roland dry-heaved a few more times, making sure to keep that old Grease Gun out of the way. The things were certified undestroybable, but still... He turned to Alexis.
"Sweepers were another Enclave project, built in much the same way as the Biosoldiers. Guy falls into an FEV pit, followed by a few assorted animals, out pops the first Sweeper. They mostly have some kind of mind control device on 'em, but it looks like the ones here don't. They're bloodthirsty, agressive, and have enough speed and strength to take down a deathclaw. We're just lucky we caught them in close quarters." Roland then dry-heaved again, and proceeded to head for one of the adjacent restrooms to wash his face and hands.
Meanwhile, Domingo was rifling through one of the assorted ammunition crates in the area, looking at that Single Action Army he'd found earlier. He'd taking a shining to the thing; despite the fact that he hadn't fired it once in his entire time holding it, the gold etchings, heavy ivory handle and simple-to-handle mechanism far outclassed the 10mm SMG he was fond of carrying, and his .32 pistol paled in comparison to the raw stopping power of the SAA. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: a box of .45 Colt rounds. The gun was finally ready to shoot, and Domingo smiled at that thought.
He looked over at Dutch, and his smile widened. "I've eaten worse, camarada," Domingo chided, "But regardless, we'll get these things moved out. Let's go."
"lets".Alexis heaved a sweeper onto his back the smell was awfull.Somthing was wrong with what dutch said though,Something about the sweepers,There it was a minor detail but important nonetheless."Your part of the enclave why would sweepers atack you?".
Domingo was apparently the only person that noticed the sheer size of the Sweepers, and the fact that they were heavier than fuck-balls. "Roland!" Domingo shouted, and soon an ashen-faced Roland stumbled out of a nearby lavatory, his hands drenched in water. Domingo pointed to the nearest Sweeper corpse, then towards the elevator. Roland nodded. Getting a grip on its back legs, and Domingo on the front leg (realize, this one was the one that Roland ripped its arm from), Roland and Domingo moved the Sweeper over to the Elevator. Sighing and grunting as they heaved the beast into the bullet-riddled steel cage, the two men moved off after another corpse, wiping the blood and gibs off on their pants.
"What are these things made of?" Domingo wondered aloud as he lifted up the front claws of the next Sweeper with Roland lifting from the back. "From the smell of it," Roland observed, "Shit and steel." The twosome laughed as they heaved the second Sweeper into the elevator.
Once the whole group was outside with the Sweeper corpses, Riley said, "Soo, we're heading to the Claws HQ now right?" to which Jackal replied yes, "Good, lets just hope that it wasn't burned down yet,"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 20:31, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston checked to see what he had left of lighter fuel. It was running out, but he still had half of it left. Getting fuel for it was'nt the problem. It was the problem of finding another one. So, Weston checked his matches. One left.
"Ok, whats plan? We going to cover it with something that goes boom when flame hit it, throw down a match, then run away? "
Alexis knew that the defencaces that the claws had put up would stop any old waster from atacking it but the lot of them and OL Elso should be able to overcome them."It wouldn't have burnt down yet the shit that asehole bren put up is good at stoping minor scum like raiders.But give me a pulse grenade and a pip-boy and i can shut down most of the robotics around the place and the rest of you should have an easy time finishing the site off"
"Hey, Lexi-boy, you try that and you lose both kneecaps." Strauss said as he pointed his D'Eagle, which he'd recovered from a table after giving Holmes his M1911 back at Alexis' leg. His face then split into a grin and he lowered the weapon. "Nah, I'm just shittin' ya. But seriously, don't. You guys stay clear and me and Riley, who're currently registered as friendly on the turrets' targetting systems, can head inside and deactivate it from the central control terminal. All those turrets and the three Sentries are mine, by the way."
Well.well struass had grown up a lot scince alexis first saw him.He owned 3 sentry bots and a turet grid.Still his plan was a lot less risky than Alexis's which relied on the pulse grenade and bots being of a similar type."Sounds good to me strauss can i buy one of those bots of you anyway?"
Domingo raiseed his hand. "Jackal built a Thermal Lance earlier, if he can help me attach it to the top of El Oso, we can use it as a mounted platform to light the Mart on fire." The merc and arms dealer looked at the trailer attached to El Oso, he could see a plan unfolding already. If they built the thermal lance into the top of the tank, cut a hole into the top where the former turret was and welded the Lance down on some sort of frame, hypothetically it could be used as a forward-facing weapon. Just build a teepee-like structure over it, and you would have a land-based ironclad ship with a laaser chaingun and a welding torch that could be used like a flamethrower. With the .30-caliber Weston had found earlier, El Oso could be turned into a rattling death dealer.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 21:33, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
"Uhhh, that reminds me...we have to see a old friend of mine...anybody know Marshall Rascón? He has the .30 Cal gun. I need to get it from him if you want the gun on your tank...but that's going to come at a cost...something akin to a favor..."
"How about me not killing him?" Jacob said as he leaned on the side of El Oso in the rising sun. He had been slightly annoyed that no one had noticed him kill the sweeper in the room with the funny chair using nothing but a fire extinguisher and a hacksaw. But then, he was glad no one had noticed at the same time, because that was a foam fire extinguisher, and Jacob did not look good coated in off-white foam. He was subtly checking any of his weapons for any traces of foam, because if those bubbles started to cavitate the surfaces, well, Jacob wasn't one to find the possibility of a large caliber pistol exploding in his hands appealing. He flexed his fingers. He'd heard the name before. He was some form of arms dealer, this Rascón guy. Not the type Jacob really meshed with.
Jack reloaded his Chinese assault rifle. Cutting out the sweepers head, he finally made a hat out of it's scull. Donning the hat, he started to whistle. "Marshall Rascon is a arms dealer that thinks he's top dog. Over priced, over cocky. Hires some of the worst guards in the wasteland too, they let nearly anyone in."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 22:55, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
"May be so, but, he has the machine gun we want, and we need to help him out to get it. And Jacob...you scare me, you know that?"
Weston was slamming a new clip home with his Assualt rifle, before doing the same with his 10MM SMG. Weston looked at El Oso itself. Ginat hulk of a beat. He'd have to ask Domingo how he manges to keep it running. Too bad it is'nt really armed with the giant cannon. He would have been able to cause some REAL damge with that.
"I scare a lot of people Weston. You're just another name on a very long list." Jacob muttered as he stepped away from El Oso and checked the iron sights on his D'Eagles and the scope on Mother's Woe. He looked around, and everyone seemed ready to get going. Except Stefanie. She seemed quite vexxed with them all after that little gunfight in her humble abode. Jacob nodded his sympathies to her and moved off in the direction Weston indicated. If he'd heard right about this Rascón guy, he'd have to wait outside to avoid shooting the Raider supplier.
Jackal muttered. He didn't seem to scare anyone but small children and people he surprised. Fucking Ghoulishness.
"Finaaalllyyy!!" Riley said, "Finished my laser shotgun stuff," He then fired his Tri-Beam Laser Rifle and it fired 4 shots, "Added a fourth lense, but eats up only 3 MCs."
It was not a good day for the Dead-Dog raider gang. They thought this would be easy, taking out a lone guy in the wastes. Now two of their number were dead, and this bald fucker had no intention of stopping.
Jethro rushed the man, hoping to get him with his pool cue. That bald nutcase took no time in whipping his weird knife across Jethro's neck, spilling his blood everywhere. Sander pulled his pistol on the man, but, before he could fire, the man had wrapped his ball-and-chain thing around Sander's waist, pulled him in with a quick wrench, and stabbed straight through his head. That was it for Ebon, the remaining Raider. He turned tail and ran. Before he had taken two steps, a heavy weight crashed into his legs, knocking him down. Ebon turned over, his normally-red face now snow-white with terror. He raised his hand and implored Baldy, "Please! Show mercy!"
The bald man spat in his face before responding. "Mercy? To scum like you? Hardly likely." And, with that, he swung his ball-and-chain. The last thing Ebon ever saw was that massive steel orb swinging towards his face.
Vladimir Sechin cleaned the blood off his tanto and meteor hammer. He always hated Raiders. Stupid little shits. He put his weapons away and kept walking, scouting out the area. He'd already spoken to Sentinel Akerson, who'd told him, basically, that the Claws were bat-fuck insane. Vladimir figured as much from what he'd seen of Bren Tenkage.
He was walking when he saw a group of people around a tank near an old building of some sort. That was odd. One normally didn't see tanks up north. Vladimir decided to investigate. Walking up to them, he greeted them. "What's up with the tank? I don't normally see them around. Name's Josef Kowalski, by the way. Waste wanderer," he said, drawing that last bit from Silas. Still, he made sure to hide his meteor hammer. That'd blow his cover big time, or at least make for some awkward questions.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 23:28, 16 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston looked at the new comer, then back to the tank.
"Uhh...were going deer huntinmg. Piss off buddy."
Weston went back to reading a book he had pulled out of his back-pack. It was something about a island and some treasure on it. A rather good book, conserding he had no clue if it was fiction or non-fiction.
Vladimir laughed. "You do realize that deer are commonly found up north, not in this general area, right? And, to get there, you have to haul ass with that tank through hilly terrain. And you're hunting deer that now travel in packs, eat meat, and are roughly as big and mean as a Yao Guai. Oh, by the way, they're called Anterks now, and eating their meat is a bad idea, since it usually is covered in disease. Just saying."
Vladimir had no time for these locals to be asses to him, especially when the AWA was getting ready to march down and liberate all of them from their torment. He didn't let it bother him, though. They'd be thanking him before the day was done.
Kicking out the last of the dead sweepers, Dutch turned towards Alexis. “These things are missing Enclave devices on their heads. If they still had them, they wouldn’t have attacked me, and I could’ve stopped them without trashing the place. Regardless, I’d still have to kill them.” Dutch finished, and was the last to get to the tank, where Weston was talking some trash to a waster. “Deer hunting. Piss off.” Weston said, drawing his weapon. Dutch, fixing his jacket and shades, grabbed his duffel from the ground, and promptly approached the random waster. “Look Baldy, why don’t you take a hike before me, Jacob, and the rest of these ‘locals’ go and kick your damned righteous ass, ok?” Dutch said, his hands on pistol and katana. Then he realized it. Fucking Vlad. The eyes were unmistakable. "Fuckin Vlad."
Vladimir didn't flinch, even though questions tumbled around in his head. How the fuck did he know my name? I've never met Glasses here before in my life. "I'm sorry?" Vladimir said. "You must have me confused with someone else. The name's Josef Kowalski. I'm just poking around here in D.C., seeing what there is to see. I just came from up north, and I wanted to see what the D.C. area was like." In spite of the easygoing attitude he had affected, Vladimir mentally checked that both pistols were in easy reach, as well as his tanto and meteor hammer.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:03, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"Wait dutch. You KNOW this guy? Man, this day just keeps on getting werider and werider."
Weston put away his gun, but he had gotten off the tank, asnd was now leaning on it. If the worst came to worst, dutch could problay win the fight. Provided if this realy is just a normal waster.
"Nah, if Dutch knows this guy it isn't a normal waster, Weston." Riley said to Weston. Riley then went around to the back of the tank and began shooting random stuff with his Quad Beam Laser Rifle.
“Hell yeah, I know this guy. Baldy here made me go blind way back in the late 40’s. He’s an asshole, and I should kill him for deserting. Thing is, I’m past that. Unless he stays. If he’s stays, I’m gonna rip him a new one in the form of two assholes and a third mouth with my katana here.” Dutch said, gritting his teeth. He hated Vlad. “You’re not fooling anyone, Vlad. Especially not me. Jacob ring a bell? He’s right downstairs, and I ain’t sure if he wants to see you so eagerly.”
"The 40's?" Vladimir was incredulous. "In the 40s, I was a little kid growing up in Railyard, up in Baltimore. I don't know you. I did know a guy named Jacob while I was in Baltimore, but he died, so it can't be him." Vladimir was getting more and more confused. Dutch? Jacob? He was willing to bet that there were a few AWA soldiers named Jacob, but it was unlikely that they knew him by name. And if they did, they wouldn't blow his cover. Any AWA soldier knew to nod to whatever a Paragon said, and generally stay out of their way. What the hell was this asshole going on about?
Dutch pulled out his Enclave insignia, shoving it in the man’s face. “This ring a bell, asshole?” Dutch said. There was only one way to prove it. Any warrior weapon could counter another. “Well, that work---?” Dutch didn’t even finished the sentence, drawing his katana and moving it at lightning speed for Vlad’s head. He promptly blocked it, grasping the blade carefully with both hands on either side. Dutch relaxed the stroke, sheathing the katana. He turned towards the group. “Wha’d I tell ya, eh? He’s a WW, assholes!” Dutch said, grabbing his duffel and sitting down, removing some whiskey.
Riley nudged Weston, "I told ya' so," he said.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:23, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"All right, how many Warrior Weapons are there? Theres you, Jacob, and this guy. How many more pyscho killers are roaming around killing everybody with frontflip hatchet attazcks?"
Vladimir still stood. He was genuinely puzzled. He'd recognized the Enclave insignia, but what the hell was a Warrior Weapon? "Care to clarify?" Vladimir said. Dutch would shot him a look that would have slain him outright, were it not for the fact that Dutch was wearing glasses. "A Warrior Weapon? What the hell are you talking about? Regardless of what you are lead to believe, I have no idea what you mean, and I certainly don't know you. If it's some local thing, I seriously got here about two days ago."
"I can't break open his head, he has to be a Warrior Weapon.. if not, lets just kill him," Riley whispered to Dutch, and Riley then took out his Quad-Beam and started shining it. Cat then came out and ate the bowl of Pork n' Beans that was in the tanks trailer.
“Think about us as a big family of classmates.” Dutch said, drinking the whiskey. “Me, Jacob, “Mr. I’m not Vlad” over there, and a few others are considered living examples of the best of our classmates. There were hundreds of us. Since I’m still Enclave, I happen to know that there are still a few running around from the first generation with their memory grafts. John Hale, for instance. The fool.” Dutch said. He turned towards Riley. "No, I'm not going to kill him." Dutch eyed Vlad. Maybe the bastard still did have his grafts.
"Classmates...hundreds of us." Vladimir stood, thinking. He still had nothing, unless it was some new term for basic training that Vladimir hadn't heard about. "Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Now, I will admit that my name is Vladimir. That was either a very good guess on your part, or I'm more recognizable than I think. I suppose there's really no point in lying now." This was an ironic statement on Vladimir's part, as the next thing he did was lie. "I'm on the run from the American Wasteland Army from up north. I deserted after being faced with a charge of treason that I didn't commit, and I guess there's a bounty on my head or something."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:42, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"American Wasteland Army? WHATS NEXT? THE NUKE IN MEGATON WILL GO OFF? WORLD PEACE?!"
Dutch sighed, this time removing a beer and tossing one to Vlad. “You, buddy, are an asshole if you think the AWA can touch this motley crew of psychopaths. Being Enclave, I know better. We’ve got more combat experience than the whole damned Last Legion.” Dutch said, playing along. If Vlad still had his grafts, he was more dangerous than if he had got rid of them. Dutch didn’t buy this one bit. But his friends did. Dutch had been keeping tabs on every WW, at the behest of his de facto father, Raikov. Vlad had become an AWA plaything, fighting all over the North American continent. Unless, since Dutch had last visited Cali, Vlad had managed to screw that up. Or maybe he was tricking him. Either way, Dutch had beaten the crap outta Vlad before, and vice versa. If Vlad tried anything, he was screwed.
Vladimir sat down, beer in hand. He took a drink before responding. "Now, the Enclave. That's a group I recognize the name of. I would imagine they have a lot of experience. I hear they're very skilled soldiers. However, those AWA guys have got some numbers, and, from what I could see of their vehicles, they're not to be messed with." Vladimir spoke from firsthand knowledge on both parts. He knew how the Enclave fought, but he also knew how deadly a Behemoth could be under the right conditions. This Holmes guy had no idea. Or maybe he did. Vladimir saw that sword strike. Anyone who could fight like that was not to be messed with.
Jacob sighed. He hadn't seen Vlad since he was an eggheaded little fourteen year old. Vlad had ben quite a bit younger. That live-fire excercize where he'd blinded Dutch, to be exact. Jacob was not entirely pleased with the reunion. This little group had now become one of the most dangerous little wandering warbands in the Capitol Wastes, which didn't help with the problems they already had of blending in. If not the most dangerous. He had an incling that with himself, Dutch, Vlad and Jack here, not to mention Strauss, Stefanie and Riley, they may be able to storm Fort Bannister and kill that bloody Talon Company Commander.
"Well, Vlad, if we're going to be working together, stay on my good side. That means staying outside of a five foot radius. Warrior Weapons that invade that little bubble tend to die." Jacob said, indicating that everyone should get a move on. He wanted this deal with Rascón to be over as soon as possible.
Alexis was quite scared by the fact that there group now looked like it was one of the most powerful in the wastes.Having two enclave Psycho's and a tank was hard to hide,three enclave psychos and a tank would be even harder.Still there was safty in numbers especaily with the last legion runing around like mad."so weston where can we find Rascon"
Dutch sighed, ruffling his hand through his hair. “We better hurry this up. Those Last Legion bastards, Mr. Jacob, will have us on their A-List once they’ve dealt with the Loyalists. I suggest we lock up, find us a suitable building for a little pre-emptive planning, perhaps even a temporary HQ, destroy the Super Duper Mart, execute Bren Tenkage, whom I have a bounty on for not completing an Enclave contract, and then get the arms dealer to come to us. As personal experience suggested with disrupting C&W Cartel operations by interacting with them, I highly suggest he come to us.” Dutch said, polishing his pistol and sword. Replacing them in holster and scabbard, he then began the process of disassembling the Alien Rifle, tossing half of the components in a small bag of Jacob. “Just in case.” Dutch said. He couldn’t risk that weapon getting lost into anyone’s elses hands he couldn’t trust except the Enclave’s, which would be his ultimate goal. But he could get the weapon there another time. Right now, his current orders were still at “Destroy Crusade”, so he was technically still on duty. He could bring the rifle back another time.
"Rascon?" Domingo rumbled, looking over at Weston as Vlad arrived in the area. He sighed. First a legend of the wastes, then a blind Enclave spy, and now a guy who was obviously flying on Jet while rambling about deer hunting. Maybe he should've just ditched the group and headed to Megaton. The idea was sounding better by the second.
"I hate Rascon," Domingo said aloud, looking straight at Weston. "Last time I attempted to broker an arms deal with that man he sent a squad of Talon Company mercs after me and tried to kill me when he found out I was supplying the Temple of the Union for a raid on Paradise Falls." He spat on the ground, then finally started into another cigar- having lost his second one in the scuffle below, in Stefanie's house. "Any man that is willing to kill to keep his business with evildoers afloat isn't worth my time. Besides, we don't want to lose our advantage of a night-time approach on the Claws Headquarters."
“Buddy, hic, I could fucking storm that, hic, place by myself even if fucking Tenkage had a whole, hic, company of fucking, hic, brotherhood, hic, fuckers backing him up. In other words, me, hic, and Jacob are more, hic, than enough, hic, to take him. In fact, I don’t even think we, hic, need Rascon… in fact, maybe I should, hic, just go kill him and, hic, return with his, hic, head.” Dutch said, grinning. Taking his pistol and twirling it In his finger, he aimed past Stefanie’s head and fired, killing the mole rat behind her. Not even bothering to look in her general direction, he holstered the weapon, all the while Stefanie cursing and rubbing her ear. Taking another swig of beer, Dutch dropped the bottle, grabbed another beer from their makeshift table, and downed it, woozily dropping onto an old lawn chair.
"Dutch, if anyone is killing Rascon tonight, it's going to be me." Domingo settled onto the top of El Oso, his feet half-dangling in the cockpit entrance. He took another drag from his cigar, looking out over the wasteland. The lights of Rivet City glowed very softly in the distance, and a few pilllars of smoke rose from the ruins, either raider camps, super mutant fortresses or a few wastelanders setting out to strike a new settlement on their own. In a strange way, it was beautiful. If you really tilted your head and squinted, that is, and your imagination was more bright and colorful than several rainbows.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 13:30, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
(Gosh, sio many enimes...must...be...friendly...when...they...meet)
"Wait, why do we need the night? No one is at the Claws HQ, right? We can just burst through the wall, so to speak, and blow the place up!"
Weston was sitting near the tanks cock-pit, but was more leaning agiasnt it. There was a slight problem thnough. If Weston worked for this man most thought here was evil...what does that make them in his eyes? Jacob has to stand outside the door of Marshall subway office just so then he does'nt go crazy and kill everyone.
Vladimir laughed to what Jacob had said. "Don't worry, 'Jacob'. I'm not sure what the hell a Warrior Weapon is, and I've never met you before, but I get what you mean. I'll stay the fuck away from you."
Inside, though, Vladimir was full of questions. These people wanted to kill Bren? Why? He seemed like a nice enough kid. And why did they want to destroy his headquarters? Didn't Bren say he was working for the good of the wastes? If so, why did they want to kill him? Vladimir put this information in the back of his head for later use. The AWA had been duped by that Ghoul shitbird, and now they would have to pay the price. Vladimir was ready to march right up to Stalwart and lead an AWA force down here and destroy everything related to the Claws. Of course, High Elder Tucker wouldn't approve. He'd made a deal with Bren. Once Bren died, though...
Jacob smiled his crooked, somewhat animalistic smile. It seemed Vlad understood him. Of course, Jacob wasn't making any moves to kill Holmes either. Of course, Holmes had proven his worth before. He was a useful ally if nothing else, and apparently his memory grafts had come undone. Vlad, now he was different. Fully intact memory grafts. If he'd abandoned the Enclave, well, he couldn't be all bad, now could he? Of course, from their own twisted point of view, the Enclave were doing good as wel, protecting their vision of America, full of pure humans and butterflies and chcolate rivers or whatever.
Just like Bren had been trying to build up his own conceited little vision, full of Ghouls and Super Mutants. But then, Bren had got turned around somewhere along the way. He thought that because he was willing to set aside a persons actions for no reason, he was better than everyone else. He said that he'd take anyone in. Regardless of what they had done. He was a moron child who didn't realise that actions didn't build character, they revealed it.
"Lets get a move on folks, the days only starting." Jacob called to them as he moved off towards where Rascón would be found. According to Weston anyway.
"I'm with you, Jacob." Roland took off after Jacob on fot as Domingo slipped into the cockpit of El Oso and started up the engine, which roared to life in a positively terrifying manner, its exhaust grates belching black smoke and (possibly) a few tiny licks of flame before it moved forwards at a walking speed well below the top speed it had displayed previously.
Roland looked over at Jacob. "So," he wondered aloud as he walked, "What's been going on while I've been out west? I missed a lot while I was helping the Outcasts with the Crusade. Protector Ranik says hello, by the way."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 14:59, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
Dismounting the tank, Weston started to follow Roland and Jacob. Since Marshall knew him by face and Domingo would rather see him dead, he followe dthe group. well, followed and leaded the group to Marshall.
"Wait, you were with the Outcasts? Huh."
"Yep." Roland said simply, looking over at Weston's sudden appearance next to him. "I worked with them at the Siege of Fairfax, just ask Jacob here. After that, I followed 'em west to Austin and stayed there for a while. Not pleasant. Then I tagged along with them to Califonria, then I came back here. Wasn't fun, but I felt I needed to reacquaint myself with my old friends."
He smiled a bit, a memory suddenly returning to him. "Also, before I found the guys in Austin," and here his smile expanded to almost fill his entire face, "I rescued the princess over here from the Enclave and the EMAA." He laughed a bit, jerking a thumb in Jacob's direction as he said 'princess. He evidently thought the half-joke was quite funny. His arms would probably end up broken for it, but still.
Jacob smiled. Ranik and the Outcasts were still alive and well on the West Coast. Jacob scratched his chin. Should he ask about Sam, Ramsey, Carter, Jackson and Hughes first, or answer Roland, and then ask? He couldn't help but smile about that. He'd often thought about the Outcasts. His allies, his friends. His brothers and sisters in arms.
"A lot has happened. Not long after you went West, a Crusade suppression force began moving towards DC. Instead of trying to outmaneuvre them, and try to take them on piecemeal, a rat bastard little runt with an inflated ego called Bren Tenkage rallied some Wastelanders to his group, the Claws, and met the Crusade head-on. From that point on, things went downhill. He got the Brotherhood in on it, and so many more. When the Crusade dug their heels in, we thought they were getting ready to double-bluff us, but instead, they used a Fat Man OMEGA. The thing fired a reduced-yeild nuclear weapon, which levelled a good chunk of DC, that irradiated area near the irradiated metro station, along with a good quarter of their forces, and most of ours. After that, well, Bren had amputated his own leg after it got trapped by rubble, little Mr. Tenkage gathered the Claws to him, after getting a spangly new prosthetic leg, and he fucked off West too. He didn't have the backbone to finish a war he'd started, just because shit hadn't gone his way. He'd done some slaving in Baltimore, and took in a Raider Queen from New York, who has a habit of torturing people for no reason. So he's not in my good books, but after his war went haywire, well, he's a dead man. No two ways about it, if he's not dead already, he's dogmeat when I get my hands on him. After Bren fucked off, Holmes there suggested that I join a little thing called an Enclave Surgical Assault Unit. We infiltrated Jerusalem, with the others you see here, barring Domingo and Alexis, launching a fairly daring diversionary attack on the forces surrounding Jerusalem. We killed off Crusade HighCom except for Moore, but he'll get his in due time." Jacob said, a slight hint of anger in his voice, and murder in his eyes every time he mentioned Bren Tenkage. Well, actually, he spat the name out rather than mentioning it, but hey, that wasn't the point.
"Anyway, how're the Outcasts getting on? Any births, deaths or what?" Jacob added, cheering up somewhat. "And about that princess thing, if you hadn't been there to pull my ass outta the fire in Cali, you'd be talking through your armpits for that. And weren't you the one who had to be saved from the Enclave scouts in that gully?"
"Outcasts have been getting on fine; they were all still alive when I left. They all send their regards to their friends out west." Roland smiled a bit, thinking back to the small parting party they'd thrown; they'd all gone out, had a few drinks, said their goodbyes and then Roland had left for the East Coast again. Just as well; Roland wasn't one for emotional partings and he hadn't known the Outcasts for as long or as well as Jacob himself.
"Tenkage, huh?" Roland scratched his chin with the hand that wasn't holding his Grease Gun. "I've heard a lot about him... Didn't he used to be some pro-equality merc? He's been getting a lot of talk about him in the ports, and a lot of it sounds like yours... With more explitives and less death-threats, of course. Can't say I've ever met him, though. I've met what's left of the battles he's been in, though. Not too many survivors." Roland sighed. "Kid likes his collateral, I'll give him that.
He laughed out loud when he caught the talk about the gully and Jacob saving him. "Yeah, I guess I should give you credit for that, but those Black-Ops guys got the slip on me because I was tired and more than a little bit inebriated at the time. I handled myself pretty well in the next encounter with those Black-Ops guys, though, and remember: it was my ship that got you out of there, too. If I was feling ungenerous that day, I could've left you to Raikov and his goons, or that idiot Colonel Andrew, who I hear is still kicking around somewhere in the Wastes. Good thing we're friends, though."
Jack was bored. He left the group right after he made his own little sweeper hat, and was walking towards the super Duper mart. Apparently Jack was one of the few guys who preferred having a night time advantage, and wanted first dibs on the loot. The tank was already a speck in the distance, and Jack was whistling a tune he heard on Three Dogs radio station. I don't want to set the world on fire, or something.
Suddenly, a dozen turrets and three Sentry Bots were all training their weapons on Jack's forehead. "YOU ARE IN VIOLATION." The trio of robots rattled off in unison, the barrels of their gatling lasers beginning to rotate. "GIVE ADEQUATE IDENTIFICATION OR VACATE PREMESIS IMMEDIATELY IF CONTINUED EXISTANCE IS DESIRED." Apparently, night-time advantages didn't do shit for heat-seeking targetting systems.
Jack took out his M79 grenade launcher, already loaded with the mini-mini-nuke. Less bang, more portable. Aiming, he shot at the three sentry bots, blowing them to smithereens. Jumping towards the cover of a near by tree, the spot where he stood a few moments ago was decimated by gunfire. He reloaded, and blind fired a grenade launcher (DON'T TRY THAT AT HOME} at the super duper mart. Looking again, there was five turrets left. Taking out his repeater, he aimed and fired at ones target co-ordination thingy, and watched as it went berserk. Firing at the near by turrets, there was soon only two left. Smiling to himself, he threw a pulse grenade, destroying what remained of the Super Duper Marts defenses.
Domingo saw the sky blink slightly off in the distance, followed by the extremely soft (compared to the sound of El Oso,s well-over-400-year-old-engine) sound of gunfire. "Dammit!" Domingo shouted, pressing the throttle lever as far forward as it would go.
El Oso literally leapt forward, the gears and moving portions whining in protest as the old tank topped out at 35 miles per hour, covering the remaining ground between himself and the Super Duper mart in record time. He hauled the tank to a stop justas Jack finished the last of the HQ's mechanized defenses. "Jack!" Domingo popped his head out of the compartment where the cockpit was. "What the hell did you do?!"
"...Oh no no no no no nononononononononononoNO!" Strauss yelled as he rushed towards the Super Duper Mart past Jack, shaking his head frantically in disbelief as he surveyed the damage. Those turrets were his! Those Sentry Bots had provided fire support at Jerusalem! And they were all gone! All gone! He slumped to his knees as he picked up the backplate of one of the Sentries. Inscribed on the blackened metal was "FRANK". He got back up and backpedalled as he realised he'd just collapsed in a heavily radiated area then threw the plate to the ground. "JACK! That was my fucking loot!"
Yawning, Jack noticed Domigo's tank. "Blow up some robots, now excuse me as I go in there to loot anything not nailed down. Including the rum." Jack walked into a super duper mart, and walked into Dejans humble abode first. Expecting the most loot from him, Jack noticed something under his bed. Walking over, Jack found a spare sniper rifle under there, and some "Gentlemen magazines." "Domigo! Come check this out!"
Strauss scooped up his personal terminal and bedroll and clutched them both to his chest, muttering incoherent curses and threats to the name of Jack Damask. All his loot - no, not his loot, his fucking rightful PROPERTY - was forfeit thanks to that dickhead assassin in the dress. He paced up and down angrily, followed suite by a concerned Worthington who was quite unwilling to say anything.
Riley grabbed his terminal and took it apart before taking out the harddrive and putting it in Cats bag. He then began to empty some of Brens Quantum everywhere, and put some boxes of Abraxos and Turpintine in the corner. He then left the Super Duper Mart and waited from Jack to light the string, "Ever seen a Nuka-Grenade explosion? Well, your about to see a pretty big one."
Domingo looked out of the viewport in front of him and sighed in exasperation before shutting off El Oso, climbing out of the tip of the tank and walking over to Conor. "You alright, my friend?" He inquired easily, looking at the husks that were once robots. Much to his suprrise, one of the bots actually sparked slightly, then grumbled and shuddered as it attempted to crawl back to its feet... Rollers... Whatever. Smiling slightly, he pointed towards it.
"Look there, my friend. There is still one robot alive here. You can rebuild." With that, Domingo walked across what was left of the battlefield and into the Super Duper mart. He then walked over to Jack's position, shouting, "What, what is it" before noticing the handful of dirty magazines Jack was swinging around like they were the tablets the Ten Commandments were written on. "Oh, that." Domingo swiped one of the magazines and pocketed it, moving off to search some of the other dormitories. Ultimately his loot piles accumulated in around five assault rifles, an army's worth of communication technologies, a Browning M1919 light machine gun, a few laser rifles, a fw plasma rifles and a Gauss Rifle, along with eight boxes of .45 Colt ammunition for his SAA.
Strauss twitched. Rebuild? That? With what? He looked around the Super Duper Mart to see everything that Strauss could make any use of disappearing. The scrap metal was gone with the wind. Roland was helping himself to fission batteries - from the stockpile Strauss had collected for Worthington. The ammo, the spare Laser Rifles, the turps and the Abraxo. Everything useful was disappearing Even worse, Domingo had called dibs on the radio equipment he'd toiled for months to get into a state of operation to broadcast one, single, message. And to make that worse, Domingo had actually been the one to reply to that message! Gyaaaaaah! Tying a rope roughly onto the remaining Sentry Bot's damaged chassis, he began stuffing Worthington's storage compartment to the brim with whatever he could find.
Jacob was merrily vandalizing the SDM. He had already broken the radio transponder and the emmiter array. Their radio frequency would forever more play Enclave Radio. Domingo had taken what was left of the radio. Jacob kicked another glass of Nuka Cola across the room, and then set up a small driving range. He set up a few pieces of now-priceless Nuka Cola merchandise and began belting them across the room with a baseball bat. Jackal was busy showing off his gunslinging skills by tossing things in the air and shooting them. Then Jacob heard Riley say something about a Nuka Grenade explosion. He signalled for Jackal to come along as he left. Jackal had taken what he wanted, the rifles Bren had taken from Jacob's Safehouse in New York. Jacob had retrieved the keys of the Safehouses he had given Bren. No way the little fuck was going to set up shop in one of those if he ever got back to DC.
Domingo looked over at Roland and gestured for him to offload some of the fission batteries he was carrying, in total about twenty. Roland nodded, walking over to Conor and Worthington.
"Look," Roland said, voicing for both himself and the Latin mercenary heading for his tank with the radio equipment in tow, "I just wanna say sorry for stealing your fission batteries, so... Here." Parting ways with fifteen of the twenty fusion batteries, Roland took the remaining five with him to El Oso, where Domingo was already arranging the radio euipment in the trailer. "What're you doing?" Roland asked.
"I'm setting this up so I can run wires to the fission batteries you have in your hands right now. We're setting up Claws Radio Mobile in the trailer." Domingo looked at the radio set, which was currently stacked in one of the empty corners of the trailer, on a steel table that had been bolted to the floor. Looking at it nervously, he eventually nodded to himself, procuring a bottle of Wonderglue from one of the nearby boxes and gluing down all of Conor's radio equipment to the table. Wonderglue wasn't the strongest stuff, and Conor should be able to easily separate the radio eqipment from the table if he had to move it in a hurry, but for the most part (namely while the tank was in motion), it would stay in place. Climbing out of the back of the trailer carrying the antenna, transmitter and reciever the merc had mounted atop the main body of El Oso, Domingo then scrabbled, crablike, onto the roof of the trailer and used his pocket torch to slice through the roof. He set up the small portable antenna on the roof directly over the radio equipment, then gestured for Roland to toss up the loose wires that attached to the antenna. Roland tossed them up, and after a few seconds he had the small antenna attached to the top of the trailer. It wasn't a huge antenna, totalling maybe four feet in height, not counting the length that could be added from scavenging other radio antennae from the wreckage of the city, but it sholuld get good enough reception considering he was about to hook up a ludicrous five fission batteries to the set up.
After a few more minutes of tinkering, the radio equipment flickered to life. Domingo smiled.
"Conor!" The merc shouted. "Your radio system's all set!"
Conor whooped, cheered and hugged Domingo. The Make-a-Wish Foundation worked after all!
(No, not really.)
"... What? What the fuck?" Strauss said, bewildered, as he approached the tank's trailer cautiously. "Why did you... I mean... uh... why did you glue all the stuff to the tank? I mean, it's not gonna be much good when it's moving about... um..." Then it dawned on him. "Oh!... Oh. Right. Wow! That's... awesome! Am I gonna have to live in the back of your tank now?" He asked sarcastically, smiling weakly as he mentally digested the situation as it occured, with an armful of fission batteries.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 17:04, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"Huh. I guess we all did win in the end, huh?"
Wesrton had manged to grab a box of Ammo for his Sub machine gun, and, a pair of combat armour...or at least prts of it that was left over from Jack's little fgun time with the Robots, and sometrhing that looked akin to a old motocycle helmt. Of course, ithe visor was missing. But, where the visior was once, there was a mesh of chickenwire. Carrying these outside, he placed them near the tank and went to work. Remvoing his jack, he attached the combat armours shoulder pads to it, and strached off the claws emeblem. He added a white W on each of them, then put some of the combat armours oplates on the outside ogf his ja cket. Putting his jacket back on, he took out some of the clips in his newly liberted ammo crate and sret it inside some slots within his Jacket. Finnaly, he put on the Helmt. Or tried to. It was too small of his head. Angrily taking it off, he kicked it back to the Claws HQ. Going back inside, he came out with a Telescope, and displayed it produly.
"Now, all i need to find is duct tape, a hunting rifle and BOOM! I hasve a sinper rifle!"
"If you want." Domingo said. "The stuff is only glued down, so you just need to lift off the table and knock the antenna off of the roof and you're set." He spat out the butt of the burnt-out cigar, landing it expertly under El Oso. "All of the nearby settlements are within walking distance, otherwise."
Vladimir walked inside the Super Duper Mart. This shit-hole was where the Claws made their base? Vladimir was getting pissed already. He looked at the others. They were busy tearing apart the place. Vladimir decided to join in. He began rummaging through the ammo crates that no doubt once held the Claws' ammo. Vladimir began pulling out 5.56 and .44 ammunition. Bren wouldn't need it if Jacob got a hold of him, and one man's trash was another man's treasure. However, Vladimir had something else to do.
Making sure no one was watching, Vladimir sat down, took a nearby knife, and began scratching a message into the wall of Bren's quarters.
Bren Tenkage. When we first met, I thought that I would teach you a lesson on morals. After visiting D.C., I have discovered that you needed it more than I first thought. You have betrayed the trust of the people here, and they have had to pay dearly for it. You are no longer an ally of the AWA. I will honor the contract that you made with the High Elder, but, upon your death, the Claws are no longer part of the AWA. You have made a powerful enemy this day. Paragon Vladimir Sechin of the American Wasteland Army.
Riley took the last of Westons (or was it Jacks?) matches and light it. He threw it onto a string and then everybody began to run away as it slowly but surely went towards the Super-Duper Mart. The place then erupted with 5x the force of a Mini-Nuke and it glowed bright blue and red.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 17:30, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"Whoo! I love high-esplosives! We got to find another building to do that. And someone owes me a Box of Matches! Anyway, i saw we grab the .30 cal gun, then go upon our business. "
Watching from a distance as the remains of the Super Duper Mart imploded in a fantastic array of beautiful colors, Dutch grabbed another beer, stared at it, and dropped it, not even bothering to drink it. “Hey You! Over there!” Someone called out. Standing up from his little perch where everyone had dropped off their stuff, Dutch swiveled around to meet six men, all clad in Crusade BRAs; however, their colors didn’t match the Crusade’s own. “We’re confiscating this stuff in the name of Colonel Nathaniel Roarke, of the Last Legion, Waster.” The lead soldier said, pointing his rifle at Dutch. Grabbing his beer again, and keeping his hand on his sword, he approached them as they moved forward. “I don’t think that would be a wise idea, mate.” Dutch said, still slightly drunk. The soldier laughed, moving and poking him in the chest. “I said we’re confiscating it, ‘’waster’’.” The soldier said. “I’m ain’t no fucking waster, Sergeant Dipshit, I’m Enclave!” Dutch said angrily, drawing his katana. Using one hand to smash the rifle from his hands, Dutch grabbed his throat, took his katana, lifted him up, and gutted him with a clean stab through the chest. Dropping him on his feet and flipping him around, Dutch used him as a body shield to impact the bullets from the remainder of the squad’s G36Cs. Poking his head from behind his organic cover, he chucked his beer bottle, nailing one of the soldiers in the head. “Who’s fucking confiscating this stuff now, eh?!” Dutch said, having no apparent disregard to the fact he was being shot at.
Vladimir heard gunfire. He looked and saw that Dutch was missing. "Hey, anyone realize that Glasses is getting shot at, in all likelihood? Want to help me take care of it?" Before a response was given, Vladimir unstrapped his G3A3 off his back and trudged off in the direction of the gunfire. He was really starting to regret not wearing armor under his civilian clothes.
Riley grabbed Cat and took out the newly assembled Alien Rifle and clicked in a button before pulling the trigger and blasting the guys that were shooting Dutch. Rileys hands got warmer while he melted off one of the guys armor, and then soon gave him a large rash on his neck.
Domingo listened to the voices behind the tank, where he'd pulled it to a stop. He heard "Confiscate" and "Waster", and that was all he needed. He pulled on the control sticks of El Oso, turning the beastly tank 360 degrees so that the massive plow and laser chaingun were facing the Last Legion soldiers. "Confiscate?" Domingo shouted from inside the tank, hoping the Last Legion soldiers would hear him. "You're not confiscating any of this. If you want to pay for it, then that's a different story."
Gunshots pinged off the plow next, and Domingo ducked back away from the front of the tank, pushing both sticks forward. The tank went flying right past Dutch, tripping up one of the Last LEgion soldiers and impaling him on the front of the plow like he was a roadkill deer caught in a combine harvester. Domingo turned again, bringing the Laser Chaingun to bear, before he slid over to the gunnery compartment and pressed down on the Chaingun's firing buds. A third and fourth Crusade soldier fell to the ground, one missing both legs, an arm and part of his torso and the other one turned to ashes.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 17:52, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston was riding atop the tank, firing hios 10MM SMG at the BRA-wearing soldiers. Checking how many rounds left in his clip, Weston quickly looked up to see a soldier pointing a gun at him. Luckly, Weston had forgot that he lef ta round in the chamber when he took out the Gun magzine. POulling the trigger by mistake, the bullet went right into the glowing eys of the soldiers.
Looking around at the dead soldiers, Dutch turned towards the group heading for him. “I was perfectly fine and capable.” Dutch said, tripping slightly from his drinks. He turned towards Vlad. “I prefer the term Shades, thank you.” Dutch said, and sat back down in his lawn chair.
Riley quickly hid his Alien Rifle underneath his jacket before heading towards the group, "So, what was that all about?" he asked them.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 18:03, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"Well, Dutch was all like *pow* pow* then those guys werre like no! *ka-pow*!"
"Well, Bono over there with the specs got into a tussle with Captain Helmet and his goons over there, and well, we came off better. No thanks to you lot anyway. Even Jacob didn't get to shed blood this time. Too busy playing golf with Bren's stuff. There goes the runt's "No Claims Bonus" anyway." Jackal said jovially. He had killed one of the Last Legion apes too. Nice little bit of machete-work there. The last words the guy heard were Those are supposed to be on the inside, son.
Jacob shifted embarrassedly from foot to foot. He had indeed been a bit preoccupied with seeing how far he could punt a Nuka Cola bottle using a Protecron arm.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 18:12, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"Uhhh, whats Golf?"
Alexis turned to weston "golf was a pre war game that involved hiting a ball into a hole with a stick".Satisfied he turned to riley there was a bump under his jacket."Riley whats that bump under your jacket?"
Domingo looked over towards Riley and noticed him holding a new weapon. The weapon llooked suspiciously similar to the one Dutch had had in the basement of Stefanie's house, except some of the parts looked different. He looked in Riley's direction, fixing his eyes on the gun. "Riley," He asked, "What is that gun? I've never seen one like it before."
"Hey...Alexis....thats what she said..."
Weston burst out to a peroid of sinckering and laughing before getting a punch from Riley.
Riley noticed that people could see the Alien Rifle and explained, "There are more then one of the Alien Rifles," he said, "I found mine long before I met any of you, but it was broken, and I didn't know how to put it back together," he then looked at Dutch, "And when Dutch came in with his, I seen a chance to find out how to rebuild my own. So while I was examining it I was also rebuilding mine," he looked at Dutch again, "Mine is solar powered and melts things, wheres yours??"
Alexis growled at weston before grabing his sledgehammer and swinging it at his ball's."Never ever diss me or abuse my comments K"
Dodging the sledgehammer, Weston pulls out his SMG and pistolwhips Alexis in the side of his head. Watching his collaspe like a pricked ballon, Weston holstred his weapon.
"Asswipe went there. Asswipe went there"
Shit that hurt alexis thought stagering to his feat he turned to weston."Aren't we ment to be on the same side?"
"Why are you fighting!?" Riley yelled at them and then aimed his gun at both of them, "Don't make me melt you!!"
"You also swung a sledgehamer at my balls, asswipe!"
Punching Alexis in the face, a full-scale brawl as averted when someone held both men back, and Rilets threat to melt both of them.
Jacob had pulled a gun on both Alexis and Weston. However, it was a .32 Pistol pointed at Weston's stomach, but a D'Eagle pointed at Alexis' head. Firstly, Alexis had started the fight, and secondly, he was the unproven new guy, and consequently, expendable, when compared to a veteran of the attack on Jerusalem. Jackal he just pulled his shotgun on Jacob, then rapidly switched aim to Alexis as he realised Jacob was whipping out his guns because the new guy had swung a sledgehammer at Weston.
"Bad move, son. Very bad move, taking a swipe at Weston there." Jackal said. Jacob just snarled. That noise said more than any death threat could possibly have. Unless Jacob had threatened to throw Alexis into orbit, jump up and kick him back down to earth.
Domingo sighed as he climbed out of the back of the tank, pulling out his SAA and pressing his thumb down on the hammer, ready to cock it just in case. "No more fighting," He growled as he moved past Weston and cracked Alexis in the nose. He watched in half-satisfaction and half-pity as the much smaller Alexis was sent reeling and smacked down on the ground.
"And you, Weston," Domingo sighed. "Don't provoke him. He obviously has a few screws loose."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 18:51, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"Does'nt everybody have a few screws in this god-forsaken hell-hole?"
Weston had something of a half smilie as Domingo slammed Alexis in the nose. It quickly went away when Domingo talked to him, but, when he turned his back is was back on his face agian. Anyone who does that desveres it. Its one thing if its life or death, but, that was a JOKE. And it was a sledgehammer! That would have ruined any chance for kids! And Weston wanted kids! Someday, at least.
When they were finished alexis would definetly be paying weston a visit,With a super sledge this time though.Nethertheless he didn't want to piss of jacob so he stagered to his feet and gave himself a shot of med-ex."Lets just get a fucking move on i don't want to be around when the last legion finish off the loyalists"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 19:07, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"We got to vist Marshall, 'member? Comon guys, it's close. Farrgut West Station, to be exact."
Weston started to lead the group until they reached the said Metro tunnel that Marshall set up shop in. A string of lights lit up the inside.
"Jacob, i suggest you stay outside for now, ok? In fact, who really wants to come inside?"
Alexis needed some more ammo and scrap so a vist to marshall couldn't hurt."Il go in on the condition you don't atack me the second we get inside"
"...alright, anybody else besides Alexis?"
"I'm good for now. The big guy let me in on one of his stashes of those crazy ass HEIAP bullets he uses." Jackal said, nodding to the now fuming Jacob. He wouldn't kill Rascón on sight. Not now. Well, if he could get a clear shot, he'd kill him on sight, but not today.
Jacob shruged and walked in the door. The atmosphere in the room got noticeably tenser. He leaned on the wall and gave a disparaging look to the guards. Jackal stepped up next to him. Not like he could stop 220lbs of murderous Super Soldier anyway, but it was more of a gesture to begin with. He really hoped Jacob didn't let his temper get the better of him. Why had he let the nutter go in the door?
(I have no clue what that means)
Weston had walked in first, followed by the others.
"Hey Marshall! Whats up?"
"Weston! Long time no see pal! What brings you to this little neck of business?"
Weston strached his neck and quickly looked around.
"Where's Victor? He's normally here..."
"Oh...well, he's at Rivet City right now, talking to my old man. You know how it is right? We might do a deal with Rivet City later this month, you know? They want to expand there armoury. Have a few heavy weapons in case something REALLY bad goes down. Speaking of something going down...whats with these new people? You going to make a Merc group or something?"
"Not really. I sorta need that .30 cal gun i sold you a week ago...you know, the water-cooled one."
"And let me guess. You don't have a lot of caps, do you?"
"Well, Weston. I have two answers to you. Either you help me out, or i can't help you. It's rather simple. A...extermation of a group. Recntaly, a group of raiders has been hitting a couple of my...assocites. They asked me to take care of it. You do this for me, and you can have the gun along with most of my .30 cal ammo. You guys game?"
Marshall sat back down and lit a cigar. He'd seen one of them before...Jacob? Jimmy? He could't recall. The others though were new faces. Expect for Jack. The rest were new. Poetinal customers, maybe.
"Well, Marshall," Jacob said, in a low, deep tone as he leaned over Rascón's table," I think that whatever Weston's offering is a fair price."
"Don't you?" Jacob added, looking around at the others.
Jackal shrugged. No way was he getting on Jacob or an arms dealer's bad side. Admittedly, Jacob was the more immediate threat, but Rascón probably had some serious backup to call on if the shit hit the fan. Jacob was forcing the warlord's hand and Rascón did not like that one bit. Jacob, that mad fucking bastard was wiring the place like a powder keg. All it would take is one spark and the whole thing would kick off. Jackal gulped and waited for the rest to answer.
Domingo looked at the assorted group; with Jacob threatening Rascon. Normally that would be his department, especially when it came to a bastard like him. However, Jacob seemed to be doing a good job of making the guy mess himself, so he waited by the door, twirling his SAA. This motion looked intimidating for all of a half-second until the gun outright spun off his finger and nearly clattered to the floor, with Domingo lashing out to catch it at the last possible moment.
Normaly alexis would be content to jacob get his own way by threating marshal but he had no desire to fight yet again.Anyway he had the caps to pay for it snd even if he didn't he was sure there was some tech he could trade."What are you asking for it Mr Rascon"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 20:12, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"I need someone to elimante a small raider gang thats been causing one of my assocites some trouble. You do that, and you guys get the .30 cal along with two boxes of ammo. You guys do that, and you get the precuious gun. However, your friend here is giving me some problems."
Marshall took out the Cigar in his mouth and put it in his ashtray. Several of his own guards were getting a bit edgy and had there hands over there weapons. If they needed to, they would fire. However, they would fire last, not first. They don't want to be the ones to start the fight.
Jack knew what he needed to know. "Rascon, would you pre-fer me to take their fingers, or scalps as evidence?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 20:29, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
"Fingers. Heres there location."
Marshall stood up and handed Jack a vannilla folder. Inside was a map showing the raiders gang location, a brief disrepction of the gang, and a order to burn this docment as soon as the mission was complete. Sitting back down, Marshall picked up the cigar, but did'nt put it in his mouth.
"This will be rather easy, i assure you. Just be warned...they have numbers on there side."
Alexis inwardly grimaced why did he allways get involved with things like this still with 3 enclave super soljers on there side it shouldn't be hard.Still marshals coment about numbers surprised him."what do you mean numbers?"
"That will not be a problem Mr. Rascon." Jack studied the map for a few seconds before putting it under his poncho. Walking out the door, several members of the group followed them. Jack got onto Domigoes tank, and waited for him to start it up while the rest of the group got into the trailer tied to the tank.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 20:42, 17 May 2009 (UTC)
" I mean that they have a surpior force in numbers. They are'nt well equipped, they just outnumber you...by at least 20. Good luck. I'm sure you'll be able to bet them."
Marshall put the cigar back in his mouth, and put his feet up on the desk. Looking at the termainl, he noticed profits were up this week. His guards eased up a little when most of the group left, Jacob being the last one out the door.
"That guy fucking scares me."
One of his thugs repiled. "I think he's Jacob Vaughton sir."
Dutch stretched, then swiftly snatched the documents with the map from Jack. "Hmm..." Dutch said, stroking his non-existant musotache, "this should be a piece of cake. That asshole wants us to do this job, so sure, why not. Hell, I can do anything that piece of crap SCM 30 cal. can do." Dutch said, and handed Jack the papers back. Leaning against the inside of the trailer, Dutch eyed Riley's rifle. "Well, I was too drunk earlier, and I was also going ka pow pow pow with my own guns, so let me ask you this... how the fuck did you get that?
"Found it a year ago, broken, in a truck labeled U.S. army," Riley said, "Couldn't fix it, but once I disassembled yours I knew how to put my own back together," he then pointed at a solar pad on the top, "Doesn't work at night, and doesn't use ammo,"
Jacob smiled. Now that was a job he could do. He clambered up onto the roof of El Oso as Riley and Ducth got chatting in the trailer. Before Jack could get back to the documents, Jacob had grabbed it from his hands and gone thorugh it. Scratching at his chin, and realizing he needed a shave, he loked at the terrain. Plenty of lumps and bumps in the ground and small hillocks. El Oso would be of little use in hill country like that, other than for intimidation. What interested Jacob was the outcrops to the south of the camp. Those would come in dead handy for cover, for picking the raiders off. That was where this battle would be won.
Riley picked up the ham radio, "Testing.. Testing, anybody there?? Uhh yeah if your expecting the claws, which your NOT, cause you probably are just here to listen to Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley. Well, the Claws are GONE. They turned into a raider group and merged with the Talons, so kill them on SIGHT! Oh and this radio is now called Riley Radio. Cause I'm your host, RILEY!" he then looked at the list of songs, "And if you want us to come to your scrapheap of a town, just send a request! We're mobile! So if you ever see a tank somewhere, that's us! Now for some music," he then put on some more Never Gonna Give You Up.
Jack yelled at Riley. "Riley, if you keep spreading the bullshit that the Claws aren't already in some land fill somewhere! Do you really think they could of gotten half way across the country without being torn apart by the hairy death claws? By the way, you don't even know them! So your just hating them because it's the popular thing to do! Your a fucking hipster!
The sun started to rise, as El Oso rumbled on down to the raider camp. Waking most of the camp up, it seemed that the shouts of "TANK" and the the people missing severely with their hunting rifles at the tank gave the impression that they knew where they were. The one bullet that did hit how ever didn't even scratch the surface of the tank. Jack, knowing that he wasn't made of metal got off the tank, and started to run toward the cover in the trees. He spotted several sweepers in the distance through his binoculars. (You may make posts that happen before the last event by the way)
"Ignore the sounds in the background they are just a recording the claws made before we got their radio," Riley said. He then turned off the ham radio and let the music play to the Wasteland, "Oh I know about them, yes, I do."
The tank soon rode into the raider camp, and since it was daytime Riley could use his Alien Rifle.
Stefanie was just sort of tagging along with the group. She was still really pissed about them all shooting up her home. And about Jeeves. They had left the place a mess and she was forced to deactivate Jeeves. He layed stagnant and in a heap back at her safe spot. Not to mention Dutch almost shooting her ear off. Moron. Riley, continuing to shoot that fucking gun in her house. If he didn't respect her shit while she was there then he wouldn't be living there watching her stuff. He was fuckin' out. Then Jack blew up all of Strauss' shit. She felt for him. They'd wrecked her shit too. Out of respect for him, all she'd taken from the Super Duper Mart was all the Buffout she could find. Fuckin' assholes. She'd put a lock on the elevator after most of the group had left. She'd caught up with them after some sort of firefight with some Crusaders. Now there was some new guy named Vlad with them and they were down in the Metro tunnels talking to some new trader or something. She wanted parts for Jeeves. She hoped he'd be the same when she got him back together. She also was gonna make it a point to go through everyone's shit and make sure they hadn't stolen anything. No way she was gonna let them get away with any of her stuff, friends or not. She flexed the fingers of her Power Fist and observed the conversation as it went on.
"Aha, gotcha now fuckers!" Domingo shouted as El Oso roared down the hill towards the camp. The tank, having the advantage of downhill speed , momentum and weight, rolling-tackled through the outer perimeter of scrap metal and stacked cars the raiders had set up. Laser chaingun spewing hot red death in the flavor of ash, El Oso roared through, its trailer swinging wildly as the transmitter wobbled and Roland and Riley, clutching handguards with everything they had, held on for dear life. Switching to a leftward course, Domingo roared through a grouping of three rawhide tents, the massive plow ripping holes in the canvas as though he were running through rice-paper screens. Eventually, hauling back on both of the control bars with all his might, he reeled
Killdozer El Oso to a stop and threw himself out of the driver's hatch, pulling his SAA along the way. Hauling the hammer back, Domingo pulled the trigger and felt the gun bark and kick out loudly, smashing through the raider's mandible and out the back of his head. Pulling the hammer back again, Domingo dodged to his right, rolling out of the line of fire of an AR-toting raider and kneeling, snap-shotting with the SAA again. The shot missed his head and torso, but crushed his kneecap and sawed his leg off, sending him plunging off of the small bench he was standing on.
"Alright, this is just getting fun!" The merc shouted as a Raider charged him with a generic Combat Knife. Domingo sighed. "Don't you ever get the message? DON'T USE KNIVES IF YOUR INTELLECT IS BELOW THAT OF THE AVERAGE HOUSEHOLD RABBIT!" The merc shouted as he drew his SMERSH-5, slit the Raider's throat, jammed his SAA beneath his solar plexus and pulled the trigger.
As for Weston, he was still mounted atop of El Oso when the attack begun. Firing his Assualt Rifle like mad, he dismounted when Domingo decied to be a action hero and exposed himself to enemy fire. Moving towards a old car that was now part of the Raiders defensive line, Weston sighted in on a running raider. Firng a three-round burst, he watched as the bullets hit the raider, and the same raider tumble to the ground. Searching around for another Raider, he saw one taking aim at Domingo and El Oso. Firing off a much longer burst of 10 rounds, Weston saw that most of the bullets missed, save for two that hit the Raider in the torso. Going back behind cover, Weston reloaded his Assualt rifle.
Jumping out and sprinting towards the raider camp, Dutch picked up the raider’s corpse, using it as a body shield while opting for his M1911. Drawing it from his holster, he aimed over the dead man’s shoulder emptying the clip. Several raiders fell over, several of their heads having become ventilated from Dutch’s marksmanship. Yawning, and grabbing the beer from his pocket, he took a swig, chucked it and nailed a raider’s head, and dove to the side as a hunting rifle took his cover’s head clean off. Moving against the corner of one of four buildings in the ruined military compound, Dutch aimed down the road, pointed and fired, nailing the hunting rifle-wielding raider in the chest and sending him flat on his back. Giving the other raiders the bird, Dutch moved around the side of the building, entering a broken wall portion and stepping inside. Aiming at the back of a raider sniper’s head and blowing his brains out. “Don’t move, fucker!” A voice called out from behind. “Drop your fucking weapon!” The raider said. Dutch could feel the .32 pistol pressed behind his back. The man was obviously a rookie with close combat. Holstering his pistol and making it seem as though he was disarming himself, Dutch placed his katana on the ground… and grabbed the trench knife from his boot, spinning and causing the weapon to misfire. Easily overpowering the raider, Holmes smashed him into the ground, and jabbed the knife as hard as possible into his forehead. ‘’Hmm. Won’t be using that again.’’
Stefanie looked over at Domingo. "Hey," she said, "that's mine!" He was taking shots with his SAA, and she was crouched across an alleyway from him. "This? No," he said, trying to play off that he'd actually stolen from a friend. "Yeah, picked it up from the National History Museum, Colt Revolver. Ain't many of them around these days. Jeeves filled me in on it. We're done here, I better get it back or I will stomp the living shit out of your greased-up, tank-drivin' ass." Domingo chuckled a little. "Try me," she said flatly, before popping a Buffout and charging down the alley. She seemed to avoid the fire coming her way before connecting with a shoulder into the first Raider she saw, she stepped on his throat and twisted, slicing it with her spur while simultaneously avoiding the butt of the rifle coming at her head and connecting with a backhand blow into the side of a second Raider's temple. He was dropped off his feet and she punched downward into his chest with her Power Fist, causing him to gasp for air. Stefanie then dove through a storefront window as another volley of shots cut the ground up where she'd been, riddling the downed Raiders. She cursed as she noticed the blood coming from her calf. A shot had grazed her and now she heard footsteps coming her way. She crouched next to the door and stood up as soon as it opened, spattering a Raider's brains with her Power Fist on the wall outside. The two Raiders behind him were riddled, crumpled, and fell from an unknown assailant. Stefanie slammed the door again and began searching frantically for a firearm inside the building. Or anything else useful for that matter.
One of the Raiders swung a baseball bat at Vladimir's head. Bad move. In an instant, Vladimir's meteor hammer was out. He wrapped it around the bat, using his weapon's force to drag the bat from the Raider's grasp. Before the Raider could register what had happened, Vladimir had cleared the bat from the hammer's grasp, then whipped the weapon upwards. The steel weight on the end of the the hammer's chain smashed into the Raider's chin and broke his jaw. To make sure he was dead, Vladimir then swung the meteor hammer downwards into the downed Raider's chest.
Suddenly, intense pain shot through Vladimir's chest. He fell over, and his vision turned red. He had been shot in the back with a hunting rifle. Vladimir turned over and, before his enemy could confirm the kill, Vladimir filled his head with .44 rounds from one of his Glock 21s. Vladimir's numb fingers fumbled for a Stimpack. It almost fell from his grasp before he injected the stim into his stomach. Immediately, the pain lessened, and Vladimir was able to move to cover.
Riley took his Alien Rifle out and started melting some raiders. But then, suddenly a CLOUD came over him and his weapons input stopped, and that made him vulnerable to a punch to the face. Riley smacked the guy across the face with the Alien Rifle and while he staggered Riley took out his Quad-Beam and shot him a few times. Riley picked up a knife and threw it at a raider, it pierced his forehead and died, "Pure skill, heheh," Riley said before dodging a super-sledge and killing the holder with it. The cloud was gone so Riley wielded his Alien Rifle once more and began melted more enemies.
Aaron sat in the back of Domingo's trailer, guarding it while the rest of the escapee insane-asylum inmates went on a very disturbing killing spree. Why the fuck was he still with these people? Most of all, one of them was a fucking Enclave! That rat bastard is allied with the same thing that has made Aaron's life a living shitfest, killed most of his family, and enslave a whole Goddamn city. If anything, Aaron should kill the man. Just strait up blow the fucker's face off. Although, the consequences would most likely be fatal. The man's butt buddy, Jacob, would turn Aaron into a puddle. He should just run off right now, it didn't seem that any of them would really notice. And, in the miste of all this battle, he could even get away with sneaking some of Domingo's cargo off as well. The tank pilot had truly been the most 'normal' and trustworthy out of this lot though, and, where it other conditions, Aaron would even team up with the man to help him with any other jobs. Strauss, Jack, Riley, Weston, Alexis, and maybe Stefanie seemed more fit to confinement than the open wastes. Jacob, The Enclave Bastard, and the new one of them deserved death if anything. No matter what 'good stuff' they've done, they would only cause more bad with all that power. Aaron didn't care for Ronald that much besides that fact that he had been to Austin recently. As for now, Aaron decided to stick around and see how shit turns out. If it gets more messed up that it is now, than he was getting the hell out of here and back down to Austin. Even that sliver of hell seemed more welcoming that this madness.
A bullet whizzed by Aaron's head, nearly hitting a crate of ammo. "Shit!" He looked out to see two raiders advancing on the trailer, "Poor idiots." Aaron cocked and loaded his Shotgun, getting ready give this trailer a new paint job.
"Sixteen thousand caps for it!" Domingo shouted back to Stefanie, advancing down an alley adjacent to the one Stefanie had just run, leading to the corner opposite the block the pit fighter had just exited onto. "Sixteen five for the SMERSH, too!" Domingo continued, flipping a couch as a Raider with a ripper descended on him, making a jab for his face. The couch impeded his progress, however, as the chainsaw-knife became entangled into e spring and stuffing that filled the ancient sofa. Domingo continued to roll the couch over and eventually flipped it onto the raider, pinning him to the ground with the whirring r aider depleting its batteries. Leaving the raider there, Domingo moved on out of the building, flicking the hammer on the SAA and snap-shotting one of the Raiders taking aim at Stefanie, who was hiding in a doorway just a little ways south of her.
Roland looked at the raiders closing on the trailer, sighing as Aaron fired a burst of pellets into each one. Watching as the first one fell, he noticed the second one only get jolted but kept on coming, despite the fist-sized hole in his ribcage. Fool's jacked on Psycho, the merchant thought to himself, giving the man a coup de grace with his Grease Gun. With the raidres in the immediate area of the trailer dispatched, Roland climbed down the maintenance ladder and crouched behind one of the wheel wells, taking a flask of brandy from his pockets.
Jacob stood, a raider to the front, back, left and right of him. There was another watching him from about ten feet away slightly right of dead ahead. Jacob reached into his duster, clenching each hand around a D'Eagle. Without a word or even a glance to warn the Raiders, he lunged to the right, diving into that Raider, while drawing his guns, shooting the one furthest off, and then the one that had been right in front of him a second ago. Both went down, hideous wounds gouged in their chests by the HEIAP bullets Jacob's pistols spewed. Jacob then beat the Raider he had jumped on against the doorstep of the house they were against, and he blind-fired at the Raider that had been to his left. The shot clipped the bastard's shoulder, sending him to the ground. Jacob shot the one he had pinned between the eyes and stood up. He walked over to the one he had just winged and executed him.
Front, back, left and right. Thats four. Four bodies, thats okay. Wasn't there five a second ago? Jacob thought to himself as he stood over his victim. Then he was pitched forward by a shotgun blast. Rolling as he hit the ground, Jacob felt the buckshot stinging in the muscles of his back. Thankfully, his Combat Armor and kevlar bodysuit had taken the brunt of the blast.
"Definitely five!" Jacob grunted as he rolled over and shot the bastard in the neck.
Alexis was guarding the tank with arron and roland.He had watched the two of them deal with the raiders quite efficantly and was curently fidling with his .44.
As for Weston, he had moved up within the shanty town. However, he did'nt take the other took. He was going the long way around, trying to go in through the back. Of course, sometimes there was a wall. And when theres a wall, he fixed that problem. With a sledgehammer. Smashing through the weak steel walls of a building, Weston soon found himself staring face to face with a Raider. Wielding a Switchblade, the Raider charged. Stumbling around due to the sudden surpirse, Weston fiently put up his sledgehammer as some means of defense. As luck would have it, the Raider used a downward slash, and the sledgehammers rod had blocked the kinfe from slashing Westons stomach. Being knocked back, the raider stumbled across the room before hiitng a wall. Weston then smashed the said Raiders face with a seldgehammer, before firing a brust into it just to make sure its dead.
"Mr. Rascon sends his regards...ha."
"Thirty two five for both, eh?" Stefanie grinned, "done, but you better be good for it." Stefanie winked at Domingo as he picked off another Raider with his new, rightfully acquired SAA. Stefanie got up and moved with Domingo back down the alleyway. When they got there, they saw Aaron and Roland fighting back from the trailer of El Oso. Alexis wasn't doing much of anything, as usual, but fiddling with his .44. Stefanie swore she'd never seen that man fire a weapon. What was his purpose again? On the ground, she spied a Missile Launcher laying next to the bleeding carcass of a Raider. She picked it up with a grin. "I've always wanted to try this," she said, hefting it onto her shoulder. "Ah, Stefan-- WHOA!!!" Domingo cried as he and Stefanie both hit the dirt. The missile streaked backwards, pitching Stefanie to the ground and detonating inside a small building. "Holy fuck!" Stefanie said loudly as the dirt around her and Domingo began being ripped up by gunfire. "I was gonna tell you it was backwards!" Domingo yelled as he popped off shots with his SAA. "How the hell was I supposed to know that?" Stefanie yelled back. At least the Raiders were no longer paying attention to the tank, Aaron and Roland, and Domingo's supply. Their numbers had to be running out though.
Dutch jumped from the doorway as a missile slammed into his building, imploding rock and brick. Landing in the middle of the compound out in the open, Dutch immediately sighted who had fired the missile; Stefanie. Shaking his head and gritting his teeth, Dutch pulled his Tar-21 from his duffel, and began clearing the street. Apart from a few stragglers, there was nothing that was living out in the open. Taking a moment to rub his hand across his face and wipe away the dust on his jacket aswell, he fired his rifle into the air. “Hey Girly! What the hell was that for?!”
"Sorry Dutchie," Stefanie said, "I ain't much good with these big guns, but it always looked so fun when you guys fired missiles at people." Holmes was not ammused in the least. "In all fairness," Stefanie continued, "you did almost shoot my ear off earlier. And you killed my robot. And destroyed my house. And anyways, I've seen you walk away from plenty worse than a missile hittin' a building you were in." Still didn't look ammused. Oh well Stefanie thought, shrugging. He'd probably almost kill her again later anyway. She wondered why she looked up to Dutchie so much. Especially since he was such a dick to her all the time. Must've been the jacket. She popped in a Buffout and helped Domingo to his feet, dusting him off. "So let's go get them cap," she said, "or maybe, I can rummage through that trailer o' goodies you got and we can do some bargainin'?"
Aaron doubletook as he saw Stefanie and Domingo enter the area, and the second look he saw Stefanie holding a missile launcher backwards! Aaron put a hand on Roland's back, causing him to turn around as well. "Wha-What's she doin-" Aaron stopped mid-sentence, threw Roland to the floor, and then hit the deck himself. A missile whizzed by them, hitting a nearby building. Debris and dirt showered the two as they slowly rose. "Stefanie! What in God's name was that about!" He took cover behind the tank wheel to avoid any stray shots, "You trying to help the raiders kill us!?!" She only chuckled a bit and moved on, talking to Dutch Holmes, or the Enclave Bastard in Aaron's mind. He spat, brushed off his jeans, and hiked up inside the trailer. Roland was still staring in disbelief at Stefanie's careless act of destruction, Aaron would be doing the same but he seemed to expect it of the reckless woman. Tossing a half-dismembered corpse out of the trailer, he called out to Domingo, "Yo man, when we hittin' the road?" He looked around at the carnage quickly, "I'm sure this firefight is gonna get the attention of some greedy looters." Now that Aaron thought about it, he wasn't quite sure what they were doing here. The group had been discussing it on the drive over here, but Aaron was busy drifting in and out of sleep.
It seemed that the whole of the raiders were either dead, dying, or running for their miserable lives. Maybe now that the battle was over he could see what they were really after in this bloody quest of meaningless death. A cigarette in his mouth, Aaron simply rested on top of some seemingly dangerous ammunition.
"Looks like someone needs a lesson in gun maintenance," Roland said quietly as he hopped up farther into the back of the trailer, taking a seat at the radio broadcasting station. "Somebody paint an arrow on the side of that thing, or something." He flicked the transmitter on and watched as the radio equipment flickered to life before introducing the announcement: "Hellooo and welcome to Radio Free Strauss. Don't mind that last announcement, that announcer was a bit Jetted up at the time, but he's alright now. Off gettin gbent somewhere, but anyways, let's get right to business. I'm your assistant DJ, Roland Rockfort, here to bring you the latest on the Wasteland Fight for Justice.
"Today, a Raider shanty town was raided itself by a crew of daring do-gooders and one absolutely fucking massive vehicle. The said persons involved are Stefanie McRae, Jacob Vaughton and Domingo Velasquez, among others. The entire camp has been wiped out and travel througgh that area is once again safe for all. Keep up the good work, fellas! And now, we move on to some quality entertainment." Flicking off the mic, Roland popped in one of the vinyl records that lined the walls of the trailer within a three-foot radius of the radio broadcast system. Popping it into the machine, he tuned his PiP-Boy into Radio Free Strauss's frequency, listening to 'Do You Know What It Means (To Miss New Orleans)" by Louis Armstrong.
Meanwhile, in front of the tank, Domingo called out to Aaron. "We can leave now, unless you want to loot or something." Waiting for the Austinite's response, Domingo sat on the edge of the tank's entrance hatch, awaiting his response. Along the waysomewhere, he caught Stefanie's attention and tossed her a large rawhide bag of jangling bottlecaps. "For the gun and the knife," he clarified, "plus a little extra for fixing up your house. Sorry about the mess," He apologized.
Jackal lay on the ground, in a collapsed doorway. Staring up at the sky, imagining what birds sounded like before the war. A nice little whistling tune, not the Keewahr! of Post-War Gore Crows and Howler Eagles. Clouds drifting lazily by. The sound of a truck passing in the distance. No, that wasn't a truck. That was El Oso! Jackal took another look at the sky.
"Where the fuck did the roof go?" Jackal groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. He had been going to talk to Dutch about some Raiders on the left flank. Then Stefanie had fired her rocket launcher. Backwards. And demolished the fuckin house!
Jacob, meanwhile, was walking back to El Oso. He stopped by a struggling Raider, her arm trapped by rubble from Stefanie's stunt with that rocket tube. With a quick swipe of his Ka-Bar, the bitch was slumped, blood spurting from he freshly severed carotid arteries. El Oso was coming into view around the corner, with Jackal struggling towards it like some grumpy old man who was trying to prove he didn't need a cane.
"Job well done, folks. Feels good to be back killing Raiders and slavers again." He said, to no one in particular. Then he caught Aaron giving him a sidelong look. What was his problem all of a sudden? They'd had a conversation about Jay on the deck of Rivet City, talked about Austin and the Outcasts, and now Aaron was burning fiery holes in the side of Jacob's head! What had changed in the last eight hours?
Riley was grinning. Yes, it was petty and childish. Yes, it was time-consuming and unnecessary, but he wanted to test his Alien Rifle. He had melted people with it, hell, he had melted about half a dozen Raiders with it in that last little skirmish. Then he smiled and stepped back from his work, looking at Cat to see if the hound approved. The dog only barked and panted in response.
There, written in big block letters, burned into the concrete with Riley's Alien Rifle, were the words: "Riley was here, and see what happened!"
After a quick laugh at it, Riley returned to El Oso and the others.
"Ok," Weston said after getting on the tank"who grabbed the fingers, anyone?"
Almost before he could finsh the sentnce, a bag plooped into his lap. Opening it as if a bomb might go off inside it, he quickly shut up. Yep, there were fingers in there. A lot of them..all...dead and bloody and stuff. Throwing the bag back to tehe anyomus finger cutter-offer, Weston shudderd and looked into the sky. A few birds were now flying around the old shanty town that the group were just at. Now, to get back Rascon and get the gun. And then go upon our merry, bloody way.
Vladimir grinned when he saw the look on Weston's face before the boy handed Vladimir his bag back. The boy clearly had no stomach for the less...normal things in combat. Ah well, he though. You've got to do what you've got to do. Vladimir wiped the blood, viscera, and gore off of his tanto before returning it to its sheath. He was ready to get a move on.
"I guess you guys could loot, but it doesn't seem like these guys have anything of that much value." Aaron looked over the carnage, everyone of them dead. Vaughton had been finishing off the dying ones. Speak of the devil, the two caught glances. Giving somewhat of a snarl, Aaron turned away. Although he once thought Vaughton to be somewhat of an ally, Aaron's arrogance had clouded his thinking. Them man was sided with the Enclave, created by the Enclave, and may even still be sided with the Enclave. The Austinite's hate of the Enclave overwhelmed any reasonable thought. If the man weren't so powerful, Aaron would kill him himself, along with his Enclave friend. It was true that even Jay had been fellows with him, but Jay was too forgiving, too peaceful. Aaron believed in vengeance, an eye for an eye. He shook his head, leaned back, and continued to smoke his last cigarette. Maybe these raiders did have something of value on them...
Stefanie whooped as she caught the bag of caps. Everyone seemed to be ragging on her for not knowing how to use a Missile Launcher. Wasn't her fault slaves were not trusted, nor could ever even obtain such weapons. There was just no instane where she'd used one. "Thanks Domingo, you didn't have to throw the extra in there but I do appreciate it. You're a sweetheart," she said. She went back to looking at the wound on her leg. Crudely bandaging it, she did manage to stop the bleeding. She popped in a Buffout and surveyed the ruins for anything useful. She picked up some ammo, and a couple pieces of armor, stripping what she could that was intact from the dead. She picked up some grenades, which were quickly confiscated by Roland. Shrugging, she also picked up a Combat Knife. She slid it into a holster on her chest armor after noting the "Stabhappy" engraved on the side. Roland informed her of a rare series of "Stabhappy" knives released before the war. She glanced over at Aaron, who had seemed ok at first, but in the last few hours had been becoming more and more visibly hostile to the rest of the group. She didn't know what to make of it other than that he must think them nothing more than a bunch of bloodthirsty butchers. Oh well. He was one too. No matter what side of the coin, good, bad, whatever. If you killed a person, even just a single person, in this day and age you were no better than anyone else. And if you weren't a killer, you were simply a victim. Aaron had to understand that. Oh well, she thought again. No sense worrying about stuff that was beyond her control.
"Aaron." Roland turned away from the radio console, shifting a pair of headphones to his neck. "Are you alright? You've been looking angry for a while now..."
Meanwhile, up front, Domingo nodded in Stefanie's direction before sliding back into the tank's cockpit and pushing the t-bar forward and to the left, hoping to get the vehicle turned around and headed back towards Rascon's pad. The path was pretty much clear, anyways: just follow the path of debris and destruction and take a left at the former candy store. Hope Stefanie appreciates the 40 grand in that bag... The merchant thought to himself as El Oso crawled through the broken wall of vehicles he had smashed not ten minutes before.
Dutch eyed the man’s rad signature, noting his vindictive posture and expression. It was obvious to Dutch that the man didn’t like him. Frankly, he didn’t care. If the man tried anything, his neck would be snapped like that, or worse, it would be slow and painful. As far as Dutch’s excellent memory carried, the man hadn’t been present for Jerusalem, and thus wasn’t of concern to him. To Dutch, he was another arrogant wastelander who thought he could mess with the Enclave, which was a big no-no. Putting his assault rifle and cleaning the blood off of his katana, he grabbed his duffel and headed for El Oso.
After a good half-hour's enthusiastic blasting of Raiders with the rest of the group, Strauss smiled to himself and climbed back into the trailer of El Oso. Worthington wasn't with him; no, Worthington was hauling his small amount of loot, and wheeling the mostly burnt out but intact carcass of the surviving Sentry Bot towards a new possible abode. The one Three Dog had mentioned the last time he'd visited; buried in a rockface somewhere near Arefu. Apparently, it'd been the site of a weapons cache a few years ago, but it got cleared out not too long ago. Should be able to entrench myself in there nicely, should the need arise. Strauss pulled off his helmet as he settled into the seat in front of the radio set-up as the tank began to move again.
Soon, the old tank rumbled on down to a stop. Waiting outside, were several of the gun dealers guards, staring at the tank. Jack was the first to reach the guards, who stopped talking. One started to speak, and was cut off by the other. "Where them fingers?" Jack replied by flipping him off, and continuing inside of the building.
"I'm fine brother, don't worry about it." Roland, satisfied with the answer, turned back to the radio console. Aaron then went back to carefully eying Holmes from a distance. The man wasn't normal, he wasn't pure human. From what he had gathered from Jacob's conversations with the man, they were both experiments by the Enclave. That made them no better than the Biosoldiers in Austin, even if they had reasonable thought. Actually, they may even make them worse. Jacob was an enigma though. The man seemed to be a proclaimed hero to the wasteland, yet he is an Enclave by birth. Maybe he's a heretic to them, escaped from whatever prison they had him in, and came here to D.C. It also could just be another of the Enclave's conspiracies. They send him out there to become a hero, then they work it out in their benefit. He knew the Enclave were tricky about that kind of stuff, especially in the South. Aaron's brain rattled as the tank started up, filling the silent sky with the sound of a rumbling engine. Everybody piled up inside either the tank or the trailer, pushing Aaron to a far corner. He spotted Holmes and Stefanie talking, about what, Aaron didn't know. Just as another plan to murder him popped into his head, Riley's dog-or cat, sniffed his sneakers. He scratched the mut's head and pulled up a "Big Book of Science" from Domingo's random stuff. The book was interesting, but a lot of it seemed to be bullshit now.
The tank halted to a stop, everybody immediately pouring out. They walked up to a group of armed guards, who asked jack for something. The cocky hitman simply flipped the guard the bird and continued, he seemed pretty conformable with that. Aaron let out a small laugh, this was going to be fun.
Waiting outside after finishing his conversation with Stefanie about missile launchers and when and how to use them, Dutch opted to wait outside with the henchman of Marshall Rascon while they did their business. “How’s it goin’?” Dutch said, messing with them. The henchman gritted his teeth. “Shut up.” He said. Dutch smiled. “Not a good idea, buddy.” Dutch said, taunting him and trying to get him to draw his weapon. The henchman almost went to try and punch Dutch them and there, but opted out, knowing what Dutch was capable of. “Not falling for that one. I heard what you son of bitches did. Took out one of our best customers, yep, you son of a bitch, you.” The henchman said, slightly angry. Dutch frowned slightly. “Son of bitches?” Dutch said.
Dutch edged his way inside, his assault rifle drawn and pointing out the door. Marshall and Jack, aswell as the group turned towards Dutch in unison. “I, erm, well you see, it was like this.” Dutch said, raising his hand and letting them observe the blood. As Dutch backed up, five henchman moved inside with guns raised, one less than before. He looked towards the group innocently. “Well, I didn’t want to kill all of them! It’s just the lead guy started it, not me.” Dutch said, using his silver tongue to no effect.
Stefanie eyed the guards playfully before walking past Apparently they were too stunned by Jack's response that they were not going to attempt to stop the group. That or the presence of Jacob Vaughton and/or Dutchie nearby. Either way they went right in. Stefanie gave Domingo a slap on the back. "Thanks for the caps," she said, "I really do appreciate the extra." Domingo smiled and gave a quick nod through the smoke from the cigar gritted between his teeth. Domingo was quickly becoming one of the nicer members of the group. Along with Strauss, and sometimes Riley, he was one of the more friendly individuals, making it easy for his and Stefanie's persona's to mesh. "So what does this guy deal?" she asked him. "Anything you can think of," Domingo replied. "So you think he'd sell me a Missile Launcher?" Stefanie asked, with a chuckle. "He doesn't sell Missile Launchers," Domingo quickly replied. The two shared a laugh as they moved on. Stefanie threw a wink to Strauss, who laughed and nodded back and she glanced at Aaron. He still looked upset, and glared at her. Probably because she'd been talking to Dutchie. She could tell he hated Holmes most of all. It was quite obvious to most of the group from all the burning glares that Aaron sent out to him. No matter. He wasn't her master. No one was. Stefanie was happy with the fact that she could do what she wanted, when she wanted, how she wanted. No one had control over her. Nevertheless, she threw a friendly grin to Aaron too, who simply ignored it and glared at Dutch some more.
Turning his head back to the group with his assault rifle still raised, Dutch smiled innocently. "Please go ahead with your business deal. I assure you, Mr.Rascon, that at the most, only their eyes will be missing; maybe some limbs." Dutch said, getting the henchman to nervously back up alittle and out of the doorway. His assault rifle still in hand, he smiled politely to the group, Mrs. McRae, and the dude with the wild haircut. "You have a good time too, frosty." Dutch said, grinning, and headed outside into the sunlight, where the henchman had holstered their weapons and moved back where they had been before, one of them removing ammunition and valuables from his head comrade. Leaning against El Oso's trailer, Dutch spoke to them again. "So, how's it going?" Dutch said. The henchmen simply ignored him this time; it was probably in their best interest aswell.
Vladimir sat inside the door. He really disliked some of the scumbags around here. They are impediments on the road of wasteland unity, and they should be destroyed, just like the raiders, he thought. One of them, who was probably off duty, swaggered up to Vladimir, bragging about how good of a shot he was and how Vladimir would be sorry if he crossed him. It must have been the man's first day on the job. Either that, or he was drunk. Vladimir shot him a cold stare. The guard got angry at this, rather than backing off. He must have been drunk. This would turn out to be no good for the guard. The guard put his hand on Vladimir's shoulder and tried to roughly shove the Cossack Warrior Weapon. That was a bit too far for Vladimir's taste. Before the poor drunkard could attempt his ill-planned shove, Vladimir had wrenched the man's arm off of Vladimir's shoulder and, using a technique borrowed from Aikido with slight modifications, broke the man's hand in his grasp with lightening fast speed. He wouldn't try that again in a hurry.
"Dammit, Vlad!" Dutch said, looking on as he broke the henchman's hand. However, the other henchman dared not intervene. "Hmm." Dutch said, admiring the lot. "I like you guys. Your smart." Dutch said, then turned towards Vlad. "Look, Vlad, as an Enclave, excuse me, imposter Enclave who used to go to school with me and Jacob, I must advise you that even I have limits as an Enclave, and so should you. Sure, it's fine to go kill people willy nilly, believe me, I do it all the time to the Brotherhood and the Crusade, but right now we're trying to get one of those SCM .30 cals to help with the Crusade-annhiliation. So try not to hurt people, ok bud?" Dutch said. To say this, he was a hypocrite, considering he had just killed that man's friend. But still, it wasn't going to help right now.
Domingo sighed, looking back at Vlad and Dutch as he stamped out the butt of his cigar, breathing out a final ring of smoke before heading right on into Rascon's dealership after Stefanie. Weston was at the counter, attempting to broker the deal for the SCM .30 that was curentlyp out the counter. Domingo eyed it quickly with a merchant's surmise; one that could determine the worth of a product in a simple glance.
He noted the blackened tip of the gun and several scorings along the side of the weapon, along with the dirt and grime it had accumulated. He noted that it was used for field use, probably for a significant term, before it was either torn forcibly from the hands of a Crusade gunner or abandoned; with the latter being the most likely. The gun looked to have little external damage; however, so Domingo merely strode over and examined the weapon from closer up. The gun seemed mostly intact, well worth the amount of work Domingo and his friends had performed to obtain it.
Roland, meanwhile, had gone up on the roof of the trailer and was currently dozing in the mid-day sun, soaking up as many rays as possible before night fell. His internal clock told him, without checking his pip-boy, that it was probably some time in early evening, around 5:00, or a bit later. The sun was still going to be out for at least another two to three hours. He shifted a bit and continued dozing, content.
Marshall was lookig increasling worried, and the converastion between him and Weston grew louder and louder. Finnally shouting, the room fell slient. Standing up, he strode over to the group and looked a them.
"You guys came in here, and hurt my men. Now, you just EXPECT me to just stand here and hand over the gun willy-nilly? No./ You get the gun, but you don't get ny ammo unless one of you boneheads can figure out a good enough reason to let me give you one."
Dutch unsheathed his katana, grabbed his cleaning rag, and began to systematically clean up the katana, examining the symbols engraved along the blade that meant his name along with the katana's actual name. Wiping away the blood, Dutch twirled the sword back and forth with both of his hands, loving how it felt. Sure, he liked that SCM officer sword of his; it reminded him of a Roman Gladius. However, he had always had a preference for the katana's feel. Sheathing it once more, Dutch stood up. The sun was sooooo damn hot; it was more scorching than while he was Navarro during graduation. Briefly taking in his surroundings, Dutch looked off in the distance, bored to death.
Thomas woke up, his head throbbing. Grabbing his deagle and finding a clip from his bandolier, he looked around for anything living. Airborne limped around, helping their comrades around as they searched for other survivors. "Status report, somebody give me something!" Thomas yelled, A marine approached him, Corporal insignia on his shoulder. "Cpl. Johnson, sir, glad to see you made it." Johnson said. His power armor helmet was missing, as was his weapons except for a 10mm pistol, and he had blood running down his head. "What the hell happened, Coporal?" Thomas said. He had been expecting no survivors and himself tied to a pole with his armor missing. Johnson, helping up a wounded comrade, began to speak slowly. "We gave em' a hell of a fight, Captain. But there was so damn many. And then they sent the entire friggin' population of wasters after us." Johnson said, a tear coming down his dirtied face. "We shot the fuck out of em' Captain. But they were everywhere; too many for the Airborne to handle alone. God, I can still hear them screaming!" Johnson said, breaking down. Thomas hugged him, his hand on his head as the young Corporal cried himself to death. "That bastard left us alive so that you could see what he'd do to us in the next wave." Johnson cried. "He just grabbed Fenrick and Greg by the collars and took that massive ripper and cut them open like tin cans!" Johnson said, sobbing harder. Thomas' eyes closed. What madness had Roarke caused that would make an Airborne, of all people, break down from common battefield scenes?
There was a loud POW! as Domingo's pistol spoke once. The round, fired accurately if a little bit off, ricocheted off the counter and cliced one of Rascon's fingers off at the knuckle. Domingo, holstering his gun, sighed. "How about you give me the ammo to that thirty and I let you keep your other nine fingers?" The merchant didn't seem too concerned about the fact that he had just shot the finger off of the owner of a fucking gun shop, who had several armed guards on call at any given time. Hell, he actually seemed to have enjoyed taking the shot.
"Or how bout this?" Stefanie said as she grabbed the angry arms dealer by the testicles, squeezing. "Because if you don't," she said, "I'll rip your baby makers off here, and shove them down your throat. Then I'll put your face on the ground and stomp on your head so hard, you'll chew 'em up and swallow 'em without tryi'g." Quite a gruesome image, but that was just a common way for Stefanie to deal with 'undesirable' men that were around. The group recoiled as Marshall pulled a knife. Stefanie blocked the stab attempt and twisted his arm around his back. "So Marshmellow, lose your balls and keep our ammo? Or give us the ammo and stay a man?" Marshall's henchmen pulled guns, then the rest of Stefanie's friends pulled theirs. This was just a little trade negotiation, Stefanie McRae style. "Your choice, my nearly castrated friend."
Riley swore quietly as the metaphorical shit made a graceless impact with the metaphorical fan. Calm the fuck down. Riley mentally insisted, staring intently at the arms dealer. Marshall's face seemed to go blank for a moment, despite the situation, before reverting to its usual, "business" expression. I think you should give us the ammunition. Riley continued. He couldn't really tell whether his thoughts were actually reaching Marshall, which was worrying. There was an uneasy silence as everyone seemed to be expecting some sort of reaction. "Alright," Marshall said through gritted teeth as the pain caught up with him again, "I'll give you the ammunition." With that, he immediately wrested himself from Stefanie's momentarily loosened grip and went about applying a crude torniquet and bandage to his finger-stump, before ramming a shot of Med-X into his wrist. He then motioned for his henchmen to lower their weapons. The group did the same shortly thereafter as one of the goons retrieved the ammo. Sighs of relief were breathed. Riley smirked to himself before bending down and ruffling the fur on Cat's head, looking casual as hell.
Hearing the sounds of arguing next door, Dutch took it that the negotiations weren't working. Taking his katana, he gutted the first two unsuspecting henchman, then turned to face the other two, who had drawn weapons in alarm. Swiftly slashing off the barrel of the man's .44 magnum, he twirled the katana, swiping the man's throat apart with a quick slash, blood spewing everywhere. The last man charged Dutch with a ripper, waving it foward. Taking his katana, Dutch flipped the man over his shoulder, and brought the katana down into his stomach. Pushing it deeper, Dutch withdrew the bloodied sword, and sprinted past the corpses towards Rascon's office, where he noticed there was no fighting. "Oh." Dutch said. "Well, you see..." Dutch said, pointing towards the subway office's direction. "There was some shouting, and I figured that..." Dutch stopped middway, dropping his hand and trailing off. "Fuck." Dutch said, wiping off the blood of his katana. "My bad."
Domingo watched with bated breath as the merchant reached down, removed Stefanie's hand from his man-jewels, picked up a box of ammunition with his thugs, and placed it on the counter next to the .30-cal. Domingo looked over at Stefanie and smirked, having not noticed that Riley had worked his 'voodoo' on Rascon. Indeed, the merchant had no belief at all in the powers of the mind; so he just assumed that common sense won through and the man decided to keep his nuts intact. "Good job," he said to his pit fighter comrade, beforep icking up both gun and ammunition and walking out of the metro station, onto the surface and back to El Oso, leading the group with him. Along the way, he noticed Dutch had entirely wiped out the arms dealer's henchmen. All the better for Domingo; less guards meant a higher chance of Rascon getting swept under the rug and Domingo going back to being top dog in the arms smuggling world.
As for Rascon, he was furious. His soldiers were already dragging away the bodies, but now, he sat down. Waving his good hand, a man stepped out of the shadows that was weilding a Sten that was slienced and had a Ak-47 slung over his back.
"I led them to you. I want my payent."
The man nodded and threw down a bag of caps. Spilling topen the bag, Marshall looked at them. 2,500 caps. All for this spy guy working for the Crusade.
"Well, Mr. Rascon, i'm always in the market for a new job. Names Sevastian. If you excuse me, i have some info to find."
With that, the spy was out the door, sealthily following the group.
The crusade pays well, he thought. 6'00 caps a month to track this group of wanna be heros and give them back info on there movement? Easy. Now, for the harder part. To figure out where they'll strike next. He'll have to join the group, gain there trust. But, not yet. For now, just follow. Later, maybe tomorrow he'll join them and find out more. After all, Sebastian though, The Crusade does pay well.
Vladimir had been cleaning his guns when Dutch had attacked the guards. He noticed that, even though he could hear the sounds of something going on, the guards didn't decide to fire on himself, Roland, or Dutch, so everything must be alright. Apparently, Dutch didn't think so. Vladimir shrugged and continued cleaning and maintaining his firearms and tanto. Once he established that no one was really paying attention to him, he moved over, out of sight, and drew out his meteor hammer. Vladimir whirled the weapon experimentally over his head. The balance, weight, and length were superb. Vladimir began spinning and whirling the weapon around his head and body. The meteor hammer flew around at fantastic speeds, whirling, wrapping, and lashing out. To an educated observer, it would appear that Vladimir was performing a form, but he was simply "shadowboxing" with the weapon and testing it out.
Jacob had shot the first guard the instant he heard shouting inside and the noise of a ripper. Good thing he'd been leaning in the doorway. As the second guard had tried to run past, trying to get to safety as Vlad and Dutch unleashed God-knows-what havoc on them, Jacob had ducked low, hamstringed the man and stabbed upwards into the base of his skull with the return stroke. The body slumped, not even a scream. Jacob walked into the others on their way out. He had a Desert Eagle drawn in one hand and an M1911 in the other, looking slightly mismatched. He raised an eyebrow, but Stefanie and Dutch just shook their heads.
Vlad was following along with that meteor hammer thing of his. Jacob had made one of those before. Used a pair of steel weights tied at either end of something called a bungee cord. Vlad's didn't quite have the range of Jacob's jury-rigged version, but it was less unpredictable in its movements. Jacob shrugged and indicated for Vlad to follow. AWA or not, Jacob wasn't having a Warrior Weapon wandering around unchecked.
Jackal, on the other hand, had been having a moment of gross immaturity, while Roland slept on top of El Oso, Jacob leaned in the doorway, and everyone else harassed Rascón. He was sat in the drivers seat of El Oso, looking around at his surroundings through the viewing port, well, it was more like an arrow slit, but whatever, in the front of the tank. It was a terrible view. No wonder Domingo was always so bloody moody and brooding. He was driving a giant chicken coop! Seconds later, Domingo dropped into the tank, while Jacob slapped the side to indicate that they should get moving. Jackal, at a loss of how to drive a tank, let Domingo assume his previous position at the controls, while Jackal took up a gunners position and Jacob walked alongside. Riley took up a seat in the trailer with Cat and Alexis.
Sebastian was ready.He had his face smeared with camofualge paint, he had the sliencer on and a clip ready to go. All he needed now was for all of them to look away from the Subway tunnel entrance. The tank started up with a bang, and it lurched forward. So far, so good. No for the three people, no two peopleand a dog to look away from him. Agian, he got lucky. Wasting no time, Sebvastin opened the chain link fence and slid into a car. Taking cover behind it, he watched as the tank drove father and farther away. Getting up from behind the tancar, Sebvbastian un-clipped a hand-held Radio from his belt. Sighing, he turned it on, extended the anntee and pushed a button.
"Gather top Base, Gather to base over."
"This is base, go ahead Gather."
"I am now following the targert group. Will attempt to realy postions so a strike team can move in"
"Understood. How was Rascon Gather?"
"Helpful. Send a medic to his postion. He got his pinky on his left hand shot off, poor bastard."
"Roger Gather. Goodluck out there."
With that, Sebastian turned his radio off, classped the Anntee. Unsliging his Ak-47, he begun following the tank treads. Another check in and night time will do good. But, for now, he just had to follow the tank treads.
Jack got off the tank. He needed to take a leak, and was going to catch up with the tank as soon as possible. Going into some bushes, he started to go. Finishing up, he started to follow the tanks threads, when he saw someone following it. (Jack has a poncho died black, so he would be hard to see at night. ). Sighing to himself, he drew his silenced AK-103, and started to follow the man. Probably had back up somewhere, and might of just been some dumb waster.
Dutch wasn't sleepy. Sure, maybe the rest of the crew, but he, Jacob, and Vlad all had... augmentations. He just wasn't sleepy. As the tank stopped for the night, Dutch started pulling the sleep people out and putting them outside as he grabbed their makeshift blankets and such. Grabbing and Riley and setting the man down, Dutch turned to get Roland as Riley woozily fell on the ground, dead asleep. "C'mon, big guy. We're stopping for the night." Dutch said, looking towards Jack as he signaled he was gonna take a piss. Helping Stefanie out of the truck, Dutch failed to extend a hand to Aaron, who remained in the truck almost completely asleep. Dutch slammed the outside of the tank with his hand, and Domingo popped out. "The folks are gonna be dead weight if we get in a firefight. Just unloaded the cargo." Dutch said, pointing towards the sleepy group grabbing their blankets or whatever they could find. Moving away towards Vlad, Connor, and Jacob, Dutch pulled some broken trees over heavily, then sat them down for use as seating and cover should any fighting go on. "Who wants watch?" Dutch asked, sitting down and drawing his katana, carefully cleaning it yet again.
As luck would have it, the idiots started to build a fire. Sure, it was'nt a huige fire, but enough to make himselfg seen if worst came to worst. Luckily, he had repalced his Ak with his Sten, which he then covered with a camofaulged shroud. Taking cover behind a rock, he breifly completned just walking in there, throwing a pipe-bomb, and be done with this. Of course, that was cut short when he sa something he would have never guessed. Someone following him. ONow that he was in the shadows, the person could'nt see him, as he was looking around. The tint of the gun metal gave it away. That, and the smell. Smelt like...dried blood. Slowly drawing his knife, he uttered a prayer to whoever might be listening, for he had blackend the blade. Keeping it ready, now, he had to see if the idiot was going to come look for him agian, or just rejoin his friends. How long has he been following him? Was he CCI backup?
Alexis sat bolt upright from his mat on the floor.Somthing was wrong.Still there was no imediate danger it just felt wrong alexis had lernt not to ignore his insticnts after that time when he had been stuck in DC for a few weeks away from civilisation.There was no harm in being causious so he pulled himself up and checked his weapon before siting back down again.
Motioning to the group that he'd cover their asses while they slept, Dutch sheathed his katana, drew his pistol, and stood up, moving to lean against El Oso's trailer, while everyone relaxed and tried to get some sleep. Dutch could see perfectly, even at night, because of his condition. Two figures to the west; one moving from fifteen feet away and the other from twenty feet away. Neither of them was reacting to seeing Dutch move. Perfect. Dutch would alert them until the last minute, and then he would pounce on them.Brandshing his pistol, he casually twirled it, inspecting the weapon and mock aiming it like a rookie.
In the glow of the campfire, Sebastian could see a figure with a weapon. With one moving in to look for him and another one guarding the group, Sebastian had to fall back. Crouching, he begin to move slowly, hoping the rookie did'nt spot him. Him, and the one following him. Replacing the bowie knife with his sten gun, Sebastian went down on one knee and looked at his surrodings. He could see something that looked akin to a old clump of trees. He could also see a old pre-war buidling. Sprinting thowards the buidling, Sebastian kuilled the lone inhabit, a Raider. Throwing his body into the forest, he waited out the knight, hoping that no one saw him. If they did, however, they would have to deal with a nasty suripise, a Bear Trap ready to punce on a un-septing person. That, and a rigged shotgun that he luckily did'nt set off while he was taking over the house.
Jack knew the man had looked back at him. He was surprised it had not happened sooner. It seemed dutch was doing something with a pistol, probably impersonating some body he killed. Drawing his Ballistic knife, he slowly started to move toward the camp. Bastard had no idea who he was following. Jack sighed, and started to twirl the knife in his hand. The man started to move, running away toward the house. Jack acted like he didn't notice, aiming the knife at him when his back was turned. Walking over to the camp, he waved to Dutch. "So, should we flip for which one of us gets to blow his brains out?"
"I prefer to draw straws, but flipping a coin works as well." Dutch said, acting sarcastic. Motioning for Jack to follow him, Dutch left his weapons back at his duffel, opting to go light with only his M1911 and a ripper. Moving through the brush and away from the relative safety of the camp, Dutch drew his pistol, and began to move towards the building where he could see the man's rad signature slightly, masked by the walls. "You take left, Jack, and back me up. I'm just going to go in there and kill him."
Jack drew his Assault rifle, and nodded. He headed toward the house, making sure to take the left side. Taking off the safety, he started to walk slower and slower, minimizing the speed in which he walked to lower the sound of his boots hitting the ground.Walking toward the left of the building, he threw a grenade threw the window, and waited for the man to rush out and get killed by dutch.
Dutch stood in front of the doorway as the grenade went off. Dammit Jack! He probably just woke up the entire camp! The grenade exploded, the inside of the building filling with smoke. Moving towards the doorway, Dutch extended his foot, feeling the tripwire go off on a rigged shotgun. The shotgun fired, then all was silent. Looking inside, Dutch peered inside, and backed his head slowly as sten fire filled the doorway, grazing him. "Little bastard grazed me." Dutch said, and extended his ripper past the doorway, trying to get a feel for the direction of the attacker by where he was firing from. However, the man didn't fall for it. Hmm. Putting the ripper away, Dutch decided it was time to end this. Grabbing a flashbang from underneath his jacket, he cooked it up, then rolled it inside. A brightened flash followed by someone who was dazed was all that followed. Stepping inside, Dutch jumped over the bear trap, moved to face his attacker, and used his pistol to slam the man on the side of head, who blocked the blow just barely, then followed up with a counter-blow to Dutch's groin. However, it wasn't enough. Dutch simply recoiled and used his other hand without effort to knock the man unconscious with the palm of his hand. Observing the man, Dutch noted how he was much better equipped than the other assassins sent after him. "Jack, inside! I got him alive!"
Jack walked in, and saw the disarmed traps. "Well, shoot him then!" Walking near the spy, Jack took out his .50 magnum and pointed it at the back of the mans head. He wouldn't escape Dutch and Jack, and even if he tried either one of them would make a large hole in his fore head.
Right before Sevastain lost it and blacked out, everything was Chaos. A grenade had went off and he was saved when he flipped a Couch over it. Then, the shotgun went off. firing his Sten into the doorway, he heard someone shout that he was grazed. Then, the bastard wanted to toy with im byy sticking his ripper out the doorway. He'd seen that trick once before. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Then, his world went alight. being deaf and nearly blind, he saw a man coming up to him. Throwing his pistol at his head, he tried to block. Too slow. The punch in the balls did'nt work, and n;ow herere he was. Knocked out and unsure what was going on. Great.
Dutch was considering it. In fact, he was going to. But not yet. "Not yet, Jack." Dutch said, and tossed the man's weapons to Jack, who promptly caught them. Searching the man's duffels, he found what he was looking for; documents on the man. But these weren't ordinary; in fact, they bore an AA stamp. Crusade. Dutch pocketed the documents, wrote down the man's name on a piece of paper, stuff it in his pocket, and grabbed the man by the back of his shoulders, dragging him out of the building. Once outside, Dutch slung the man over his shoulder, and began back towards camp with Jack. "It would be foolish to just kill him."
Jack chuckled. "We should give the little shit to Jacob, and lock the two in the tank. Their won't be nothing left of the bastard in the morning!" Jack started mess around with the guys guns. Knife painted black? Silenced Sten gun? AK-47 with a drum clip? Mother fucker had some odd equipment. It was Jacks now though, maybe one of those merchants back at camp would be interested into it?
Stefanie was awake after hearing a small commotion out in the darkness. Sounded like some explosions and a bunch of yelling. She couldn't quite tell though. She looked around at Vlad and Jacob, who were staring intently into the darkness, with weapons drawn. She stood up, fitting her own Power Fist onto her hand and popping in a Buffout. Then she noticed that Dutchie and Jack were gone. Where could they be? she thought, considering that they were probably the source of the commotion. Hopefully they were ok. Stefanie stood up and walked over to where the Warrior Weapons were standing, looking, watching, waiting. "What's out there?" she asked.
"Put all three of us in there, and the inside of the tank..., well the entire tank would be destroyed." Dutch said. It was almost 2:00 am in the morning. Noting how the frag grenades and gunshots had woken anyone up except for Jacob, Dutch and Jack creeped back into camp, dragging the assassin with him, Jack following up. Tying the man to a log with some rope, Dutch made sure he was tightly secured, and looked towards Stefanie, who was completely confused. "Well, your up early, ma'am." Dutch said, trying not to wake up the rest of the group. He gestured towards the captive.
"Huh, so that's what's making all the ruckus," Vladimir said. He gestured with his scoped G3A3. "I couldn't see the bastard from here. Lucky thing you saw him, and that Jack took so long in getting back from taking a piss." Vladimir was slightly irked. He should have seen the man before they set up camp. If Dutch and Jack hadn't seen him, Vladimir was sure the man would have eliminated much of the camp. Vladimir extended his hand to Dutch. "Nice job there, Shades," he said, complementing the man. They had gotten off on the wrong foot, and Dutch seemed like a good enough guy.
He's with them. He's here for your blood, your life, your soul. He's killed all that you've loved and cherished, and yet he still walks without a hint of regret. Kill him. Take his life for all the lives he has taken. An eye for an eye.
Aaron woke up in a flash, slightly confused by his strange dream. His mother had always told him that dreams were prophecies, that they meant something. Although Jean was dead, and she wasn't his true mother. It was unmistakable that the man in his dreams was the Enclave man with them, Dutch Holmes. One side of Aaron craved his blood, his death. The other side, likely the more reasonable side, stated to give him a chance, let him prove himself not to be a soulless bastard. Of course, as with most revenge-crazed people, the first side was the dominate. Riley and the others were still sleeping, with the exception of Stefanie. He heard chatter outside the trailer, and he could've sworn that he heard gunfire earlier. Putting his shirt on, Aaron stepped out into the night sky. Holmes, Jacob, Vlad, Jack, and Stefanie were all outside, along with an unconscious stranger. Jacob and Stefanie turned to greet him, "Mourning" Jacob said, sarcastically. Aaron scratched his head.
"What was all that commotion a few minutes ago?" Aaron looked behind Jacob to see the tied up man, "And who the hell is that?"
Dutch took Vlad's hand, shook it, and patted his resident captive on the back. "Little bastard grazed my cheek." Dutch said, brushing his hand on his cheek and coming away with blood. Then he noticed Aaron looking at him again with disapproval and a strange look of vengeance in his eyes. Dutch passed by Vlad, patting him on the back, and moved towards Aaron, who stared at Dutch with massive enmity. Pushing his shades down, Dutch stared his blank eyes into Aaron. "I presume you have something to say to me. Unless you want me to persuade you to tell me." Dutch said, flexing his hand and balling it in a fist to intimidate Aaron, who blinked, but still remain defiant. Replacing his sunglasses, Dutch knew this man wasn't going to say anything. Over-confident coward.
Roland walked softly over to the two standoffish men, edging bteween the two. The merchant knew if he were to end up in a head-on confrontation between himself and Dutch, he had zero chance of winnint, but at least he would slow Dutch down, and maybe give Aaron a chance to escape if he didn't 'tard out and attempt to attack the blind Warrior Weapon. "No fighting," he reminded the two angry guys before he backed out of the argument and sat down back in the trailer.
"Our captive Aaron. Now, I suggest we play a little game. Each one of us goes up to torture the man, the first one that breaks him gets the guns he carried with him." Jack took out the die he had in his pocket, and started to etch the initials of each group member into it. "Now, who wants to roll the die?"
"I don't consider it fighting, Roland. More like a pre-disposed duel of sorts." Dutch said, then moved to sit back down near his weapons. Removing his jacket and leaving only his undershirt on, Dutch rubbed his chest where his old wound's bandages were, grabbed a seat on a log next to his captive, and quieted himself down, and began humming "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire to himself while cleaning his katana yet again in an OCD manner. Looking towards Jack, he shook his head. "Not quite yet. What good would come from torturing him while's he's basically asleep?"
Ignoring Roland pass by, Aaron continued to star into Dutch's blind eyes. "You know what your people have done, you've probably done some of it yourself." Dutch's eyebrow rose. Aaron continued, "Your people have made my home into a living fragment of hell, a shithole of pain, despair, and suffering. I've seen your people fucking murder children in plain sight of their mothers, going by without a single hint of regret." At this time he nearly shouting, but made sure the others didn't hear. He didn't want to cause a scene. Holmes simply sat, humming a pre-war tune. "You fucking disgust me, I have the right mind to-" Aaron's hand was on his shotgun, ready to blow the bastards face off, but he was interrupted by Roland, who had stepped in before Aaron made quite a mistake. Aaron breathed deep and walked over to the rest of the group, who were busy messing with the poor captive. Roland asked Aaron what the was about, but he waved him off, telling him it was nothing. If Aaron was going to kill that bastard, it wasn't going to be here. Dutch walked over to the group aswell and began to talk to Jack.
But what did the man do? Aaron hadn't known him until a week ago. No, no, no, he was evil to the core. He had to be.
Dutch grinned. "Now here's a man with some balls." Dutch said, standing up unarmed as Aaron's hand went for his shotgun. He moved up to Aaron again until he was breathing in his face. "Your parents must've dropped you on your head or something, bud." Dutch said, poking Aaron in the chest. "So yeah, I'm an Enclave. Damn near the worst kind of Enclave. Gonna shoot me up some wasters, yes I am." Dutch said sarcastically, inciting Aaron's anger to the point where the man would foolishly pick a fight with him. "Gonna shoot the fuck out of the Brotherhood, yes I am." Dutch said. He wasn't being sarcastic about that last tidbit either. He was seriously gonna fuck up the Brotherhood. He stared at Aaron, his face showing delight and chuckling. "I presume you have that shotgun loaded." Dutch said, testing him. "I am unarmed, buddy. You so angry, go ahead and shoot. Hell, your probably doing me a favor." Dutch said, smiling.
Sebastian beagun to wake up,. Sure, he was still groggy and his head hurt like hell, but, he was awake. For better or for worse. What he saw though made him groan. The same two guys that brought hm here in the first place, and then the rest of the group he was spying on. There as one that he saw before. Jack, was it? Yeah. Same guy at the Rascon place. Same with most of the others. Now, he was captured. Alive, and with his geasr gone.
"Alkright, since you all want to play sadsitc gamer with me, should i just let you guyskill me, or can we work something out?"
Jack rolled the die, landed on the initials J.D. Jack Damask, that was him. Walking over to the prisoner, he smiled. "Well then, were going to torture you for a little while, then were going to brutally kill you, or let you go. Depends on how many limbs you have left at the end of it." The prisoner seemed unscathed, this was going to be fun. Drawing his knife,
"Well, look who's awake!" Vladimir sneered. He'd seen this man's tags. Crusade. Vladimir remembered those Crusade assholes from Nevada. They were as bad as the Raiders. Time to make them pay, one man at a time. Vladimir walked over to him. "'Let us kill you'? Did you really just say that? You don't 'let' us do anything. We do what we want. And, by God, if we decide that we're going to fucking kill you, we'll fucking let you know, by fucking killing you. Learn your place, boy, lest the men teach you a lesson." With this, Vladimir swung his hand, hard and fast, slapping the spy across the face, just like how he would use a four-finger rake in combat. Painful and humiliating.
Dutch turned towards the captive, moved Jack and Vlad aside, took his hand, and flogged him off the back side of the face. His Enclave instincts were taking over. Bending down to the tied man's face level, Dutch ripped off his mask and hood, revealing a scarred man. Flogging him again, Dutch motioned for everyone except for Jacob, Vlad and Jack to go about their business, preferably out of sight. He turned towards the man again. "The name is Holmes. You, my friend, are Sebastian Vakas. But for now, I'm just gonna call you Asshole." Holmes said, and punched Asshole across the face, bloodying him.
Sebastian manged to gasp out. His mask and hood were off. His mask over on the grund, his hood back to where it normally is when its not on his head. Of course, by now he had a broken nose, he was bleeding from the lips. Next was problay going to be a black eye.
"And..i'll call you princess. You'd like that, would'nt you? Hitting a defenless person princeness, 'eh?"
Sebastian manged to wheeze that out before taking a punch in the gut.
Jack just punched the man in the gut. Annoying ass hole was what he was. Spying a near by stool, Jack went over and grabbed it. Walking over, he swung it at the spies head, breaking it and bloodying the mane even more. "Do you want me to find another stool, or will you tell us what you know?"
"Asshole." Dutch said, and swung another punch, hitting him directly across the face near the eye, hitting him with such force that a small gash appeared. "Now, Mr. Asshole, this 'princess' will wupp your ass. And you try anything, Sunshine, Cupcake, and Big Bertha over there will fuck you up aswell, ok?" Dutch said, referring to the trio next to him. He slammed his fist into Asshole's face, then took his other hand and punch his face in a reverse direction. By this time, Asshole was pretty fucked up.
"Hey, hold it, Princess!" Vladimir said. "Sunshine here wants to have a little fun too." With this, Vladimir balled his hand into a fist and smashed it onto the spy's head in a downward hammerfist, then boxed him across the ears. Vladimir stood and addressed Dutch, making a mock bow as he did so. "Your highness, permission to start drawing blood with my knife here?" he asked, motioning towards his tanto.
Doing a mock curtsie, Dutch motioned for Vlad to take his turn. "Consider it an official royal order, Sunshine." Dutch said, smirking. He looked towards Asshole. "I told ya so, Asshole. Unless you want to say something that can plead your case to the royal court." Dutch said, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. He bent down to Asshole. "I'd reconsider. Sunshine over there is pretty hand with a knife." Dutch said, and walked off for a moment, grabbing four beers from the trailer. Tossing them to Vlad, Jacob, and Jack, he sat down next to Asshole, drinking the beer right next to him. "Mmmm."
"No need to, you guys won."
Swebastin spat out a glob of blood on the ground, his head down. He knew he could'nt take much more. Eventtly, it would just get worst and worst and he would then die. His boy would grow up wwithout his father, which he kinda is. At least when he's doing this job he's sending money back to his son. now, to hope that they don't kil lhim outright. Who knows, maybe the Crusade might know that's he trouble. Problay not, but, hey. You never know.
"I'll talk. "
"Good." Dutch said, and pulled out Asshole's documents he had pocketed earlier. "I've been reviewing your contract, Asshole. You've got military bounties on me, Jacob, and at least a half of the group. You've also got orders to capture me, Jacob, Connor Strauss, and Jack and send us specifically to Norfolk with the intention of capture." Dutch said, throwing the documents on the ground and stepping on them in the dust of the night. "They gave you a suicide mission." Dutch said, laughing slightly.
"Well, someones got to pay for my son. I mean, what am i supposed to do? Scrap 10 caps together a month, or get 600 caps a month? Sure, i'm not around all the time to watch him grow up, but, at least i put food on the table."
Seabstin was now look up a Dutch. Odd, now that he realized it. they sai that he was blind. But, he seemed to be a very good fighter.
"Now, if it was suicde, maybe. I was just going to watch you guys, but, then you guys started to find me. I holed up in the building over there, but, being the hwros you are, you just had to pull me out, did'nt you?"
"I find it ironic Mr. Sebastian. That you, are telling us that you kill people for money, and then want us to pity you for having a son." Jack drew his .50 magnum, and blew out the mans knee cap. "Tell us everything you know about the Crusade, or I blow out the other knee."
Dutch smiled. "I'm no hero. Farthest thing from it, Asshole." Dutch said, throwing his beer aside. He looked off to the stars above. "I don't care what you actually came for. I neutralize threats. You were armed. I was bored." Dutch said, looking back down at Asshole. He picked up the crumpled orders. "This is self-explanatory. Your a professional, but not one of my level. Nor the trio." Dutch said, gesturing to his companions. "I presume that, even if you didn't know, CCI is observing you right now. Which means we are being watched." Dutch said, drawing his katana and standing up. CCI always sent observers; more specifically, CCI snipers, to hound their bounty hunters should they be captured. Dutch looked off into the night. There was nothing. No. That's not right. Then he saw it. Three figures. One-hundred yards. DKS-501s? Yeah. Body Armor? BRAs, A2. "Jacob, Vlad, Jack, we've got company. CCI." Dutch said. His sight, however, was at it's very limits. What he saw could be more or less than the actual number.
Jack was off running by the time Dutch said "Sniper". He had gone to the house in which the spy had hidden earlier. Jack reached the house, and gone in. It was still their, the whole in the wall which lead to a road. On that road their was a bus, covering him until a bush. Quite lucky was he that day, as he ran at the bus. No gun shots, they hadn't seen him yet. Going for the bush, Jack tried to keep low. It seemed that these guys were focused on the duo interrogating the man. Jack was close enough to use the M79 grenade launcher. Dutch would signal him too shoot, and the snipers had little chance of seeing a man thirty feet away, hiding in bushes, wearing a poncho that covered most of him. He was a shadow in the dark, waiting for the bitches to make a mistake.
Stefanie turned as a single shot rang out. She felt a stabbing pain, like white hot fire in her chest. Time seemed to move in slow motion with dead silence as she watched the rest of her friends get up and scatter. She felt weightless and short of breath as well as a weakness that gripped her knees. Her world began to turn slowly sideways as she saw someone mouthing something to her. She couldn't tell who it was. She felt a wetness begin to form around the pain as she looked up into the starry night. She tilted her head back further and further until she finally felt her back hit the hard rocky ground. Stefanie McRae allowed her eyes to close as she layed motionless, gasping for breath. Trying to get all the oxygen to her body she could. She felt the blood pool on the ground around her.
Jack heard a gun shot. Probably from the snipers, Jack blew their asses back to hell with his grenade launcher. Running up the hill towards the snipers position, he noticed Stefanie was bleeding in the middle of the camp while every one else was taking cover from the snipers. Sighing, he started running down the hill as people soon started to notice the bleeding woman. Soon, Riley was at her body, desperately trying to heal the injured woman. Another man was next to him, and with Riley and his voodoo and the mans healing skills, Stefanie would be alright. Maybe.
Vladimir swore as Stefanie dropped. He asked the woman if she was alright. That was stupid. She made no response, and the gasps for breath she made obviously meant something was wrong, especially as they pushed the blood out of her body. Vladimir, in the heat of the moment, suddenly invoked all that he knew about chivalry. He sprinted to the wounded woman's body and stabbed one of very few stimpacks into her stomach, and another around her collarbone. "Come on girly," he said, "this isn't a good place for you right now." The Cossack scooped her up and sprinted to the cover of El Oso. Once there, he began to go to work. The woman was bleeding. That was bad. Vladimir saw that the bullet had lodged in her body. Vladimir tentatively attempted to dig it out with his tanto, but went against it. Instead, he grabbed a length of burning mass and used it to cauterize the woman's wound. That would do, for now. Just to be sure, though, Vladimir took out a length of bandage and wrapped it around the woman. Hopefully, that would work.
Riley went for Stefanie. Jack looking from the hill, noticed what he was doing. Vlad was trying to heal her the best he could, but then came the psychic dude to the rescue. Bastard had a first aid kit, the rarest thing you could probably find in the wasteland. Bastard went to work, removing the bullet part psychic, part knife. Bandaging the girl up, he seemed relieved. Little guy had the medic genes alright.
Riley ran over to Stephenie, the girl barely breathing. Taking his med kit out, he tried to remove the bullet with Telekinesis, but soon realized how dangerous that would of been. Switching to a small knife, Riley got the bullet out quite soon, all the while trying to reach Stephenies mind. Stephenie, can you hear me? Everything is going to be alright, got it? Nearly done with the bullet removal.
Stefanie felt nothing. Or was it an inkling of nothing. But nothing was something right? No, nothing was nothing. She looked around her as she stared straight ahead. All the wonders of the sky laid out before her. She heard the whispers of a friendly voice. She felt her breathing slow and then felt it speed up. She felt blood leaving her, but at the same time blood being made. The white hot fire that had been present a second ago turned cold as ice as she listened closely to every single beat of her fluttering heart. She felt weightless as she stood wide-eyed gazing upon familiar faces. She saw her parents. Could it be? No, it couldn't. Where exactly was she? She had no idea. They seemed to be pushing her away. What was happening? She felt a tingle in her chest. Like she wanted to breath, but it just wasn't there. She tried again. Nothing. She tried a final time, inhaling as deep as she could for as long as she could. Nothing. She mustered up all the strength she could and tried one last time.
Stefanie gasped deeply and writhed in agony as her eyes fluttered open. She felt absolute pain wash over her and began to cry as she looked at the familiar faces staring at her. She remembered instantly where she was and who they were. She'd never experienced a wound this traumatic or this painful and she'd never been as close to death as she just had been. Now only two things were on her mind:pain and vengeance. The latter would have to wait as the former took precidence. She breathed in heavily and felt excruciating pain at her movement. Then bliss as someone injected her with a Med-X, then a Stimpak. She could hear gunfire and yelling, but couldn't help. She was alive. She breathed deeply again as the events went on around her.
Dutch drew his Tar-21, adjusted the ACOG scope behind the cover of El Oso's trailer, and tossed another stimpak to Riley, who caught it hurriedly and jammed it in a second time into after the Med-X. Turning around the corner, Dutch knew his CQC skills would be useless from this range. Poking the weapon around the corner, he began an advance through the brush, being careful to put objects between him and the snipers. Where are you? Dutch continued looking for the first of the snipers. The shot had come from this direction. He knew it. They had to be here somewhere. Then he missed it. A simple tripwire. Easily avoiding the frag grenade loosened from the dead tree, Dutch barely had time to role away before automatic fire began spraying him. Trying not to get shot up too much, Dutch dove behind the tripwire tree, poked around the other side, and found his first target, hidden in the bushes. Aiming and letting loose a three round burst, Dutch felt adrenaline return as the figure dropped, blood coming out of his masked face. His orange eyes were lifeless, and he dropped silently. However, there were still two more. Well, at least I'm close to them now. Dutch thought, and drew his katana and M1911, putting away his assault rifle. He had always preferred handguns and swords.
"Oh, gracias mis dios! Muchas gracias!" Domingo shouted as he leapt out of the cockpit of El Oso and down to the ground, a sniper's bullet pinging off the chassis behind him. He smiled, wrapping Stefanie up in an embrace. You know, the kind bears use to crush their targets to death.
"I thought you were dead!" Domingo said, somewhere between fatherly worry and joy at the pit fighter's newfound lease on life.
Strauss watched as Dutch made a move on one of the snipers. That was two left. Cranking up the dial on the side of his Laser Rifle to its maximum setting, he paused to look at Domingo and Stefanie before leaving his cover (in the form of a large rock not too far away from the tank) and rushing towards one of what he suspected was a sniper's position, flicking down his helmet's scope as he did so. This shouldn't be too hard. After all, Power Armor was built to replace tanks in the field, right? He clamped one eye shut and, with the other, stared down his scope as he lined up a shot. He squeezed the trigger once and watched as the sniper's cover seemed to melt in a burst of red light, steam of the miniscule amounts of moisture that had accumulated from the air around his rifle's barrel filling his vision momentarily. There was still a good fifty yards between them. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out.
Strauss tapped his still-intact chest armour, then raised the same hand and flipped off the air.
"Hey dumbass! Ya missed! Aim for the head next time! Shit, don't they teach you anythin' in sniper school!"
He immediately took cover behind a conviniently positioned thick tree-trunk as another shot came in his direction, and turned down the dial on his rifle to its standard setting. Another shot at full power would probably melt the barrel. Such was the problem with retrofitting new features onto weapons. He almost flinched as he realised that a frag grenade was hanging from a string on a shrivelled treebranch, so, rather than trip the wire he couldn't quite see, he grabbed it, pulled free the pin and launched it in the direction he'd last seen one of the snipers. Hopefully Dutch would be doing a better job.
Alexis looked on as dutch and Strauss atacked the snipers.Stefanine had been hit but it looked like she was ok.Another bulet flew past his head.Shit he thought that was close.Another shot impacted with the shoulder piece of his armor.Stupid fool should have aimed for the head or a joint where his armour was weekest.He jumped down into the relative cover of the rocks around the tank and started the warm up period on his rifle.He saw that to the left of him strauss was shoting the snipers ans alexis moved towards him.As his rifle's dial moved from charging to ready he raised the antique weapon and fired a single shot in the direction of the snipers.The kick was imperesive and the flash of lite the weapon gave half blinded him.Crouching down neer the tank he set his weapon to recharge.
Jackal had been in cover, watching the snipers. He had watched as Dutch and Jacob moved up towards the bastards with their glowing eyes. He had watched, helplessly as the snipers rained lead on him and his friends. Then he had seen the shot hit Stefanie. Something had snapped just then. Something he hadn't felt in over seventy years returned to him in a flash of fire and God-knows-what. The need to kill. It went beyond the desire to kill these guys for capping Stefanie. They had to pay for that. Darting from tree to tree, he outpaced the tripwired explosives as they fell. His heart was pounding, that old berserker streak boiling violently back to the surface after he had spent so long trying to deny his Feral side.
Jacob rolled over and opened fire to cover the venerable Ghoul, who was moving at a speed the group had only seen from Jacob and the other Warrior Weapons. The sniper was desperately reloading as Jackal bore down on them like some flash of lightning, bearing steel-edged death in each hand as the ancient Ghoul drew his machete in his right hand and his SCM sword in his left. Years spent among the university Martial Arts clubs came back to Jackal like old friends. Clumsily flourishing the blades, Jackal knocked the sniper's weapon to the side, stabbed with the sword, then the machete, and finally made the coup de gras by sweeping both weapons around and decapitating the bastard. He turned back, watching as Stefanie struggled to her feet. Jackal exhaled heavily. Had he been holding his breath the whole time? His lungs felt like they were burning, so it was quite likely that he had been. He dived for cover as more snipers opened up. Jacob just stared after the maniacal Ghoul, while Dutch and Vlad seemed to go into goldfish mode, lips flapping, but no words coming out. Jackal ignored the stares and sat down against a boulder, shots cracking over his head. He was getting waaay too old for this shit.
Skillfully dodging enemy fire as the snipers switched to automatic weaponry, Dutch rolled face to face with the closest marksman, coming directly into contact with his fiery orange eyes and rebreather mask. "Hey there, beautiful." Dutch said, smiling, and slammed his fist into the man's mask, ripping off his mask and revealing his balaclava. Basically wrestling him into the ground, Dutch punched the man several times in reverse directions, then broke his wrist as he tried to grab his .357. Grabbing the man's own handgun, Dutch fired the Deagle into the man's face, wiped off the blood now all over his face, hair (he doesn't wear that stupid hat from the pic, if you're wondering that), and jacket, and jumped up, aiming the Deagle at the last opponent, this one's cover... vaporized? Aiming directly at the soldier, Dutch motioned with his head for the man to stand up, his hands raised. As soon as the man turned around, Dutch grabbed him on the shoulder, shoved him in the direction of the building where they had seized Asshole, and motioned to the group that he would take care of it. Shoving the soldier into the house, Dutch kicked his knees out, dropping the soldier into the floor. Taking the .357, Dutch put it up to the soldier's head, who was whispering some sort of prayer with a picture in his hands. Ignoring it, Dutch did the merciful thing any Enclave soldier would do; he shot the man in the back of the head, emptying the clip into his body. Bastard. They were traitors of the worst kind. Sure, they were brothers, but the fact they hadn't bothered to even contact friendlies, and had then gone on an unsanctioned genocide was unacceptable. Tossing the weapon onto the man, Dutch swiftly turned out the door, fixing his clothes and sunglasses and walking out.
As for Sebastin, hwe was still cowering near the tr,ee, bassicly hugging it, to make sure that no bullets would hit him. Of course, some people would still kick him when they walked by, wehit on accident or on purpose. Now that the gunfire ended, Sebastian peeked over his cover. Seeing the man that captured him, Dutch, was it? Yweah. Walk back to the camp, he sighed/ groanded. If this was going like he thought it would be, there would be more beatings, or, more questions.
Vladimir had not been idle while Dutch was dealing with the problem. Far from it. He had seen a ripple or something in the distance, and closer examination revealed those ripples to be stealth fields. Judging by looks, there appeared to be three of them. Vladimir had no idea how long the stealth fields had been running, but it was a safe bet that they weren't going to be running much longer. Vladimir drew one of his Glocks and stepped around the edge of the tank in one fluid motion. He spoke to the figures as he leveled his pistol at them. "Excuse me, but entrance to this camp is by invitation only. Time for you to go."
The figures did not even respond, instead rushing forward towards the lone Cossack. Vladimir fired off two shots, quickly dropping the first CCI sneaker. The second took three bullets, but they apparently struck nothing vital. Vladimir felled the man, though, by striking him hard in the side of the head with the butt of his pistol. By that time, the third man had already closed distances with Vladimir, just his stealth field powered down. The CCI spy carried a Trench Knife and was poised to strike.
Vladimir dodged back to gain a little time, then holstered his pistol. Before he had time to draw his tanto, the CCI fighter struck again. Vladimir narrowly caught a quick stab, then tried to respond with a strike of his own. The fighter dodged. Both Vladimir and the spy traded blows, the spy switching hands and striking with a variety of slashes and stabs, while Vladimir threw ridgehands, knifehand strikes, backfists, and punches. Suddenly, the man stabbed a narrow gash into Vladimir's stomach with a quick stab. Vladimir gasped as the pain shot through his body. Vladimir's vision blurred slightly, but he was still standing and ready to fight. Before the man could strike a killing blow, Vladimir caught his hand and threw a brutal palm-heel strike into the man's face. The strike broke his nose, shoving up into his face and into his brain. The man went cross eyed and fell as his blood gushed over Vladimir's hands. Vladimir had won. He sat down and began the process of repairing his wounds.
While the others had been fighting alexis was sitting in cover waiting for his Mk1 Laser Rifle to recharge.The light flicked back to ready and he scaned the imediate area for posible hostiles.To the left of him was a glimmer that he first dissmised as a heat wave.Turning back though he noticed that the glimmer was moving towards dutch.A man in a stealth boy.Using the full power of his rifle he fired one shot at the glimmer,there was a whump and the man turned to ash.
If you're gonna go Sevenfold, use the Waking the Fallen tracks, as that's A7X's best album. Of course, I believe this may be the song of choice
His reunion with Stefanie over, Domingo quickly broke the embrace and ran for the cockpit. "If those snipers are dispatched like it sounds like they were," The merchant said, "then we've probably got very little time to move on out of here." Tabbing on the ignition, El Oso and her mighty floodlights roared to life. He called out to Dutch, Vladimir and anyone else who was interested in retaining their lives, he shouted: "Come on, time to go! Train's leaving!"
Sebastian was still tied to the tree trunck that Dutch AKA "Princess" had tied him to. Of course, he would'nt really care if he was left, but, it would suck since he was also tied to a tree. And he was starting to loose circulation in his hand, in which case, he would later have to cut it off. But, since he did'nt have a knife, he would have to bite it off. And Sebastian REALLY did'nt want to do that.
"So, you guys going to leave me here, or, do i get to go along for the ride?"
Roland strode over to the Crusade spy and handed him a pocket knife and injected him with a Stimpak before clasping the bladed implement in his right hand. "Use it to cut the restraints. By the time you're through, we'll be good and gone. I'll see you again some day, maybe." And then Roland was walking toward the trailer of El Oso.
"T-t-thanks! Holy shit, Thanks!"
Sebastian simply sat there, Mouth a-gap. A guy was simply giving him his freedom? Sure, he had no suppiles, but, FREEDOM! He could go away. Hell, the Crusade problay thought he was dead. Of course, he could try to re-pay his debt he owes to that man. But, he wil do that. He has to. But for now, to get the ropes off.
"Hold on one second." Dutch said, striding back over to Sebastian. Taking the pocket knife, he placed it on the ground just an inch away from his reach, then punched him in the face one last time for good measure. That being said, Dutch jumped back into the trailer, slammed on the trailer wall to signal Domingo, and sat back down, taking a seat next to Stefanie. Checking to see that her bandages were applied correctly, he grabbed his duffel, placed it underneath the bench, and yawned, grabbing a blanket. He really needed some sleep.
Agian, Sebastian was specchless. His chance of freedom was out of reach. It...was...out...of...reach. He tried nearly everything. Reaching as far as he could, wiggling the rope so it slide down as far as it could down his wrist which was'nt very far, even trying to use his feet to grab it. Nothing worked. The knife came closer, but, it was still out of reach. Luckily, he had already went to work. Maybe he could bite through the ropes. Sighing, Sebastian began chewing on the rope that was keeping his wrist attached to the tree. It might take a hour or so, but, he will get free. However, there was something he needed to say.
"FUCK YOU PRINCENESS!"
After yelling that, he went back to chewing on the rope in order to free himself from this bondage. He will get free, and when he does, he is going to get revenge. Not on the man that tried to help him, no no. Just on Dutch Homles. If that was the last thing he ever did, he was going to get revenge.
Stefanie grimmaced at every little bumb as she was jostled around in the trailer. She was vaguely aware that someone had helped her into the trailer. The pain was still so intense that she couldn't quite recall who. To her left, Dutchie was falling asleep. She had remembered opening her eyes to see Riley and Vlad applying meds and dressings before Vlad ran off and Domingo jumped off El Oso, wrapping her in a hug. All this time she thought she meant nothing to anyone but money, sex, or a pair of fists. These were real friends. Friends who'd risk it all to get her out of harm's way. She owed them much. Even Dutchie had cared for her. She tapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him, though she didn't know if he could see it. "Thanks Dutchie, for checking on me," she said. Dutch grinned, "I just didn't want you to get blood on my jacket." He rolled back over as Stefanie chuckled. Across the trailer, Jackal was cleaning and sharpening his blades. He smiled that ghoul smile of his. She was starting to think of him as a sort of fatherly figure, though she figured he didn't give that much of a damn. He'd probably met so many folks in his 200 odd years, what was a strange former slave to him? Oh well. Glad you pulled through she heard a voice in her head. Riley was smiling too. She owed him a lot. She also owed Vladimir. Were it not for his chivalry, she'd've bled out in the middle of camp. She owed everyone a lot. She promised herself she'd find a way to repay them all. She grimmaced again and closed her eyes for the night. She just needed to get better first. The bullet had been removed, so with any luck, she'd be back to her old face stomping self within a few weeks, maybe even a few days if she was lucky.
Yawning, Dutch tossed the blanket over his head, trying to maintain some level of awareness. It wasn't that he wanted to fall asleep; it was just he was used to being on guard duty, or in a trench line fighting at night. Instead, he was probably in the safest spot in the entire wasteland, riding in the back of a run-down tank trailer with several wasters armed to the teeth with who know's what. Subconsciously, he was still a soldier of the Enclave; he still owed a sovereign duty to the President, former President Eden, and former President Richardson. He owed allegiance to the Enclave Armed Forces. He was supposed to be killing Crusaders and burning settlements right now. How was he serving his duty by simply removing raiders and scum who could be doing the job for him. Consciously however, his loyalty to the Enclave wasn't absolute. Loyalty, however boundless it seemed, was never absolute. No. What are you thinking? Stop the trailer. Leave. You need to. Dutch's mind was screaming mixed thoughts. No. Stay in the trailer. You have something you never had in the Enclave. You have friends now. Dutch couldn't take it anymore. His mind was being bombarded with mixed thoughts and feelings. "Dammit!" Dutch roared, slamming his head and fist against the trailer and gritting his teeth. "Stop the trailer! Stop it right now!" Dutch said, grabbing his duffel. The tank stopped as Domingo popped up from the top of his tank. Hopping out of the trailer, Dutch grabbed his blanket and duffel. Taking them in his arms, he simply left the trailer. "Where the hell are you going?" Weston yelled after him, the group watching. "Jerusalem." Dutch said, turning back briefly. "I am a soldier of the Enclave, Weston." Dutch said as Weston walked up to him. "No your not. You haven't been ever since you popped up in the hidey hole. Hell, you're the farthest thing fro----." Weston's sentence was cut short as Dutch grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up. "I am a soldier of the Enclave, loyal to General Ibram Chase, the Enclave Armed Forces, and most of all, first and foremost to the President. You got that, scrubs?" Dutch said, dropping Weston, who backed up a bit, wide-eyed. Turning away again, Weston called after him. "Where are you going?" Weston asked him. Dutch replied "Jerusalem." Moving off in the direction of urban D.C., he once again moved through the wastes.
Weston said trhrough his gritted teeth. He did'nt apporve of beating up the Spy, even though he was following him. I mean...he was still a human being, in a way. Rubbing the back of his neck, he had mixed emotions. Dutch was his friend, after all, but...he just could'nt. He could'nt do back. He had spent hours hiding in a ruined raider camp so the could ambush a Crusade Patrol. Then, he had to run longer then he ever had to run, and faster he ever ran before in order to get away from the mortars that fell down onto him. He still walked with a slight limp because of a piece of shrapnel. He...he clubbed a man to death with a butt of his assualt rifle...he...watched them die. He pulled McRae out of a crashed VTOL. He still had nightmares. At first, he was everynight. Then, it came everyfew days. Now, it comes maybe once a month. But, he could'nt. The voices of the dead shouted at him, SCREAMDED at him, asking one question "Why?". Why did he join up with the group, Why did he take shots that the other group could have taken. Why did he even find the group in the first place? Why did'nt he run when he told them to. WHY?! Why this, why that! Its rakking his brain and he did'nt know if he could contain his fear. (Anybody get that line? Anyone? Its from a song..). He wanted nothing to do with another attack on Jeurslm. He did't want to be a Hero a second time.
Roland sat at the radio console directly adjacent to Stef's bed. Seeing her stir weakly while he continued his radio report ("Domestic or Demonic: The Difference Between a Tame Yao Guai and a Wild One"), he looked over briefly from the console and smiled, tapping her lightly on the shoulder with one of his cold steel arms. The warming circuits on the exterior of the arms had long since been scrubbed away to oblivion, leaving in their place the rubbery overlay. He smiled a bit. "Glad to see you're coming back, Stef." And then Roland went back to his radio broadcast, continuing with, "Remember Wasteland, if you see bigass teeth and claws and it looks like it's snarling, it's probably wild..."
Meanwhile, Domingo, in the front of the tank, watched as Dutch sprinted off in the direction of some place called "Jerusalem". Funny thing, the merchant thought to himself, I thought Jerusalem was in Saudi Arabia. Sighing, he pushed the T-Bar forward on the tank, hoping to head for Megaton and arrive before noon the next day before he realised: This wasn't the Jerusalem in Saudi Arabia.
This was the Jerusalem here, in the Capital Wasteland.
The one the Crusade were using as a base.
Hopping out of the back of the tank, he ran down the spine of he trailer, banging his fists against the walls to wake everyone up. When he finally arrived at the open back door, which had remained open for most of the day (Domingo's inital thoughts were something along the lines of Why weren't they shut?) "Everyone, wake up!" Domingo shouted as if his pounding hadn't already woken everyone else up. "Dutch has gone ahead to Jerusalem alone!" `
It had been almost a week since Gilead. Roarke smiled. This is where it would end. He had scattered Moore's loyalists then. He would bury them now. He sat on a folding chair on top of a hill overlooking Jerusalem from some distance away. He was watching through an observation telescope, eyeing the defences. An attack from some months ago had breached the wall. That was where they would hit. Once that breach was big enough they could break through and those rats would have nowhere to go, with those once-thought-impenetrable walls. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, watching the defenders running around like ants. Like ants he would crush this very day. He'd burn their ant hill to the ground.
Roarke stood up as a sapper came walking up the hill towards him.
"How go the preparations, Dignitary?" Roarke said. He had kept the old Crusade ranks for the sake of the old military order, and as an affront to Moore.
"Almost finished sir. We'll be ready to begin bombardment in the next two hours." The Dignitary responded.
Roarke smiled. He had spent days working out this fireplan. The ground would shake with terror when those big guns opened up. Jerusalem would break. Because even if Roakre's men slept, and the guards lay at ease, everyone knew full well that big guns would never tire.
"And he can go by himself. I've been there once too many. If any of you guys are going, you can go without me!"
Weston was looking out the back end of the trailer, with his feet sticking out. To somone else, he looked like he sopaced out. To those who knew him, they knew what was going on. He was reliving it. It as in the horror, the pain, the suffering he felt. He woukld'nt gop. Well, he might go. If EVERYONE that he knew, trusted and fought with went. So, Dutch already went. If Domingo, Roland, Jacob, Jackal and Miss. McRae went, he would go. Even if Conor Strauss did'nt go. Well, that would count, but, he'd problay go. Weston lit a cigartte, and tried to push out his memoires. It did'nt work. Maybe the only way to deal with them was to face them agian?
Major Frederick Thomas (lol run4) stood in Jerusalem's courtyard. He eyed his men; several hundred Airborne Shock Troopers, the finest of the finest, stood ready to die and kill for their Marshal. They were the most elite; for every Airborne Shock Trooper, there were ten dead Last Legionaries. They had been in reserve since 2279, their numbers having been thinned at Capitol Hill. Now, facing an enemy three times their number without so much as a smile and salute, they were in fact true Crusaders for the Cause. "Men and women of the Airborne! This is your time! Roarke has tainted your names, seduced your comrades, and now he thinks he can march on us and burn our home to the ground!" Thomas roared. The men, rows of power armor and weapons moving, made the ground shake as they cheered and fired their weapons into the air for the last time. "You've done well, Major." A voice called out behind him. It was the Field Marshal, clad in a grey overcoat and wearing power armor. Thomas immediately straightened up and snapped a salute. "At ease, Major." Moore said, surveying the troops. "I've arranged to have you transferred to New York should you survive this battle. There, you will assist in removing the Brotherhood from their alamos and destroying them permanently." Moore said. Thomas smiled inside his head. Moore was making room for plans that wouldn't even be carried out! Thomas watched as Moore moved to address the Airborne. Thomas couldn't help but feel astonished at how cool Moore was at the moment. It was almost awe-inspiring.
The sun cracked over the horizon, illuminating Roarke in a bright haze as he stood on a hill, facing his army. Facing his forces. The Last Legion. The true Crusade. Jerusalem would be theirs. They deserved this glory. They deserved every last bit of it. Ignored, shunned and repressed by their own leaders in favour of the Airborne Elite. The mere fact that those inbred flyboy degenerates called themselves an Elite was reason enough to wipe them out, in so far as Roarke could see. Fortunately, he had every living Crusader outside of the Airborne gathered before him, and they shared this view. Roarke paced on the hill, before coming to a stop between two desecrated Crusade banners, which were fluttering pathetically, so tattered that they barely caught the wind any more.
"Templars, Last Chancers, sons and daughters of the Crusade, today is a glorious day. Because today, Jerusalem, the jewel in Moore's crown, the greatest prize in the Wastelands, stands before us for the taking. Moore's crown will be shattered, the prize will be ours. Those Airborne Elites will be taken down from that high horse, their name smeared in the mud. They will crawl on their bellies, begging for mercy, before we are finished. We all felt the cold in their shadows, we, the true heroes, the real elite. Did we get our due? Hardly. The glory earned with our blood and sweat and tears went to those inbred savages in their Vertibirds and tin can suits. But now, now they are the foe. They cannot take our glory this time, they cannot swoop in when battle is already won to claim victory. They cannot take what they never earned. But they will at least have the honour and the glory of dying at the hands of true soldiers." Roarke shouted to the gathered crowd.
As a roar erupted from their lines, dozens of makeshift war drums were moved into the gaps between regiments and up around the forces of the Last Legion. After a minute or two of listening to the racous cheers, he raised his hands, silencing the crowd with a mere gesture. Roarke then continued.
"This is our time to take glory. None can take our victory. None can stand against us now and snatch this from us. We have walked for too long in the shadow of Moore and the Airborne. For too long we have been seen as a lower breed. For too long, we have been spat on and shamed for victories we won. For too long, we have suffered all this and remained silent. For too long, we have suffered this humiliation, this degredation. But not now. Now, we throw off our chains. Now, we cry freedom, we cry havoc. Now, we will grind Jerusalem, and Moore, and his precious Airborne to dust. Now we will shatter those who stood in our way. Now, we will shatter those whose shadow we stood in. Now, we will feel the sun on our faces, and the wind on our skin. Now, we will take what is owed to us. Now is our time!" Roarke shouted.
The roars returned. Soldiers shouted themselves hoarse, but screamed even so. The calls of the Last Legion could be heard for miles around. And then, something else rose up, undercutting the shouts and cheers and war songs. The sounds of battle drums, sounding a dread tattoo over the Crusade's holy ground.
A shudder ran through every man, woman and child in Jerusalem. War was on their doorstep, and they were trapped like a rabbit in the headlights. Then, undercutting the drums and the shouts, came the roar of heavy guns. The scream of falling shells mingled with wild cries and deep drumbeats. The thud of mortars and the roar of howitzers, the cries of the God of War, lent their voice to the Last Legion.
A very human chill gripped the hearts of the "invincible" Airborne. Each and every one had been faced with an emotion not one of them knew. Abject terror.
Jack watched Dutch Holmes walked away, unscathed by Westins warning. Bastard didn't have his army of uper ninjas with him that time, he would die there. Probably slowly and in a hale of mortar. Jack got up, and started walking away from the group and the tank. He didn't feel like wasting his time getting drunk and killing raiders. Boris probably had some thing in store for him to do, and Jack probably wouldn't like it.
Domingo still stood at the foot of the trailer. The sound of explosions could be heard in the direction Dutch had been going. There was no way the Warrior Weapon could have been there already, though... There had to be something else. "Come on," He shouted to the remaining members of the group and letting Dutch go past. "We have to go! Dutch could be in trouble!"
Stefanie stumbled out of the trailer and staggered and fell. She was still very weak and in pain from being shot. The group looked at her before Roland ran over to help her up. "I'm going too," she said. Stefanie was determined not to let her friends down. Even in excrutiating pain she wanted to help. "Don't leave me behind," she said to the rest of the group, "I can still help out."
Weston was now looking at his group of friends. It seemed that they were ALL going back to Jerusalem. Sighing, he put away his cigartette. He really needed to kick that habit. Looking over his assualt rifle, he laid a hand on it. He earned that one back during the first assualt on Jerusalem. Back when he was ready to take on a whole god-dammned arrmy by himself. Now, not oso much. But, if all of his friends were willing to fight for Dutch, then why not.
"Fine. I'll go. Better not fucking die there."
"Easy does it," Roland sighed, looping an arm under Stefanie's and holding her up. "You lost a lot of blood, and that bullet might have bruised some organs. You're a very lucky woman to even be breathing right now." Roland looked over at the woman. The wound was still heavily wrapped in gauze and more than a lot bloody. He took a syringe of Med-X from his pocket and injected it into her. "You go back into the trailer and get some rest. We're heading for Jerusalem, and you can come along, but don't leave the trailer." And with that, El Oso rumbled to life, everyone clambered back aboard and Domingo steered towards Jerusalem.
"Look at the bright side. At least you get to help. You get to guard the loot!"
Weston, triing to lighten up the mood, was granted a middle finger and a angry scowl. So, putting on his Combat Helment and grabbing his Assualt rifle, he put his legs outside the trailer. Looking back to his assualt rifle, his thoughts drifted back,. Back to a time of chaos. Runied Dreams. A Wasted shithole. Now, he was going back. This was going to be fun. Real, joyus fun. Hopefully, he won't die. And that the geopraghy does'nt change. And that a Riely-type guy shows up agian.
"I want to fight," Stefanie said, "I don't want to sit behind in the trailer like a useless lump. I'm going with you guys." Stefanie looked down at her blood-soaked bandages. She needed a way to heal up fast. The bullet was out, but the wound was so painful. She popped a Buffout in and swallowed it, feeling slight relief. Stimpaks were working a little too, but she didn't want to use the supply up. She could here the sounds of far off artillery. Gunfire and explosions carried on the air like thunder in a summer storm. Stefanie closed her eyes and moved her arm slowly, working the pain, as she'd done so many times in Zanadu. It hurt like hell, but it was necessary. She moved her arm slowly back and forth, taking deep breaths, finding the ability to draw more air in with each one. It was still terribly painful, but Stefanie wanted to be able to fight when the time came. Despite the protests of her firends, she continued as the tank ground forward.
Jack sighed as he continued walking down the road, Boris or that scavenger douche who set up the radio would call any minute now. Jacks pip boy vibrated, he had turned off the sound long ago, right after he was sniping and Boris called. Awaking the whole camp, and giving Jack several bullets lodged into his right arm. Answering the message, Jack put the pip boy close to his ear. "What do you want me to do now?" It seemed that the Scavenger was on the other line. "Boris wants to meet you at Jerusalem, bring your repeater, and the grenade launcher." Jack sighed, it seemed he had walked toward the make shift camp Boris was currently using for nothing. "Be there soon". Jack started running, he would have to make up for lost time.
Thomas smiled as the Airborne silently shifted ranks to minimize mortar causalities. They moved as Thomas gave a signal to head for battle stations. The Airborne saluted, as friendly mortars and artillery opened up in the courtyard, firing a retaliation strike and smashing the first enemy soldiers as Thomas watched them from his binoculars. 30 cal. machine-guns opened up on the walls, aswell as automated turrets, tearing through enemy ranks as they moved towards the recently repaired breach. However, that was where Thomas had placed the majority of his Airborne. It would be a slaughter on both sides once that wall gave way to enemy action. Drawing his new sword, his earlier one having been broken at Gilead, He waved it again as the mortars fired a second salvo, this one also a response to the enemy mortars. Looking up into the sun, Thomas grinned. It was a good day to die. lol cliches ftw
Dutch moved at a fast-paced sprint, his duffel on his back and his hands on his weapons. Why had he ever signed up with the wasters? No. They're your friends. His mind said. No, Dutch. You are a soldier of the Enclave. His mind said again. Pushing both ends of the spectrum, Dutch stopped as he reached the ridge's edge which overlooked both camps; the fortified position known as Gilead Point, and the fortress known as Jerusalem. Watching as the first Legion charge was cut down with ease, Dutch began his descent into the warfield. Then it hit him. How the hell was he going to get inside? For another matter, why didn't he just let the Last Legion do the dirty work for him? Pondering this, Dutch grabbed his assault rifle, and moved into No Man's Land.
Roland looked over at Stefanie, concerned, before throwing another syringe of Med-X her way as the tank ground onward towards Jerusalem. ALong the way, he flicked on the radio.
"Hello Wasteland," Roland said hesitantly. "This is Strauss Radio Mobile, and I'm your DJ, Roland Rockfort on our third broadcast. We're broadcasting today from the middle of the D.C Blood Pit, on our way to Jerusalem. That's right, the center of the Crusade's infestation, and we're going to hit it up now. Word has it that there's an army already over there, so if there's anyone you can spare out there to help the fight, anyone at all, we can really use the help.
"Seriously, this is the biggest undertaking the wasteland has seen since the days of the Lone Wanderer and his sojourns against the Enclave. If there's evere a better time to prove how much you love living here, living here as a free person, come out and prove it by lending us your arms. If we fail today, the Crusade will come down harder than ever, and we're all going to pay. This may well be the last broadcast of Radio Strauss Mobile, so keep tuning in every now and then, Wasteland, because I'll be keeping you updated all the way. This is Roland Rockfort, signing you off, and "Crossroads Blues" by Robert Johnson signing on to keep you entertained." Roland then put in the vinyl record, turned on the music and turned off the mic.
Weston semi-listended to the Radio broadcast. Last time he heard something on the Radio about Jeurslm, it was on GNR. And he was'nt even mentioned. Only Jacob and a few others. NHe was dooomed to die without fame. Which, in the bigger scheme of things, was'nt that big of a deal. But, he at least wanted a statue made from the power armour of Dead Crusaders. A Baseball bat slid past him. Which, for one, was a little odd. But, it was a free weapon. Grabbing it before it fell off, he looked at it. Domingo wrapped it in Barbed Wire and Put nails through it. Thing looked deadly...and that it could hurt. Grinning, he grabbed it with his hand and slung his Assualt Rifle over his back, playing with his new toy. There was a few instances of Close Combat fighting back in the first time he went to Jeruslam. LAast time he had to use a stock as a weapon. Now...now he had a real wepon. Throwing his nail board into the back of the tank, he put the baseball where his nail board once was. Seeing it did'nt fit, he grabbed a saw and went to work. He had to saw off the handle in order to make it fit without stabbing himself. Tnhey did'nt have tetuins shots in the wasteland anymore, at least to his knowledge.
"Hey, wait. Does'nt someone know something about relgion here?"
Jack ran to Jerusalem, panting. Boris was standing some ways off, signaled to Jack, and went immediately back down. Jack started to run over.
Boris got up, and signaled to his apprentice. That head strong assassin of his, was going to get him self killed one day. He was lying down next to a few soldiers, the best and brightest of the Conscripts. All of them were equipped with sniper rifles, and they would be helping out the horde. Boris had no allegiance with Crusade, nor their damned counter part. He would be helping the horde, and only the horde. The horde would be slaughtered too, by the last legion as soon as this was over. The damn fools, they had nothing to accomplish here! "Remember Comrades, aim for the Crusade or Last Legion."
Stefanie jabbed the Med X into her arm. She kept moving it, but it was starting to feel better to be alive. The pain was still there, but it was being dulled. Probably by all the meds. Without the bullet in her, she rediscovered her range of motion. She hadn't lost it at all. It was painful now, but she could move everywhere still. She looked around as the tank bounced forward. Roland had given a radio broadcast but Stefanie hadn't been listening. She was eyeing up the hunting rifle she'd borrowed earlier to use for the battle. She reached for it, wincing as she picked it up. She examined the chamber and loaded a clip into it. She winced again as she hoisted it to her shoulder and aimed out of the trailer. She didn't want to be completely useless, at least if she couldn't get out of the trailer she could pop shots off at targets on the battlefield. She fitted her Power Fist onto her hand as she leaned back, grunting as the weight of it bore down on her. She began moving her arm in the Power Fist, testing it's range of motion. She had little time to prepare before the battle was upon them too.
Thomas watched several yards away as the breach imploded in rock and concrete, sending soldiers flying. 30 cals. opened up into the breach, cutting down soldiers as they rushed inside and engaged the Airborne, all of whom were wearing power armor. The Airborne easily dispatched their initial attackers with close-quarters weaponry, protected from snipers by the walls around them. Thomas, rallying the men around him, waved his sword as more attackers pushed inside, mercilessly cut down as the Airborne, twice the soldiers that the Last Legion's men would ever be, again engaged more soldier with sword and gun, arms, heads, weapons, and other various objects flying everywhere in a fantastic display of blood and gore as both sides collided at the breach. Imagine the scene from "Kingdom of Heaven" where the crusaders and the muslims push foward against one another at the breach "Push them back!" Thomas roared, whirling his sword and slicing off the head of a Legionnaire, the helmeted head of his BRA suit flying off and the corpse falling over dead, blood everywhere.
Roarke watched, his arms folded, as the Airborne hurled themselves at his Legionnaires. They wouldn't be able to throw the Last Chancers around like that. Not least because he had replaced the Last Chancer's BRA with Power Armor, taken from the still-warm corpses of the inbreds. He smiled inside his helmet. The sheer numbers, and the avenging fury of the Legion, were forcing the Airborne back from the breach. He gave a hand signal to a mortar team to open fire on that jalopy that had just swerved in at the back lines. Entertaining as it was to watch a tracked monstrosity lurch around through a telescope, if that thing got loose among the artillery, well, it would throw a giant spanner in the works.
Then, part two of the fireplan kicked in. The howitzers and the other big guns stayed pounding the walls, while the mortars began launching their shells over the walls and directly into the breach. That hole in the wall would run red with blood. If in fact the Airborne did bleed. That stuff leaking from their corpses was probably just exceptionally runny shit. These guys took being full of it beyond the metaphorical. Roarke sighed as he realised he should have said that in his speech.
Jackal was the first to hear the whistling of descending mortar fire. They pounded the land just beyond El Oso. Ranging shots. Fuck. The next salvo would be directly on target. And then, as a comedian once said, they'd all be in the shit. Whether or not they had their wellies. He looked at Domingo, who had turned a nice shade of peuce when those shells had come screaming towards them. The trailer jacknifed a little as he turned El Oso as quickly as it would go, and made a bee-line for the relative cover and dubious safety of travelling in the opposite direction.
Jacob had grabbed Stefanie, Weston, Roland and Riley and pulled them down to the floor of the trailer as the shells screeched over his head. That had been waaay too close. Then he rolled over as Domingo made the wise choice of spinning El Oso around, in spite of the risk of flipping the trailer. Jack and Conor looked a little peeved that he had gone for the others first. Alexis just looked at Jacob, apparently surprised that he hadn't crushed them under his weight. Jacob sighed and sat down as Domingo flashed off some morse code at the Last Legion ranks with El Oso's search light that was, presumably, supposed to mean "We're on your side". Domingo had actually spelled out "We're sn ysur oide". His morse code needed a revamp, apparently.
Thomas ducked as a heavy round from a howitzer smashed the wall, widening the breach. "Hold the line!" Thomas roared as mortars dropped around them. The Airborne knew their duty; they would hold no matter how many of their number thinned. They easily ripped through the Legionnaires, firearms ablaze and swords and rippers whirling. A rumble flew overhead. Watching the last of Jerusalem's VTOLs, Thomas smiled inside his T-51b helmet. They weren't evacuating. They were strafing and doing kamikaze runs; even yet, other strafed the defenseless artillery positions. There must've been twenty of them just doing crazy acrobatics and suicide attacks as they caused the Legionnaires to break and run from their first charge of the siege. "Push them out!" Thomas screamed, rushing forward and slamming into the back of an enemy soldier as more mortars fired down upon both sides. Driving his sword deep into his back, Thomas withdrew it, motioning for his men to stop at the breach. They complied completely, not pursuing their former comrades, who had been thrown in dis-array. Thomas said a prayer for the VTOL crews. Their dazed suicides had saved the day. But how long until another charge?
Weston hauled himself from the floor. He had nearly stabbed himself with his now sawed off baseball bat. Sliding it into place where a nail board once was, which was something like a tube on his back, he looked around the trailer for something else that might look useful. finding a .44 Scope, Weston checked to see if Domingo was looking before attaching the weapon. Slinging it over his shoulder, Weston stood up and grabbed onto the trailer, leaning outside of it. What he saw looked like madness. VTOL's were strafing throusands of soldiers, heavy artillery was booming. And lots and lots of Red Eyes. Sitting back down inside the Trailer, he put his back to a wall. Rubbing his neck, Weston looked back outside the trailer. He was reminded of a song, Requim to a Dream or something like that. it seemed fitting right now. Still, no one answered him about the relgion question. Maybe Jackal would know. But, he could'nt ask him right now. Turning back to the group, he repated his relgion question.
"Agian, does anybody know anything about Relgion?"
Roarke sighed as he watched the last VTOLs from Jerusalem strafe and more than a few crashed, their fuel detonating spectacularly. Then he smiled. He had been right to use those CCI spies for the forlorn hope. Then he laughed as a stray mortar shot clipped a VTOL and sent it spinning into the breach, scattering the defenders for a moment. The vocalizers on his helmet turned that laugh into a jarring, almost demonic metallic gargle, like a man being drowned in mercury. The glowing red lenses, taken from a BRA helmet, did little to reduce the unsettling image. He signalled for the AA guns to begin firing. Two Vertibirds, the last he could see, went down in a blaze of smoke and flak. Sadly, they landed on the retreating spy bastards, killing them all. Sadly. As fucking if.
Roarke signalled for real Legionnaires to begin advancing. The war drums started up again as the artillery barrage spread across the walls, crumbling the ramparts and crennelations, sending vast chunks of masonry, mingled with limbs, crashing to the ground. This place would be almost indefensible once the big guns were done with it.
He watched as the soldiers, in their BRA, marched along the ground, in loosely-packed units, covered by snipers to take out the machinegunners and to perform a little counter-sniping. Roarke watched through his telescope as shells wracked the upper walls with high explosive and the associated shrapnel. He smiled. The rats were cornered. A cornered rat could still bite, but it was nothing more than a futile act of defiance in the face of a superior foe. If the rat was the better creature, it never would have let itself get cornered. And now, the Dogs of War were moving in for the kill.
"I know some lad. Most of 'em involve denouncing the Devil. For us, there's no point in making an enemy of our future landlord." Jackal shouted from the tank.
"Religion is not the thing to be discussing right now, Weston." Jacob snapped. Why was the boy talking about religion? Jacob knew Jackal was a Catholic. Jacob himself had lost faith in God when his family were killed. He still believed in hell though. That was where the people he killed went. It was also where he, himself, was going.
"Whaddya want to know?" Jackal barked as he clambered from tank to trailer with all the grace of a drunk elephant on stilts.
"Alright, if i was drunnk, right, and then i sorta blacked out and i awoke next to a whore is that ok?"
Weston, asking this n complete serouiness quickly recived laughter around him. Expect for Jacob. Starting at Jackal, he was wauitng for the answer. What ever it might be.
Alexis managed to stop laughing long enogth to answer westons question."Depends on what religion you follow boy and if you don't follow one then it doesn't matter"
Alfred Hardy disengaged his stealth boy and looked around the imediate area.He was suposed to meet Boris and Jack around here to help them with this fools atack on jeruselum.Scaning the area he noticed jack running towards a cluster of people.How stupid that cluster he had thought to be just random wasters was boris and his men.Running as fast as his ghoul body would allow him he sprinted towards the people.He arived about the same time as jack."Well boy looking forward to the battle are you?"
Domingo heaved his tank to the right, feeling the trailer attempt to haul itself over onto its side as he jinked away from another mortar blast. The idiot last Legion were still firing at him! "IDIOTS!" he shouted through the open pilot's compartment hatch, turning away from the visible artillery range and heading for where the infantry were wheeling towards the breech. Combat was everywhere; vertibirds screeching overhead, artillery exchanging fire from miles away, infantry up close and personal in the trenches. He headed for the infantry because that's where the artillery probably wouldn't hit him.
Jack smiled, same old Alfred. "You can't kill enough Crusaders in one day Alfred! Besides, I'm always ready to kill some douches." Alfred smiled, he was the newest of the seven, and was the only one Jack hadn't fought with so far.
Boris reloaded his dragonuv, and frowned. Alfred had arrived, who was talking to Jack. Alfred always seemed to arrive late, even when he was warned early on. "Ok, lets roll. Jack, I want to see how you do in a leader ship position. You lead the recruits on the right, aim for real Crusade, not the last legion. Everyone else, come with me. Were going to aim for the fakes. We all know what the horde does to the Last Legion after this." And with that, the killers ran off into the night, getting closer and closer to Jerusalems walls. Boris reached his destination first. "Everyone, aim for your targets. You know what to do, were invisible from here." Their in a prone position by the way
As for Weston, a little caught off guard by Domingos sudden turned, poked his hands out the trailers door and flipped the Crusaders, both the loyalists and the Last Legionites, off. Brining his hand back in, he light a cigarette before putting away his lighter. Thinking back eariler to a movie he saw abou the Amercian-China war, there was this one scecne in it. A bunch of soldiers were in a airplane, and they were about to go into battle. Some were reading some book with a women on it, another few were smoking. A couple were talking. But, there was this underlying sense of 'Shit, were screwed man.' A feeling like this ran up and diown Westons brain. Not able to shake it off, he looked back outside the Trailers open end. Another Vertibird run was coming in. Punding the ground with missles and laser fire, he flew away when some missles and what llooked like cannons firing a shell that goes boom in mid air started to vcome close to them.
"So, does anybody have a plan? Or are we just going to rush around like last time?"
Alexis was jolted back as domingo made another swerve shit.This was it he was going to die here at the hands of mad men.He was going to die.He ducked under the wall of the trailer and looked as a another bord flew overhead."Shit is there anything we can use to fight the birds"
Alfred turned to jack."Honor be with you son of god.And with you boris" with that alfred activated his stealth boy and left for his posistion overlooking the base.Let boris and his men use pathetic sniper rifles,Alfreds weapon packed a litle more punch.His gauss rifle had the power to penetrate 4 inches of steel.
"No, not really. Well, wee have that one gun that Rascon gave us, but, i sauy that we let the birds fly around. If they ai'nt shooting us, then, well, it's better then last time."
Weston put away his Cigarette and looked at the Vertibird that was flying overhead. It looked like it was heading somewhere to re-arm. Figures. After shooting that many rockets off, they problay need more. Hell, there problay using more ammo theu normally use per week in one day. Taking out his telescope, Weston sat down on the end of the trailer and looked at the battle. It looked like the last legion was starting to gain the upper hand, but, the Loyalists were still giving them hell. The battle was still at the breach, and looking as bloody as ever.
"Alexis, have ever seen combat before? I don't mean 5 on 5. I mean something big. Speaking of combat, how much ammo you got?"
Alexis considered westons question."Ive seen plenty of combat with Mutants and ferals but the largest human on human combat iv'e seen was the LVBOS/Crusade conflict neer rivet city.As for ammo i have 30 bullets for my .44 magnum and about a 100 micro fussion cells for my Mk1 rifle."Alexis looked back up at the birds when an idea struck him."Does anyone have a pulse grenade!"
"Ok, first of all," Weston said while sliding a small box of .44 bullets to Alexis, "your going to need more ammo. Secondly, take that conflict and imagine it even bigger. Finally, i really don't think your idea will work. Saw a bastard try and do that once when i was heading to Rivet City after the 1st Attack on Shithole. He//he did'nt throw it high enough and it made the piolt very,very mad."
Weston half smiled before looking at the Vertibird. He was far out of throwing range, escpillay not for Alexis. Maybe Javcob, but, he could could take down the Vertibird with a baseeball. Closing his telescope and putting it inside a small bike-couriertpye bag on his gunbeklt, Weston checked his own ammo. He had 15 extra clips for his 10MM and 10 Extra clips for his R91. Plus, if he ever ran out he could just grab a Crusade Weapon. Or use his newfound ?Baseball bat.
"You have the wrong idea weston.I don't need the grenade what i need is the detenator as it emits a small EMP field.You wire that into a bullet and fire the bullet at the target shorting out all the electronics.So all i need is a good sniper and a pulse grenade and i can bring down that bird."Taking the box weston passed to him he loaded them into his gun.
All Weston did was blink. Well, blinked, techinally because he did it twice without saying a word.
"Alexis, thats the dumbest idea ever. Just shut up."
Weston just shook his head and went back to stareing out the back of the trailer. Somebody really should close that, now that he though about it. If a shell landed close then sharpenl could...
A Mortar shell landed a good footbal yard feild away from the trailer. Sitting there, Weston just looked ast the crater the moratar made before standing up and closing the trailer. Well, tyrying to. He manged tgo close on half of it, before almost falling out. NMoving to thee very back of the trailer, Weston sat there, guarded by several bodies. Cowardly, yes. But, he was'nt going to die BEFORE they got there. It would be anticlimatic to hiis life story.
Jacob wanted to hurt Alexis badly after hearing that batshit insane plan of his to try wiring a Pulse Grenade detonator into a bullet. Firstly, the idea in and of itself was possibly one of the stupidest and most poorly thought out ideas Jacob had heard. Secondly, there was no way you could wire a mine detonator into a bullet. Thirdly, if by some miracle you did, it wouldn't fit in the Rifle chamber. Fourthly, if it did fit in for some reason, the detonator would explode, and kill the moron firing the gun. There was something missing in Alexis' brain. Jacob snatched the grenades from the fool boy before he hurt anyone. Jacob shot him a vicious look as Alexis looked at him as if he was the one doing the stupid shit.
"Boy, loading a detonator into a rifle is a one way trip up a certain creek without a paddle." Jackal grumbled, clearly annoyed that it hadn't been him to snatch the grenades from that idiot. What poor village was minus a simpleton because Alexis was inflicting himself on them?
Roarke, meanwhile, had moved a flank guard between his own forces and the fuck-ups in the jalopy. He didn't want that thing exploding on a zig-zag near his men. He signalled for another push to the breach. The had forced a wedge of soldiers in last time, and now all they had to do was push one more time. And it would be the Last Chancers, 7th Hell Zulu Company to do it.
"Victory or death!" Roarke shouted as he charged down the hill towards the breach, his chosen soldiers at his back.
The 7th Hell Zulus burst in the breach like a bolt of lightning. Roarke cut the first Shock Trooper to come within reach in half, letting the weight of his Field Ripper carry the swing around and open the chest of enemy numero . . . Two. He wasn't good with odd languages.
Jack aimed and fired, cracking the scull of a crusader. The rest of the group was firing, killing any one who even looked like a crusader. Then he saw the tank rumbling down the hill, getting shot by artillery. Getting a couple of friends, the stupidest fucking thing he ever did. Activating his stealth boy, he ran toward the artillery shells firing, and then he saw Alfred. It seemed they had the same plan.
The mortar teams had ceased firing at the tank by now. It was getting too close to the Last Legion advance. The advance led by Roarke. They knew he'd be in the thick of the fighting, outside of the mortar's arc of fire, but he'd have their heads if they killed a single Last Chancer. They surveyed the area, and then shifted back beyond the flank guard, who were tightly packed enough that the molrtar teams bumped into them as they passed. It was a precaution taken against Stealthboy wearing CCI agents.
Roarke cut another Shock Trooper in half with an pverhead swing, and then folowed up with a thrust, impaling the next soldier. Then, he saw Freddy in the whirling melee again. Captain Frederick Thomas. Once, he'd been like a little brother to Roarke. Now, he was a rat in the way. Roarke shoved his way through the press of bodies, punching, elbowing and headbutting, sweeping his Field Ripper around in great gory arcs as it cut down Shock Trooper after Shock Trooper. With a final, brutal swipe of his massive blade, Roarke split Thomas' last bodyguard from head to groin. Then, with strength he hadn't felt since Capitol Hill, Roarke roared and made a wild swing for Thomas. Catching the Captai off guard, no, he was a Major now, Major Tom. Did he get many calls from ground control? Anyway, The swing caught him off-guard, and his sword barely intercepted the attack. Fat orange sparks flew as Roarke and Thomas met in a breach again. Frederick wouldn't escape this time. Roarke didn't want him to this time.
Weston now noticed that the guns firing at them have stopped, at least for a short while. Climbing over to where Domingo was, he pulled himself into the cockpit.
"Hey, where exactly are you going to drop us off?"
Saying that, Weston went to where the .30 Cal that had gotten from Rascon was. (I'm assuming its a seat right next to xdomingo or something) sitting down next to it, he quickly checked it arc of fire. Side to Side was fine, up and down was terrible. If a Vertibird came in, they were scrwed unless he boted down a Missle luancher somewhere.
Jack activated another stealth boy, putting two on top of each other. Wouldn't do anything but add on some more time to his rampage. He loaded his grenade launcher, and started to Rush the artillery. Alfred had a few tricks, or grenades, up his sleave as well. Aiming for the artillery, Jack fired, blowing it to bits. Firing it twice more, he soon started to run away, Alfred also finished up planting his bombs. Jack soon was out of sight, the night helped him out severely. He hoped that Alfred had already escaped, and soon was completely invisible in the night.
Stefanie felt herself bouncing along in the trailer as the tank made it's way over the shell pocked terrain. She was feeling much better now, breathing deeply and almost pain-free with her range of motion. She was now able to wear he Power Fist again. She sat with her hand braced on the floor and she was holding a .32 Hunting Rifle. She had her eyes closed and was trying to not think about the slaughter outside. She'd been in fights before, she'd been in small combat before, but she'd never been in an actual organized battle. The whole thing seemed somewhat surreal to her. She was trying to focus on surviving. She'd already had one close call. She didn't feel like another.
An artillery gun exploded, and three more followed soon after. Then, Cháy Sáng emerged from the shadows. His stealth boy had failed thirty minutes earlier, that was what he got for using the american technology. A nearby soldier had seen him, and drew his pistol. Whipping out his twin hooks, he quickly combined the two and slashed at the foolish crusader. He soon fell to the ground, still as the ground he lay on. Drawing one of his daggers, he threw it at the next men to attack him, perceiving his lungs easily. Spinning around, he decapitated the Crusader next to him with the twin hooks.
Thomas rallied the men again as more "chancers", as Roarke referred to them as, charged the widening breach, this time penetrating. The entire courtyard was now a coliseum, with a mix of soldiers duking it, as L.L. howitzers and Loyalist .30 cals opened up on either side, tearing through the men in the courtyard. Pistols misfired, swords collided, rifle fired wildly, and amid the confusion, Roarke was no where to be seen. Typical. He was a coward. Bringing his sword to bear once again, Thomas moved to engage another chance, ripping his power armored head off with ease at the neckline with a graceful swing.
Dutch moved ever silently into the southern perimeter of the Last Legion's camp, easily evading and neutralizing the guards and sentries who had been in his way. Moving into the artillery range, Dutch quickly snapped the neck of a passing officer, pulled him into a tent, grabbed his power armor and put it on, and exited after several minutes, his command insignia still on his shoulder pauldron. This wouldn't take long. He'd neutralize the Legion's command, neutralize the Loyalist command, then send them spiraling downward with the removal of their final, highest commanders. Being careful to put his duffel behind his back and use the officer's own weapons to fit in, Dutch grabbed the man's Desert Eagle, checked the clip, and then slid the handgun into it's holster. Fixing the helmet and adjusting it, Dutch looked around, and headed for the command area.
Boris came rushing down the hill, like a mad fucking boar. His comrade was in trouble, and surrounded by Crusaders. Drawing his field ripper, he cut off the first crusaders head he saw. Charging towards his comrade, he took out his .50 magnum and blew out several crusaders head. One got a little too close too Boris, and he stabbed with his ripper at his stomach. His organs were soon just blobs of red shit on the asphalt. "Looks like you got yourself in trouble Chay!"
Chay equipped his Emei Daggers and backed up. A slash from a crusade sword nearly beheaded him, and he was trying his hardest for that to not happen. Stabbing at the eyes of a nearby crusade officer, he impaled them. He withdrew them, and noticed the eyes were still on the daggers. Stabbing about Crusader, he heard the sound of a field ripper, wielded by a angry Russian. That was Boris alright. "You should not of risked your self to save me friend!".
Alfred looked down from his rifle scope,Bellow Chay and boris were stuck in the midle of a group of crusaders.What would his father say if he knew he was leaving his allies in danger."For honnor" he muttered quietly and drawing his quaterstaff(it has blades on) charged towards them.He sliced two crusaders in the gut and caught another in the neck.He tried to yank the blade out but it was stuck.Droping it he drew his two swords and ran towards them.He sliced another crusaders neck off before reaching them."So Chay finding it dificult are you"
Checking his helmet to see it was again fairly perfect, Dutch headed towards the field command, where several majors, aswell as a few captains, were gathered about inside a tent. One of them looked up to greet him. "Good morning, Captain Jay. We were just about to..." The major's voice trailed off as Dutch brought up his desert eagle, aimed, and fired at the unarmed officer, taking his unhelmeted head clean off. The officers, all unarmed, charged Dutch, intent on neutralizing. No matter how experienced they were, it wouldn't work. Easily gunning down three more officers, then breaking the neck of another, Dutch had cleared the tent in seconds. Not that it had been a surprise to him. Silently beating the last officer to death with his pistol, Dutch proceeded to remove his power armor, once again wearing his trademark jacket, shades, and jeans. Discarding the handgun, Dutch strapped on his M1911 holster and weapon, sheathed his katana to his belt, reloaded his assault rifle, and stepped out of the tent, being careful to make his way through the back.
Right. That wasn't Freddy who Roarke had just caught by surprise and cut in half. Slightly annoying. He moved on through the crush of bodies, his Field Ripper creating a nice circle that was death to any Shock Trooper to enter it. Then Roarke saw movement. That thrust he had taught Freddy. No one else other than himself and Taggart knew that little trick. And the Taggart boy was dead, so it had to be Freddy. Roarke stepped forward, splitting another Airborne Shock Trooper from head to groin, and moved towards Freddy's little screen of bodyguards, a group of now power armored 7th Hell Zulus moving in behind him. This would end here. He cut down the last man separating him from Freddy.
"Well, looks like you've come to the end of the line, Freddy." Roarke said. He really wished he'd said something more dramatic just there.
He swung his Field Ripper around at Freddy, who barely managed to parry on time. Fat orange sparks flew as Field Ripper met SCM Officer Sword again. Freddy had changed wepons. This sword wasn't missing chunks of blade after the violent attentions of a Field Ripper. Roarke made a second attack, blades clashing again. Every attack had to hit. This Field Ripper was too heavy to miss with. If he did miss, he'd be hanging in the wind while trying to recover his balance. Thankfully, every strike was starting to throw Freddy off-balance. All Roarke had to do now was push Major Tom till he fell. Then it would be over.
Thomas blocked blow after blow, slowly being pushed backward. Then he took a wild chance. Using only one hand's strength to block the field ripper for a single block, Thomas grabbed his Deagle from his holster, flicked off the safety, and used it to fire into Roarke's grip of the field ripper, the heavy .357 slugs slamming into the handle and armored hand. Not wanting his finger to get blown off, Roarke struggled to hold the weapon as Thomas fired into his hand, tearing away at the power armor. Taking his sword hand, Thomas slammed it into Roarke's head with one last bit of strength, sending him on his back. However, Thomas was exhausted. Falling on his own back, Thomas was pulled away by Shock Troopers as others filled the gap to engage Roarke, who was regaining his composure. Shaking his head and trying to get some oxygen, Thomas ripped off his helmet as he was pulled past the sandbag fortifications where the .30 cals were firing from. It was apparent to Thomas he was fighting a losing battle.
Cháy Sáng cut through the last of the Crusaders, impaling his head onto that ripper of Boris's. "We should leave soon Comrade!" Walking toward the camp, searching for any and all survivors. Then, something exited a building in the camp. "I think this is the last one!"
Boris already was rushing the man, clad in power armor. He drew his katana, the fool thought he could win with that? Boris jumped back. The man edged silently forward, trying to back Boris up against some thing. Boris charged, along with Alfred Hardy. Chey Sang would approach from behind in a defensive position, striking at every possible moment. This man was fucking screwed.
An airborne soldier watched, his friends? Dead. His wife and kids? Probably dead. Here he was, bleeding on the floor like a dying animal. If anything, he would die protecting the field marshal. Using all his strength he got up to his knees, and tackled the bastard in power armor who was destroying all that he loved. A ripper growled through his armor as he jumped, cutting his stomach open like one would stuff a turkey before thanks giving. He had succeeded how ever, in giving his air borne brothers a chance to kill this horrible abomination. As two soldiers charged the demons left, while one charged his back.
Dutch turned, drawing his katana, as he watched a ghoul charge him. Sensing someone behind him as well, Dutch kept his other hand on his holster, ready to adapt. There was something... different about these ghouls. They definitely weren't standard ghouls. Taking his katana, Dutch easily blocked the first and second field ripper blows and sending the man off balance, he then took his katana and made a horizontal slash across the chest, cutting through the man's clothing and armor if there was any. However, the ghoul hardly reeled, drawing his massive revolver and aiming dead straight at Dutch, who promptly dodged off the left as the slug missed, and almost hit his comrade behind him. Breathing alittle heavier than normal because of the field ripper, Dutch raised an eyebrow, lowering his shades and revealing his blindness. "I presume I have a right to know my attacker's name?" Dutch said, twirling his katana as the other ghoul beared down on him.
"so do i Chay so do i". Alfred shock his head and drawing his sword charged with Boris.The man was screwed even more so if Chay got to use those swords of his alfred was a good swordsman but chay was in a whole other league. He cried out as he charged. "For honor!"
"No you don't bastard" Alfred growled. Catching the mans katana on his sword alfred deftly twisted the blade sliding it past his neck. The man swang back and he caught the blade on his armour. "Die you asshole!!"
Dutch aptly grabbed the man's arm as he moved even closer, then slid down to his wrist, all the while dropping downward as his own blade came closer to his shoulder. Gripping the ghoul's wrist, he easily snapped it into an awkward position, the ghoul crying out in pain. "Will you tell me your name?" Dutch said, re-aligning his own blade as he extended it in the direction of the other ghoul. Observing that the ghoul would say nothing, Dutch gripped tighter, made the sword fall to the ground, kicked it to the side, picked up the ghoul, and sent him hurling several feet into a wall. "You should've told me your name." Dutch said.
"Never not even my friends know my real name!".Alfred grimaced that fucking hurt.No one had ever bested in in a sword fight though.Whoever that guy was he had serious mussle.The man and boris were now fighting and stagering to his feat he picked up his guasse rifle and shot the mans foot nocking him back."Tell me yours asshole!"
Dutch went off balance as a round went off near his right foot, causing him to swerve and go off balance. Barely catching himself, Dutch made a circular motion with his entire body, using his spin to propel his foot, which promptly sent the other ghoul on his back. Standing up, Dutch dodged another gauss round which almost connected with his face, and then opened fire with his M1911, catching the ghoul in the hand and throwing his hold and aim off completely. "Dutch Holmes." Dutch said. "Soldier of the Enclave. Well, not a standard soldier, anyway." Dutch said, holstering his M1911, and grabbing his duffel from the ground. He didn't have time for this.
"You really should learn how to shut the fuck up and fight!" Boris attacked, swinging his ripper wildly at the man. The man blocked the attack with his sword, blocking attack after attack. Boris slashed out one last time, as the man with the Katana tried to stop the attack. The katana soon gave way, breaking into small fragments on the ground. "It looks like you lost this one asshole!"
Chay swung out with his Shaolin Twin Hooks. The man winced, as the large gash appeared on his back. If Chay was an inch closer it would of killed the man, with in seconds. Swinging the Twin hooks again, the man dodged the attack, now defenseless.
Alfred was in huge pain.Still chay had opened the men up to an atack and grabing his sword in his undamaged hand he stabed it into the area of flesh just under the knee.Gasping alfred droped back against the wall.
Jacob rolled over. It had taken some serious detouring to make it from the trailer to the rear echelons of the Last Legion forces, but it had been worth it in the end, to land a little sabotage. The last thing he wanted was Roarke and his barbarians having artillery when the Horde, or whatever those nuts called themselves, got moving. They had tried to recruit him once. He had not-so-politely turned them down. He had spiked a few guns. Well, he hoped he had. His Warrior Weapons training had not involved artillery maintenance. He knew how to mess up a mortar. Just load a shell in backwards. Doing that with the Last Legion big-bore siege mortars was incredibly difficult. Then he had been attacked by an artillery captain, who had somehow managed to blindside him.
Jacob kicked upwards into the soldiers groin and then jumped to his feet. He reversed the man's pathetic punch and threw him to the ground. Jacob finished the job with an axe kick that caved in the soldiers skull. Jacob moved along, trying to figure out where the command tent was. Then he saw a group of haphazardly dressed soldiers of some description attempting to mug Holmes. Jacob rolled his eyes. If Holmes was here, Jacob's plan of hollowing out Last Legion command was already done. So all that was left to do now was get Holmes out of here. One of the - Ghouls, they smelled like Ghouls - was about to take a swing at Holmes with a Field Ripper. Jacob jumped, bounded off the top of an ammunition crate to gain some extra height, and came downwards, kicking as he went, right on top of the Field Ripper toting Ghoul, flooring him.
"Looks like you were trying to steal all the fun here, Holmes." Jacob quipped to Dutch as the Ghoul got back to his feet. He kind of reminded Jacob of Jackal. Still crouched, Jacob kicked backwards into the one with the Twin Hooks, flattening him too. Jacob stood up slowly, and stepped up back to back with Holmes, then eased into a calm fighting stance.
"Hey! Eat this!"
Jackson shouted as he burst from the treeline. Firing a Chinese Assualt Rifle madly, he skideed to a halt when he found that two guys with guns were pointing at him asnd were busy kicking his bosses asses.
Slowly backing up, he looked at both of the men before making a mad dash to a runied wall, which he then took cover behind. Of course, he'd problay have hell to pay back at the base, but, hey. He was a Consrpict after all.
Dutch, easing out of a stance protecting his centerline, nodded towards Jacob. "I had it covered." Dutch said, rubbing his back. Picking up his katana, Dutch kept his 1911 raised at the newcomer, and looked towards the ghouls. "You should really pay more attention to your surroundings than talking. Especially ten-ton super weapons dropping onto you like bombs. Me? I'm just a five-ton asshole with a pretty nice sword." Dutch said. Damned ghouls with their fancy pre-war what-nots and doo-hickie weapons.
Promptly knocking the hook out of the air with his pistol, Dutch limped slightly as the round connected with his leg. "Son of a bitch." Dutch said, and switched his aim to the ghoul. Firing twice, each shot connected with either a arm or hand. "Don't fucking shoot me." Dutch said, and looked down at the field ripper ghoul. "Name?" Dutch said. "I really want to know your name, so that I can dismember you and post the nametag above your corpse on my wall." Dutch said, his blank eyes staring into the ghoul as he removed his shades.
"Fucking Davidson..." Boris thought to himself, as he slowly got back up. Taking out his last stealth boy, he tossed it Chay. Then slowly started walking back wards, along with Alfred.
Chay caught the stealth boy, and put his Shaolin Twin Hooks together. He had an un orthodox move that he learned after watching a yao-gai try to attack him. Activating it, he started twirling them in his hands, a flashy move that wasn't very effective. Except when you used it while tossing it from hand to hand, nearly cutting open your stomach each time. Making it so that anyone that approached five feet of you, was cut in half. Then it was really effective. Chay attacked from one side of the Enclave pricks, then immediately jumped to the right of him, putting a large gash in his stomach.
Dutch smiled as his combat armor underneath his clothes deflected the blow. "Nuh-uh-uh." Dutch said, wagging his finger. Bringing his pistol up, Dutch merely slammed into the man's face as he spinned, sending him on his back. "Combat armor, bud. Any smart guy has combat armor on." Dutch said, pointing towards it on his chest. "Eat it, cupcake." Dutch said, picking up his duffel. "I'm done with this fight. Don't have time for this." Dutch said.
Watching chays masterfull display of sword work alfred edged his way back with boris."boris hold my rifle steady im going to shoot one of the buggers".Boris complied and alfred squezed of a round at Dutch and the other man.
Jacob snarled as the bullet clipped his leg. He watched as the shimmer of a Stealthboy moved around and around him, whirling his odd weapons. Jacob drew his SCM Sword and thrust it right into the centre of the shimmer, there was a loud clash of steel on steel, and the shimmer staggered. Jacob followed through with a solid kick, staggering the Ghoul. Jacob followed up with a jumping punch to the head, before wrenching the Stealthboy from the Ghoul. Then he headbutted the Ghoul in the face, flooring him.
"Eat it ya shambler." Jacob sneered.
Dutch instinctively dodged as another round almost hit him. "Dammit!" Dutch said. He was sick and tired of this bullshit. Drawing his alien rifle, he aimed it one-handed and fired, the blades making a chopping motion and moving incredibly fast at the enemy ghouls. "Let's see you flaky ass panzies dodge that!" Dutch said, laughing and grinning. The blades were almost upon the pair. Fist-bumping Jacob, Dutch kept his 1911 on in his other hand as he put away the alien rifle.
Jackson Upham peered from the wall. Seeing that the two men were stil lstanding, even though one was shot in the leg, he quickly made a motion of "Get the hell over here fasst" with his hand. Quickly, 5 men armed with a assorment of weapons came to his postion. One, armed with a Assualt rifle and nicknemd Sarge took command.
"Alright, i want this by the numbers! We go in there and take those two men down. Without leathl force, we take them alive. Got it?" Thwe Sarge half-whispered.
The rest of the Squad nodded. Heavy just grunted though. Burstinf out of the Wall, they spritned into the camp, Weapons trained on the 2 men. 3 on the Jacket wearing one, and the other 3 on the one that just got shot.
"Uhhh, drop your weapons?" Jackson asked/ Commanded while the restr of the group was yelling "Drop your fucking weapons!" heavy just grunted really loud.
Alfred looked on hin horor whoever these people were they did mess around.He turned to boris "lets get a move on i don't wan't to be here when the horde arive".Sliding his blade back into his stabbard he turned and continued to back away from the madmen."Chay get out the horde will be hear soon"
Dutch waited to hear cries of pain but didn't hear anything. Chay had blocked 7 of 10 Alien Laser blades with his Twin Hooks, which were now scorched red and had red blades sticking out of them. "Try harder," Chay exclaimed, the other 3 Alien blades missed and went off in the distance to a tree."Now stop shoting at us your not crusade were not crusade,For now at least we are on the same side"
Boris and Alfred immediately dived the second the man fired his alien rifle. Chay how ever, jumped, dodging the large rounds as they tore through the air. Boris looked over to Alfred and smiled. "Sniper support took a while, eh?" Soon, bullets were landing all around Dutch and Jacob from the snipers on the hill. "Looks like you jack asses lost!" Chay, Boris, and Alfred soon started running toward the hill, as sniper fire tore up any chance of survival for the two Enclave soldiers. Boris looked back, as he several bullets land in the two assholes, and they fell to the ground. Signaling for the snipers to stop, Boris thought that the two soldiers were dead.
The squad, being in the camp with the three Rapture Company ghouls and the two soldiers that were holding there own, hopped around a bit, trying to dodge Sinper Fire from their OWN side. When they all finnaly stopped, Jackson flipped them off and went back to pointing his Assualt Rifle at the man who had not fired that crazy gun.
"Hey..uhh, could surrdener?"
Jackson looked backwards from his gun, before snapping back to looking at the man. He looked like he could kill the entire squad with his barehands. Montioning them to move back a little, they took a few steps back. Heavy, carrying a minigun, was right next to Jackson who had a Chinese Assualt rifle who was next to Kane, carrying a Assualt Rifle who, agian, was next to the Sarge who was carrying a assualt rifle and, finnaly, Bourne, carrying another Assualt Rifle.
"Back away...slowly and put your hands up..." The Sarge snarled.
Jacob punched Holmes as he went to take a shot at the passing Ghouls. Exposed on the hill as they were, they wouldn't last long. Sure, they could kill the Ghouls at a better time. And there would be a next time. Those assholes were running around the rear-echelon of the Last Legion forces, attacking the artillery positions. Jacob knew he'd meet those Ghouls again. And when he did, he'd kill them. No two ways about it. He'd kill them, their snipers and anyone who tried to stop him.
Boris went over the hill, along with the other soldiers. He saw, he knew that the men were still alive. Riddled with bullet holes, they were still some how alive. Boris sighed, he didn't want the soldiers to worry about these bastards. Chay probably knew too, they would talk about this at base. "Head to the vertibirds, two miles south west of here. Follow Jack, or Alfred, they should know where they are."
Strauss grunted as he brought Impact down in a surprisingly fast but nontheless devastating strike on one of the guys in the BRA suits, killing him instantly. Dumb bastard had went at him with a trench knife. He couldn't really tell which side he was on - Crusade loyalist or Last Region, or whatever they called themselves. They were still the same bigot bastards in Strauss' eyes, worthy of nothing else but an untimely death. "Take a break," He quipped as he saw that the man's neck was now positioned in such a completely wrong and unnatural way, it had to have been snapped by the strike. He glanced around. No-one else in the vicinity, just him and the corpses. It was almost as though somebody else had been downing the Crusaders with him. That couldn't be true though. Nah, probably just lost track of myself in the fighting. He focused his attention on the small fight between Jacob, Dutch and a bunch of Ghouls. And six guys in Combat Armor that nobody seemed to be really paying attention to. He began making his way towards them (they were a good ten metres away). "Time to enter the fray," he told himself.
"Not a fucking chance, ya wanker!"
What? That sounded like a Ghoul, but with an accent Strauss didn't recognise. He peeked over his shoulder. Nobody was around to say that. Not as close as that sounded, anyway. He turned back to face in front of him - just in time to see a Stealth Boy disengaging, ripples travelling through the air in the shape of a man that became more and more permeable and visible until it gained colour and coherency. A Ghoul in Combat Armor and a coat with an ornate-looking V emblem on said coat's breast pocket. He didn't look too impressed. Neither did the H&K CAWS in his hands, pointed at Strauss.
A deafening bang, hampered only by his Power Helmet's audial stabilisers, no doubt designed to protect the ear against loud gunshots, and Strauss found himself staggering. He'd just been shot. No pellets had penetrated his armour. At least, nothing he could feel. While he was caught off-guard, he heard the unmistakeable chikt-chikt of a pump-action mechanism being operated and out of the corner of his eye saw an expended shell fly off into the nearby foliage. As he raised Impact, ready to retaliate, another helping of pellets were already flying his way. He felt a tell-tale sharp pain in one of his pectorals that he identified immediately, which illicited a gasp of pain and Impact slipping from his grip. Power Armor wasn't meant to let this happen, damnit! He was meant to be like a fucking tank!
He saw the shotgun fall to the ground, and in the Ghoul's hands in a flash were a pair of... sword... things. Strauss dropped to one knee and reached for his Super Sledge, bringing the haft up between two hands just in time to parry a downwards strike the Ghoul had executed with one of the swords. He threw the Super Sledge forwards at that, sending the Ghoul staggering by the weight of the weapon and the force he'd applied with his armour's servos. As Strauss reached for his D'Eagle, another strike came at lightning speed, cutting through into his unarmoured elbow joint, through his Recon Armor undersuit and slicing into his unprotected flesh. Strauss yelled out in anguish and finally secured a grip on his sidearm with the arm that retained mobility, raising it up in front of him and firing. The bullet hit nothing. The Ghoul was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, Strauss felt his helmet rise off his head and a dull throbbing in the back of his skull. He felt dizzy. Then he saw the floor rushing up to meet him.
"Twat," Sean Abbott (Page coming eventually!) muttered as he slid his blades into their sheathes, picked his CAWS back up and slung it over his shoulder before sprinting off to catch up with Boris, Chay and Alfred, firing up his Stealth Boy once again and fading from a hidden Crusade sniper's view.
"Lets go Marines! I mean, damn it, Surviors!"
Looking at the Sarge for a second, the Squad keep there guns trained on whereever a enmeny might pop out from. Then, breaking into a jog, they reached the VTOL.
"Postively Badass! Get in the Vertibird!"
"Hell yeah!" Shouted Kane.
Strapping themeslves in, the Vertibird lifted off, while the soldiers talked among themselves. Jackson was busy trying to beat Bourne in a game of cards. Well, Go Fish, really.
"Got any threes?"
"Nope. Got any twos?"
"Damnit! I think you cheat Bourne, i really do."
"Just like how your girlfriend cheats with me!"
A peroid of laughter erupted within the hold, with similar jokes about each others mothers, girlfriends and sisters. That was, until the Sarge yelled at them. Then the ride was a bit quieter on the way home.
Domingo looked over th rim of El Oso and its cockpit, and drew his SAA. As it turned out, Domingo was wedged diagonally, nose down in a trench with the articulated joint holding the trailer facing upwards. Grumbling as he pulled back on the T-bar, he eventually sighed in defeat, noting that El Oso was stuck facedown in a deserted trench in the middle of a battlefield. Not a good place to be, especially considering he had just managed to dodge out of the way of artillery. Pulling himself the rest of the way out, he immediately rolled off the side of the tank and down into the trench as a Vertibird strafed El Oso, narrowly missing. Domingo stood, ankle-deep in thick, sucking mud, and ran off down the trench. There was nothing he could do to save his beloved tank right now, he would have to come back for it later.
One of the Last Legion soldiers, dressed in his fearsome BRA (I just realized how rediculous that sounds), levelled an R91 assault rifle at Domingo's face. Domingo rolled forward, using his momentum to sweep the Legionnaire off his feet and onto the ground. With the soldier facedown in the mud, Domingo proceeded to press the man's face into it, only realizing thirty seconds in that the man was wearing a fucking respirator. Sighing, Domingo instead whipped the hammer back on his gun and fired a single .45 Colt round into the back of the soldier's head. Looting his Field Ripper and placing it on his back, Domingo took off down the trench.
Alexis jumped off the trailer onto the ground.Crusade loyalists and legionaries surounded him.Drawing his pistol he shot 2 in quick sucsesion.Struass and Jacob were some way up ahead.As he ran towards the direction he had seen struass headed."Strauss Where the hell are you!".He stoped yelling as he saw struass colapsed on the floor.Runing over to him alexis opened a stimpack and injected into struass."You ok strauss?"
Strauss slowly opened his eyes, his ears ringing as though a bomb had went off next to him. Or a Yao Guai had done a charging headbutt on him. Or he'd been kicked in the back of the head by a crazy Pre-War former special ops Ghoul. Couldn't really differentiate. His hearing adjusted in time to hear Alexis asking if he was alright. His first response was an indecipherable groan - the next consisted of turning over, looking at the Magnum-toting historian and nodding weakly. He pushed himself to a kneeling position as the Stimpak took effect, reached for his helmet and pulled it over his head before looking around for Impact. "... are Jacob and Dutch alright? I was meaning to go and help them, but... this Ghoul guy in a coat... damnit, he handed my ass to me!" His speech quickly became audibly frustrated as he pounded his fist into the dirt, before Alexis helped him up to his feet (or tried to).
Alexis pulled strauss to his feat.He needed to get proper medical treatment before he could fight again though."Come on Jacob and dutch were shaken up by 3 kickn ass ghouls but there ok,You need to Ol Elso so we can get you back to Rivet city.".He picked up impact from nearby and passed it to strauss."Youse that to help you up.",The two of them started back to the tank.
Boris took out the radio next to him, Cerebral Jack was flying the vertibird. Finding the Horde signal, he waited for them to reply. "Hey assholes! We just took down most of the last legions artillery, go in there and kick their asses already, just remember the deal." A horde commander answered, and after a bit of vulgar words (mostly by Boris) he hung up. "Lets get out of here man, I don't want to be around when this shit hits the fan."
Aaron poured the last bit of cold, purified water into his dry mouth as he walked the scorching wastelands of the east coast. It had been almost two days since he left Stefanie, Roland, Domingo, Jacob, and the rest. They wanted to run after Holmes and help the bastard. That was something Aaron had no part in. He hoped Holmes died, no, he hoped the Enclave man got his legs and arms blown off and was left to die in the wastes. Aaron shook his head, why he hated that man was still an enigma to him. Sure, he was Enclave, but he helped those wastelanders, his friends. No, he would forget about Dutch, much bigger things were going to come into play besides him. Almost a state away and Aaron swore he could still hear the thundering pounds of mortar shots and artillery. In the back of his mind he could even still hear the voices of his former companions, of course that was just the schizophrenia talking. But he still clearly saw Domingo's happy face, cigar and all; Stefanie's shining compassion and bravery, her beautiful smile covering her innocent-looking face. He saw the rest, all of them ready to die for each other, weather they be a stranger or a life-long friend. The Austinite took one last look backwards, in the direction of D.C, inhaled deeply, and continued on into the rising sun. Night was darkest before the dawn, and dawn is here.
Aaron was heading home.
Climbing out of the tank, Weston looked around. Strauss and Alexis were moving to the tank, and Alexis looked like he was about to be crushed. Running to him, Weston grabbed Strauss and helped him to the tank. However, they needed to get acrosss the treanch. But, they went around it.
The Crusade sinper looked at the tank. Then looked around the tank through his scope. He spotted three figures. The first armed in power armour looked to be helped by non-Last Legion soldiers, sighting in one with the assualt rifle...
"Alright Strat, stop fucking scriming! We have to go around this trench..."
He was ready to fire. Taking a deep breath, he aimed for the chest. Easy shot from here. Squezzing the trigger, the bullet flew in a path aimed for the Assualt rifle armed young man. Bring bakc his sinper rifle, the sinper moved to a new postion. He had more problems to deal with. One down, a Legion to go.
"Alright Strat looks like your all se- SHIT@"
A .44 bullet hit Weston in the side. Flying the oppostise way the bulelt came, he felw onto the ground, screaming in pain. Injecting some Med-X into his system, he quickly crawled to the trench, where he hunkered down. Strat and Alexis seemed to have the same idea, since they joined him in the trench. Grimancing and Screaming in pain, he checked where the bullet went into. He had no armour there.
"Goddamn it..fucker got me...Alexis, go get someone to help."
"Wrong shot to take." Jacob snarled as he stabbed into the relocating sniper's neck and ripped sideways. The man spasmed and gagged as his lifeblood fountained across the trench wall.
Holmes jogged up behind Jacob, watching the body fall. Those assholes had disappeared. The Ghouls, and their buddies with the automatic rifles. Jacob threw the carcass aside and moved towards the tank. Without a word, he lifted Weston over his shoulders and lumbered back to the trailer, Holmes covering them. He laid Weston down in the trailer, injecting him with a Stimpak and some Jet. Fingers crossed that cocktail of drugs wouldn't kill the boy.
Jackal crouched next to the prone form of Weston, imagining "Knocking on Heaven's Door" playing in the background as Weston coughed in the bed of the trailer. Riley was sitting on the far side of Weston, rummaging through his bag to try and find any meds that might help a gunshot wound of that magnitude. Cat was licking Weston's hand.
"Good dog...good dog."
Weston coughed agian. This time, it was blood. Groaning, he looked around. Nearly everybody was huddled around him. His friends. Jacob, who picked him up, even through enemy fire, amnd brought him into the trailer. Riely, the man who could tlak with his mind. Homles, the asswipe that got him into this. Domingo, the tank driver who became a good friend in the short time he had known him. McRae, the ex-slave turned pit fighter turned friend. Jackal, the funnyiest ghoul he'd ever met. He...he could'nt die. No, not yet. What was it that they told the people about to die? Run from the light? Thats what h e needed to do...just...run. NO! DON'T CLOSE THE EYES! DON'T CLOSE THEM! Just...just look at cat. Pet Cat.
"Am...am i going to die?"
Weston asked with the innonce of a child asking if santa was real.
"No! No... no, you're not, Weston, o-okay? You're not going to die. You're gonna be alright. Don't die on us. Just... keep breathing, keep your eyes open, stay focused. Focus on... um... Cat. Yeah, look at Cat. Isn't he a lovely doggie?" Strauss said in a vain attempt at sounding reassuring. It didn't quite work as he sounded far too panicky and nervous. He reached over to ruffle the dog's fur, who seemed to be enjoying the attention despite Weston bleeding to death. Strauss shot a worried glance at Riley as he sorted through his bag for medicine, so Strauss shuffled away from Weston and decided to do the same.
Weston began to lose some breath. His breathing became harder, and harder.
"Yeah, what is it?"
"Your kneeing my chest."
Looking at his knee, he could see that a powerarmoured knee was on Weston chest. Removing it, Westons breathing became normasl.