Fallout Liberty

War... War never changes... When the fires of nuclear armageddon rained it was said to be the end of us. When in reality it was just another violent and bloody chapter in human history.

The Eastern Commonwealth, New York City, when the war raged many things were hidden in this city, from vaults, to scientific research labs. Prospectors have made a living hunting through abandoned vaults and labs, if not for the issue of the Brotherhood of Steel intervening often.

The Enclave remains in a small bunch, powerless without the power of their force, they have taken refuge in vault 72 and for now wait for the day when they can return.

The Brotherhood remains, watching over the urban remains of New York, in a civil war with itself, trying to retake the technology found in the vaults.

Here we meet our team in Times Square, where people live and die in the East Coast Wasteland.

And War? War never changes.

Bailey sits on the ground, trying to dissect an energy cell they found on the ground.

"Let's see, if I can just keep it from blowing up on me..."

Damien walks up with Snowy, "Uh hey... What are you doing with that energy cell?"

Bailey can't look up, as they're still dissecting the energy cell, but responds.

"Just dissecting it to see what makes it tick."

-Katya◊ peers at the two from a nearby ruin-

...

Victor is leaning against a wall, spinning his revolver on his finger.

"Don't like these quiet times too much. Somethin' don't feel right, and isn't, mos' of the time."

Bailey has finished dissecting it, leaving it a pile of plastic and a glass rod.

"Good job me. You just made a bunch of parts for your next robot..."

Meanwhile, the distinctive sound of combat boots hitting the pavement can be heard in the distance as a burly bald man walked in, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

There we are, he thought to himself. Times Square. I finally fucking made it.

He then let out a consent sigh as he sat on a debris nearby and glanced around at the gigantic buildings and humongous billboards scattered all over the place, bicentennial echoes of the civilization that was once there, right here, in the heart of a town that once was home to over nine million people.

-From the nearby ruins, the old man would be able to see a pair of lenses eyeing him as he enters-

-Not daring to approach, nor go near the group for the moment-

Bailey puts the remains of the energy cell in their tool box, but slips the glass rod into their pocket.

"I should find a use for this thing..."

Damien sighs, "So... I heard about a meetup here... you here for it as well?" Damien asked sitting down and beginning to pet his dog Snowy.

He heard the entrance of a newcomer, "Hello there."

-Steps out of her hiding spot to the group-

...Meeting?

The oppressive heat bore down on him far more than usual, and he paused to take a sip from his canteen, thanking whatever gods were left that at least the Enclave knew how to put water purifiers in the cap. It'd never be enough for mass water purification - not like what they'd tried to do in the Capital Wasteland, before... someone went through and tore them to shreds.

But it was enough to support soldiers that'd be in the field for long periods of time.

His "Enclave Armor", as people called it, had earned him more than his fair share of contempt - and understandably so. He'd been trying to find paint, but eventually managed to paint one of his shoulder pauldrons red in blood. It wasn't at all pretty, but the Enclave tended to keep their armor relatively clean, and a bloody red shoulder pauldron combined with a worn-down appearance meant that he was no longer with them.

It at least stopped him from being openly attacked.

Thomas O'Neill headed into Times Square, where the meetup was said to take place. He lowered his canteen and put on his helmet, not willing to be surprised with a bullet to the face. Not when it could be blocked. The distinctive red pauldron would hopefully prevent him from being fired on immediately.

He stolled into view with the barrel of a battle rifle sprouting from his back.

Bailey looks at the man in confusion.

"Meeting? I don't really remember anything 'bout a meeting, sorry."

"Wait, I thought I was just here for a job as a caravan guard. Am I missin' somethin'?"

He looks around a bit more carefully, spinning the revolver back into its holster.

Katya has never heard nor seen an Enclave member or soldier. To her, Thomas was another denizen of the wasteland. Stepping down a flight of ruined concrete stairs, she slung her Mosin rifle on her back, and makes her way to the group.

On the way, she gives a curt nod to each and everyone present, paying particular attention to Thomas. He seems like a raider, she reasons.

To the man who inquired, she walks to near him and takes a seat.

"Same...I just heard people, then went to check on it."

Bailey is fumbling around with a glass rod, wondering what they can use it for.

"Too thin to be of any use in machinery...maybe it could be sold...?"

Damien looked at all of them, "Well... if you guys didn't hear about the meeting? Why are you here? The Vendors?"

"I was just looking for stuff to build a robot with."

Bailey shrugs.

"I heard voices, I thought it might be a trade caravan. Then I can ask for directions.", replied Katya while she looked around the place.

Meanwhile, the bald one shrugged to himself as he noticed all of the other people arriving and walked over to them, one hand in his pocket.

"Huh, what's the big meeting for, over here?" He asked.

Looks at the bald man as he approaches, and appraises him for threat projection and intimidation factor. Shrugs.

"You tell me, big man."

Bailey looks at all the people who arrived, looks at theirself, and suddenly feels very wimpy.

"I came because I heard there was a meeting. That and I heard a vendor had a special on stimpaks, and dog food," Damien answered petting Snowy again, the large dog sitting there wagging it's tail.

"That's because I did call for a meeting!" A oddly flamboyant voice called out, out stepped a man in old world business wear, "Hi! I'm Vic Nolan!" he said with pride, the man seemed to be oozing bartering sense and charisma off of him.

Damien looked at him confused, "Uhm... Any of you know this guy?"

Looks at the man, tilts her head while her gaze is hidden by the lenses of her gasmask. She knows a plenty of men in Old World business wear...but this person doesn't ring a bell, even amongst the contact of her family business's many trade associates.

Shakes hear head. "No, sorry."