Angry Steve looked out at the wastes. He didn't wake up. He'd never really needed to sleep. He wore armor made of welded together traffic signs. In his hand was something that was once a signpost, until it had been outfitted with a pair of cinderblocks attachted to it with barbed wire. For a few mometns, there was silence. Then... "ANGRY STEVE IS COMING!!" He ran at full tilt across the blasted land. Where he was going, he had no idea. He didn't much care either.
Jordan didn't have a good night's sleep. Partially because of the bar was uncomfortable, but mostly the nightmares hes been having since the day of his freedom from the slavers. Needless to say, he wasn't in the greatest of moods. He rarely was in a good mood. It didn't help that the bartender had charged him an arm and a leg for a night's stay. He gave an exasperated sigh as he stared into his nearly empty wallet. He had bought some recon armor before which had emptied most of it. His hunting rifle needed fixing, and he was running out of ammunition too.
He gave another sigh as he stood up and got dressed. He needed a job, and a high paying one. He pulled out some iguana bits for his breakfast. Normally, this would follow with some hard alcohol, but his current financial situation assured him that wouldn't be the case anytime soon. He was very tempted to steal, and revert back to his pickpocket lifestyle. He decided against it and stepped out of his room to see if he could get some sort of job.
The bar was mostly empty, so he stepped outside. As he looked at the settlers around him, his hope fell. He would be surprised if any of them had more than ten caps to their name. He decided to hang around the settlement for a while, searching each stranger for a potential job. "Life as a merc isn't easy..." he thought. He almost wished for the good old days when he was in the Brotherhood of Steel... He sat down on a nearly destroyed couch and became lost in thought...
edited 19th Apr '11 6:24:40 PM by Strelok
Deputy Brown leaned against the burnt-out husk of what, before the bombs dropped, had been a bus. He sighed, looking down at the corpse of the raider who had been drugged up enough to charge him wielding a pool cue. He had been traveling along the road toward some settlement, he didn't really remember which, and the lack of sleep was making him more irritable than usual.
"Dumb bastard..." He muttered. His rasping voice, at one point, had irritated him to no end. But that was well over a century ago, and he had since gotten over it.
He was reaching into his pack for a bottle of Nuka-Cola when he heard the screeching of several geckos headed his way.
It's gonna be a long day. He thought to himself as he reached for his revolver.
edited 19th Apr '11 6:11:00 PM by ReDead
John slept soundly at his desk, his arms buried under papers and reports. A pile of discarded holodisks laid to his right, while a cup of aged coffee sat in a mug to his left. The silence in his chamber was thick, and not a single noise rose above the level of a pinprick. The chamber around him came to life once the clock on the wall struck the programmed wake up time.
The clock rung out in a loud school-bell like shrill and made John jump. His arms swung upwards and scattered the papers all around. He managed to knock over the pile of holodisks and shatter the mug in his rude awakening. He glanced down at the shattered mug and sighed.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and bent down to clean up the remains. The coffee had chilled over night, and was starting to leak into the carpet. Cursing and murmuring to himself, John had managed to clean the mess up and walked out of his resting chamber to his living room. He slowly walked inside, looking at the vault-tech posters pasted to the walls, before he noticed the commotion outside.
Through the gritty glass window, he could see the security force of the Vault rushing past his dwelling. Curious, John ventured out into the hallway. He wasn't the only Vault Member to see what was happening, there were others who looked on from the safety of their windows. John looked on with interest, and pulled a security guard closer in order to ask him a few question.
"What's going on?" he asked. The security extended his baton stick with a flick of his hand and lowed his visor.
"Go back to your dwelling. There's been a containment breach. We have...radroaches in the Vault." said the guard. He bellowed out the words like all authority figures tend to do. Gunshots came from down the hall, along with brilliant flashes of muzzle fire. The grunts, and roars of some strange creature trembled the walls.
As a child Jennifer had quickly grasped what her father meant when he said early to bed, early to rise. Therefore she tried to wake up as early as possible. When she slept that is. Glancing at her wrist to check the time, she continued trudging down the street past the remnants of the night before lying in the streets and the opening shops. It had been an aggravating night; her so called patient had absorbed so much acute radiation that her internal organs were essentially soup. The family had paid for her to do what she could at the end though. Extra caps never hurt anyone, the Doctor reflected.
Sunlight beat down hard on the white figure. Jennifer sighed heavily. This trip had been almost a complete bust; the NCR and Brotherhood had everything locked down tight. Unlike back east there was no place for a roving historian to explore. To be honest it pissed her off a little, for what little good getting pissed could do her. At least there was a convoy going her way this time. Despite the pleasures to be found in a steady supply of corpses there had been enough close calls to make the broker's offer attractive.
Approaching the rendezvous point she paused for a moment to inspect it. There were a goodly amount of people and draft beasts collected, an attractive target for an ambitious raider. Jennifer absently licked her lips, damn dry heat, while looking for any sign of the escort. With a grin the old trader had promised that even the good Doctor was sure to be impressed. Indeed, when the suit of power armor emerged from a nearby building and sit down on a bench Jennifer was ready to admit that she was surprised. Perhaps not impressed considering the condition of the suit, but definitely surprised. And curious. There weren't many functional T-51b sets left in the world (if that was functional), let alone ones not jealously guarded by Brotherhood of Steel Paladins.
There didn't appear to be any impetus on the part of her traveling companions to begin their journey immediately, Jennifer noted, so why not see if anything could be salvaged this late in the game. Setting her black grip and pack frame on the ground against another convenient bench where an old man dozed in the shade not even batting an eye at the intrusion into his space. Shuffling back across the open ground, she moved with surprising speed towards the set of armor. Even sitting the suit was imposing, Jennifer decided. Without batting an eye she began to tilt her head and lean all around to inspect the machinery regardless of it's owner-occupant.
Scribe Tyra Michaels was not in a good mood: The heat was scorching, and she had her Scribe garb utterly covered in dirt and grime, which looked quite unsexy. To make matters even funnier, the digsite was sort of empty: Everything that was not nailed down had been looted already.
To her chagrin, some of the things that were nailed down had been scavenged as well. Still, it was not the town she wanted to loot: If her data was correct, somewhere at the town there should be a hidden entrance to a Pre-War supply depot. Her odds of finding it, however, were slim. And she really, really should get to the nearest settlement by nightfall.
edited 20th Apr '11 3:39:07 PM by SavageHeathen
John stood frozen for a brief moment, as a giant reptile darted out from behind the corner. It sprinted up the hallway with an awkward waddle; most interesting was the fact it was running on two legs, while it's tremendous size was unlike any type of reptile John had known. The silver scales on the reptile were reminiscent of some Pre-war reptiles. Something snapped into action in John's brain.
"It's a Gecko. A giant....gecko."
The guard let out a war cry and ran towards the fouled Gecko, letting loose some nasty hits. It was when the Gecko bit down on the guard's arm, snapping it upwards at the middle of the Radius and Ulna bones, that John felt the need to escape. He ran down the hallway, and followed it until he came towards an open door. He barely noticed it, but paused his mad sprint away from danger in order to enter it.
He slowly ventured into the metallic room, and quietly sneaked by once he noticed that in a small addition of the room laid a corpse being munched on by some Geckos. He slowly made his way to the only door at the far end of the room, and opened it. He realized that he had stumbled into the office of the Overseer, whom was no where to be found.
There was very little in the office, just the desk, a couple of lockers and several useless monitors displaying carnage in the halls. John stood there watching the monitors with a deep sadness, knowing that the Vault he had grown up in was on the verge of complete failure.. He turned away from the screens, overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions.
That was when John eyed that the computer on the Overseer's desk was still on. A flashing line on the command prompt waited for input.
VAULT EMERGENCY DETECTED! ALARMS SOUNDED ON ALL LEVELS! VAULT IS IN CRITICAL LEVEL! EXODUS IS RECOMMENDED! Execute ENTRANCE.exe?
John pondered at the command,but gave in and typed in the command need to execute ENTRANCE.exe. To his surprise, a nearby set of lockers lowered revealing a short hallway leading to a rusted door. The curious nature in John took over, and he approached the newly revealed passage. He opened the door, and venture down a set of stairs leading down into darkness. The flick of a button on his Pip-Boy and the back light turned on, revealing a very unused passage lined with abandoned objects.
The passage seemed to have ended at a dead end, however a small button panel caught John's eye. He pushed the button on the panel, and watched as the wall in front of him lowered with a pneumatic hiss. Stepping through the door frame, John found himself in a booth however his mouth gaped open when he noticed outside the booth was...
...the Vault Door.
edited 20th Apr '11 2:27:04 PM by Grimedog
Bacon saw movement in the corner of his visor. A woman, wearing a suprisingly intact nurse uniform, was walking up to him. By now, Bacon was used to stares and turned heads he would recieve every time he walked into a settlement. Seeing a man in full Power Armor wasn't your everyday occurence.
Bacon continued watching the woman as she walked straight up to him. His helmet didn't move, but he was tracking her with his eyes. Bacon was also used to people walking up to him to check out his power armor, but usually it was small children who wanted to touch the metal robot, and were quickly pulled away by their more sensible adults. He wasn't quite sure how to react to this woman staring at his armor as if it were being offered for sale.
"Do you mind?" Bacon asked politely. His voice was picked up and transmitted through his helmet's speakers, making it deeper and reverberating slightly, as if he were speaking into a metal can. Which, in a way, he was.
Clasping her hands behind her back, Jennifer stepped aside to get a better view of the suit's back. It didn't register immediately that she was the one being spoken to, despite the force of the owner's question. She winced, her mouth turning down into a deeper frown; this always happened sooner or later, "Yes. Good tuh see at leas' part uh yaw suit's functional."
Stepping back, she straightened her spine with a pop. Keeping one hand behind her back, Jennifer habitually adjusted her glasses before speaking, "Ah take it then, that yaw one uh tha convoy's security elements then, Mister....?"
edited 20th Apr '11 9:26:51 PM by hotelkilo
Bacon didn't have eyes (or a camera) on the back of his helmet, so he had to stand up to talk with her face to face. He got on his feet, finally standing tall at an imposing 7'6". He looked down at her then said as politely as he could, "Yes, I'm Paladin Hamilton Macon, and I'm the main escort here."
He tilted his head, then continued, "And my armor is in excellent condition. It just looks a little dirty."
Jennifer was forced to tilt her head back to maintain visor contact with the suit, though she had expected it would have to stand sooner or later. Taking in her first good view of the full armor, it certainly was complete if nothing else; the Brotherhood coming through in the clutch again. At the Macon's assertion, however, she shrugged slightly.
"Theyuh isn't uh serviceable T-51b set left in the country in 'excellent condition', Paladin. Yaws is, howevuh, in bettuh condition then most," Jennifer took that opportunity to take a step to the side for a full rear view of the armor. The improvements over her mother's T-45d weren't obvious, though the aesthetics of the shoulders were a bit more subdued.
Bacon continued to track the strange woman, turning his helmet as he did so. He admitted he was a little surprised to hear her recite the model of his armor, something most people he encountered couldn't. She probably just read about it in a Pre-war book she found. Bacon had noticed that the books in Nevada were... surprisingly intact compared to the ones out in California.
At any rate, Bacon was getting slightly annoyed at how the woman. While he never shared the same disdain for the "local wildlife" other members of his chapter did, he didn't particuarly enjoy people who felt entitled start examining him like the techs at base did.
Bacon decided the woman had gotten a good enough look. He reached over and laid his hand on his weapon's barrel. "We're going to be leaving soon, ma'am. You should go check to make sure you aren't forgetting anything."
John had heard about the door, all throughout his life, yet he had never seen the actual thing. He was surprised at how rusted the gears had become, it seemed that time had a way of sneaking it's hands on everything...no matter how deep you buried yourself in metal, and rock. John shook himself out of his stare, and made his way to the small door console. He examined it, and immediately pulled down on the large handle on the console.
Immediately the room was doused with a red light, and a new siren wailed. It actually sounded more tinny than the general alarm, most likely due to it's lack of use. The Vault Door came to life and John watched the various mechanical gears came into play. A large drill-like cylinder came down from the roof, and bolted itself into the door. It pulled back on the door, causing a hellish cry of scraping metal-on-metal. John's hands shot up to his ears, but still watched on as the door slid open to reveal a rusty metal tunnel hallway.
A draft of warm, and dusty air came rolling in. John coughed as it reached his lungs, he disregarded it as his body's way of becoming used to unfiltered air. He ventured out of the Vault and followed the passageway to a ladder that reach to a trapdoor. He climbed up the ladder, and pushed the trapdoor with his right hand.
Immediately, he was blinded by what he guessed what sunshine. It nearly made him fall back down the trapdoor, but he held on tightly as his eyes watered and gave out pulsating waves of pain. It felt like someone was jabbing syringes into his eyes. Blinded, he stumbled out of the hole and stood up. His lungs heaved in the hot air of the Outside World, and he went into a coughing spasm.
"Jesus Christ!"he cursed as he slowly recovered. The coughing fit had been enough to cause John to kneel, however as the coughing eased down so did the blindness.
That's when John saw the Outside World for the very first time. He stood up and glared around. He was shocked to find that he wasn't standing outside, but in a severely destroyed building. Nothing had been spared but the foundation and few small pieces of the walls. He took a step out from the building and glanced around.
There was nothing but rocky wasteland...nothing but death. A small spark exploded in John's mind, making him remember the science lessons in the Vault. The Outside World was apparently radioactive.
The word came bumbling into shape in John's mind with flashing red lights. He shot his Pip-boy up and hastily went to the Geiger counter, he did so with a panicking nature. He was relieved to see that background radiation was below deadly...in fact, there wasn't even enough to power a watch.
"I'm not taking any chances..." John grumbled, as he stepped down off a small rock outcrop and walked around.
The song of a Springfield rifle chambering a round greeted him.
Attracted by the sound of the pneumatic doors, Scribe Michaels had found the Vault door.
"It was a Vault, not a supply depot", she thought. "Damn.", she groaned. Tyra had her rifle pointed straight at the Vault Dweller's chest. She looked at him with a vague smile.
Michaels was on her mid-twenties. She was a short and curvy black woman, with perhaps a few extra pounds on her. Tyra had her hair dyed red and wore a long mohawk, ending in a single dreadlock. She a pair of square, thick glasses.
She wore what looked like a long, red leather duster, over a thick, red cloth robe. The vault dweller could not know it, but that was the garb of a Brotherhood of Steel Scribe.
"Don't draw your gun or do anything stupid.", she warned.
Then she lowered her weapon and smiled. "New to the Wasteland, Vault Dweller?", she asked. "Welcome to Middle-o-Nowhere, Western Mojave!", she said, in her best mock-tour guide voice. "Odds are, it had a name before the War. But it was insignificant enough that nobody cared to remember it afterwards. Rumor had it, it housed the entrance to a big-ass supply depot. Unfortunately, it was actually a Vault.", she said. She didn't look hostile anymore.
"We really, really should get going. There is no depot to dig, and this place will be swarming with geckoes at nightfall. There is a caravan waiting at an outpost six miles north: It has has been my base camp for weeks: Nearest settlement. Will you come with me?", Tyra said, offering her hand for a handshake.
"I'm Scribe Tyra Michaels. Either call me Tyra or Scribe Michaels: Scribe Tyra is downright horrible.", she said. Then she grinned.
edited 21st Apr '11 5:10:07 PM by SavageHeathen
"Mm. Ah suppose tha improvements from tha T-45d series is mostly internal. No need to waste ammo, Paladin, when a good poke'd do ya s'much good," for once Jennifer decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Besides, she'd already learned as much as she could without getting a look at the suit's insides. Which quite honestly were beyond her technical abilities. Taking her leave, she decied at the last minute to add one more thing, she coughed into her fist before speaking, "And I prefuh Doctor ta ma'am. Faw the record."
Shuffling back across the dirt to the old codger she'd left watching her possessions, who still hadn't moved an inch, Jennifer handily retrieved the essentially re-sewn Army packboard and her black grip. At least her trip was looking slightly more useful; maybe she'd even get to see the armor in action.
A slavic man is wandering around the wasteland, he's wearing a battered steel helmet and grey combat amour which comes down to cover his forearms, with three claw marks across the chest, large and deep in the material, on his back, is a large rucksack, full with things needed for his survial maybe a few personal belongings and in his hands, an AK, not an AK-47, it's made of black plastic and alumnium, or the Chinese clone, no wire stock but instead the classic AK stock, this weapon is obviously not from the wastes.
edited 23rd Apr '11 4:36:04 AM by RevolverZen
The man with the battle armor and the AK would notice a noise that sounded like very large feet stomping in his direction, along with a large, bulky figure on the horizon.
The slavic man crouches down and aims his rifle at it "Hope this ones not a bleeder... Or anything too bad"
edited 23rd Apr '11 4:36:40 AM by RevolverZen
The noise grew louder as Steve drew closer. He didn't seem to notice the man.
The man stays crouched "Hello? He calls to the figure on the horizon, he speaks with a noticable russian accent, he waves with his left hand
edited 23rd Apr '11 4:37:16 AM by RevolverZen
The figure came to a stop. "HELLO!" It bellowed, its voice booming and gravely.
He stands back up, his rifle lowered "What are you doing out here? Are you going anywhere in particular?" He moves forward slightly "I'm Cherchenkov." Hoping the mutant will see him as a friend, he's not breaking eye contact
edited 23rd Apr '11 4:56:03 AM by RevolverZen
For a few moments, silence reighned. "STEVE!!"
Cherchenkov is still moving forward, he stops "...Steve... nice to meet you, Steve... What excactly are you?" He's confused and nervous
edited 23rd Apr '11 4:56:56 AM by RevolverZen
An uneasy voice called out, "Bacon?"
Nothing. The Power-Armored man the voice had addressed made no indication he had heard this. The person asking, another man, though aged near his mid fifties, inhaled and tried again.
"Bacon? Get up." The old man reached a gnarled hand down to the collar of the man in Power Armor and stated shaking lightly. An armored gauntlet shot up and stopped his action.
Paladin Hamilton Macon opened his gray eyes, and looked steadily at the old man. His expression relaxed, as did his tight grip, as he recognized who had awoken him. "Terry? Is it time already?"
Terry nodded. "Yes Bacon. We're going to head out in an hour. Breakfast is cooking." He said quietly. Bacon grunted.
"Well, I'll see you there." The old man nodded, then exited the room.
Bacon sighed, then rose from where he lay. The bed frame groaned under the weight of the T-51B Power Armor the man wore. Sleeping in full suit was uncomfortable, but in a place like New Reno, the added security was worth the inconvenience. Bacon stood up and stretched, then looked over to a side table.
On the table lay two Power Armor helmets. One was covered with nicks and scracthes, with several parts attacthed only by duct tape. Bacon picked this one up and put it on. He picked up the other one and held it front of his face. The helmet was in perfect condition save for the cracked visor where a bullet hole left it's mark. After a moment of pondering, Bacon put it in his sack and sighed.
Why'd you die on me, girl? Bacon thought ruefully. He then picked up his minigun, which was propped up in a corner, and exited the room.
Bacon surveyed the caravan he was being paid to escort. It was a rather large group, with over 15 travelers and four brahmin. A bigger group meant a bigger target, but with a man suited up in full Power Armor plus another three escorts meant even drugged up raiders would think twice about attacking.
Satisfied, Bacon walked to a nearby bench and sat down, leaning his minigun on one end. The bench groaned, but held. The caravan wasn't scheduled to leave for another 30 minutes, so Bacon could afford to relax.
edited 19th Apr '11 7:14:17 PM by Poptard