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.
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.
"Seven is here too, dressed like the concept of choosing clothes that look nice together was an arcane secret far beyond their grasp."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."
всегда верен"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?"

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.