The REALLY Wild Wasteland. (The Fallout RP!)

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It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...

In the Kentucky wastelands, there is a well-known gang of Raiders known as 'The Heads'. They were called this for their unusual capacity to USE their heads instead of their asses. Not a common Raider trait. Here was the great and wonderful plan: It was gonna be Road Warrior 2: The Humongus Strikes It Big. All this time, there's been this fort, see. It's stacked with alot of automated defense turrets that work even today, keeping out the riff-raff. But to a well-organized crowd with a little know-how, plus LOTS of missles and sniper action, it was almost too easy. After all, the world's gone to shit! Who's watching Fort Knox now? Nobody! Who's gotten in since pre-war days? Nobody but the Heads. And that's how it goes. A number of rigged cars, trucks, and cycles pull into the place, having neutralized its perimeter. This place was once a brilliant military base famous for its huge gold deposits. Now, it was just a dead place of old memories...and still yet the gold.

The group is large, like three-dozen men ready to haul ingots out of there. This takes time, care, and precision...on account of this vault being harder than stuff from Vault-Tec. But as the Heads are using their eventually comes open and swings free into that lovely room filled with oodles of gold! They lie nestled together behind additional bars - bars that they can handle, easy - and fail to notice the sensors that they just set off, expertly-hidden ones kept in a room that has not changed in probably YEARS. The floor is tiled with big square tiles. To the average observer, it seems almost normal, except...that one of the guys stops as the others get to work on the bars. He shrugs it off, they bust in, and get gold loaded on a wagon to be pulled out by a few of the guys. Same guy who stopped before stops again, same place.

"Hey, I think there's something hollow under here."

"Under the gold? Don't be ridiculous. If that were true, they'd have TAKEN the gold."

He insisted, though, and took a crowbar to reveal...a hidden stepway hatch, the kind you press a button to activate. They saw this and stopped working. He opened it, went on down, and...was met with the glowing eyes of power-armor down a dark hallway, shortly before a plasma rifle went off! The Raider was burned through and then gooified before he made it back up the steps, and then there were similar hatchway sounds from two other spots as a pair of black powersuits BURST through more tiling to pull out Super Sledges and start swinging! Instant madhouse! The two Enclave soldiers made every Raider go for his or her gun, many of which were not that helpful in this situation as a whole mess of troops exited the middle steps with a command unit giving orders.

Commander: Operation Clean Sweep! GO GO GO!!

Despite the fact that some missle launchers and grenades had been brought in, most of the soldiers remained intact, especially since the sledge-users leapt right out to take hits! WHAT?! A few of the other Raiders who figured it was time to cut and run just went and DID. They headed on outside, where it was their intention to go back, tell the rest of the gang what happened, and come in bigtime to handle this Enclave parade without mercy. That would have been brilliant if there weren't smoldering craters where quite a few vehicles had once been, gold bars scattered everywhere and SOME remnant of the men who brought that stuff out here. These last few men then heard something rumble-shudder from the left as what looked like an old building brought to ruin with abuse uhhh...fell apart. They looked up...quite shocked under the circumstances.

Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk!

The last thing they saw was the barrels spinning, and the last sound...was self-explanatory. The soldiers came out soon after, taking note of the damage done both by the Raiders and by...IT. The Commander got on comms, then...

"What is the situation, #31?"

#31: Under control, Number One. Intruders eliminated 100%. However...


#31: Fort defenses are kaput, all auto-turrets ruined with the gold vault broken into. I can salvage the door, but...someone's gonna notice eventually.

"I'm inclined to agree. Very well. We make our move. Utilize field camp defenses to bolster the Fort Knox perimeter, including OUR turrets. Move forces upstairs, but keep the sub-station well-stocked. Oh, and get the doors ready. The Enclave is officially open for business."

#31: Yes, sir!

FalloutJack Presents:

Several explosions raised dust all over the base area, revealing heavy-armored bulkhead doors which either slid or were raised open. From out of them came a few tank-like hovercraft, troop-carriers or load-haulers, as well as vertibirds and...a strange helicopter design that was like the marriage of a Jigabachi and Warhawk.

Something We Like To Call...

"Soon, my greatest experiment will be completed! HAH HAH HAH! Mad, they called me! MAD!"


"Very true, BUT I DID NOT ASK FOR YOUR INPUT! Bwa ha ha ha ha ha haaa!!!"


"I...was once a man... ONCE...a man!"


"Yes, master. Yes, master. Yes, a'master! Yes, a'master! YES, A'MASTAH!!"

The REALLY Wild Wasteland.



How Did It All Come To This?

It all started when there was a sudden break-in at GNR by several vertibirds. Three guesses who was behind it. A number of black armored troops led by a particularly-strong Tesla Soldier of the Enclave stormed into GNR in the middle of a Three Dog broadcast, where he forced the man to get off to make his own broadcast. The soldier identified himself as FalloutGreg and that a new regime in the Enclave had passed, one that wanted people in the public to be a part of it. This was to be their one and only transmission on an open frequency and the apparent member of the 'Fallout Sector' left soon after delivering his message...having gone through a load of Brotherhood of Steel Paladins to do it. The Enclave appeared to be up to something, publically up to something, and not fearing the retribution. You could see their vehicles moving openly sometimes, and while there is no official word on their combat maneuvers, they've been dropping these "ENCLAVE WANTS YOU" posters all over the place, urging people to join up. You can guess what open opposition meant, and ever worse what wearing any BoS material made you. And that isn't all. There's something funny going on with some of the super mutants, AND the ghouls. Hell, there's even some question of trouble with some of the Nuka Cola. But enough about my schtick. Tell me something.



Since last interview, Abe has resolved to set out for the nearest sign of human settlement, after complaining of "Abe's ol' poor leg givin' me the jip again." Although he currently is lacking enough bottle caps for a Follower-certified full treatment and redressing, he hopes to, in his words, "find me some uh dem magic pills that make it feel no heavier'n the Rocky Mountain breeze."
It's entirely possible that he means painkillers, it is unknown whether Abe, like many other inhabitants of the wasteland, has a taste for Great Khan 'chems'; but given his apparent reliance on his 'Special Reserve' liquor, this reporter believes that it's more than likely.

-UPDATE- Apparently unable to bear any sort of load, Abe has tasked me with ferrying an apple crate of bottled moonshine (I have not seen the still, as is Abe's tradition, it's no doubt already in parts and buried, but the batch is most likely a recent one) along with him, likely in the interest of trading; although if reports are anything to go by Abe is historically untroubled by the concept of wealth. In addition, the identity or even the description of the individual that carried the 'shine to his current (no doubt temporary) residence is unknown; Abe continues to evade questioning, although 'evade' is an odd word to use, considering his wandering tongue.

Although this reporter is unused to a role as a pack animal, his journalistic integrity will hold fast in the interest of documenting such an...interesting...specimen of post-war civilisation.

The metro tunnel was dark. Extremely so. Most had an occasional working light or a caved in ceiling that allowed sunlight in. But not this one. Radraoches could be heard scurrying about and there was an incessant dripping that was hoepfully water and not something worse. Silent as a whisper Fishspear crept through the darkness, quite a feat considering the pack on his back. He always made sure everything was secure to minimise rattling. He looked around, peering into the darkness ahead. His eyes were accustomed to the dark and could pick out surprising detail. This metro looked a lot like every other one, disused and ruined. A railcar was wrecked ahead, collapsing the tunnel. Another dead end.

What a waste of time this had been. This tunnel didn't appear to be connected to any others and he couldn't find any exists bar the one he'd used to get in. Even better, it had been picked clean. Not a single peice of food and no hats. At least there weren't any ghouls down here either. Fishspear sighed and made his way back to the surface, taking significantly less caution seeing as how he'd scouted every square inch of this place.

He left through the metro entrance gates, taking care to make as little sound as possible. The sun was high in the sky, it was around midday. D.C. was much the same as it always was, broken and eerie. But it was home. Footsteps. Fishspear ducked down and pressed himself against a wall, listening. No doubt about it, something was walking around up there. It didn't seem to be moving very fast whatever it was. He couldn't quite place the sound though. It was familiar was too light to be a super mutant, there wasn't any growling which meant it wasn't a feral ghoul, it didn't sound like a quadruped...Fishspear removed his .223 pistol from it's holster and waited, praying that whatever it was would walk the other way...

Somewhere in the wastes of Virginia, a little ways east from the Kentucky border, Marlon van Graff was halfway through a bottle of whisky in a little town's drinking hole.

It was a nowhere little town, the sort you see all over the place in the wastes. The kind with more buildings than people, just another pitstop along the road. For now though, he'd set himself up in an abandoned garage while combing the surrounding area for good finds to bring back home, or potential future customers. He'd had to drive off a few pests, but the locals had stopped trying to poke around after a live demonstration of Lasers vs. Some-Chump-Trying-To-Pick-The-Locks-On-The-Car. He grinned at the recollection. It'd been good publicity and some entertainment all at once.

Either way, the garage and car were locked up tighter than a paladin's asshole and none of the other locals had been daft enough to try and get in a second time. Hard to say for sure how long it'd be before he moved on again though and had to find a new temporary base of operations. So far there'd been pretty slim pickings around these parts, though from what he'd heard, there was a lot of old tech out east, but on the other hand, plenty of the Brotherhood's goons as well...

...But that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, he had whisky and music from a jukebox. That was good enough for today.

She was small, that was how she hid from the black metal men. They came in the night as her cousins wandered around their base. They hate us all! she thought to herself, pulling a hole in the closest pile of rubble and dragging herself inside.

It had been days since the voom of the metal men's guns had stopped but that didn't mean they were gone, until yesterday voices still drifted throughout the compound. She didn't understand what they meant but she listened anyway, hoping they had left someone else alive, but like all of Vikki's hopes, it turned to ash in her hands.

After another day of total silence, Vikki removed the rubble from herself, stretching out her muscles and checking her weapons were still in working order, a habit she'd picked up from her cousins in the past few months, after finding both items in working order she set about searching for her cousins, hoping to at least say sorry and farewell to them before leaving. But nothing remained bar green goo lying in strange piles in one corner of the compound. Weeping blood, Vikki wished them a peaceful rest and turned her back on the compound, amazed that her bike was still in one working piece.

With one final look at her home, she kicked the bike into life and gunned her way towards the roads, she'd always heard that the museum in this town was a ghoul refugee, something called the Underworld, hopefully it was still safe there.

-EDITOR'S REPORT- Our first encounter since setting out!

By using surviving local landmarks and roadsigns, this reporter places our trail along pre-war Interstate 95, heading north, although the identity of the area from which we set out is currently unknown.

The clink of Abe's 'Shine in the crate rings up with each heavy trudge, and doctors our pace maddeningly; somehow Abe has, up until now at least, maintained a cheerful disposition, commenting in a rambling tongue on the odd roadside jetsam as if he remembers more than any man could possibly forget. As if.

However, his lame leg saw to anything but a forced march, and, after much cajoling, we took our rest at an empty truckstop.

Although water is scarce, I continue to politely refuse to drink the 'Shine, although Abe continues to preach its virtues, "good fer th' humours, great fer the hands, y'can have one on ol' Abe, he don't mind none."; another thing of note is that Abe doesn't drink the stuff himself, only from his flask, which never seems to run dry.
Could it be possible that Abe's secretive supply of 'Special Liquor' is more widespread than reports show? This reporter deems the idea of anything remaining hidden unlikely, but will continue to investigate.

At late afternoon, judging by the sun hanging low, lazy and red, as if the atomic fire had never come; Abe suddenly became excited upon sighting a dust cloud to the south, following our tracks north on I-95, and hobbled out into the middle of the highway, rambling loudly about 'tubes'.

The vehicle passed at pre-war illegal speeds, and the cloud enveloped the hunched figure out on the highway; clearing to reveal a felled Abe, wide-eyed lying next to his thrown crutch, "A motorcycle! Vincent Black Lightnin' 1952! A motorcycle! TUBES! oh what a man couldn't do wi' so many TUBES!" I helped him up and his excitement turned to silence and resignment almost immediately; he hobbled back to the truckstop, slumped against the door and continues to stare into space, periodically drinking from his flask.

The motorcycle had missed him by a hair; it seems Abe hasn't much of a sense of self-preservation.

The door looked rotten and so did the rest of the building, still this was where he was supposed to go. Brandon checked the lock to see a very good lock if a bit rusty, He smiled they would need more then that to keep him out. He made his tool appear and he shoved it into the lock, after a few seconds a soft sound could be heard as the door unlocked. He stood up and opened the door with his left hand he held his pistol in his right hand. The interior looked even worse then he had excepted, the room he entered was quite big and he saw all kinds of rotten wooden things. They had lost their shape so it was hard to tell what they had once been. Brandon heard an cracking noise he pointed at it with his gun, to see an confused looking raider looking at him. The raider acted quick as he charged at Brandon with the knife that he had been holding. Brandon didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger, the bullet ripped right through the raiders skull leaving an big hole in its head. Brandon was silent for a few moments too listen for any other activity, but after about 10 seconds he decided that this was the only raider that was here. He didn't have anything valuable on him and the knife looked ready to snap if it was used one more time. Brandon closed the door behind him as he walked deeper into the now presumed deserted house.

He walked upstairs to look around for any sign of live, before he would search for the clue that was hidden in the house. As he passed one of the smaller rooms he heard an war cry, and someone charged at him holding a knife. He grabbed the arm of the person that was attacking him, and he dropped his gun to block the mans punch with his other hand. He was forced back towards the ledge he was only 1 step away from falling down. The man looked like your average crazy drug user, the problem was he had just used psycho and Brandon was feeling how much stronger that made him. But it also made him crazed and lose his mind. Brandon hit the man with his knee in his gut and he felt him weaken for a moment. He quickly released the hand holding the mans fist, as he placed it on his back pulling him forward. The man was pulled forward and Brandon quickly side stepped out of his way, he shoved the man with his 2 hands and the man fell over the ledge. A loud scream could be heard followed by an sickening creaking noise. Brandon looked down to see that the man had split his head open on the ground below, he looked very dead. Brandon searched the rest of the house to find nothing of value and no other living people or animals.

But when he opened the final door he found an computer. He quickly grabbed a nearby chair as he tried to look what was inside the computer, it was locked but the lock proved to be no match for Brandon's hacking skills. There was only 1 file on the computer it was an audio file. He hoped that it was the clue he had been looking for he opened the file. He heard an strange song that he didn't recognize. That was all that was in the audio file, Brandon was unhappy to find nothing else but he still downloaded it into his device. After that was done he deleted the audio file and he left the home, spotting 40 caps that he had missed earlier, he grabbed them from the table. Must have been stolen from a couple of travelers. He walked outside to see a town in the distance. He decided that he would go there to try and find out what the song really meant. Brandon holstered his pistol which he had picked up after the fight, and he began to walk the town. The town wasn't that far he would probably reach it in 20 minutes tops. Brandon missed the 2 red eyes looking at him from inside the building. Seems like I finally found you Brandon.

Michael had awoken from another one of his blackouts; the doctor in the last town he had visited had told him that they happened when there was too much stress on his fragile mind. They happened so frequently during his travels in the wasteland he had gotten used to it. The remains of raiders littered the ground around him, he must of been fighting them we he blacked out. He searched them for anything useful: some ammo, a few stimpacks and bobby pins.

He got back onto his brahmin and resumed his journey at the usual pace. He thought that the best way to find the Brotherhood of Steel was to go from town to town asking the locals if they had seen anything. However the only information he got was about the damned Enclave. How they were recruiting member from the public and acting more openly, attacking raiders, super-mutants and ghouls. To tell the truth it brought some peace to the wastes, but that wasn't the half of it-they had been attacking non-feral ghouls as well. He made a mental note to check on the ghoul city Underworld if his travels brought him near it.

Any good citizen of the wastes, well any not-so-bad citizen of the wastes knew that the Enclave was against anyone who wasn't pure bred human, but they were offering a good deal, food, shelter and some armour for a lifetime of service. The Brotherhood of Steel had offered the same things, to anyone who was sane, but a lot of people he encountered thought that they were jerks only interested in fighting the Enclave. It was hard to say otherwise really, he hadn't seen a fellow brother since his accident, he would have to tell them that they needed to place more patrols around the more exposed settlements.

He pressed his brahmin on, he hadn't thought of a name for it yet. Maybe with his memories his imagination had also left him, he felt guilty though, everything deserved a name. He only knew his because the dogs tags that were on his neck told him, without them he would be as nameless as his brahmin. He looked around him to try and conjure some inspiration, but nothing. Then a thought came to him, I know what your name's gonna be, it's gonna be Brahmin.

The man lay face down in the middle of the road, tattered clothing stained red by blood. One arm outstretched, almost grasping a pistol, the other had been blown off at the elbow and lay several feet away, blood trailing from the former limb to the stump.

William stopped the motorcycle, dismounted and drew his blade. He gripped it tightly, the familiar feeling of the handle comforted him. He surveyed the scene and his mind came up with one answer: 'Ambush' This man was all alone, shot dead in the middle of nowhere. He had tried to go for his weapon, so he knew his assailants intention immediately. The blood, it came from the stump, but the stain went over half the width of the road. The body had been dragged into clear view so nobody would miss it.

William tensed, crouching behind a ruined car. He edged round the car until he could see the body from a different angle. The man's face was ruined, giving him the appearance of a ghoul. His body was draped over something, a large metal disc, a fragmentation mine. This poor soul had been claimed by the wasteland, yet his corpse was a trap ready to claim another.

William sheathed his blade and drew his pistol, making sure it was loaded. He backed off, making certain the blast would not reach him, then fired.

The mine exploded, ravaging the corpse and flinging it up into the air. William sighed with relief, then felt something press against the back of his head.

"Drop your gun and put 'em up!" William had no choice but to comply, "Ok, now turn around, I want you to look at me when I kill you."

"This really isn't necessary, it's a waste of a bullet." William tried to sound calm and collected, his dignified tone might put the raider on the back foot.

"Not wasting my bullet, I'll waste you with yours! Now back up, slowly does it." Said the raider, who began to crouch and reach for William's pistol.

William stepped forward and looked at the raider with his coldest glare, "I bet your gun isn't even loaded. Otherwise you would have just shot me." The raider took two steps back and gulped. William drew his sword, "Now drop your gear and run away or I'll hack you limb from bloody limb." he spoke in a quiet, threatening tone. The raider immediately dropped his gun as if it was a radscorpion, then let his pack fall from his shoulders. The raiders next words came out in a torrent.

"This is all I have, I'm telling the truth! Please don't hurt me....." he wailed.

"You heard me, run away and don't come back." whispered William. The raider turned tail and fled.

William smiled, as he took the raiders ill-gotten gains and returned to his motorcycle.

Canterbury Commons has been quiet, too quiet. Little of note has happened here since the defeat of the AntAgonist some years back. Together with my faithful Protectrons I have vigilantly guarded the town from any whom would dare bring CHAOS to our peaceful home.

Daily we patrol the outskirts of our fair town to keep both the innocent citizens and travellers safe from the vile raiders that plague these lands. Yet there have been no sightings of these nefarious criminals for several days now. It is likely that I have finally been able to put the fear of justice into the hearts of the scum and lowlife, but I must remain ever watchful.

An alternative theory however must be mentioned, a week or so ago Three Dog's broadcast was interrupted by the Enclave. Whilst the journalistic integrity of Three Dog is very much in doubt, he has made little mention of my continued efforts to secure the wasteland, I am duty-bound to remain open to any and all sources of information that could aid me in my fight against evil.

The decline in raider activity after this message may have been more than merely coincidental as another clue presents itself. Whilst doing maintenance work on my Robobrain I found a curious note stuck in his propulsion systems, an Enclave trooper in power armour and the words "The Enclave wants you".

In order to ensure that the peace and prosperity I've brought to Canterbury Commons and the rest of the wasteland persists I feel I have little choice but to investigate further. I have determined that GNR, where Three Dog resides, shall be the first thread of this web of mystery to be unravelled.

Web... Spiders... Insects... Ants... Could it be? Could she have returned? I must depart at ONCE!


The Mechanist kept a keen eye on his surroundings as his Mech-Mobile sped through the wasteland at a speed that would make a crippled Brahmin nervous. Having left his Protectrons and Robobrain behind in Canterbury Commons to protect the town in his absence he had only a single Mr. Gutsy strapped into his back-seat in addition to his trustworthy laser pistol.

The ruins of Washington DC loomed ever closer and the Mechanist gripped his steering wheel tighter. What amazing adventures, precarious perils and vile villains would be lying in wait for him on the road ahead?

The flies were back.

Bitch-Breath growled angrily as they spewed that awful stuff on Master. Just because Master was dead doesn't mean they can do this to his corpse! Bitch-Breath waited for one of the bloated flies to come closer to Master, and then he sprang. His powerful jaws sank deeply into the fly, killing it nigh-instantly. The other flies fled a short distance, clearly waiting for the dog to sleep.

Bitch-breath devoured the dead fly hungrily. His master had done that as well, but he had always used a weird bag of liquid afterwards. "Cleans Rads", Master had said. Bitch-Breath had never used it.

They ran out of the liquid three weeks ago.

Just over two weeks later, Master was dead.

Bitch-Breath looked at the partly eaten, bloated corpse of master, and knew he couldn't stay anymore. He had to go. His pack was light, and Master had stuffed things into it with no command before he had died. Maybe he was supposed to deliver it? Maybe he was supposed to find a new Master?

With great difficulty, Bitch-Breath turned and padded slowly away from his post of the last four days. He wasn't Bitch-Breath any more, now he was just a dog. A dog with no master. A dog with no direction. A dog that, hopefully, no one would shoot at.

Brandon walked along the road he had found . It was old and dusty still it was better then the wilds where he would encounter god knows what. He had luck with animals they liked him for some reason, still he didn't want to try his luck with an death claw again. The last time had been horrible that thing just didn't want to stay down. He kept walking as he saw an dog walking along the road, the dog looked to be unhurt and sad.

He was surprised and confused he saw no people nearby, he figured that he might as well try to interact with it. Maybe it was lost? He could help him find his owner if he was lost. Brandon grabbed a small piece of meat out of his bag as he called out to the dog. He slowly moved closer making clear he intended no harm and he offered him the piece of meat. He was crouching, as he had learned from previous times dog seemed to think people that were crouching were less threatening.

It was a rare sight, nice and humbling.
The murky clouds above DC opened up for a few moments the stars to shine through.
It was nice but not important.
Small flames licked across Sully's tired face as he dragged his eyes down to the new and thriving land beneath him. Spotted lights appeared in the huge cradle of ruins beneath his camp on the side of mount Rainier. The dregs of the city named Washington spluttered in and out of life before him. Although he'd never admit it, he was excited. Excited to move excited to fight, excited to eat something other than the bloatflies he'd found a day ago. More importantly it was something new. As tired as old legs came to be in the wastes there needed to be a damn good reason to keep Sully from moving. Those reasons included guns, death claws, repurposed bear traps, mine fields and a litany of other insane scenarios one expects from a world that was gone mad. Far more concerning was the fact that his already staggering list had recently recruited a new enthusiastic addition... The Voices. He could never quite hear them, not that he expected to like what he heard if ever he managed to listen, instead they seemed to wait along his peripherals leaping in with hidden intentions at the oddest times. A recent example was the large shaped rock on the other side of the peak. He would usually never concerned himself with history and less still with the found less patriotism that seemed to ooze from some of the people he'd ran into in the west once but something about the plaque attached to the stone had him riveted. Approaching cautiously he peered at the aging bronze from over the hand rail that surrounded it, 'This plaque-
'Was! ...its the! tur-' the words became mixed in his head as the tiny chorus added a new verse to its latest song, from its latest holodisc, to the already seam-busting repertoire that was Sully's subconscious.
Shaken by the memory Sully looked back at the dying embers in the small camp fire beside him. 'Best not to dwell' he muttered aloud to no-one at all and with one final look at the curiously lively ruins below him he kicked the fire out and went to sleep

The Dog No-Longer-Named-Bitch-Breath plodded for a few hours, meeting nothing and seeing just as much. Just desert.

As he was about to lay down for a bit, he saw a figure not too far off. The dog's ears perked up, then went down again. The figure had the armor. The dog didn't know what the armor meant, but Master had always avoided people wearing it. "Goddamned faction wars", whatever he meant by that. The dog knew that "Goddamned meant anger and disgust, and that "war" meant fighting of some kind, but faction? He assumed "faction" meant "armor", so master must have been disgusted with the fighting of the armored ones.

He was mentally rambling. He instinctually knew that dogs aren't supposed to do that.

The dog knew one thing very clearly, he wasn't about to turn around. Maybe he could walk by the armored figure and it wouldn't do anything.

Putting his head down, he turned course to avoid the figure, planning to follow the road after circling around, but then the man in armor called.

"Hey! Dog!"

The dog looked directly at him. He was crouching, and holding something. A smell of fresh meat wafted by. The dog decided to risk it, and walked slowly towards the man.

He stayed crouching, a sign of non-aggression. When the dog was close enough to see the man's face, he liked him instantly. He wasn't sure why, but he did.

When the dog came within arms reach, he grabbed the meat and bounced back, waiting for the man to respond.


The walrus cried out in frustration. Having lost his previous companions only a few days before due to a raider strike, the endless barren of the wastes was starting to get to him again. He had no food and had been resorting to eating sand and dirt just to stave off the hunger.
There must be some village somewhere, maybe even a travelling trader perhaps? Anything besides this nothingness. He felt a sudden jolt as the platform he sat on started to shake. He reached forward and slowly stroked Udders on one of the heads. His gruff, slurred voice sounded out.
"Easy girl, I know it's been a long time, but we'll find someplace to stay." The brahmin started to calm again, coming to a stop. The walrus slowly slid off his companion, landing with a flop. He gave a loud sniff, surveying the ground for anything. A few meters away he saw a small puddle. Not much, but maybe enough to quench Udders thirst.
Slowly leading the brahmin to the puddle, the brahmin reached forward and started lapping at the water. While she seemed content at the moment, Crawver knew it wouldn't last long.
"I envy you sometimes Udders. I sometimes wish I could have the burden of knowledge lifted from my shoulders. You probably think I'll find something to eat any second now." One of the heads looked up and stared into the doctors eyes, while the other continued to lap up the water. She almost seemed to smile, as if to say 'don't give up'. Crawver knew that she couldn't understand what he was saying, but couldn't help but reply.
"I wish I had your optimism." The cow just gave him a soft moo as he turned around to look at the horizon as the sun was rising. He withdrew the gold pendant from his labcoat and let it lay flat on his flipper.
"Something as beautiful as you doesn't belong in a world as damaged as this. Why do I feel compelled to hold onto you? What secrets do you hold?" The pendant remained silent and motionless.

The walrus quickly stuffed it back into his coat pocket, huffing lightly. His ears picked up as he heard an unusual noise, as if something was beating the air with a bat repeatedly. He turned around, looking up to see a strange black machine flying overhead. He gave out a call, but it went unanswered as the thing just kept flying onwards.
"Well, looks like my luck might be improving after all." He turned back to his Brahmin, climbing back up on top of the custom built platform on Udders. He gave her side a light slap.
"Come on girl, forwards. Wherever that thing is going, there must be people. With luck we might make it before nightfall." Both Udders heads moo'd as she started to plod forwards.

"Might even find a home this time."

Brandon was crouching and the dog slowly walked closer. Brandon made sure not to move to avoid scaring the dog. The dog was quite close now and he looked up at Brandon, he then licked Brandon's face. Brandon was surprised and the dog grabbed the meat and jumped back, it looked like he was waiting for an response. Brandon smiled brightly as he slowly did a step forward towards the dog which name he didn't know. Brandon as slowly extended his hand he then began petting the dog behind his ear. Something which most dogs seemed to like for some reason, he hoped that this dog also liked this. This dog was different he just felt it something about the dog just made him feel strange. A gust of wind made a note fall out of the bag of the unamed dog. Brandon picked it up.

Dear whoever finds this dog:

I'm dying of radiation exposure. Please take care of my baby. He's brilliant and will be able to help you out immeasurably. Take the water and food as a dowry of sor

The note stopped there, whoever wote this must have cared for the dog deeply that he used his last moments alive to write this. Brandon looked at the dog, he then began petting the dog with 2 hands. "So you are all alone just like me... Well If you want I can take care of you." Brandon was smiling brightly, the last 10 years had been lonely. Even if he preferred to be alone there was nothing wrong with some company. He smiled at the dog hoping he would agree to travel together. He somehow knew that the dog understood what he said.


The dog quickly ran through his internal dictionary. Was this man offering to be a new Master? The dog could overlook the armor, if it meant there was someone to be with.

The dog barked happily and jumped to lick the man's face again.

Somewhere in what had once been eastern Kentucky, Tom Nevets sat down and took a drink of water. He had left Lexington a few weeks ago and had been traveling southeast since. He had stumbled upon several small towns on his way, many of them deserted. This was one of those deserted towns, its existence made redundant by the larger town to the north. Now all that remained was a bunch of decaying buildings.

For the last few days, Tom had been searching those buildings to no avail. He had found a handful of caps and ammo, but beyond that the town was empty. Tomorrow, he and Bucky would have to move on. He briefly considered going towards Charleston, but decided he would find civilization faster if he went south into Virginia. His goal set, Tom put the cap back on is canteen, stowed it in his backpack, and went to hunt down his dinner.

Brandon question was answered by an happily barking dog that licked his face. Brandon laughed as he began to pet the dog, Brandon was very happy that the dog seemed to like his idea. Brandon grabbed some more meat as he also offered that to the dog. "You must be hungry here eat up." He then realized he didn't know his name. "So what is your name?" Brandon asked the dog curious to what he was named. Brandon wanted to see if this dog was really this smart. He drew BRANDON in the sand looking back at the dog. "My name is Brandon now you." He smiled. The 10 years seemed to have had some effect on Brandon, as he failed to understand that most dogs can't read.


Abe is excited yet again, as I write, he is recounting another sighting (it has been 3 days since the incident with the motorcycle). It appears that Abe, despite the physical toll of our march along the shattered I-95, managed to to leave the truckstop without my noticing; he seems to have refilled his flask, I have no doubts as to why he left, and I haven't left it outside of reasoning that Abe is secretive, perhaps protective of his Reserve.

He's currently stretching out his arms in either direction, rambling and tripping over words, abandoning sentences and words mid-syllable, as is to be expected; but he has already a few times returned to the phrase, "This big, only bigger, n' then bigger 'n that! Most humungorous [sic] Catfish I ever did see! an' a steer! ridin' a steer!"


Abe has calmed down, and presently sleeps fitfully, his mind no doubt poking and groping at his sensory centres; Abe has decided that his leg is, to quote directly, "lighter now, but that's what happen, it gets light, then it gets heavy, then it gets light again, but then it gets awful, pow'rful heavy."

"You... hungry... eat..." said the new Master, giving the dog more meat. The dog ate it hungrily.

"...your name?"

The dog cocked his head, confused. The word "name" seemed very familiar, somehow. Very long ago, Old Master had used it when he started referring to the dog as "Bitch-Breath".

Ergo, "name" = "Bitch-Breath".

If only he could say it!

The man suddenly bent over and began drawing lines in the sand. They came together to make something that looked like the things Old Master wrote on papers. "BRANDON". The dog had no idea what that sounded like.

"My name... Brandon... you."

Master must have been known by others as... "Brandon". Maybe that's what the sand symbols said.

Brandon was looking at him expectantly. The dog sat, confused. He had no idea what Brandon expected of him next. Realizing this, he lowered his head, somewhat shamed.

The dog lowered his head it seemed to understand him and seemed to be ashamed? Brandon smiled as he petted the dog. "How about I learn you how to write?" He looked at the dog. It then hit him how dumb he was acting. He quickly shacked his head trying to forget that he had just tried to ask an dog for his name. And tell it that he would learn it how to write, he looked at the dog. "How about I call you Rex from now on?" Brandon smiled as he was petting his new companion. He wondered how he had been called before though. Still Rex seemed like an good name for an dog.

The man gently ran his fingers through the dog's fur, wicking away the shame the dog felt at misunderstanding a command. He looked up and panted happily.

"...I... you...?"


The man suddenly shook his head and looked rather displeased... not with the dog, though. The dog cocked his head again, well and truly befuddled.

"...I... you Rex... now...?"

You... Rex?

Was the master giving him a new name?

The dog rather liked it.

The dog - no, REX - looked up at the man and barked happily.

Brandon saw that Rex seemed to like his new name. He smiled as he petted the dog again, he now looked at the bags that the dog was carrying. he began grabbing the things out of his bag, he was happy to see the food and water. He looked at them all then put them bag in the bag. "Well I think it it about time for dinner." Brandon had seen an empty trailer a few meters back he signaled Rex to follow him, as he stood up and began walking to the trailer.

2 broken chairs where inside the trailer he grabbed them both and broke them apart. Laying the wood outside carefully he made an fire, and he sat down by the fire. He smiled as he pointed next to him. He grabbed a can of beans and a few pieces of meat and hang them above the fire. He looked if Rex had joined him, he had grown really very of the dog in the short time that he knew him.

Barry sprinted toward a massive insectoid creature. Its gaping maw tried to pull him in, but he jumped and drove both legs into the lovecraftian horror's head crushing it in. Green blood went everywhere and soaked his boots. "WHILE YOU HAVE DESTROYED SEVERAL OF MY CREATURES YOU CAN NEVER HOPE TO STOP ME! FIRST NORFOLK THEN THE WORLD! MWAHAHAHAHAHAH! THE ROACH KING SHALL BE THE RULER OF ALL!!!"
The filthy mad scientist screamed as he shot his laser cannon at Barry. The Flash ducked behind a barrel sheltering himself from the Roach King.
"Give it up now Roach King. Turn over a new leaf and I will pretend like this never happened?" Barry said Honestly.
"NEVER!" The man shouted back. The Flash jumped through the air dodging the lasers and drove his fist into the deranged scientist who fell to the ground unconsious.
(What really happened: Flash stepped on a Radroach and decapitated a raider, who happened to have a mostly broken laser pistol, with his bladed gauntlet.)
Flash continued steadily down the road at a jogging pace. Before seeing a man mugging another in an alley way. "Stop Evil doer!" he said triumphantly. The man looked at him confused then pointed his switchblade at him. "If thats how it is going to be!" Barry shouted thinking the man shouted "NO!" The man stood there swingly wildly completely shocked by what he was seeing. Flash crammed his blade into the man's heart. He then fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood. The man who on the recieving end of the mugging sprinted away in fear. Flash saw something hanging out of the corpse's pocket. He pulled it out and unfolded it. "THE ENCLAVE WANTS YOU" was scrawled across it in large lettering. "Is this some kind of new superhero group? Well while they could have picked a better name I have been getting pretty lonely. But where do I sign up?" He said to himself examining it. "I'll have to tell them about this oversight when I join up. So...that leaves only one question. Which way to run?" He stepped out of the alley and took a moment to look in every direction. He noticed that the north had the smallest amount of debris. He then took off sprinting north hoping to find some companionship. But knowing his luck he will probably be killed by a meteor strike by then.

"C'mon ya piece of shit..." Dudley cursed under his breath, attempting to kick start his bike after a few hours of drinking and visiting his favorite girl in the DC area (the Ninth Circle to be exact). His bike chugged and sputtered, almost refusing to start at all, forcing him to sigh and plant himself on the hard concrete. As much hassle as it gave him at times, he sure as shit didn't think he'd be better off without it.

After awhile of tinkering with different parts and making sure everything was in as good a shape he could manage...he realized that the damn battery was low. "Motherfucker..." he cursed, before running back down and asking his favorite gal Tulip if she could float him one. After that, he plugged in the Microfusion Cell, started up his bike, and went on his way.

Awhile down the road, he started seeing "The Enclave wants YOU!" signs all over the place. "Huh...I heard of those guys..."

Sitting astride his motorcycle, William examined his new possessions, 'Junk, junk, junk, scrap, worthless, broken, junk, junk, sentimental token.' Thought William, his hand going to the lucky dice in his pocket, that one he'd found in a derelict ruin. Everything else in the building was charred and ruined, but underneath a ruined table there was a single dice, perfect and undamaged.

He looked over at the mangled corpse on the road, bullet wounds and a point blank mine detonation had done nothing for his appearance. Yet not long ago he had been a living, breathing person and the token had meant something to him. Perhaps as some sort of kindness or last respect, William tossed the token to the corpse, where it bounced off what remained of the torso and settled itself in a pool of blood. William went back to searching the raiders pack.

The Mechanist stood atop a large pile of rubble, his Mech-mobile parked some distance behind him inside a house with a convenient hole in it's wall. He'd be walking from here on out, too many collapsed buildings and other obstacles for his Mech-mobile. Looking at the Mr. Gutsy floating next to him he wondered if he could upgrade his ride to fly, to rain death from above on the enemies of justice and freedom.

But for now that would have to wait, something was afoot in the wastelands. Something big. He'd seen strange flying contraptions on the horizon as he travelled south to Washington D.C.; More signs that strange things were happening. Luckily the wasteland had it's silent guardian, it's loyal protector, to ensure that whatever was going on would be put back to rights.

And now he stood on the edge of this once great city, this beacon of democracy. He briefly adjusted his helmet and pulled his laser pistol as he descended into the maze of broken concrete that lay before him. His Mr. Gutsy companion floating behind him, the brave robot ready to lay down it's life at a moments notice to defend the innocent. Such were the virtues of man's greatest invention and defender, robots.

"Almost there now girl."

Having lost sight of the flying metal thing hours ago, Dr Crawver was beginning to lose faith in his journey again. Why did he have to roll onto that young girl? She wasn't even that badly hurt...just a few broken bones, nothing he couldn't fix. Still, it was enough to get the townsfolk to get their pitchforks and chase him out. No-where ever seemed to want him, even with the benefits that a skilled doctor would bring. Even his last human companions were nervous around him, worried that he'd eat their skin or some such nonsense. Only Udders seemed to be happy to have him around.

Still, things were starting to look up for the moment. Well, sort of. He had heard the occasional gunshots in the distance. While he had no intention of getting caught in any firefight, it did at least mean there were people somewhere.

He had passed a few old world signs, saying that a place called 'D.C' was up ahead. The name rang a bell to him, but he couldn't remember where he had heard it before. That or he didn't want to remember. He couldn't be sure, given how the name gave him a really...empty feeling. Regardless, hunger trumps all else, and he needed food soon.

Hours passed, and the sky started to darken, but there in the distance he could make out a settlement. No, too big to be a settlement, more like a ruined city. Judging by the distance, it would take him at least another day to make it after they make camp. He decided that wasn't an option.
"Large ruins normally have smaller settlements scattered around. I won't make it to D.C at this rate..."

The walrus squinted his beady eyes. His eyesight was not his strong point, and he cursed his short vision. He turned his head, looking for any blur that might be a settlement or town. Anything that would have food.

To his relief he saw what he searched for. Off to the north-west, what could well be a small town...or a raider hideout. Didn't really matter anymore, the doctor was too hungry now to think with reason, and even if it was a raider hideout, he might be able to be sneaky and steal some food.

Crossing his flipper for luck, he began to steer Udders towards the blur.

In the dark night of the Wasteland the small dying embers of a fire burn lowly. A mostly eaten roasted molerat corpse lies next to a lone sleeping figure. The figure stirs hearing the noise caused by some small animal. Then he wakes abruptly hearing a noise much to large for any normal or semi-normal animal. Gig jumps up quickly and looks around. "Shit" he curses quietly seeing that the creature that had woken him up was a Yaoi Guai. The animal seemed to notice him as it turns in his direction. Gig knows he can't outrun a bear so he quickly draws a flash bang out of his belt and gets ready to toss it. Then out of nowhere a burst of gunfire hit the Yaoi Guai. Two men who appear to be scavengers holding hunting rifles walk towards him. "You alright there?" One of the men asks. "Yes thanks for saving me, but what are you doing here?" Gig asks suspicious of two men. "We heard there was an abandoned vault around here so we decided to find out if there was anything of value in it." The taller of the two replied. "I know where that is but it is still a ways off so feel free to rest here for the night" Gig offered. The men decided there was no reason why he would lie after they saved him and decided to take him up on his offer. After they fell asleep Gig crept over to where they were sleeping pulled out his knife and jammed it in the first mans throat. His gurgling woke the other man up but Gig shot him with his revolver. "Idiots" Gig muttered while pillaging from their corpses. "May as well see if I can find this vault those idiots spoke of" He said to himself as he walked away.

Fishspear waited, listening. The noise got louder. It was getting closer. It'd pass by the wall he was hiding behind any moment now. He aimed his pistol towards where it would be in a moment...

A man sitting on a brahmin came into view. Fishspear relaxed somewhat and lowered his weapon. He didn't look much like a raider and the rarely rode on brahmin. Besides the man was alone. Raiders didn't travel alone.

Normally, Fishspear would be perfectly willing to let random passerbys just wander on past him but unfortunately the man turned his head and saw him. This could get difficult. Fishspear stood up and waved a bit, still holding his pistol but pointing it towards the ground. He just hoped the man wouldn't pull out a gun and shoot him.

"It's not like I'm here to rob you!" Lucy cursed at a trader near Wilhelm's Wharf "Look, if it weren't for me showing up in the nick of time, threatening that raider with my Gauss Rifle, you'd be dead right now!"..."What makes you any better than that raider,huh?" the trader replied. "Ok, first I'm not here to kill you, second I just saved your ass and third I'm just asking for a few of those caravan lunches you've got".

The trader contemplated what Lucy said for a few moments and said "but it's all I've got to eat...". Sighing with frustration, Lucy restrained herself from punching the guy, instead opting to glare at him "You've got 5 meals there, how long do you think it will take before those get a little too spoiled for you too eat? Ya like the taste of radiation in the morning?!...Look, if it weren't for me, a lowlife raider would be snacking on those right now, better me instead of him right? Give me 2 of those meals and I'll be out of your hair."

The trader didn't hesitate this time and thrust two of the caravan meals into my hands, I slipped them into my backpack and told him to stay safe, to which he replied "And just leave me alone ya hear!"

Whatever, at least she had a few meals to keep her going. Peering out as far as she could see, the D.C. Ruins looked oddly inviting. She knew it was plenty dangerous, but dad told her about how she should stick to the outskirts and not head down into the subway station unless she has a death wish. Dad also mentioned there being a few small civilisations to retreat too, like the "The museum of history" home to non-hostile ghouls apparently. Maybe she'll find some small settlements or something. "I need a proper place to sleep for once."

Heading to the beginning of the bridge to D.C. Ruins, Lucy climbed under it and decided to find a small cliff overhang in order to get some rest. In a few hours, she would set out over the bridge and find another place to to temporarily set down. Checking that her Gauss Rifle was armed and in easy reach, she curled up in a corner for shelter and gave her body some much needed rest.

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