The REALLY Wild Wasteland. (The Fallout RP!)

[Souplex]

In the back of a moving-truck (That is to say a truck meant for moving furniture and the like, although it was also in motion) a ghoul in odd armor (Helmet not pictured) was having a freakout.
He let out a fairly substantial string of profanities that I won't repeat here for fear of offending anyone.
Jesse let out a sigh.
"You done boss?"
The armored ghoul stared at his hands. He wasn't fading from existence, and the universe still existed. This was promising.
"It went so differently 192 years ago." The armored ghoul pulled out a book labeled 'Prime Directive' and stared at it incredulously. "Any theories?"
Jesse was one of the few members of the Wight Knights to achieve the illustrious rank of 'Revenant', and as such knew the boss' big secret.
"Perhaps it's not a perfect circle, but a decaying orbit. This time we're enough trips around to actually notice any substantial decay."
"Plausible enough I suppose. We can't change it now."
The ghoul focused his gaze on the book.
"Pew-pew."
Lasers shot out of his helmet and incinerated the book.
"We fly without a net now. Tell them to prepare for new orders."
"Sure thing boss."
There was so much work to be done when he arrived Robert J. would need to be kicked in the crotch, the machine would have to be disassembled, an old friend re-motivated, the vault found, and the squid stopped. He'd done it before, how hard could it be to do again?
A few minutes later, the ghoul had leaped on top of his truck, switched on his radio transmitter, and made an announcement to his troops.
"Fellow Wight Knights; hear me now! The Lich has new orders for you: We're ignoring the schedule and making our way straight to DC!"
This was met with confusion from the troops. The Lich hadn't attempted deviating from his schedule in 150 years. When he tried it didn't work. His schedule was always right, and predicted the future with uncanny accuracy. This was why they didn't question his more insane orders such as when he demanded all his troops learn dance choreography. (They styled all up over their foes)
"I have spoken!"

Spoiler: The convoy upped its pace and the ghouls broke into another song.

The Lich climbed back into the trailer.
"You sure about this?"
"I'm not entirely sure of anything anymore, but I used to have to do things by intuition, and that turned out fine. Besides, I've already "died" twice before. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I think you mean "Thrice" now boss, and you know what can go wrong."
"You worry too much."
The Lich removed his armor, revealing that he was a ghoul reaver.
Wake me when we're near Maryland.
The Lich opened up a metal coffin filled with radioactive materials and climbed in.
He took one last look at the monitor.
"What's the worst that can happen?"
He closed the coffin.

 

[Generic NPC 22]

The Enclave Vault | Enclave Intelligence Wing
#411: Mom of the year?!​

It was a widely known fact that Enclave Intelligence officers assigned to Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411's ground didn't last very long before demanding either a transfer or ritual suicide by Toothless, a very old curmudgeon of a Deathclaw that #411 kept as a pet (Much to the dismay of Lilith were she ever to find out). As his name implied, Toothless had in fact lost all his teeth due to age and now subsisted on a diet of blended molerats.

But this story isn't about Toothless, this is about #411. Today was like yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. #411 was on a rampage.

"What in Ja... God's name do you mean you lost track of him. He's in a GIANT FUCKING ROCKET POWERED SLED. How in the hell are you in Enclave intelligence if you can't track an object the size of a small house?!" #411 raved at the Enclave Radar Technician before turning to the Enclave Radio Officer, "AND YOU!! HOW IN THE HELL DID YOU NOT PATCH ME THROUGH?!"

"I... s...s...sorry muh muh muh ma'am but he-he-he said th-th-that you wuh-wuh-were on the naughty list," The Radio Operator managed to stammer before Enclave Windbag #411 started up again.

"TH-TH-THIS ISN'T ABOUT ME YOU MUH-MUH-MUH-MORON!!!" The Enclave Intelligence Officer raved, tempted to punch the Radio Operator in the face as he started crying (He was very sensitive about his stuttering). Picking up the radio, she flipped a couple switches and turned a knob, setting the radio to broadcast on all frequencies.

"Enclave Vault to Santa-Kirk, Enclave Vault to Santa-Kirk... do you read? Enclave Vault to Santa-Kirk, Enclave Vault to Santa-Kirk... do you read?" #411 said in her nicest prettiest and attractive voice possible, "PICK IT UP YOU FUCKING FAT FUCK! HOW DARE YOU NOT AIR DROP A GIFT TO MY DAUGHTER? HOW DARE YOU FORGET ABOUT THE SWEETEST, MOST ATTRACTIVE YOUNG WOMAN IN THE WASTES?!"

The radio remained dead, no answer from Santa-Kirk was forthcoming not that it would matter 10 seconds later.

"Ma'am." Said a voice belonging to one of #411's junior officers, "I just got a report on the Former Asset that you wanted us to keep tabs on. Apparently she's in contact with another one of our former associates."

"Who." #411 said with a voice that could freeze and already frozen lake.

"I'm not sure ma'am. We found a hit on the database but the file is marked classified. I don't have access." #411's junior reported, used to his boss' temper. Of them all, he'd been with her the longest. They also said he enjoyed cutting himself but that was just a rumor, " here's the file for you to enjoy at your leisure ma'am."

"Carry on." #411 said before turning back to the radio, "LISTEN YOU CHILD LOVING BASTARD. I KNOW WHY YOU HAVE LITTLE KIDS SIT ON YOUR LAP AND THE ENCLAVE DOESN'T TAKE THAT VERY LIGHTLY!!"

#411's junior officer walked away, shaking his head. Others might have thought that #411 was just being a protective mother and trying to keep her daughter from getting hurt, but he knew far better than anyone else. What it boiled down to and had always boiled down to was impressing FalloutJack. If #411's daughter didn't get a gift, she meant that she was a bad kid. If Constance was a bad kid, that meant that #411 wasn't doing well as a mother and if she didn't do well as a mother, how attractive would that be to a man that had his own daughter. Everything she she'd done since joining the Enclave had been for him to notice her.

 

[Rip Van Rabbit]

Lucy Black - Springvale: This Is (Not) The End​

"My work... is responsible for the death of your father and the pain and suffering you and countless other people have gone through."

Jonathan chose to suddenly slide the pistol across the table towards Lucy.

"Do with me as you will," the guilt-ridden man uttered, choosing to avoid direct eye contact in favor of openly weeping, "I probably deserve it."

So this is what Lucy had dismissed in their earlier conversation. This was Jonathan McKenna's burden, his remaining reason for being here, the emotional breadcrumbs that lead straight to his guilt and sense of shame while he was in the presence of Isaac's daughter. Had Lucy been told this kind of information a few weeks before her journey, she probably would not have hesitated in taking his life with the Gauss Rifle Plus itself. A fitting irony for a key player in the destruction of her family.

She would have flown off the handle at him back then, but now?
While Lucy may have learned much, she still had a hair-trigger temper.

Ten solid minutes had passed between the brooding Lucy and the grief-stricken Jonathan, neither had uttered a word to one another, let alone glanced at the other. These two individuals were overwhelmed by their respective emotions. One had remained in a cycle of self-loathing, the other chose to lash out.

Wordlessly, Lucy swiftly got up from her chair allowing it to topple over and draw Jonathan's attention to her actions. Pulling out the nearby kitchen drawer, various utensils and miscellaneous items loudly clattered to the floor. Lucy proceeded to grab two handfuls of knives and papers. Taking a moment to write something on each piece of paper, Lucy pinned each note into the table with a knife, each note stabbed progressively closer to the creator of the accursed rifle.

Finally, Lucy stood next the seated man, at this height and angle it would appear that Lucy towered over him.

"Look at me.", the crimson eyed sharpshooter commanded.

Receiving no immediate response, Lucy forcibly gripped Jonathan by the chin, roughly raising his head to view the bared teeth and venomous glare of her crimson eye. Lucy raised her free hand and gave Jonathan a punishingly hard slap through the face.

"My father did not save you just to be killed by his own daughter down the line!", Lucy spat those words with absolute contempt for Jonathan's defeatist attitude. "You didn't bring the rifle here, he did. He was killed for stealing technology that could have sparked another war! You were not the one that drove a fucking Ripper blade through his stomach! That. Was. The. Enclave!"

Lucy took a step forward and grabbed the man by his shirt, staring at him with eyes of pent-up frustration.

"What do you expect me to do with that pistol, huh? Torture you, maybe even kill you?", Lucy cracked when she wildly gestured to the pistol across the table and reeled her palm back to deliver another punishing slap through the face. "Oh! I get it now...", the furious girl started to tear up, "You feel guilty? You think that this all on you? Stop being so self-absorbed! Because I think that you lost sight of the true enemy: The Enclave! Not you, THEM!"

Lucy released her grip on Jonathan, taking a step back to wipe her tears away. Before Jonathan could speak, gesture or even move during that moment of silence, she held up her finger as a warning and pointed to the knives on the table. Taking one step closer, Lucy pointed at the first note on the table. Each of them contained a name of an enemy and a tally of numbers.

"Have you ever stopped to consider, on some minor scale, that just fucking maybe you've made this world a little bit safer?", that was Lucy's armor-piercing question. Every note recorded the amount of kills she had made with the Gauss Rifle Plus and very rough estimates as to how many she had saved with each kill.

"...Super Mutant Behemoth, wielding mini-nukes at the Brotherhood Citadel. I shot and killed one from a vertibird."
"...Crippled a Behemoth."
"...Two packs of raiders, DC ruins and Super-Duper Mart."
"...Crippled a giant mirelurk."
"...Downed a vertibird."
"...Enclave Pilot."
"...Duper Mutant."
"...Rad-Scorpion infestation near Megaton."
"...Eyebot."
"...Bandits that threatened Megaton trade routes."

Lucy continued, her hands were still shaking but her anger had slowly dissipated after she recalled and recited rough statistics. Lucy even pointed out that Megaton's trade routes had opened since the arrival of her and the Gauss Rifle Plus, The Citadel and The Brotherhood of Steel stood to fight another day, Wilhelm's Wharf and the Super-Duper Mart's raider activity had decreased in those areas, allowing safer travel for all.

Lucy walked over to the end of the table to fetch the modified laser pistol.

"You want to honour my dad? Fight the Enclave in anyway that you can."

Lucy placed the laser pistol on the table in front of Jonathan, before all the notes on her activities with the Gauss Rifle Plus.

"He didn't die because of you. If it wasn't the GRP, it would have been something else.", Lucy concluded sadly, yet some part of her had a hopeful thought for the both of them after a few moments of silent contemplation. "I saved lives and made so many friends because of your creation."

 

[Texas Joker 52]

Arizona​

The old Ghoul gave Thomas a sidelong glance as he apologized and explained the 'logic' behind calling her Old One, if one could call it logic.

"Among my... family... those who can avoid giving death its due are to be revered, just as Lord Walt was able to cheat death by placing himself in cryogenic suspension, ma'am."

She had no idea who the hell 'Lord Walt' was, and she didn't exactly care. As far as she was concerned, two centuries after the bombs fell, people simply had some wacky beliefs, like worshiping supercomputers, or Ghouls, or the last roll of toilet paper for miles...

She suppressed a smirk when she remembered that last one. A few hundred miles back, and a few decades ago, she left a really pissed off cult behind her.

"And speaking of my rifle, why not look at it now, ma'am?"

She brought her attention back to her newest partner as he shifted to unload his rifle, promptly dropping the magazine with an "Oops."

As she watched it flip into the water with a bland expression, he took out the last round and handed it to her before pulling out a bottle and taking a long swig. She took the rifle from him with the barest shake of her head. If this drunk bastard ended up getting her killed, so help her, she was going to haunt his sorry ass for the rest of his natural life.

But she didn't say it. Instead, she checked the rifle over with the practiced precision of a long-time armorer. She was halfway through inspecting it with increasingly disgusted noises when she heard a thud, and then the telltale fizzle of a bottle being opened.

"Heeeey. Old Oneee? Dere's a Lurk in the road."

"I thought I told you not to..." she started, looking up from the rifle to look at the Mirelurk in front of them.

The beast was a rather festive red-and-green, which made her dimly wonder whether it was December or July, because it looked like Radioactive Nature decided to celebrate the holiday season. As her drunken friend smashed a bottle over the head of one, she took the opportunity to grab the magazine from it's mouth and shove it into the rifle before Thomas snatched it back.

Once her hands were free, she didn't waste time in taking up Lester and firing long, sweeping bursts and slowly backing up.

"I hope you know, I blame you for this, McGee." she growled.

 

[Generic NPC 22]

The Wild Wastelands | The Road to Dunwich
The Grass is Greener...​

The Old One was making quick work of the Christmas Lurks using the timeless 'Spray and Pray' method of combat. Her machine gun reacted to her commands quickly and efficiently as it sent hundreds of bullets down range, shattering the chitinous exoskeletons, exploding soft spots in the Christmas Lurk armor and spraying bits of the Christmas Spirit outwards. Thomas wasn't slouching off either, especially since he didn't have nearly the ammo capacity as the Ancient's machine gun.

"It must be nice to have a machine gun," Thomas said as he looked down the iron sights of the assault rifle, pulling the trigger and sending another bullet to play the roll of pinball inside a Christmas-Lurk's carapace,"Don't have to reload so often, don't have to aim... saves on the headache."

By which he meant, he wished he had a machine gun so that he wouldn't have to concentrate, which, given his current state, gave him a rather large headache.

It suddenly occurred to the Friendly Former Undertaker of the East that that, given the lack of quickness the Christmas-Lurks displayed, it would behoove young Thomas to save himself the headache of aiming and assault the Christmas-Lurks at point blank range. Truth be told, however, this thought was not nearly as coherent in the alcoholic's mind.

Climbing over the bodies of the fallen, the man strode towards the lead Christmas-Lurk and ducked its initial "flurry" of assaults before pulling out his 10mm pistol and firing a single round into the Christmas-Lurk's head causing the disfigured and cruel joke of a face to explode. What Young Thomas McGee had failed to take into account however was the fact that the Ancient behind him was still buzzsawing her way through the mass of Christmas-Lurks.

"Crap," The Tall, Pale and Dapperly dressed man cursed as the Christmas-Lurk started to fall forward while he fell backwards, tripping over a rock during his attempted retreat.

THUD

The Christmas Lurk fell atop Thomas, even as the Ancient, Arizona, finished the last wave.

"Yes... It must really be nice to have a machine gun..." The young man said, his words trailing off as he passed out underneath the Lurk, the alcohol having overwhelmed the once happy-go-lucky man.

 

[Drummodino]

Citadel Outskirts - Camp​

Charlie was in a rather uncomfortable position. His nose was on fire from that infernal scorpion, his arm ached from his earlier injury, and now Sylph had slapped a hand over his mouth none too gently. Glaring at her in frustration he pushed her hand off and looked over to where she was pointing. A strange looking reindeer(?) man was yelling and brandishing his rather large sack.

"Now my little helpers, BRING KRAMPUS HIS CHRISTMAS GIFT!!!."

As the small horde of midgets surged out, cackling in glee, Charlie stood up and moved in front of Sylph, determined not to let the nasty little buggers get their mitts on her. Before they took two steps however, they were interrupted by a terrifying shout.

"CAN'T A MAN GET SOME BLOODY PEACE AND QUIET FOR SOME SHUT-EYE?!?!?"

The midgets scattered like bowling pins as the large, armoured hulk of Buchanan crashed through them with the force of a super sledge. As they flailed about in confusion, Buchanan came to a halt and pointed at Krampus.

"Go and find another Sylph, there seem to be plenty around these parts. Stay and things will get very messy, and I mean that literally." he said with a grin, activating the chainsaw in his fist with a loud whirring of teeth.

While this face-off was going down, Charlie noticed for the first time the rocket launcher in his sleeping roll. He almost pulled it out before glancing at Sylph and deciding maybe it wasn't the best time to blow themselves up again. He grabbed his trusty machete instead and held it at the ready.

 

[Generic NPC 22]

The Wild Wastelands | Citadel Outskirts | Camp
Sylph ga Kill!​

~Shliiink!~ The Crimson Menace's Gifted Katana's bared blade reflected the light from the slivered moon as it was pulled from its scabbard, the blue haired young woman stood at the ready for the first wave of Krampus' Little Helpers to come within range of the blade. She was standing beside Charlie now, ready to clash with the Helper Horde. As they charged, the demon spawn squeaked their not so veiled threats at what they would do if they captured the trio alive.

Were Charlie to glance over as Sylph, he would have noticed that Sylph had a strange expression on her face, as if she knew the man who called himself Krampus. She reached down and pulled the small choker that had been in Charlie's pocket and palmed it in her left hand.

"Wait for Sylphy." The Blue Haired Sadist said as the first midget came into range. She charged, the blade trailing behind her and as she reached the first, it flashed upwards, slicing through the fiend's face, a torrent of blood spraying all over the Wasteland floor, its parched earth soaking up the liquid thirstily. The second raced in to exploit the opening the upward cut had left and received a first for his attempt, an audible click set the wrist blade loose, once again sending blood flying to feed the scorched Wasteland floor. A third, a four, a fifth all fell to Sylph's mad dash towards the man she knew to once be one of her Master's associates. Sylph abandoned her blade in the chest of a sixth, who coughed up blood from his mouth even while he lungs filled with it. The Seventh was received a kick to the neck and lost the ability to breathe and then she was upon Krampus himself.

She leaped onto the shoulders of an Eighth, boosting her into the air as she moved to impale the chuckling asshole on her wrist blade.

*WIIIIIIIIRRRRR THUMP!!!*

Midgets weren't the only thing that Krampus had in his bag. A Rock-it launcher packed full of coal was a good a weapon as any. The first of the coal projectiles struck Sylph in her chest, the second hit her in the head and the third sent her flying back to where Charlie stood ready with his rocket launcher.

Looking down at his feet, he saw Sylph, her eyes closed, blood flowing from her face, blood that flowed around the choker now around her neck.

~Sproing!~ Sylphy had been asleep for a long long time it seemed. Her face and chest hurt, probably from laying on Mister Wasteland Floor for so long. Stretching for a minute, Sylphy realized that she was sore, probably from laying on Mister Wasteland Floor for so long. Mister Chucky Camden was looking at her like he was worried.

"HI MISTER CHUCKY CAMDEN!!!!!!" Sylphy exclaimed as she tackled and hugged him where he stood.

 

[Neuromancer]

Black Residence: You Can (Not) Forget​

Jonathan was in the worst state of mind he could remember in a long time. He had basically fallen into catatonia; unable and unwilling to move even an inch of his body, it was like he was trapped in a cage, his only option to beat himself over in an endless cycle of self loathing while his brain was being ravaged by... something. He couldn't figure what it was, but it had given him a head-splitting headache, and seemed to multiply his misery a thousandfold, in its attempt to...resurface? Was that what was happening? He didn't know and to a certain extend, felt like he really didn't want to.

Why give her the gun?

The hallucinations had returned. Jonathan didn't even turn to acknowledge it.

Why are you so hellbent with the past, when all that lies there is misery? What's done is done, why don't you let it-

Because he doesn't want to let go, obviously.

Another voice, strangely familiar but in a different way, had appeared. He really was going mad, wasn't he? Hah. Fitting.

You. I should have known. What do you hope to accomplish?

Another obvious answer: To help Johnny boy redeem himself. And he has been doing so well, thus far! I'm so proud of you, Jonathan. You finally grew a pair and took responsibility!

You call this taking responsibility? He just handed her the gun and asked her to kill him. How do you expect him to redeem himself if he's dead?

Before the second voice could retort, the sound of a chair hitting the ground was heard, somehow drawing Jonathan's attention. Lucy Black had gotten up and picked up a handful of knives, making a mess of the kitchen while at it. She then proceeded to write something down some pieces of paper, and pinned them down on the table using the knives. By the third one one, Jonathan had lost interest and looked away again. Before long, Ms. Black was standing in front of him.

"Look at me." he heard her say, her voice cold and hateful. Even at her command, Jonathan couldn't bring himself to do so. He couldn't bring himself to do anything. But the choice wasn't his to make, and soon enough Lucy Black gripped him from the chin and forced him to look at her in the eyes, which were filled with hatred and contempt and, before he knew, his left cheek was set ablaze in pain by a slap. Funny, normally he would be crying out in pain, but now? He was indifferent to it, numb even.

"My father did not save you just to be killed by his own daughter down the line! You didn't bring the rifle here, he did. He was killed for stealing technology that could have sparked another war! You were not the one that drove a fucking Ripper blade through his stomach! That. Was. The. Enclave!"

What was she trying to do? On one moment she was looking at him, her eyes screaming murder, and now she was doing psychotherapy?

She grabbed him again, this time by the shirt, and made him look at her again.

"What do you expect me to do with that pistol, huh? Torture you, maybe even kill you?" she said pointing towards the pistol.

That was a good question. Truth is, Jonathan didn't expect anything. By that point he had grown completely indifferent to what was going to happen to him. He would probably contently accept anything, even bathing in one of the Alchemist's Fate-Worse-Than-Death Concoctions. What he got instead was another hard-hitting slap, this time setting his right cheek ablaze. The girl had started crying, which only served to make him feel worse.

"You feel guilty? You think that this all on you? Stop being so self-absorbed! Because I think that you lost sight of the true enemy: The Enclave! Not you, THEM!"

YES! Thank you! Listen to her!

Letting him go, she started whipping her tears away. Before giving him pause to try and make sense of what she was rumbling about, Lucy Black raised her finger, as though telling him that he's dead if he were to even start a verse, and pointed towards the pieces of paper on the table, upon which names and numbers were inscribed.

"Have you ever stopped to consider, on some minor scale, that just fucking maybe you've made this world a little bit safer?" she said and started citing statistics, her voice becoming steadily less violent as she went on.

Jonathan couldn't quite see the point she was trying to make. So what if his weapon had been used for good somewhere along the way? Did that negate the suffering he had caused? Did it negate the reason it was made? Jonathan's headache had grown even more intense, causing a certain amount of nausea. His mood was shifting aswell; he was being filled with anger and frustration, majority of which was towards himself, though a small part of it was towards Lucy Black's "speech".

"You want to honour my dad? Fight the Enclave in anyway that you can."

Fight the Enclave? You? Surely she is joking. There's atonement, and there's suicide. The girl's delirious!

What the other voice said was true. How could a man like Jonathan hope to stand against the Enclave when someone like Isaac Black was dispatched seemingly efortlessly? A crude joke, if he ever heard one.

Suicide? Like how he handed his gun expecting to be shot dead? That wasn't suicide?

There's a difference between righteous punishment and a death that achieves nothing.

Are you even listening to the bullshit that's coming out of your mouth? What would his death here achieve?

Well for one-

"He didn't die because of you. If it wasn't the GRP, it would have been something else."

Doesn't change the fact that it was the GRP, now does it?

What's the point of dwelling on it? All you will do is weight yourself down. It won't bring Isaac back.

Jonathan was close to reaching his boiling point. The headache continued getting worse, which only served to fuel his self-loathing induced barely contained rage.

Oh? What would you suggest then? Complete apathy? Borderline sociopathy? Shouldn't someone that has done wrong work towards setting it right?

"I saved lives and made so many friends because of your creation."

As the young Lucy Black said that, something "clicked" inside Jonathan's head. Or, rather, cracked would be more accurate. His feelings, already hard to monitor, expanded a thousandfold.

Control yourself! Nothing good will come if you let your emotions get the better of you!

Shhh. Watch.

"Miss Black, I appreciate your attempt at trying to raise my spirits." he said, his voice cold, but calm. "I will admit, it was the last thing I expected from you, and that I have not considered the point that you made."

He turned to face her.


"BUT IT IS A HOLLOW ONE!"

In what seemed like an instant, his face transformed, going from a blank, tired expression to one filled with contempt and rage.

"So, my weapon was used for good? Does that change the purpose it was made for? Is a hammersmith to blame if the hammer he made for use in construction ends up being a murder weapon? No. The same applies here, only in reverse. I made the weapon with the intent for it to kill the Enclave's enemies! You said it yourself, they were going to use it to start a war!"

There was an intense hatred burning in eyes, his voice filled with self-derogatory disdain

"And do you know what the worst part of it all is? I despised my work. I HATED the Enclave! Ever since my father sacrificed his life to save my skin for my fuck-up, all I could dream about was how much I'd love to SEE THEM BURN! Yet, I worked for them. A man that hates the organization he's in, yet develops weapons to make them even more powerful. And why? TO SAVE MY OWN SKIN! Think about that, for a moment. Let it sink in. Yes. My work almost caused the extinction of most sentient life in the Wasteland because I'm too much of a coward!

His breathing had grown heavy as his headache intensified even more. His eyes, mad with grief, let out a large torrent of tears.

"The Enclave is the true enemy? Of course! And I made them this much of a threat again in the first place! Maybe if it wasn't the GRP, it could have been something else, right? Well, with the GRP it is a certainty while all the other scenarios are hypothetical! And you expect ME of all people to stand up against them? When your own father was dispatched without breaking a sweat? Give..."

Stop! For the love of all that is holy, stop!

"...me..."

Stop, damn you! Stop before it's too late!

"...A..."

It already is.

[HEADING=2]"...BREAK!"[/HEADING]

Jonathan grew silent for a brief moment, on his face a puzzled stare. Whatever it was that had cracked inside his head had completely shattered now. The headache had subdued...

Here we go.

...only to reappear tenfold.

Jonathan fell to the ground, his left hand covering his eye, applying pressure. This wasn't just a headache. Things were pouring into his head.

"Oh god!"

He fell on the ground, his mind overwhelmed by what he was experiencing.

"Oh god, Lily!"

He turned and stared towards the ceiling with a limp, lank, unfocused gaze filled with horror, completely shut off from external stimuli. The things he was seeing, feeling, remembering were too much to bear. Minutes passed in desperation, until finally darkness overtook him.

 

[Drummodino]

Citadel Outskirts - Camp​

Fear clutched Charlie's stomach as the cackling midgets charged for them. Gulping, he clutched his machete tight, ready to fight for his life once again. Distracted as he was, he didn't notice Sylph neatly take the choker from his pocket, however he did notice the katana she was brandishing as she charged forward to meet their foes.

'Where did she get that?' he wondered. Pushing the useless question out of his mind he grabbed the rocket launcher at his feet, keeping one eye on his companion as she brutally cleaved her way through the squealing mob. He hadn't ever gotten his hands on such a sophisticated piece of weaponry before, but it seemed easy enough. The barrel was loaded, all he had to do was aim down the sight and fire.

Lining it up he brought it to bear on Krampus himself. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself and pulled the trigger...


...only for a burst of confetti to shoot forth with a trumpeting fanfare! Stunned for a moment with disbelief, Charlie shook his head and tossed the useless contraption aside. This was a worse gift than the Brahmin doll his sisters had got him last Christmas.

Thankfully for him Sylph's present was as deadly as it looked. She made short work of the midgets before Krampus blasted her back with an (actually functional) Rock-it launcher, landing at Charlie's feet. Blood streamed from her face and over the choker clasped around her neck.

"Oh no, no, no, no!" Charlie cried, kneeling down as Sylph's eyes snapped open.

"HI MISTER CHUCKY CAMDEN!!!!!!"

"Sylph! Are you alright?" Charlie asked as the diminutive girl jumped up and tackled him, seemingly oblivious to her injuries. "Wait..." he continued, eyeing the choker. "...Sylphy?" he asked, connecting the dots. Thinking back, he realised that her personality had changed the minute she'd dropped her choker.

[hr]

While this was happening, Buchanan had been dealing with his own pack of midgets (seriously, how big is that sack?). Where Sylph was a efficient whirlwind of death, he was more of a battering ram. Limbs and blood flew in all directions as he crashed through the pack, his ripper blade tearing through flesh like it was tissue paper. As the trumpeting rocket launcher blared the veteran Knight Captain launched himself at Krampus, knocking away the man's Rock-it launcher with his armoured fist. Swinging a wild haymaker he tried to smash the weird antler-man in the face, but the man proved surprisingly nimble and ducked under it. Following up with his own strike, his fist crashed into Buchanan's unarmoured face, knocking him back.

Slightly dazed, Buchanan responded with a roar and leaped Krampus, the pair rolling around on the floor as they wrestled for supremacy.

 

[Generic NPC 22]

The Wild Wastelands | The Citadel Outskirts | Camp
Mister Crap-ass Get Wiped (Out)​

While Sylphee watched from the sidelines, holding onto Mister Chucky Camden, Mister Crap-Ass and Mister Bzzt-Bzzt squared off, circling each other and looking for an opening, not that Sylphee knew any of this since, to her, they appeared to be doing some sort of dance. Mister Crap-Ass let out a loud bellow and ripped open Mister Shirt to reveal muscles and muscles and muscles. Sylphee had never seen anyone that had muscles on top of muscles but Mister Crap-Ass looked like he had muscles on top of muscles that had muscles. Apparently, carrying around a treasure sack full of Mister Miggies a very good way to build muscles.

"WOW!!" Sylphee exclaimed as Mister Crap-Ass showed his well toned body, sweat glistening off of Mister Crap-Ass' chiseled pectoral muscles and Mister Crap-Ass' chiseled pectoral muscles' pectoral muscles, "He has boobies!"

Mister Crap-Ass looked directly over at the Smiling Red Menace that was choking the life out of Mister Chucky Camden and visibly deflated at the commentary on his physique.

"No, these are muscles, not breasts." Mister Crap-Ass said, visibly enraged by the commentary about Miss Crap-Ass' physique. He might have well been speaking with Mister Pinchy since Sylphee had since moved on to something else, other than wringing the life out of Mister Chucky Camden.

"OOooOooOo." Sylphee OooOoOO'd when she spotted Mister Chucky Camden's Rocket Thrower and Mister Bzzt Bzzt's Big Book of Smilance.

~Poof~ Went Mister Chucky Camden's Rocket Thrower as it toss mini-sparklies in the sky.

"She's being naughty.... Oh so NAUGHTY!!!" Mister Crap-Ass screamed as he started punching at Mister Bzzt Bzzt. Clearly he wasn't a very nice guy, Sylphee thought to herself as she put Mister Bzzt Bzzt's Big BORING Book of Smilance into Mister Chucky Camden's Rocket Thrower.

The fight between Mister Bzzt Bzzt and Mister Crap-Ass was getting stranger by the minute as Mister Crap-Ass started using Mister Rock-it Launcher and his fists on Mister Bzzt Bzzt, AT THE SAME TIME!

"Hey Mister Bzzt Bzzt! Catch!" Sylphee exclaimed thinking that if Mister Bzzt Bzzt read passages from Mister Bzzt Bzzt's Big BORING Book of Smilance to Mister Crap-Ass, Mister Crap-Ass might just go to sleep.

~POOF~ Went Mister Chucky Camden's Rocker thrower, launching more mini-sparklies into the air... and one very big and heavy Mister Bzzt Bzzt's Big BORING Book of Smilance.

~THUD~ Went Mister Crap-Ass as the Mister Bzzt Bzzt's Big Book of BORING Smilance knocked him in the head, knocking him out.

~PINCHY PINCHY PINCHY~ Went Mister Pinchy.

 

[The Harkinator]

"Ahoy there!" Said Enclave Asset #19, immediately regretting his use of the word ahoy as he scrambled over the rubble towards the Enclave soldier, "Fellow Enclave member, what a marvellous contraption of yours this is." That part was true, Evan was very interested in the giant robot, he had a thing for giant robots.

"It is such a shame that this marvellous contraption must be sent off somewhere else at this moment in time, orders have just come in this thing needs to be sent to Old Olney." The Powersuit Destabilizer was burning a metaphorical hole behind his back, but now Dudley came in, just like they had practiced.

"Hold it there Asset 19, I'm of higher rank and I say the robot goes to Old Olney, not you." Said Dudley, he could feel Evan bristle at being ordered about like this but it was necessary for the plan to work, Evan was wishing the Enclave had made him Asset 18, "We've also got to attend to the matter of a new recruit." Dudley motioned at Ferdinand as he spoke.

"This one wants to join the cause and the decision rests with you at the moment." Said Dudley, moving past the shambling Evan and getting quite close to Fallout Scott. The plan was to get the trooper to look at the robot leaving as Evan stuck him in the back with the PD. Simple plans never work as well as you'd have liked though because at this moment a solitary figure was only a matter of streets away, jogging ever closer.

"...so while some paperwork will be needed, we wanted to make you aware of the new recruit. Asset 19 can get ahead of himself sometimes and I need to keep him in line. Isn't that right 19?" Said Dudley, patting Evan on the back of the head patronizingly. He felt Evan bristle again.

=============================================

Only a matter of streets away...

William Knight was getting ever closer, he could see and hear the spot he was going for. Almost there... almost there.

He got to the corner, pausing to draw Lucy's plasma pistol and peered round the corner.

Giant Robot: CHECK
Enclave troubles: CHECK
Evan and Dudley: CHECK

Brilliant... wait who was that? Evan and Dudley were showing some newcomer to the Enclave trooper.

They're alive! Wonderful, hang on... they've replaced me! There are three people in this band and I'm one of them. Who is this newcomer? They replaced me, still I'm glad to see them and I'm sure this happened only recently... right?

Evan and Dudley should probably not tell William about the drug addict they'd originally used to replace him with.

 

[Neuromancer]

A Very Merry House​

Spoiler: Fitting Music

Aaaaah, Christmas.

The time for obese old burglars to sneak into houses from chimneys and break their legs as they land. The time for families to come together and remind themselves why they stay away from each other the rest of the year. The time that annoying 50-year-old earworms get remixed to be played at every shop lacking self-respect(all of them). The time to look forward to the new year bringing the change and hope that was promised in the last one.

Truly, 'tis the season to be jolly. Never has there been a better time to gather together and listen to your grandparents stutter as they tell you the same joyous, happy stories (like "The Little Match Girl" or "The Fir Tree") they did every year beforehand. So, gather round, children, and let story time commence!

...

Hmm? Why aren't you happy?

Oh? You've grown tired of hearing the same old stories?! Well...uh... Good! 'Cuz I have a new one right here!

>A frantic search at the bookself is initiated, as the first book that looks remotely festive is picked up.

Right! Now, lemme just... find the right one...

>The book, dubbed "The Wild Wild Musical", is opened, its pages briefly scanned and then turned, until a certain promising one is found.

Is this one even situated in Christmas? No matter. I'll just have to add the merry stuff as I go.

Alrighty, then! Found it! Gather round everybody!

[hr]

Wild Wild Musical, Scene 127. Wild Wasteland Christmas Musical Special Edition!​

It was Christmas time in Raven Rock, and the Enclave celebrated for many a reason. One, it was the time of a timeless American holiday. Two, their brand new weapon, that was sure to give them total victory over the savages and muties of the waste, was just about finished. Three, their biggest advesary was being held in the most secure places in the Rock, tortured reveal all the information they possibly could.

Indeed, the time of the Enclave was nigh, and it showed. Everyone, except for the guards on duty waiting for their shift to come to an end, was overcome by a festive move, drinking and shouting and singing and laughing.

Except for one man.

Jonathan Aristotle McKenna was a well-known researcher. His work had contributed greatly to the Enclave's cause. Yet, where everyone was festive, he was sober and grumpy and sad and frowning, fuelled by remorse, starring at the metal walls of his room inquisitively.

On his desk lay a backpack waiting to be filled with supplies, along with a heavily modified laser pistol. Jonathan got up and picked said pistol, a hint of worry in his face.



"A man's got a heart, hasn't he?" He started saying out loud to no one in particular.
"Joking apart -- hasn't he?
And though I'd be the first one to say that I wasn't a saint," continued sorrowfully while putting the gun back down.

"I'm finding it hard to be really as black as they paint..."

He stepped away from the desk, opening the door to the outside corridor and, after taking a peak outside, slowly turned back into his room with a mischievous grin on his face, doing a wiggly motion with his hand.


With slow steps, he approached the desk again.

I'm reviewing the situation
Can a fellow be in the Enclave all his life?
All the trials and tribulations!
Better run away and get myself a wife!" With that happy exclamation, he started throwing supplies of all kinds into his backpack.

"And a wife would cook and sew for me,
And come for me, and go for me,
And go for me, and nag at me,
The fingers, she would wag at me.
The money she would take from me.
A misery, she'd make from me..."

Taking a step back, with a facial expression having periodically turned from one of joy to one of fright, Jonathan sat back down on his bed.

"...I think I'd better think it out again!"


He got up again, this time grabbing the backpack and heading for the door.

"A wife you can keep, anyway,
I'd rather sleep, anyway.
Left without anyone in the world,
And I'm starting from now.
So 'how to win friends and to influence people'"

He took another peak outside.

"--So how?"

He got out, the metallic door closing behind him making too much noise for his liking, and started moving down the corridor in hurried steps.



"I'm reviewing the situation,
I must quickly look up everyone I know."

He stopped briefly to check a corner and continued onwards.

"Titled people -- with a station --
Who can help me give the Wasteland a shot!
I will own a farm of cabbages,
And sell them off as packages,
And laugh at all the savages
With friendliness, as much as is
Befitting of my new estate..."

As he took a quick turn, he run into a guard and, bowing, bellowed:

"Good morrow to you, magistrate!"

After a small awkward laugh, he quickly turned and run back down the hall.

"...I think I'd better think it out again."


He stopped a shy way away from the cafeteria, which, unsurprisingly, was packed with people.

"So where shall I go -- somebody?"
Who do I know? Nobody!"

He stood just outside of it, examing the people inside.

"All my dearest companions
Have always been patriots with nefarious deeds..."

He turned away from the the cafeteria, deep in thought, though still looking out for guards.

"So at my time of life
I should start turning over new leaves...?"

He started walking down the corridor again, this time more carefully.


"I'm reviewing the situation.
If you want to eat -- you've got to earn a cap!
Is it such a humiliation
For a scientist to make a living out of... scrap!
So from scraps I'm living, possibly
Could the caravans be the work for me?
I wonder what the threats could be?
Could Deathclaws be the death of me?
I'll run away and lose my way,
And then my trade, and all... but wait!"

He turned around.

"...I think I'd better think it out..."

And run.

"I think I'd better think it out again!"

All the way back to his room.


Disheartened, he put down his backpack and sit on his bed yet again.

"What happens when I'm seventy?
Must come a time... seventy.
When you're old, and it's cold
And who cares if you live or you die,
Your one consolation's the protection
Of those you live by..."

He jolted up from the bed, picking his backpack and...


...Gleefully started unpacking.

"I'm reviewing the situation.
I'm a patriot and a patriot I shall stay!
You'll be seeing no transformation..."

The glee didn't last long, and Jonathan started having second thoughts. Again.

"...But genocide?s wrong in every way.
I don't want nobody hurt by me,
Or made to do the dirt for me.
This rotten life is not for me.
It's getting far too hot for me.
There is no in between for me
But who will change the scene for me?"

He walked towards the door

"Don't want no one killed for me."

And opened it. A guard was passing by, when, seeing Jonathan doing his act, turned and stared at him curiously

"But who will find a guild for me...?"

Guard and Jonathan stared at each other for one awkward moment, when suddenly a laser shot hit the guard, disintergrating him.

Jonathan did a sharp 180 degree turn...

"...I think I'd better think it out again!"

...And rammed the door shut.

"Hey!"

 

[Souplex]

The Revenant DoctorJesse Jager-Krieger sat at a conference table that had been bolted to the floor of a shipping-truck's trailer.
Several other ghouls also seated at the table. They were all Revenants. They were discussing important matters. It was a summit.
"-so the Lich wants to solve everything directly."
Beatrice looked at him incredulously.
"I take it you have different plans? Hey Sam; pass me a few mirelurk dumplings."
On the table were various traditional Chinese dishes with a wasteland twist. They were having Dim Sum.
All summits held by the Wight Knights were had over a meal. Today was December 25th. Chinese Food and Movie Day, as such they were having a "Dim Summit". (I am really sorry for that pun. Be warned, the Wight Knights love a few things; fantasy undead iconography, being needlessly cryptic, and puns.)
"While I plan to follow the Lich's commands, I also plan to solve the grandfather paradox. My solution is simple; resurrect grandpa."
Ian interjected.
"So *Munch* how do plan on going *Chew* about that?"
"I'll need Beatrice's help. Bea; you're the only one with subordinates in the DC area. I'm going to need a couple of your Wraith sleeper agents to carry this out."
"I'll see what I can do."

 

[Drummodino]

Citadel Outskirts - Camp​

"Can't... Breathe!" Charlie choked out, as he tried to pry Sylphee's arm from around his throat. For such a small girl she sure had some ferocious strength.

"OOooOooOo."

Collapsing to the ground, Charlie sucked in a lungful of delicious air as Sylphee released him and picked up his rocket launcher. He watched with a mixture of fascination and horror as the now shirtless Krampus beat on Buchanan. Things weren't looking so hot for the Brotherhood's Knight Captain.

"Hey Mister Bzzt Bzzt! Catch!"

Sylphee to the rescue! With an explosion of confetti and trumpets, a large book of all things shot out of Charlie's discarded rocket launcher and smacked into Krampus' head. The muscular reindeer-man toppled off Buchanan and face-planted into the dirt, knocked unconscious.

Gently taking the rocket launcher out of Sylphee's hand lest she cause more damage, Charlie hurried over to Buchanan and helped him up as he groaned. His mohawk was tattered and dirty and his nose red and probably broken from the repeated bashings it had taken.

"Are you okay Sir?"

"Do I look okay boy? Now out of my way, I'm putting down this maniac. Buchanan said, taking out his laser pistol and lowering it towards Krampus' head.

"W-Wait! You don't need to kill him surely, can't you just take him back to the Citadel?" Charlie cried. True the man had attacked them unprovoked, but that didn't mean they had to murder him like this. Irritated, Buchanan glared at Charlie.

"This man attempted to abduct an innocent girl and assaulted a ranking member of the Brotherhood. He has to pay for his crimes."

Flicking off the pistol's safety, Buchanan looked back to Krampus and tightened his grip on the trigger.

 

[Anti-American Eagle]

Old Olney

As Talion climbed the beast he felt something horrid happening. It's flesh was trying to consume him. It hadn't been since the old days that he had felt something like this hungering in that way. He fought it for as long as he could as he tried to climb, but all it took was one wrong move. It sucked his hand in and wrapped its way around his legs and then he lost. Darkness, the beat of an unknown heart, and the feeling that he was dead swept his mind at first. But he was alive and inside the creatures flesh he quickly realized. The armour and the rads were probably the only thing keeping it at bay. His mind for a moment was filled with the thought of giving up, removing his helmet, and becoming one with the beast. But he shook that out. It wasn't his own thought and he didn't know where it came from.

He started to crawl underneath the flesh of the creature. He wouldn't die here. He'd make his way to the heart, the lungs, and the brain. He'd shoot them all and cut his way out afterwards. He was alive and he had a job to do, though part of him was vomiting at what he was doing.

 

[Rip Van Rabbit]

Kristin Blamco - Springvale: Share & Care​

"Time to face the daaaaay..."

Kristin Blamco, despite having being rudely kicked out of the new Springvale BlamCo Headquarters, took the time to go over her inventory. Bob's cleansing ceremony had used most of her more 'experimental' ingredients. On the bright side, conventional ingredients and 'instant' snack variants were well within order. On top of all that, she still had the Grand BlamCo recipe book which meant that there was an almost endless supply of ideas to sway the hearts (and tummies!) of the East Coast.

With the inventory packed and ready, she still had to formally ask the Pugilist to take Miss Black's place as her guide.

"Time to make it snappy..."

The heiress hummed a jaunty little tune while she sought to the ritualistic cleansing of her sword in purified water. Upon further reflection, it was much like the act of cleaning up after satisfied guests or improving upon a new recipe. At the end of the day, something was improved or a small change was made to someone's life.

Why was Kristin so preoccupied with such mundane tasks? The answer was simple: Her acolytes were having another tiresome serious discussion that could be heard throughout the entire neighborhood. Their screaming match was nothing short of embarrassing and even more difficult to make sense of. Known to anything with ears in a 2-mile radius, the Postman had once again become the Pugilist as his verbal retaliation had overwhelmed Miss Black to the point of silence. This would be impressive, but the sound of a crash, an extended period of silence and light sobbing had filled Kristin's heart with concern.

Kristin leaned against the doorframe after clearing her throat. The sight was not a pleasant one. Bob was unconscious yet again, Lucy was in a state...yet again, although most crushingly of all, the kitchen was an absolute mess!

"Miss Black.", The heiress was unsettled and her voice had reflected an uncharacteristic air of concern. "What happened here?"

A few moments of silence had passed while Lucy fiddled with some kind of contraption on the kitchen table.

"...does it matter?", the sourpuss replied with petty sarcasm..

Kristin pulled up the chair that Bob had presumably collapsed from and rested her head in her hand.

"It matters a great deal to me. You are my very first follower, therefore I am inclined to give you preferential treatment. Although the Pugilist does fascinate me...", Kristin grabbed a nearby tray of apology cupcakes, cheese-based of course and spoke between bites. "Is there anything that you need of me?"

Lucy, to her joy, had taken to the comfort food as well. The feisty one was trying to find her words. "Honestly? I need you two to leave. Don't get me wrong, it's less you and more...him. Will you take him away when you leave?"

"I already intend to, Miss Black. The Postman is unsuitable as a servant, although the Pugilist can serve multiple roles for me. He has much potential...and I am fascinated by his resilience. So yes, I have business with this unconscious man.", Kristin sighed at Bob's unconscious form, this will become a hassle if this kind of behaviour continues. Refocusing on Lucy, "Did you two have a falling out?"

"He knows my father, he blames himself for everything, I got angry at that, so I tried to help.", Lucy somberly muttered to herself. "You probably heard how that went. Then again, his world just got ripped out from under him..."

"Miss Black, why are so eager to see him gone?"

"He insulted my father. He said that he was 'easily dispatched'."

"Did your father die a cowardly death?"

"No! He died trying to protect me!"

"Settle down, Miss Black.", Kristin folded her arms, indicating that she had come to a conclusion. "Then your father was not merely 'dispatched', he died a hero. You said that they knew one another? Bob has upset you in his grief. He has yet to go on your journey. Nothing more nothing less."

Lucy blinked, even going so far as to openly pinch herself as if to convince herself that she was not dreaming. "You are Kristin Blamco, right?", she seemed shocked.

Kristin grew distinctly serious, "I know what it is to lose a loved one, or several to be exact. And that is all I will say on the subject."

Before Lucy could query any further, Kristin had risen from her seat to stand over Bob's unconscious form. Bending down to comically cradle the man in her arms once more.

"If you wish for us to leave, then so be it.", Kristin started to make her way towards the door, deliberately bumping Bob's head into the doorframe. "As the first one to welcome me to the East Coast, I am inclined to give you preference. More importantly, you will find a few promotional packages in your fridge. I will be checking up on you in a few month's time to see how you will be handling the Springvale BlamCo Branch."

Turning to regard Lucy with her usual chirpy attitude, she was pleased to discover that the feisty lady was no longer scowling. Kristin had visibly relaxed, only to resume her jovial disposition. Instead, Lucy piled Bob's belongings on top of him. The sight had made Kristin laugh and Lucy smile.

"Cheer up, Miss Black! Your fight is over. The world, much like any BlamCo product, is what you make of it."

[hr]

Kristin Blamco - Edge of Springvale: Wakey-wakey!​

Atop a boulder formation, Kristin stood with her leg elevated on a rock specifically positioned for dramatic purposes. Meanwhile, Bob was hastily laid out atop the boulder next to her, his personal belongings bore the sign of more promotional sticker modifications (Cats, Cheese, BlamCo, etc...) and they were neatly arranged for his convenience.

It had been two minutes since they had travelled to the edge of Springvale, standing near what appearing to be burned out ruins on the edge of this small settlement. The Heiress was already bored.

The Springvale postman was still asleep, annoyingly so. Kristin had little patience for cat naps when they could be adventuring. Besides, she was already lost.

Positioning the blade of her oversized Bumper Sword in a downwards position, Kristin proceeded to very slowly jab the point into Bob's thigh. Either the pain would wake him up...or he would lose a leg. Fret not! Bob was exceptionally safe in her hands, many of her recipes had revolved around the dulling of the senses or inhibiting pain in some form.

Unfortunately, she had not prepared anything in advance.

When the Postman/Pugilist decided to wake up, he was greeted not with charm or polite worry, no, he was greeted with a large grin and the following declaration:

"Time to face the day, Pugilist! I have already made a pinky promise with the Moon in order to ensure that there will only be sunny skies ahead!"

Pure.unsettling.enthusiasm.

 

[Generic NPC 22]

The Wildest Wastedlands | Citadel Outskirts | Camp
Uhhhh... Sylphee?​

Sylphee was busy when Mister Bzzt Bzzt's first pew entered Mister Crap-Ass' chest cavity, waking Mister Crap-Ass up from his nighty-night time with a roar of pain. Picking himself off the ground, Mister Crap-Ass started running in a I'm REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY angry sort of way towards Mister Bzzt Bzzt, who kept sending more pew-pew-pews into Mister Crap-Ass' chest, sending more blood into the air and all over Sylphee, who was still busy with something.

The last few pew-pew-pews left Mister Crap-Ass staggering, slowing him down as he reached Mister Bzzt Bzzt and instead of punching or kicking or biting or head butting Mister Bzzt Bzzt, Mister Crap-Ass grabbed onto Mister Bzzt-Bzzt's shoulder and pulled him close.

"[small]Don't trust her.[/small]" Mister Crap-Ass whispered into Mister Bzzt-Bzzt's ear before grabbing onto Mister Bzzt Bzzt's gun and squeezed, sending one more pew into Mister Crap-Ass, turning him into a fine white snowlike powder.

Sylphee looked up from what she had been doing, which was going through Mister Crap-Ass's treasure sack and pulled out a small object, Mister Snowglobe. Inside Mister Snowglobe was a small girl that looked just like Sylphee with blue hair and blue eyes and red clothes, that would dance whenever Sylphee shook Mister Snowglobe.

"Look it's you Mister Bzzt Bzzt and Mister Chucky Camden!" The Red Menace exclaimed as she showed them Mister Snowglobe, which had two men buried underneath the dancing mini-Sylphee, two men that looked exactly like Mister Bzzt Bzzt and Mister Chucky Camden. Standing up, Sylphee tossed Mister Snowglobe over her shoulder, bored with the object.

~HACK! COUGH! COUGH! COUGH! HACK!~ Went the last of Mister Crap-Ass' Mini-Midges as Mister Snowglobe landed in its mouth. It went quiet and limp a few moments later.

[hr]

The Wild Wastelands | Springvale | Outside the Home of Lucy Black
The Day Just Won't End for Lucy​

Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 was under strict orders not to harm Former Enclave Asset Lucy Black in any way, shape or form. This didn't mean that she couldn't meet the traitorous ***** for a cup of coffee and some idle banter.

"What does he see in her?" #411 thought to herself as she looked through the forward canopy of the Vertibird that was transporting her to her destination, "He must see something in her if he let her off that easy."

The He that #411 was thinking of was none other than her Enclave Secret Crush, FalloutJack, the man who had rescued both her and her mutated excuse for a daughter, Constance, from the clutches of a Slaver Caravan. Ever since the moment she had laid her eyes on FalloutJack's power armor, it had been love at first sight. There was nothing that she wouldn't do for the man, including clean up his mistakes, not that she would admit they were mistakes or even hint at calling them mistakes. There was nothing that she wouldn't do to ensure that the future leader of the Enclave would be FalloutJack when Number 1 inevitably reached the ripe old age of DEAD, not that she ever voiced or thought these treasonous thoughts while in the Enclave Vault.

"Destination ETA 30 seconds." The Vertibird's pilot reported, prompting #411 to double check the items that she was bringing with her.

1) One Enclave Single Serving Radiation Filtering Coffee Maker
2) One Dozen Boxes of 24 Single Serving Coffee Concentrate
3) One Plasma Pistol for Personal Defense
4) One Live Stream Tablet with extra batteries
5) One Command Module for Bomb Class Eye Bot
6) Two Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialists

"Touch down." The Vertibird's pilot said as the vehicles's wheel touched the brown compacted earth, "Shall I come with you, ma'am?"

"No," Answered #411, "My guards should be plenty if our host does me a favor and gets feisty. Keep the engines warm, this shouldn't take long. Also, get me the latest imagery from the Super Duper Mart. We'll do a flyover once we're done here."

Hopping out of the Vertibird, #411 took in the scenery.

"What a fucking dump. I would expect no less from the traitor's traitorous daughter." The Enclave Intelligence Specialist muttered as she headed for the dump that Former Enclave Asset Lucy Black called home.

If you're wondering why #411 would risk the ire of the Enclave high brass and communicate with someone that had been categorized as off limits, you'd need to have remembered who had just paid Miss Lucy Black a visit. Not that #411 knew who it was, the Enclave database of former Enclave personnel had marked Jonathan's file as highly classified and if anything it vexed #411 to no end that she wasn't in the loop. With as much information as she had been siphoning in as of late, she should have been granted access but her repeated requests were denied. Which meant she had to get the information she wanted straight from the whore's horse's mouth.

"You two. Stay here unless I call for you." #411 said as she walked up to the door.

~KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK~

[hr]

The Wild Wastelands | Super Duper Mart | Exterior
Battle of Super Duper Mart​

It was a strange occurrence to have mother and daughter so close to one another. Were American Enclave Scouts of America member, Constance Sorrowfeld aware that her mother was but 5 - 10 minutes walking distance from her position, the young blind girl might have made time to arrange a meeting. Then again, even if the young American Enclave Scouts of America scout was privy to such information, she wasn't in any actual position to be able to do anything about it since she was in the middle of a pitch battle between the Sylphys and Garys.

~BOOM!~ Constance shot another one of her Sylphy Squadmembers in the back and as it had been for the last 10 minutes or so, there was no other response than an alarmed and hurt "Sylphy!!" that came from the target. No splitting of one Sylphy into two Sylphys. No extra bodies she could throw into the battle. No replacements that she could use to replace the Sylphys that had already fallen to the Gary Horde. The only comfort that Constance had was that Miss Natsuki was out in the field somewhere killing Garys with her Sniper's Rifle.

Scanning the field with her ears, the blind scout confirmed what she already knew. The Sylphys were losing the battle with the Garys and the Gary King were winning. Either through bad timing or a strategy that the Garys had developed, they were able to neutralize the Sylphys cloning ability. The whole idea of losing to a bunch of raving lunatics that could say only one word left a bad taste in Constance's mouth, not that winning by superior numbers was much better. The whole battle plan was half cocked and relied too heavily on something unreliable, namely the Sylphys. Even if they had their cloning abilities, Constance still had the feeling that she'd still be on the losing end of the battle.

~CHICK CHOCK! CHICK CHOCK! CHICK CHOCK! CHICK CHOCK!~ Constance emptied the rest of the bean bag shells that she had loaded into her shotgun and started loading slugs into her weapon, determined to take a few Garys with her if this was the end.

"Constance's Charge of Carnage... go," The young scout muttered to herself as she slid down the windshield of a dilapidated old heap, pulling the trigger as she landed, creating a grapefruit sized crater in the chest of an unfortunate Gary.

~CHICK CHOCK~ The hot shotgun shell was ejected and sent flying into the face of a second Gary that had decided to charge in and was soon followed by the butt of the shotgun, caving in the Gary's skull as he tried to keep his face from getting burnt my the shell.

~BOOM!~ A third Gary received a slug through the back before he could finish a wounded Sylphy with a makeshift spear, a combat knife tied to a metal post. ~CHICK CHOCK~ Constance slid underneath an axe and pulled the trigger a third time. ~BOOM!! The knees belonging to the axe wielding Gary disintegrated, leaving the Gary to scream out a painful "GARY!!"

~THUD~ A baseball bat found it's mark against Constance's stomach, stopping her charge and robbing her of her air. Gasping for breath, there was a ~Thwip~ as a sniper's bullet found its way into the Gary's head, creating an explosion of brains and blood. The headless Gary flopped to the ground, its body flailing around with the bat, completing its brain's last command before it was exploded.

Turning back towards the source of the sniper's bullet, Constance waved her thanks and continued on, running and shooting, running and shooting until she reached the base of the Super Duper Mart, the location of the HGIC (Head Gary in Charge).

Gary King was too preoccupied to notice the short young waif of a girl sneak up onto the roof where he and his troop had positioned themselves, too preoccupied until he heard the sound of someone behind him and felt the barrel of a shotgun pressed to the back of his head.

"Gary?" Gary King asked as Constance pulled the trigger.

~Click!~

"Dammit." Constance cursed as her face met the back of a fist.

[hr]

The Wild Wastelands | The Road to Dunwich | Dream Land
Nightmares for Thomas​

When Thomas McGee's consciousness returned to him, he found himself in a rather peculiar predicament. It appeared that while he had been unconscious, someone had gone to the trouble of tying him up and wrapping tourniquets around his limbs. What was most worrying wasn't the predicament that he found himself in but the predicament of four of his former associates found themselves in.

"Frank? Sylph? Marlon? Old one?" The Former Undertaker of the East muttered, naming each of the heads that had been mounted to a pike in front of him. Those were the only words that the normally talkative giant could say as he started into the blank eyes of each of the decapitated heads. Were it not for the sound of a Gauss Rifle + being reloaded, he might have continued staring at the dead for some time.

"Shame isn't it? Those you touch inevitably die." #411 said as she shouldered the rifle and pulled the trigger. The only sound that it made was the resulting carnage it left as Thomas' arm exploded, muscle fibers and bone being severed in a single moment. The screams of pain soon followed.

"Unless they decide to betray you... like your brother did." The Enclave Intelligence Officer added as she pulled the trigger again. A leg exploded, eliciting more screams from the even paler Former Undertaker.

"Unless they decide to betray you like I did." #411 said, removing her helmet to reveal the visage of Lucy Black. Pulling the trigger once again, the man formerly known as Shifty, the one who had at one time danced his first and last dance with Lucy Black in the middle of a Citadel bar, screamed out in pain.

There were no more words to be said as Lucy looked down the barrel of her Gauss Rifle and pulled the trigger.

[hr]

The Wild Wastelands | The Road to Dunwich
Awake?​

Thomas McGee's eyes opened up suddenly causing the Former Undertaker, now guide to a Ghoul named Arizona, to regret his decisions when the Wasteland sun shined directly into his eyes. He was still underneath the dead corpse of a Christmas-Lurk but he found it a much better place than he had been in his dreams. Wishing he had a drink to help calm his frayed nerves, he fell back into the realm of dreamless unconsciousness.

 

[Rip Van Rabbit]

Lucy Black - Springvale: You Can (Not) Let Go​

Much to her dismay, the departure of the BlamCo Heiress and Jonathan McKenna had done little to actually relieve Lucy of her stress. Jonathan's arrival had drudged up the past in the worst possible manner and Lucy was forced, no, responsible for the retelling of the events and her traumatic journey that followed.

It wasn't the first time she had told someone. In fact, everyone that had joined her on her journey had known some piece of information. Unfortunately that's all they were...mere pieces, fragments of a greater tragedy. So why was Jonathan such a big deal to her? Perhaps because he challenged the very idea of Isaac, choosing to highlight Isaac's foolishness instead of the herioc image that she clung to.

As often as her views on Isaac had shifted, one thing was for certain: He was her only loving parent and she would fight to preserve his memory.

Lucy Black may have found her answers, gained companions, forged alliances, broken alliances, made terrible sacrifices to further her goals and sought redemption through loved one's such as Sylph. Yet at the end of the day, just how much personal progress had she truly made? Despite being 23 years of age, it appeared that at her emotional core, she was truly stuck in the memory of Isaac's murder, at the age of 18.

These were the thoughts and feelings that Jonathan had uncovered with his outburst. Had she manufactured this glorified image of Isaac, an emotional anchor essentially, in order to cope with her grief over the years? This anchor was, more often than not, used as a weapon, a justification to resort to manipulation and deception to get what she had wanted.

That kind of maladjustment...combined with her abusive mother's ruthless Enclave training...and Lucy Black was free to be exploited and trained as a weapon against her mother's enemies. Regardless of where that wretched woman was...the damage was done, Lucy Black, despite her best efforts, had led a broken life.

In an odd twist of fate, Fallout Jack had given her a second chance, a chance to walk away and make a life for herself that did not involve the Enclave.

[hr]

Lucy Black - Springvale: Give me a break​

Lucy was just about done cleaning the kitchen, meanwhile she delved into the tray of BlamCo apology cupcakes. They were exceptionally delicious and they helped to ease the pain that losing her bathtub would bring.

Uprooting several floorboards, Lucy discovered several laser pistols, most of them in dire need of repair with the exception of one. It wasn't perfect, but she estimated that it would accept the current energy cell before burning out. This also explained why Lucy felt no need to cling to the conventional hunting rifle that she had given to Jonathan, her house was practically a workshop for Isaac's weapons repairs...and she was thankful that his craft would leave her some mementos.

Unfortunately the bathtub was truly unusable. Three bursts from the laser pistol had done little to the ultra-hardened cheese. Perhaps she could scavenge from a neighbor? Regardless, she would ask Moira Brown when she headed to Megaton tomorrow, there was still a matter of supplies to be acquired if she was going to start living here.

*Thwocka-Thwocka-Thwocka-Thwocka-whiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrr*​

Lucy's blood turned cold as the very familiar noise had made it's presence known to anyone in the area. She had killed a Behemoth from one at some point: A Vertibird.

Replacing the floorboards and rushing to the windows, her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Vertibird landing nearby. When three Enclave soldiers clad in full power armour had exited the vertibird, her disposition had shifted to a familiar yet aggressive persona; that of an Enclave Asset.

Already feeling herself bristling at their mere presence, Lucy applied her eyepatch once more. Call it an emotional anchor to a darker time.

She was prepared for two things: Betrayal or Recruitment. The former was more appealing, she would rather die than join their ranks once more.

Did Fallout Jack lie to her? Was their entire exchange just one more method with which to reclaim the GRP? No, Fallout Jack looked just as tortured when he was confronted.

So who the hell was this? Fallout Bob's cleaning up? No, he does things personally.

*KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK*​

Lucy expected to be greeted with a salvo of heavy plasma fire, not a knock on the door.

Putting her hand on the doorknob, the Former Enclave Asset put on the deceptive facade once more. It was frighteningly easy. Then again, much of her identity was tragically malleable since her life was built on lies and manipulation.

Opening the door, she was greeted to the sight of three Enclave soldiers, two of them at the rear were heavily armed. Whereas the one at her door wore no highlights on its armour.

"You aren't Fallout Sector.", Lucy scowled. "Unless Jack sent you, then we have no business together."

Lucy leaned forward, peering outside to check for any witnesses. They seemed to be alone, then again, it wasn't long since Kristin and Jonathan had left.

...they didn't seem keen on moving. So they were definitely here to see her. Or kill her discreetly...not everyone would follow Fallout Jack's order.

The retired Enclave Asset sighed and swore, "Be discreet at least, get inside.". Mockingly Lucy curtsied, "Make yourself at home."

Lucy laid her laser pistol on the table and settled down at the head of the table. It would be useless against power armor anyway, she no longer had her Beast Mode powered Gauss Rifle, nor did she have a plasma pistol. As far as combat went, Lucy was screwed.

...Then again, she did deceive her way into a private chat with Fallout Jack and Number One.

"What's your rank?", Lucy's characteristic one-eyed glare made a guest appearance.

 

[Generic NPC 22]

The Wild Wastelands | Springvale | 324 West Black Road (Black Residence)
Wake up, little Lucy, wake up!​

Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 checked her corners before entered the hovel that the traitor called home. As a deserter to the Enclave Asset Program and daughter to one of biggest monsters in Enclave history, there was no telling what new lows Lucy Black would stoop to in order to get one over on the Enclave. The cyclopian rebel had already convinced FalloutJack that all she wanted was a life of peace, #411 wanted to see how far Former Asset Black would go in order to maintain this facade.

Seeing that there was no ambush lying in wait, Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 entered the shack as requested and took a cursory glance around the room.

Cupcakes. Cheese. Discarded Blamco packages. A ruined bathtub. These were signs that Former Enclave Asset Lucy Black was making good on the new life that FalloutJack had so graciously granted her. HAH! Right. No, these were signs that the BlamCo nitwit Heiress spotted entering the border of former District of Columbia had stopped by.

The Enclave Officer took a seat opposite Lucy, depositing the various housewarming gifts onto the table, at the expense of one of the cupcakes that squished under the weight of the bounty that #411 would bestow upon the traitor.

"What's you rank?" Lucy demanded, glaring at Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 with an intensity that would have melted steel plates.

#411 was impressed, a rarity these days due to the fact that she kept her ears to the ground, listening for various signs of renewed insurgency against her beloved Enclave. Former Asset Black had been a mewing kitten playing at being a lion when #411 had convinced the woman to commit her Undertaker friend to an eternity of purgatory. The way that the Former Asset held herself was more intense. She'd done some growing up since her last visit to the Enclave Vault.

"Let's not stand on formalities shall we?" #411 responded in a voice that chilled rivers, "I know who you are and you should know who I am, unless your friend truly meant nothing to you. I mean you did abandon him to our tender mercies. If that's the case then you will remember me as Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411. You can call me ma'am."

The insult was a calculated one. A slight that 411 hoped would spark the Traitorous ***** into some sort of stupid act, like grabbing that laser pistol that she had left on the table. Then this whole mess would be cleaned up, loose ends tied, the world would go back to the way it should be. As much as Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 wanted for this to occur, there were more important questions that needed to be answered before justice could be served.

"But my dear sweet traitor, I'm not here to dredge up any past animosity that you might have towards your former benefactors in the Enclave nor am I here to open any freshly healed wounds. I'm here to share a cup of coffee with a former employee of the Enclave and for the sharing of civil conversation. We can call this an exit survey if you'd like." #411 said standing up with the Enclave Radiation Filtering Single Serve Coffee machine and the packages of coffee concentrate. A few moments later, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen followed by #411 reentering the room with two cups of coffee.

"Cream? Sugar?" #411 asked setting the coffee cup in front of her enemy, "I assure you that it's not poisoned. That would defeat the purpose of my visit."

 

[Texas Joker 52]

Arizona​

When all of the Christmas-themed Mirelurks were dead, Arizona let out a sigh and reloaded Lester out of habit more than anything. A full magazine. What a goddamned waste. She didn't have the caps for it. But since the Mirelurks were done causing trouble, she let Lester hang from the sling around her shoulders and searched for her new partner.

She finally found him pinned underneath one of the 'Lurks and was out cold. Her lips curled a little in disdain before she grabbed a hold of the beast's carapace and pulled it off the poor bastard. Once he was free, she lifted him up with some difficulty, hoisting him over her shoulder and starting to carry him away from Rivet City, his feet dragging along the ground thanks to how short she was.

Arizona could only be thankful that this job she took didn't exactly have a timetable, otherwise she'd be tempted to leave him where he was.

[hr]

The Road to Dunwich | Ruined Skyscraper near Rivet City​

In one of the many buildings that were left behind when the bombs fell, Arizona sat back on a ruined couch in front of a piss-poor excuse for a fire, throwing another end table leg onto the embers to at least keep her partner warm.

Thomas was laid out on an ancient blanket with his things next to him, and she had done her best to bandage him with what she had. The fact that he tossed, turned, and muttered in his sleep didn't make it any easier. But at least he wasn't too badly hurt, so that was something.

After a few moments of watching him with a frown, she finally decided to get up and walk over, kneeling next to him with a look of mild concern over her decayed face. She would've figured he would be awake by now. Eye narrowed, she leaned down so her face was only a few inches from his, searching for some sort of sign that he would wake up at all.