Crusade Captain Frederick Thomas moved about with a quiet intensity throughout Megaton, his Thompson slung over his back. Everywhere he went, he was sure to greet the wasters with something along the lines of friendliness. Being helmetless, Thomas lacked the intimidating orange goggled helmets that his counterparts were wearing. Still, Thomas liked for the wasters to see his face; to know that he was on their side. It had been too long since he had felt a genuine wanting in helping people. His gaze shifted to Lucas Simms, who tipped his hat as he cradled his Chinese Assault Rifle. Thomas nodded back in respect, then pulled out an Purified water-bottle and tossed it to a thirsty child, who gratefully accepted it. On his other side, children gathered around in a dirty circle around one of Thomas' men, Mendez. Thomas laughed as Mendez carefully let the children look at his helmet, being careful when he placed it on one of their heads to make sure they didn't collapse. Thomas took one of the tykes by the hand, throwing him atop his shoulders as the kid squeaked how it cool it was. Of course, gunfire in the distance changed the short-lived relaxation. "Mendez, gather up the squad. We're moving." Thomas said. Saying a quick prayer to the Field Marshal, Thomas exited as swiftly as he had come, exiting through the main door and waving to Stockholm he passed. The gates screeched open, and as Thomas passed he paused to pass out another water bottle to a beggar on the side, who gratefully accepted it.
The trip was relatively short; in fact, not too far from the urban border where the Super muties had been suppressed moderately. Thomas' mood switched to anger as he saw what he was looking for; raiders taunting a defenseless ghoul. Thomas didn't even need to plan this one out; he'd seen it a thousand times. There were three of the raiders; all of em' in old Crusade combat armor, probably stolen from a hapeless trader. Sliding the Thompson off his shoulder and into his hands, Thomas cocked the weapon, flicked off the safety, and fired a few shoots into the air to gain their attention. The raiders stopped shooting at the ghoul's feet, and turned to the Crusade squad. "You'd best get a move on before we wupp your assess, raiders." Thomas said. The raiders took it as a joke. "Or what?" The lead one asked, sarcasm in his tone. "Or this." Thomas said, and unloaded the clip in a spraying motion, taking down all three raiders. Mendez was the only other squad member to join, the others not bothering. Mendez unloaded his APAR, slamming a full clip's worth of 7.62mm ammunition into the raider's companions. Thomas laughed at the hapeless corpses and shook the hand of the ghoul. "Thanks a lot, pal." The ghoul said in a scratchy voice, his mouth curved in a smile. "Always glad to help, waster." Thomas said, smiling. "You can say that again. Those brotherhood assholes would've shot me too." The ghoul said. His hand went to a stimpak at his side. "I figure you might need this more than I do. It's not much, but you have my thanks." The ghoul said. Bowing, he ran off, pausing to pick up an R91 from a dead raider in the process. Pocketing the stimpak, Thomas saluted the citizen in the dusty distance, then motioned his hand. "Let's move, boys. Major probably is wondering where we are right now." Thomas muttered. Slinging the Thompson over his shoulder, Thomas looked in the opposite distance as another Enclave VTOL watched a Crusade VTOL on patrol. That's odd. Thomas thought. They usually didn't come that close anymore. Both VTOLs watched each other, hovering over the dirt, then went their seperate ways. Odd.
Karen Alan was sitting on her porch, in Springvale. She just witnessed yet another group of raiders getting shot down by Thomas. She was personally beginning to like the guy, defending their home so often. If something were to happen to the Crusade, the saviors of the wasteland, she and all of the Capital Wastelands would truly perish. Looks like the raiders were wearing repainted Crusade armor, with the Claws symbol on it. The Claws, they were horrible, and their leader, claiming to be a ladies man. He had tried to enslave a few people in Megaton before, but that was before Thomas shot his leg off. Bren Tenkage, the worst of the worst when it comes to raiders. Some say he even has a pet deathclaw, hence the name, "The Claws". Karen got up and jumped off her small balcony, she needed some more food for her fridge, so she was going into Megaton to pick that up by the Brass Lantern. She had plenty of caps from selling Claws armor, that was worth a fortune around here. She almost burned down the place last time she visited Megaton though..
Alexander Vain was sitting on a watchtower near the Citadel. He was old, but a fairly good marksmen. His daughter abandoned the Brotherhood long ago because of rumors of technology in Old Olney. He began to disliked her for that, but he knew she wasn't a bad person still. Anyway, it turned out to be just a rumor, as she found nothing and was killed there, by Bren Tenkage, as it was the Claws base. Alexanders job was to sit in this tower for five hours straight, and then go to the lab and preform medical research, and then sleep until the next day. Linear. It'd be much better if the damned Lone Wanderer didn't go and blow up the wastelands last hope of salvation and fresh, clean water. Shift was about over now, and he'd be heading inside in an hour.
Colonel Jacob Vaughton paced back and forth, padding the ground of his command room again and again. Well, not room so much as a big-ass tent set up just outside of Crusade patrol range. Unlike most of the other Colonels, Vaughton was a front-liner. He enjoyed fighting. He enjoyed the kick of a gun in his hand, or the sight of a Waster mongrel incinerating upon contacting a laser shot. Jacob paced the room again. He couldn't wait for those reinforcements to arrive. He wanted to get into battle. The crack of bone, the snap of sinew and the cry for mercy were his music. The roar of gunfire and the scream of artillery were like choirs of angels to him. He walked over to the locker that contained his hefty BlackOps Armor Mk II (like BlackOps Armor, but better). He opened it and stared at the non-standard issue suit. The monstrous helmet leered back at him as his face cracked into a wicked smile. It had been so long since he'd broken a neck with his bare hands. He looked around the tent again as he donned the suit. He walked over to his makeshift desk and looked at his dossier. His regiment, the 3rd Special Forces Regiment, were already here. Given enough prepping, they could take DC alone. He admitted having the entire regiment here left some areas in the Core Region a little bare in terms of shock troops and commandos, but if the DC Assault was as important as that ZAX, Eden said it was, well, it'd be worth the risk.
He paced in his suit, limbering up a little as he looked at the photo of his family. He'd received a communique earlier from Major Stryker, saying the other forces were en route, and Jacob was getting impatient. He circled the tent internally and then walked out into the early morning light. The ground out ahead of them was covered in yellowy grass and a soft coating of dew and mist. Jacob blinked as the menacing forms of a unit of 3rd Regiment GIs loomed out of the mist in antiquated T-45 Power Armor, impersonating Brotherhood forces as they gathered intel on the area and surveyed concentrations of Crusade and Brotherhood forces. They snapped quick salutes as they realised the Colonel was standing right in front of them, rapidly removing their helmets and nodding apologetically as they tripped over their words trying to give a good report. Jacob raised a hand, silencing them. They'd seen him brutalize Wastelander Conscripts before, and didn't want to risk that he might do it to them on a bad day.
"Start from the beginning soldier," Jacob said, smiling to calm the men down. He nodded to them to get on with it, which they did. This day was getting better and better.
As for one Weston Foster, he just crossed into the DC Wasteland. He was leading a small caravan of brahim, only two pack brahimn, into DC to trade. Nearby was his Mr. Handy robot, named Brutus.
"Comon Brutus, we have'nt go al lday."
"Master, if i may suggest, i suggest that we go into Megaton"
Weston looked around. Megaton was a little bit in the distance. He was about to cross into Springfield right about now. His hand ran down to his 10MM SMG. The Crusade did do wonders for Kent Island, clearing out the Raiders and such. Now, it was safe to travel around and the little robots he built in his youth were, well, no longer needed. In fact, three of them took up the rear of the caravan. This was second run into DC, the first one...well, was'nt all that profitable. Scrap metal was a major demand and Weston brought some. The settlements he stopped at also wanted some of the local Kent Island homecooked 'Lurk meat. The major secert? Old Bay. For some odd reason, it seemed that nobody in DC knew what it was. He also brought a little bit of that too. Finally, Weston even manged to bring along a couple of firearms. Mainly old hunting rifles that were'nt needed anymore. There was also a hanful of double-barrel shotguns, and a ammo case chock full of shotgun shells. It seemed that hunting with shotguns was popluar before the Great War.
However, Weston just followed the road ahead of him. If he was lucky, he might just make a profit. Maybe.
Stopping his small caravan (which stopping was'nt that hard to do), Weston put his hands so then he created a improtu visor to protect him from the sun. Megaton was closer now. Picking up a pack of cigaeertes, he sighed.
"These things can kill you, you know that Burtus?"
"Right sir! Never smoke!" Westons robobt faithfully repiled.
He also heard the report of gunfire, and then looked in the direction of it. Raiders. This group here looked like it was part of this one group called 'The Claws' or something like that. From what he had heard, there leader seemed to be interseted in all things Japan and thought he was a total badass because he had a deathclaw hand attached to his hunting rifle.
But, that was of no matter. Spying some Crusade forces, he walked up to them.
"Hello boys! Any of you care to look over my rather small inveonoty? However, i may or may not have a Protoecton that could be of interset of you."
Weston then pointed to one of his protectons. Modifed with a Minigun isntead of a laser in one of it's 'arms', it did seem rather effective. Which it was, if it was at range. If not, then...there was some trouble.
"I think I'll be plunderin' those goods, ye scurvy dog!" A voice echoed from the edge of a nearby building. A wraithlike figure shot from the edge of one of the buildings, skittering across the pavement like a beetle on speed before leaping up and, with a mighty "HAAAAAAAA!" knocked Weston to the ground like a domino. The mysterious face pulled out a cutlass and hacked into Brutus' power core, leapt over the temporarily disabled sentry and proceeded to raid the supplies, dissappearing again just before the Crusade could bring their weapons to bear. He dissappeared into the wastes again, just as suddenly as he had come.
Roland Rockfort looked over his latest sack of plunder, adjusting the threadbare Stetson perched on his forehead. The psychotic wastelander, having been raiding up and down the East Coast of the United States for the better part of five years, had ammased a sizeable stack of plunder through sacking and burning several small outposts around the DC area by jumping from his stolen US Navy Corvette Meredith and beating the crap out of any merchant or waster that just happened to pass him by. He openly claimed to consort with the Enclave, Raider tribes (especially the Claws) and anti-Ghoul militants. He was easy to pick out of a crowd, of course: his white-silk shirt and black vest, brown trousers, high black boots and rakishly-tilted black musketeer hat, cutlass and twin Taurus Raging Bulls, combined with his dated dialect, heavy drinking habits and ridiculously over-the-top psychotic behavior, made him look completely rediculous. However, he was also a force to be reckoned with. Having a body made almost 90% of metal due to voluntarily submitting to Institute experimentation gave him five times the strength and durability of a normal man. He had amazing skill with a sword; and could take the recoil of all of his weapons without flinching. Combine that with his human brain, and you had an almost-indefeatable foe.
"I like this plunder!" Roland shouted at the top of his lungs as he removed several inhalers of Jet, a laser pistol and various other items from his bag. "HAAAAAA!" he shouted again as he crashed through the front of a building and on to the waterfront.
"Aww, shit. INCOMING GRENADE!"
"...Gentlemen, we can rebuild him... we have the technology..."
"We didn't sanction your project to produce muties, Director Goldman. Your ass, your project's and every fucking freak you've made is going right to the incinerator..."
"... you are hereby revoked of your rank and citizenship on charges of genetic non-compliance..."
"... to be disposed of by incineration as per protocol..."
"D-don't look at that man Andy! He's not y-your father..."
"... not your father..."
"Yes. I. AM!"
The sleeping man woke up, sat up with a start and abruptly slammed his fist violently into the bar he'd been drooling onto to the past few hours, visibly splintering the wood. Every head in Moriarty's Salloon turned to look at him with an expression of either shock, fear, disgust or amusement. Nova, the well-dressed and well-spoken barmaid dropped the tray of drinks she was holding with a high-pitched yelp. Colin Moriarty folded his arms as he eyed the man up and down, whose features were still concealed by his heavy hooded raincoat that was draped over him. He reached out, grabbed what remained of his scotch and necked it, putting the glass down.
"Think ye've had a few too many, fella," The establishment's owner intoned with a voice lined with friendliness, warmth but veiled sympathy. The man didn't respond immediately, so he reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. The man's own hand lashed out, seizing Colin by the wrist and applying a fair deal of pressure. Spiteful grey-blue eyes stared out threateningly from underneath the hood. "No." the man growled lowly, holding a struggling Colin in place. "I haven't..." This was partially true. The procedure'd done something to the way he processed alcohol.
Before he knew it, a pair of burly arms had looped around his shoulders from underneath his armpits. He was pulled backwards, his stool being knocked down by the sudden movement. He didn't let go of the barman's arm, though. "Let go of him!" Gob, the toughest man in Megaton and bouncer of the salloon snarled in an authoritarian manner. An elbow suddenly flew backwards into the massive Ghoul's stomach, winding him, and a backwards headbutt to the nose send him staggering. The raincoated man span around and followed up with a roundhouse kick to the Ghoul's chest, knocking him further away. The man surged forwards, using a spear tackle to slam him into the wall. The sound of cracking ribs was ill-disguised. He siezed the Ghoul by what remained of his hair and slammed his head downwards while simultaneously sending his own knee upwards, and they both connected in a loud and bloody fashion which put the Ghoul out for the count.
Everything was silent for a good few moments would it be for the man's heavy breathing as he stared down at the Ghoul's body. Until, of course, the universal "you're fucked" sound of a shotgun being pumped was heard throughout the bar.
"You get the fuck out my bar," Colin snapped, "and I won't tell Simms about this. Not that the lazy bastard'd do anything anyway..."
The salloon door swung open and he was gone, raincoat's tail trailing behind him as he left the pub and out into the sun.
"So do you want the wares or not? Answer quickly, jackass, a patrol comes round these parts and it's due any time now..."
The Raider looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping his chin as he mentally reviewed the capabilities of the hardware and the prices he'd been offered. The guns were superb, undeniably so - but at two thousand caps a piece, they weren't exactly the best value for money. "Donnie," his buddy whispered to him, suddenly, "I don't trust this guy. He looks like one of those..." Donnie intercepted him swiftly. "Naw, man, he's tight. Rip-off artist, but he always pulls through for ya." The man in the heavy, military-looking greatcoat watched them intently through narrowed eyes. The two Raiders shared a look, then, after a moment, Donnie turned around and extended his hand. The man shook it.
"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Strauss."
"Damn right I do. Worthington--"
"COMMAND CONFIRMED." Came the heavily modified Sentry Bot's grinding, cacophonous response. Two of the manipulator arms on its back - it appeared to have part of a Mr. Handy attached to it - reached into the wheeled dumpster. Out it came several seconds later, and clenched between the two pincers was a Fat Man Nuclear Catapult. The Raiders looked at each other eagerly, rubbing their hands together in anticipation before the man coughed loudly, at which point one of them handed over a large sack, presumably filled with caps. The Sentry Bot rolled over, siezed it with its manipulator arm, returned to its position at the side of the dumpster and dropped it in. Strauss himself placed a crate of Mini-Nukes in front of the Raiders. "Enjoy your blowing shit up, gentlem--"
He was interrupted as he heard the unmistakeable sound of twin rotors, getting closer and closer. He looked out over the horizon to see the source of the noise.
"CRUSADERS!" One of the Raiders yelled before the being cut down as the nose-mounted minigun began to spin, then mulched his torso. The other Raider scrambled for cover but ultimately met the same fate. Strauss pulled back the sleeve of his oversized coat (underneath which he wore his armour), tapping something on his Pip-Boy, and raised his voice;
"Engage anti-aircraft combat protocols. Zero in on nearest engine heat signature, lock on and open fire. Confirm command."
"COMMAND CONFIRMED." Came the heavily modified Sentry Bots' grinding, cacophonous and unanimous response. Yes, there were three of them. The tincan trio rolled out from behind the dumpster and opened up with their gatling lasers, forcing the VTOL to take evasive maneuvres. Strauss took advantage of this, waltzed out of cover, scooped up the Fat Man, loaded it and took aim.
The mini-nuke hit the right rotor, engulfing the aircraft in a mighty flash, a roaring flame and a spike of radiation and scattering its debris and what survived of its occupants' bodies across the sand.
"YEAH!" He whooped, dropping the nuclear catapult and clapping his hands over his head. "TAKE THAT, YOU GOODIE TWO SHOES FUCKS! Go listen to your fancy pants GNR or some shit! Oh WAIT, you CAN'T! I JUST FUCKED YOUR SHIT UP BIG TIME! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-YEAH!"
Conor Strauss smoothed down his coat before boarding his dumpster-chariot, having his Sentry Bots pull him away. Shame, he thought. Could've slapped collars on the two Raiders if it wasn't for that VTOL, but he'd have to make do with the two thousand caps he'd already made today.
Was what Weston manged to blurt out. He'd just been trucked and was now lying ass-first on the ground. Looking around, highly confused, he manged to see the crazy guy who remininded him of pirates of old that he and his childhood friends used to play as. Of course, Weston would end up being the pirate quartermaster, giving out the little twig swords to his 'crew'. He hated fighting. He did'tnt mind fishing and hunting, but, he really hated the thought of taking another mans life. He had heard of shotguns with "bean-bag rounds" that would'nt kill. That was one of the reasons that he came to DC agian. He really wanted those. That, and there was something called a flashvbang. that was also around here in DC, or so he heard.
Getting up and dusting himself off, Weston looked at his two brahimin. They were'nt hurt, Brutus looked like he was in deep trouble, and he had the sack of Jet Inhalers that he was going to sell to Cindy over in Rivet City in order for her to stock up the 'A Quick Fix'. Also, he had the laser pistol that was heading to Megaton for sale.
"Mann...." Weston groaned, before connecting his palm to his face. Then, he slowly turned to the Crusade squad.
"Any of you know how to fix a Mr. Handy?" he asked, not sure if any of them did.
Thomas motioned the man forward. Just as he was about to inspect the man for illegal goods, however, a small mush room cloud appeared in the distance. "Mendez, round up the squad!" Thomas shouted, unslinging his Thompson once again. His head turned towards the man and Mrs. Alan behind us. "You'll have to excuse us ma'am." Thomas said to Mrs. Alan. His voice turned to Weston. "We'll talk goods later. Your with me." Thomas said The familiarity of mini-nukes and exploding VTOLs had become standard. Thomas knew who it was. "Goddamit Strauss." Thomas murmured, cocking his weapon and waving for his squad to follow him. It didn't take long to find the VTOL wreckage, as well as a drooling Strauss dreaming about his money. "Jesus, what is it, the fifth time, Strauss?" Thomas said, startling Strauss. "MOTHER FUCKER!" Strauss shouted. The conversation seemed to end right there. Like it always did. Thomas would try to start things cordially, then he would bust up the sentry bots, and then they would repeat the process. Immediately, Strauss' sentry bots opened fire, as usual. In the same manner, Thomas' cadre took cover, opening fire on his sentry bots. As 5mm bullets rattled his cover, Thomas called out as he had done before. "C'mon Strauss, just give up! We've done this a thousand times!" Thomas shouted, bunkering down to avoid his head being severed off. "FUCK YOU, JACKASS!" came another reply. Typical, Thomas thought. Without another word, he waited as usual as the missile team opened fire, letting lose a pretty heavy rocket into Worthington Mk II, screwing him over and completely destroying it. Combined fire from the squad also brought down Worthington Mk III, riddling it with several hundred bullets and bringing it down upon the desert floor. It was just Strauss, Worthington, and the Crusaders now. Of course, it always ended this way. Thomas would attempt to convince Strauss to stop his antics, Strauss would set some sort of trap that Thomas would escape, and then they'd repeat the process. It always ended this way. "You ready to give yourself up, Strauss?!" Thomas shouted. His question was responded with 5mm bullets chewing up his cover. "Dammit, Strauss!" Thomas said.
Lieutenant-Colonel Dutch Holmes stood at Colonel Vaughton's side, his face filled with an ironic zero amount of emotion. Dressed in BlackOps armor, Dutch yawned for a little bit, then placed his shades over his eyes. To the Warrior Weapons, if Vaughton was God, then Dutch was the man whom God hired. Dutch had a habit of being rather gruesome when carrying out Vaughton's orders. Dutch watched as the power armored figures lined up perfectly. His mind drifting, he snapped to attention as Jacob shouted an order in his ear. Fumbling for his pistol, Dutch drew it and swiveled his aim. Then he realized Jacob had been talking to him. Dutch quickly holstered the weapon, blocked Jacob's punch, and followed up with a punch of his own, which was parried by Jacob. "Stay on your toes, Lieutenant-Colonel. That's the second time I've caught you dreaming about your wife and son." Jacob said, smiling. Then he promptly moved towards the command tent, where General Chase appeared on a holographic projector. "Good Morning gentlemen." Chase said, his wife crackling. Both Jacob and Dutch snapped salutes. "At ease." Chase said. "Here's the situation, gentlemen. You, along with your squads and some Enclave G.I.s, ok maybe alot of G.I.s, will storm Jerusalem. I expect Moore's body hanging from the top of his tower by the end of the week. Pretty straightfoward. Any questions?" Chase asked, keeping his spiel short.
"Kiss my ass, Major Tom! I'll be sure to tell your wife you love her very much!" Strauss roared, paraphrasing some weird-ass song, then swore quietly as he realised he'd said that in an oddly high-pitched way. "Worthington, fuck his shit up!" He demanded, to which the robot rattled out "COMMAND CONFIRMED" and rolled towards Thomas' position, pelting it with minigun fire while Strauss fumbled in his dumpster. Eventually, he came back up, toting a gatling laser which he mounted on the side of the dumpster. "Why should I give up, huh?!" He bellowed as he blasted a Bra-wearing man in the face with six successive streams of red death. "HAHAHAHA TAKE THAT YOU CROSS DRESSING FUCKER!" He blew apart the torso of a soldier who'd tried getting a clear shot on Worthington, who himself was now pelting rockets at Thomas' cover and forcing him to rush towards another piece of it. "Uh, ahem. Anyway. Why should I? All you'll do is fucking shoot me when you're done! I ain't falling for your self-righteous crap, man! Go save some distressed damsel and leave the good, honest work to the GOOD, HONEST PEOPLE!" He continued blasting into the rock Thomas was hiding behind until the laser required reloading, at which point he dove back into the dumpster and came up with his Fat Man...
As for Weston, he was huddling down behind a nearby rock, crying nd whimpering. He really hated gun battles. Popping his head up slowly from behind said rock, he saw that this guy....Strauss, or at least thats what the Crusade captian called him, popped out from inside a dumpster with a Fat Man. But, agian, he got lucky. His three protectrons came rambling forwards, firing there miniguns and lasers at the same time. Weston slienty thanked whatever god or higher power that made him think of the idea of making that modfication. Looking around, Weston picked up a rock and threw it off Strauss. Which, it hit his chest, causing a slight cry of pain from said Strauss.
"Sorry! I mean, no wait, uhhh..." Weston just stood there, shocked He did'nt mean to hur him, he sorta jusy...threw a rock at him. It was indited for the rock to hit the poor guy!
Weston then went from stnaind in the open, which he did for some odd reason, to going in a prone postion.
"I really need a slingshot...." Weston muttered to no one in particular.
Which, he kinda did need a slingshot. Rocks were much cheaper then bullets, and Weston only used bullets when a animal was chasing him. So, with a rock, he could projec t at somebody charging at him, and then contuine doing that until they ran away!
Perfect plan! Weston thought, before going a little closer to ground when a bullet wizzed by his head.
Thomas cursed as a stray shot hit his COM unit, burning out the control just as Weston dove for cover. "Dammit!"
On the other side...
"Ground control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, there something wrong! Can you hear me Major Tom!" The COM officer shouted. He turned back to his superior. "I got nothing, Sarge."
Thomas stepped out in the open as Worthington took a hit to his power pack, shutting down his servos and bringing the robot to a stop. It's gatling laser powered down, and it ceased to chew up his cover. Thomas looked at Strauss, who held a Fat Man. "Now, Connor, we can we work this out..." Thomas said, holding his hands up. His soldiers made no move to stop Connor. "Don't do anything rash now, Connor." Thomas said. Connor stood, grinning. "He's gonna fucking do it..." Mendez muttered, staring at Connor. His weapon raised up at Connor, but Thomas stopped him half-way, and Mendez lowered the APAR. "C'mon now, Strauss. We can work this out, right?" Thomas asked. "FUCK YOU!" Connor shouted. That was Thomas' redundant que to take cover. "Hit the deck! He's gonna shoot!" Mendez shouted, raising his rifle at Connor as he loaded the mini-nuke into the catapult...
Silas Webb sighted through the Divider's scope. Another evil man of the wastes needed to be taken down a peg, and since the Moderators didn't want to get their goody-goody little hands dirty, it was up to Silas to bring a little more justice back to the wastes. He sighted three mercenaries. They were dead as soon as they signed on with that son of a bitch. Silas saw three targets, pulled the trigger three times, and suddenly the asshole had three fewer bodyguards.
Silas moved from his cover and began making his way covertly towards the door. As he began to close, he drew his Winchester City-Killer shotgun. The bounty hunter approached the door. He cautiously opened it and stepped inside.
Strong hands wrapped around his arms and neck, putting the bounty hunter into a full nelson. Two others approached, loosely cradling R91s in their hands. The foremost one, apparently the leader, took a brief look at Silas' face, then chuckled. "Well well, if it isn't Silas Webb, the disgraced Moderator captain. Still pursuing that perverted justice that got you kicked out in the first place, are you? See, that's where you went wrong, because here you are, taking on a whole compound by yourself." The mercenary turned to face an imaginary audience. "This is what we call a bad idea." As the mercenary turned away and the other with the R91 followed him, Silas seized his chance. He brought his head up against the full nelson's pressure while slamming his arms down, breaking the mercenary's hold on him. He snatched his Stabhappy Combat Knife from his belt and stabbed the mercenary behind him twice in the chest. As the second turned to look at the sudden commotion, Silas raised his City-Killer and pulled the trigger. The resulting "Boom!" echoed throughout the entire room as the City-Killer blew a hole in the merc's chest. The captain, for his part, had turned too fast, losing control of his R91. It tumbled from his grasp. Before the captain could reach for his sidearm, Silas had tackled him to the ground and pulled the knife to his throat. "This is what we call a bad idea," Silas said in a mocking tone before he slit the man's neck open.
Silas sprinted forward and kicked open the second drawer, drawing his 10mm SMG, "Charlotte", as he did so. He was greeted by a hail of bullets as he sprinted for the cover of a metal desk, firing as he did so. A series of groans and moans could be heard, as several of Charlotte's bullets found their mark. Silas turned from behind cover and opened fire, dropping one of the mercs and putting another out of commission before he was forced to seek cover again. A mercenary entered his field of vision, and was put out of his misery for his troubles. Silas sprayed fire, but then Charlotte clicked empty. Silas switched out Charlotte for his .44 Magnum and popped out, ending several of the mercs' lives as they struggled. All had been wounded. Silas himself had been hit several times, but his Metal Armor under his duster provided excellent protection. One mercenary cowered in a corner. Silas hadn't killed him, strangely enough. Oh well. As Silas raised his .44, the mercenary suddenly screamed. "No! Please! Have mercy!" Silas could clearly hear the desperation in his voice and see it mirrored in his eyes. Silas took a hard look at the man...and laughed. "Let's not and say we did," Silas replied, before blowing the man's head open.
Silas punched through the final door, dodging the plasma fire as he did so. His target was packing some pretty impressive hardware. Silas fired with his magnum several times. His bullets found their mark, hitting the man in the shoulder and forcing him to drop his pistol. Then, Silas was upon him.
"I think we both know why I'm here, don't we, Mr. Cohen?" Silas said as he held his knife to Anthony Cohen's throat. "Maybe you shouldn't have been making deals with Raiders, should you? You've become a menace to the wastes, but the Moderators don't wanna stop you, because they're on your paycheck. Oh yes, they talk about how you 'give to the poor', but I'm not fooled. I know that you're just doing that so that they'll pay a little less attention to your business dealings. Now you've gotta pay the price." With that, Silas turned his knife to Cohen's hand and used it's brutal serrated edge to saw Cohen's finger off. The businessman screamed. Silas would've savored that, but he still had a job to do. Silas held the finger in his hand as Cohen whimpered.
"Alright, I'll stop!" Cohen gibbered. "Wait!" he screamed as he saw Silas raise his .44. "Please don't kill me! I'll stop, I'll stop! Don't shoot!"
Silas seemed to contemplate that for a moment, then said, "I could do that. Or, I could kill you right now and guarantee that you won't change your mind. Now tell me, which one seems smarter to you?" Before Cohen could respond, Silas pulled the trigger and blew the man's brains out.
Three weeks earlier, Cambridge, Massachusetts
"Now, this Roland Rockfort is a mere secondary target. Bear that in mind. He is not as important as your main mission, which I will detail later. But Rockfort is also a target when you reach DC. He, like yourself, was a human taken in by us here at the Institute and trained to be one of our infiltrator-assassins. At some point, something went horribly wrong in his brain and he levelled one of our Research and Development Centres with a large cache of explosives he had seemingly spent several months stockpiling under the building. He was a highly skilled operative, and as you know, he has a human mind, like yourself. However, unlike you, most of his body is still organic. Only his left arm and both of his legs are mechanical. They are also powered by hydraulics, rather than your own fibre-bunch system, and so can't quite come up to your level. He should be no trouble once you close on him. However, he is wily, and unpredictable. Extremely so. Catching him will be the problem, as opposed to actually killing him. He is known to be the captain of a derelict naval corvette with a fanatically loyal crew, although, they are organics, and should be a mere stepping stone in your path," the Handler said to the cyborg. He sighed and handed a file to the large, heavy-set beast of a soldier sitting relaxedly in a chair in front of him with its hands folded neatly at its waist.
"Your main mission is to remove the head from a large force amassing on the northeastern border of the DC area. We had a mole in their command for some time, and he has gone missing, presumably caught. What he has been able to tell us is that this is the 3rd Special Forces Regiment, an amalgamy of Pre-War Special Operatives from the Marine Corps Recon Force, the Navy SEALS, Army Rangers, Delta Force, Special Forces or "Green Berets" and the CIA Special Operations Corps. Presumably, they were kept in some bunker and have recently emerged, and intend to put the Capitol Region under Martial Law to restore some sembleance of order. However, the knock-on effect of this will likely force a large exodus of Raiders and the like into the Commonwealth, which will jeapordize our holdings and research here. That is a best-case scenario. Worst, they move on to us and force us under their yoke. You are to assassinate their High Command, a Colonel known as Jacob Vaughton and a Lieutenant Colonel named Dutch Holmes. Another target is a Major known as Daniel Stryker, who, for some reason, goes by the moniker "The Butcher of Utah". Kill them and anyone else wearing officer's insignia you come across in doing so, to prevent another taking over command," The Handler said brisquely. He straightened his tie and handed another file disk to the soldier in front of him. The soldier then rose from his seat and left the room, then the building itself. Upon gearing up at an armory, the soldier began sprinting, much faster than any human should be capable of, long, quick strides eating through the distance between him and his targets.
Present day, Washington DC
Kain Ruger finally came to a halt just East of the Capitol Wastelands, eyeing the area known as Jerusalem. It was the home ground of the Crusade, as they called themselves, and a heavily fortified area. A patrol waved at Kain as they passed, giving friendly greetings to which he only returned a casual nod. This was not a social assignment. He passed them on, leaving them perplexed and slightly hurt by the "Wastelander's" casual dismissal of their greeting. Usually locals would stop by and have a chat with the patrols. Maybe he was a raider. Of course, had he been a Raider, he'd have shot at them, and they'd have shot back, and killed the Raider.
Kain, was not a Raider. He was a large, extremely expensive cyborg. While the rest of the States had taken to petty bickering and degeneracy, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts had banded together to rebuild. And rebuild they did. The invested their science in the little-known technology of micro-processors and over 200 years, had all-but perfected them. They also invested in alternative energy, creating powerful, albeit rather rudimentary hydrogen fuel cells. In fact, the two Kain housed in his chest for power could light an entire city-block for a just over a week. They could keep Kain going for the next 150 years. He flexed his powerful hands as he walked, eager to tear his targets limb from bloody limb. He could do it too, tear them apart. Rather than simple hydraulics, his body worked off nanotube fibre-bunches that mimicked human muscle, though it was far more powerful. They were far lighter and stronger than old hydraulics to boot. Kain could crumble stone in his hands or punch through a human torso without any effort. Much like he planned to do to his targets.
More importantly, he had a human brain. He had once been human, but his life had taken a turn for the worse when one of his trade caravan's pack Brahmin got spooked and trampled him, breaking his neck. Luckily, they had been trading at the Institute and Kain had been treated by their doctors. Kain had accepted their proposal for him to test their newest Android Body-type, and had his brain hardwired into that body, much like in the Pre-War Robobrains. That gave him the power of a machine and the adaptive mind of a human. It could be said that he was the deadliets creature to walk this earth since the war. And he was here in DC to kill.
Alexis had been hoping to trade his latest supply of jet with strauss but it looked like the basterd had been stoped by those glory boys in the crusade.He didn't like struass the two of them had been rivals in the ileagle drugs trade for ages.A merchents oath bound them though and they had a deal that the only one who would kill either one of them would be the other not a crusade glory boy.Drawing his magnum he shot one of the crusaders before running down into the wreckage."Nice to see you again Strauss"he said before pointing his other gun at strauss head.
Strauss fired his Fat Man in the general direction of the Crusaders, forcing them to flee but killing none of them, before diving back into his dumpster, reaching into his coat and pulling out his 10mm SMG. "Yeah, you too, Lexie-boy!" He yelled before popping out of cover to open fire at Alexis, only to be forced back down by concentrated Thompson fire from the Crusaders. Abruptly, he picked up his Fat Man again, reloaded it and fired at the Crusaders, scattering them again, before vaulting out of his dumpster and charging towards Worthington's immobile hulk. (For purpose of reference, Worth in this RP is one of those bigass bipedal Sentry Bots from Fallout 2). He gave his power pack a heavy kick, which surprisingly booted him back up. "SYSTEMS ONLINE," The machine snarled evenly, its optical recievers scanning the battlefield before its minigun trained on Thomas again. Strauss started hurrying back to the trailer, keeping his Fat Man on his shoulder with one hand as he continued to fire at Alexis inaccurately whilst running.
Alexis fired off a pair of shots at strauss.This had been going on for godknows how long now.This paticular battle was but one of several that the two of them had fought against each other in.Alexis ofloaded another shot at the crusaders."Strauss.Stop for a minute we should be dealing with the crusaders.Even if we can't now meet me in canterbury commons in a day.All the traders will be there were going to see what we can do about the crusade".Alexis hid behind a rock before starting towards canterbury commens.
Silas smiled as he walked away from the building. His contact would be pleased at his performance. (Not sure who his bounty-hunting contact should be at this time. Unable to choose between Allistair Tenpenny, Eulogy Jones, or Three Dog. Will take suggestions.) Anthony Cohen killed, his finger harvested, and his mercenary bodyguards all slain. And Silas had barely suffered any loss, besides some minor wounds and a loss of ammunition. Silas was itching to go after another target again, maybe one of those bastard drug or arms dealers or an Enclave target. Personally, Silas would be happy to go after the Crusade as well, but no one would pay him to do that, and, if you can do a job well, you don't do it for free. Ultimately, of course, whether or not Silas got paid is insignificant, but he still needed money to obtain what he couldn't steal or take by force.
Silas' musings were interrupted by the sound of explosions in the distance. Something was going down. Silas drew out his City-Killer and began to moving in the direction of the explosions. With any luck, he could acquire more weaponry, money, and ammunition by killing whoever was fighting up here.
Silas crested a rise, his shotgun traded out for the Divider, and look down. A patrol of Crusaders were locked in combat with a large robot, a man in a long coat, and some kind of mercenary. The second two appeared to be fighting each other as they fought the Crusaders. Oh well, Silas thought as he laid prone and began preparing to snipe his enemies. Their loss. Fighting each other weakens them against my assault. Silas aimed for the one with the nuclear catapult and the long coat first. He looked through the scope, centered his aim, calculated for distance and wind, and pulled the trigger.
"Oh, shit, I dropped something!" Strauss said to himself, bending down in his trailer to pick something that fell out of his coat up as a .223 FMJ round flew over his head. He was, of course, oblivious towards the distant noise of the sniper rifle's shot through all the racket and gunfire. He got back up to fire again at the Crusaders but was surprised to see a high-calibre bullet hole forming in the side of the dumpster from behind him. Strauss took a wild guess and deduced what this meant. He swooped down, picked up his Fat Man, loaded it and propped it against the side of the dumpster as he prepared to take a parting shot at the Crusaders. Suddenly, another bullet hole appeared in the mini-nuke, and this one seemed to have overpenetrated and went out the other side. Strauss brought his Fat Man down to check. The nuke was wrecked, but the dickhead had obviously tried to make it explode before he fired it. "NUKES DON'T WORK LIKE THAT!" He shrieked, to no one in particular but presumably directed towards the sniper. "LEARN PHYSICS, YOU DUMB FUCKUP! Aww, shit. Worthington! Get me out of here!" The Sentry Bot ceased firing on the Crusaders, gave them one last missile as a final gift before wading over to the dumpster, looping the industrial chains attached to the front around its shoulders and taking off in a loping run, dragging the trailer surprisingly quickly for its size while Strauss huddled in the back, cowering from automatic and sniper fire.
Weston noitced somethingfall out of the trailer. Well, two things.The first is what looked like to be a shotgun. The second, was a crate of ammo. Sprtining past what little gunfire was left, Weston slid and grabbed both things at the same time, before ending up behind of what used to be a pre-war car. Opening up the ammo box, Weston looked inside, inside the box was another box. And so Weston opened that box up. Inside that box that was within the ammo box was another box that read Bean-Bag Shotgun RShells. Grinning from ear to ear, Weston grabbed all tghshells inside said box and stuffed them within one of hisoockets. Putting a shell into the shotgun breech, Weston racked the silde, before hurying back to Crusader lines.
Now, all he needed was a slingshot and he was good to go, at least, combat wise.
Silas swore and quickly scrambled away from where he had been laying. The enemy would soon turn their fire towards where he was, he was sure. Silas knew he would do the same if his positions were reversed. Silas had gotten a good look at those robots, and he knew who he was dealing with. Conor Strauss. No one else would have the brass balls necessary to surround himself with an entourage of vicious attack robots, take on Crusaders in combat, and pursue open dealings with raiders. Silas knew where he was going, then: Canterbury Commons. That sprawling settlement to the northeast was rife with crime, true, but it was one of the prime slave-selling and black market hubs in the Capital Wastes. The gangs and merchants there hated each other, but they were smart enough to band together to fight back incursions by the Brotherhood, the Crusade, and the Moderators. There was little doubt in Silas' mind that that's where Strauss was headed. That other one then was probably one of Strauss' rivals, presumably Issachar or this Ashton fellow that he was suddenly hearing so much about. Still, best not to jump to conclusions. When night fell, Silas would track Strauss down and "acquire" some of his goods. Perhaps his contact would pay him extra if he "liberated" Worthington and one of Conor's fingers while he was at it.
Alexis made his way slowly into canterbury commens on the back of a cart tied to 2 brahmin.The cart pulled to a halt and Uncle Roe's helpers started unloading the cart."Drugs alexis?"."Yup Uncle Roe".The helpers started unloading the cart and replacing the cargo with bags of caps."Is everyone here Roe?"he asked."Just about lex".Alexis hated being called that but he had to put up with it if he wanted Roe's custom.The two of them made there way into Dot's Diner where the majority of the trading world was set round a table.Himself,Uncle Roe,Moria Brown,Lucky Harith,and crow.Strauss,Rascon,Rockfort and Velasquez were absent but struass was normaly late and the other 3 had minds of their own.
"As the required numbers of traders are now present we will begin the confrence"Roe said."First on the list is the issue of the crusade.As we all know they have been stoping traders and convoys.This is VERY bad for buisness and somthing must be done.Sugestions?". Alexis raised his hand,"We hire mercs?".Roe shaked his head "to expensive.Any other sugestions?"
"Simple man!" Dumbass Jack then kicked the door in, and the whole room turned to look at him. "Peace man! The man is trying to get you all down by stealing your goods!" Jack then grabbed some nearby Jet, and used the drug. "Put that on my tab man. Anyway, all you got to do is sell all your weapons to that Bren Teknage guy! He'll fight the Crusade, taking the man" Jack then shook his fist at the sky "Down a peg man! "Now he'll give you a good price for your herbs, guns, clothing, which I think we shouldn't wear from now on man, and treasures " Jack then pointed to Unlucky Harris, adorned in gold "for buckets of drugs and chicks man! Now lets go, the man fighting doesn't do itself!" Jack then took some more jet, along with grabbing some Rad Weed "Borrowing this man".
Strauss had spent he entire meeting making eyes at Moira Brown, to which she'd responded by alternating between looking at him oddly and glaring at him. Eventually she flipped him off, which stung Strauss to the core. Alas, rejection was a terrible thing. He swallowed sadness (LIKE A BOSS!) before staring at his feet for a moment, fighting off tears. However, when the crazy guy on drugs started rambling about some shit, he looked up and raised his voice, pointing at the man whilst looking at the rest of the crowd. "Alright, let's not listen to this dumb fuck. What I would suggest is that we start arming the Raiders at discount prices with whatever cheap-ass shit we can afford to spare, and give 'em whatever incentive they need to start attacking the Crusade some more. What we cannot do is arm Bren Tenkage. That fucker couldn't tell the difference between a bit of timber and a leg, let alone a Crusader from fuck knows who else. Hell knows how he became a Raider captain. Fucking moron." There was a few murmurs of agreement from the crowd. He sneaked another glance at Moira who seemed to be sufficiently amused by what he'd said. Hell yeah! Second chance! Straussie's got a way with the ladies, he thought. "But anyway, we just need to throw the Raiders at the bastards. There's enough of them to pose a threat but they're not organised enough to do so. What we need to do is give 'em a reason to pool their shit together and start working in groups."
"I can help with that," Kain said as he walked into the room, slowly, each step hinting at his strength. He wanted some chaos in DC to cover his trail after he destroyed this Vaughton and his officer cadre. The Raiders attacking the Crusade would be excellent in that role. A full-blown war to disappear into when his work was done. Kain waved away a guard as he went and stopped when he heard the all-too-familiar sound of a revolver being cocked behind his head. Two shots rang out and Kain went to the ground, caught off-guard. He'd expected the fool thug to make a threat. No matter. If anything, this was better.
++Rebooting Secondary Systems_ _ _++
Kain shook his head slowly as he rolled over. He stood up slowly as the guard backed off and everyone was now staring at the seemingly invulnerable newcomer.
"Go ahead little man, shoot me. If you think it'll work this time," Kain said. Holding his hand out straight like a blade, Kain stepped forward, forcing his hand into the man's chest and clean through, impaling him. Kain then turned back to Roe and Alexis, and the still-standing Strauss, who were all staring at him, with his blood-drenched forearm, and the corpes lying at his feet, it's chest opened by this man's bare hands. "Now, will you listen, or shall I kill someone else?"
Kain stood with his hands on his hips, awaiting an answer. His plan would either force the raiders together, or scatter them irrevocably. Either way, Kain would have some decent chaos to meld into after killing Vaughton and his high command. And things would only get more anarchic when a regiment of bloodthirsty and highly-trained soldiers were unleashed on the wasteland without the controlling influences of their officers.
"Ohhh, wait!" came a voice from down the hall/
And in came Marshall Rascon. Possibly one of the most fucked up people person you would ever know. Taking a siweat at the spot of the table that he, well, sits at, Marshall waved to everybody having a little simile on his face.
"Soooo, how's everybody doing?" he said, with a slight lisp to his voice.
As some people might have noticed a very,very,very long time ago, Marshall was a fruitcake. A poofer. A Faggot. Whatever you want to call him, he was that. However, he openly diednied it even though everybody knew it. He sold medical suppiles, under the counter stuff. Mainly, smuggling it past roadblocks to groups of raiders. He did have some very powerfdull stuff, like super-stimpacks. That, and he had a lot of Med-X. He also sold someArmour, but, that was about it.
"OH-MY-GAWD! IS....IS THAT GUY LIKE, DEAD?!" Marshall shouted, one hand clutching his chest and the other pointing to the dead body on the ground.
"Ho, Jesus Mary an' Joseph!" Roland abandoned ship as soon as he saw Kain take that guy down. As far as he could remember, the pirate knew three people who had ever been able to do something like that; and he'd killed one of them. The others were himself, and Kain Ruger, Institute Manslayer Extraordinaire. Assuming that he wasn't seeing things from third person, and the guy who had came in was in fact Kain Ruger, it was time for the smaller, infinitely-more-fucked Rockfort to lose the soldier's trail again. So he took a bandolier of smoke-bombs that were strung across his chest, produced a Zippo lighter from the pocket of his vest, lit all of the fuses in one fluorish, dropped the bandolier on the floor and backflipped out a nearby window as they exploded. When the smoke had cleared, the Pirate King of the USA had dissappeared again.
Thomas crawled from cover, shaking his head as the radioactive dust cleared from the Fat Man launch. "Goddamit, Strauss." Thomas muttered. Slinging his Thompson over his shoulder, Thomas waited patiently as the squad rejoined him, with Mendez at the front of the regrouping. "The fucker got away again, Major." Mendez said, slinging his own APAR. Thomas nodded in politeness at the obvious, then looked upwards as dust began to swirl. Two VTOLs, marked and colored in distinctive Crusade Carbon, spun their rotors overhead as the first one slowly touched down, spraying Thomas' desert camo BRA armor in irradiated dust and dirt. From the inside stepped a power armored Airborne Captain, who snapped a salute to the savior of the wastes. "Noon to ya, Major." The Captain said with crisp military precision. "Afternoon to you as well, Captain." Thomas said. His voice trailed off as he looked at the tracks leading towards distant Canterbury Commons, the most despicable place in the Capitol Wastes. So that's where Strauss went... typical, thought Thomas. The Captain began again. "We were on patrol when we caught wind of the mushroom cloud, Major. Ground Control had lost contact with you, and they sent us to investigate. I presume you need a ride?" The Captain asked. Behind him, several other power armored figures stood waiting, either with guns at the ready outside or on the inside of the VTOL at the ramp. "Yes, Captain... That would be most appreciated. Tell your pilots to contact Ground Control, and get us another pair of Whirlies... I feel like burning the Commons today." Thomas said, then stepped past the Captain into the VTOL as he saluted to Thomas. The squad followed suit, entering the bird as it's passengers all gathered onboard. 'I've got you now, you rotten bastard... Thomas thought. Goddamn Strauss wrecking his attempts at peace an' shit.
"Its ok! Just leave me here! I'll be fine!"
Weston said to the departing Vertibird. Of course, this was acoopmained by a sincere wave and smile, and a quick rush to his two brhamnin. And, his trwo reamining robots followed behind him. Looking at the newshotgun, he quickly glanced at the shells.
I wonder if there fit in double barrells.... Weston thought idly.
Grabbing a Double Barreled shotgun, he broke it open and inserted a shell. It somehow fit perfectly.
"Cool! All the shotgun shells around here work everywhere,i cguess."
Doing a little happy dance,. Westton looked at both the shotguns for a second. Which one? A double barrel one or a Pump-action one.
Throwing the pump action shotgun away, he clutched the double barreled shotgun. Looking around, he saw that, well, he was alone. Shurgging, he went on his merry way. That is, until his body finally lost all the aldernine that it had just semi-used during the pirate attack and raid. Clooapsing on the ground, he began to whimper and cry.
"OW!" He howled.
That went on for a good hour or so, or, at least until someone who was passing by kicked him. The, he got up and started following the old pre-war road to Big-Town. He did'nt know it was a post-war varitant of a freaking castle and home to some of the wastelands oldest people, but, whatever.
As the group of merchants and dealers sat dumbfounded, both by Kain's gory exhibition of brute strength and by Roland's very sudden escape, a deep baritone voice boomed from the back of the room. "Very impressive, Man of Steel," the voice intoned. Its speaker was a large, dark, tattooed man in tribal clothing armed with a smattering of tribal weapons and a hunting rifle. Issachar usually didn't come to these meetings, as they were a little far from where he operated. Which was fine by him. This allowed him to stay out of the merchants' machinations as much as possible. Many in the room didn't even know his name, and those that did didn't know much else, in most cases. Roe was the only person who knew most of what there was to know about Issachar: how his tribe had split up, how Issachar and some of his brethren headed south to stay away from the dangers of the north, and how they set up a safehouse system in order to deal a little bit of everything to the people of the wastes. Issachar was an enigma to these people, which was just fine to him.
"You've proposed to help this tribe of merchants in their battle with the hated Crusade. Yet we know nothing of how you plan on helping. My brothers can easily deal arms and armor to the raid-dogs of this land. What do you possess besides strength that can help us?" Issachar was interested. Rarely did he meet someone like this steel man in front of him (Yes, I know Kain isn't made of steel, nor does he look like he is. It's a figure of speech.) Issachar was fairly certain that he would be willing to accept the stranger's aid, but there was only room for one secretive member of this merchant circle, and that position belonged to Issachar.
Cain Ro was sitting down, watching his leader speak to the “Steel” man. Cain had encountered one of these men before, with two other tribals. He had been escaping from some place, and the machine had given them a description of himself, his life, and how he existed. It was an interesting story, but none the less the man was carrying the AER12 laser rifle Cain was holding in his hands now. And as he left the safety of the fox hole the tribals were hiding in, Cain fired twice into the back of the mans head with the Gauss pistol he had acquired.
This started a fire fight, ending with one of the tribals dead, and the man/machine with his head blown to pieces from the gauss pistol, and the other tribals pulse grenade. Oddly, the man was telling the truth about the entire story, and held a large amount of holodics in storage departments spread throughout the machines body. He changed his life that day, no longer living on the past deeds of society, hanging on too the spare technology he had left. Stealing the Machines lab coat before he came back to the village, he soon spread the tale of the Machine.
Cain finally finished tinkering with AER12 rifle, setting it too “Tank” mode. This would waste most of the ammo in the weapon rather quickly, but Cain didn’t really care. He stood up, walking towards the back, still clutching his rifle. Turning around, he looked in the Machines direction. “Here’s a fun fact. This gun was originally used as a multi purpose killing tool by the army, cutting edge. It’s best feature? The ability to change firing modes. For instance, lets say I just wanted to kill some one. I switch too “Unarmored” and fire. Wastes one energy cell. However, lets say I was facing something a light armored vehicle, like a Jeep? They aren’t around these days, but you should have a basic idea of what they are, am I right "Common Man"? Anyway, it’s a setting called “Light Armored”. Now here’s the fun part. There’s one setting called tank, it takes up a lot of ammo per shot, but it sure as hell gets the job done. Anyway, this thing ‘’burns’’ through the exterior of a tank, into the interior. Needless to say, I can kill you while everyone else in here can’t. However, I’m not going to do that, as you seem like you could help fill my wallet. Instead, I'm going to let Issacher decide what to do."