Well, for awhile I've been having trouble finding the willpower to sit down and type, but tonight I finally pulled myself away from tearing through Broken Steel and replaying Mass Effect to get some stuff down. It's not long enough to be it's own installment, but it's certainly on it's way to being ready. Hopefully I'll have it ready during the weekend.

Just go play Mass Effect. I personally understand. I was addicted to that game so badly...but now I have Fallout 3. lol

Merrison blinked his eyes. Morning once again. He'd been crawling across miles of wasteland for two days now. He slowly emerged from the ruined homestead he had taken shelter in. It was still miles away from the LZ in The Mall, but crying, to date, has not shown any transportational qualities. Wordlessly, he stowed his troubles and consumed a meager ration. The heat was really starting to kick in, and Vladimir was seriously starting to miss his helmet. Cooled gel insulation inside the armor kept the enclave rank-and-file nice and comfy, but only if they actually had said armor. He checked his rifle and started down the road.

Terror got up from his lawn chair in the middle of the dry, cracked road. Slapping away his fellow raider's hand, he casually proceeded with his argument. "Naw, man. You don't... you don't get it, man. Psycho isn't freein' us. It's shacklin' us down, man. Same with that jet junk. It's just a fix, man. We're gonna run out, some day, man, and we're gonna be sorry." His compatriot, Spleen, guffawed.

"Aw shad'dup, you wanna' quit takin', you just send me your supply any day of the week. I'll 'handle' it for ya'"
"Screw you, you know I'm just sayin',"
"Would you morons keep your mouths shut for five minutes? You're givin' me a goddam' headache. Two days and barely any traffic. We're gonna die out here if we don't move on." The third raider, a female that demanded she be called Fiend barked, irritatedly.
"Well, we got... other... things we could so, sweet." Terror said with a wicked smirk to accompany the subtlety-deprived statement he'd just delivered.
"Right, in the middle of the road when the sun is high in the sky? Get real, you loser." Fiend was in no mood for the typical raider BS. It's not like she slept with them out of attraction, the two main reasons were simply for a few thugs she could control, and boredom. And, with raiders, when it came to six, you could either try denying them or manipulating them. Fiend preferred having a troop of drugged up thugs under her command over being the slave of some wasteland psychopaths.
"'Ey, shut up, shut up. Everyone shut up. I think someone's coming!" Fiend's eyes darted up the road. Finally, some clown in armor just sauntering up the road. That meant pricey goods to sell and maybe even energy weapons.
"Alright boys, hide!"

All three raiders dove to their hiding spots. Desperate not to make a noise, lest they alert their prey prematurely. When it came to these armored types, occasionally they knew their stuff, which meant you had to surprise them. Fast and hard, your crew survives and you get the bounty. Fiend's breaths were short and fast. She forced herself to calm down, at least slowing her breathing.

Vladimir casually walked up the road, getting to the bottom of the small hill the road went over. Merrison saw some fairly large boulders near the road, his eyes scanned for any sign of ambush. Nothing. He walked slowly, keeping his eyes moving, constantly scanning for threats. This could be a harmless geographical feature, or it could be the machinations of murderers. Either way, Vlad wasn't planning on-

Did that rock just quiver? As Merrison's senses slowly reacted to the image not making sense in his mind, the raiders leapt from their positions, attacking him. The first was clumsy, holding a lead pipe high above his head and charging, already in a furor. The sergeant delivered a hard kick to his stomach, the man hunched over from the sudden surpise, whirling towards him he grabbed him by the neck and delivered a punch to his nose. A sharp crack and a scream erupted from the raider as blood began pouring from his face. The second swung a... sword? How the devil did this wasteland punk find a sword out here? The sword connected with the chest plates, bouncing off harmlessly. No matter how he got the antique weapon, sharpened metal sticks were no match for advanced, refined steel armor. However, Merrison was painfully aware of his exposed neck. Swiftly grabbing the sword, he stuck the weapon all the way through it's original owner's leg. The man howled as the tip poked out through the back of his calf. He toppled over and Vlad was about to return to dealing with the original punk when a shrill yell pierced the sweltering day scene.

"Hands up, you stupid bastard."

Some woman was holding a 10mm pistol. Vladimir was about to teach her a valuable lesson on talking before shooting when he realized he wasn't wearing a helmet. He might reach her before a shot connected with his head, but if he was wrong, and she was a better shot than he thought, his story ended here. He opened his palms and raised them over his head. Terror walked over to Spleen and pulled the sword out of his leg. "Fie, you see what this sonuva[censored] just did to Spleen?"
"Yeah. Alright, cowboy. On your knees." Merrison hesitated for a moment, taking a moment to evaluate his situation tactically.
"I said on your goddam' knees!" The woman screamed, showing the pistol once again. Slowly, he got onto his knees, keeping his hands on his head, his eyes still locked with the woman's.
"Patch up Spleen. Get him to look over our friend's fancy armor."
Terror, deciding that his small stash of stimpaks was not worth a bloody leg, hit Spleen with a mild dose of Med-X. That'd hold him. Cursing, Spleen got up and looked over the armored man.
"Lie flat on your chest, hands on your head, punk." The sergeant did so slowly and with deliberation, but complied. Like some raider punks could figure out advanced enclave tech with a simple frisk. Spleen began tapping different plates with some kind of metal stick or rod. When he reached the compartments, two hollow ringing sounds were the only noise at the scene.
"...I think the cowboy's got some shiny holsters, Fie. Pass me the crowbar."

Merrison was a man who believed in God, and right now he multi-tasked between silently cursing and wondering just what it was that he'd done that had offended the Almighty. He considered flexing his hands, popping the compartments and taking his chances, but he was flat on the ground, and there was a loaded weapon pointed at him. Time to let things play out as they did. Prying open the two compartments, the raider known as "Spleen" had eyes as wide as saucers as he found the two laser pistols and four battery cells for them.

"Hot damn! He's got pre-war tech! This stuff kicks ass!" The female raider they kept calling "Fie" quickly grabbed a pistol and two cells. Dropping the pistol she had, she flashed the sergeant a malicious grin. "You can get a lot done with an empty pistol, eh?" Vladimir kept his face impassive. He wouldn't let her have the satisfaction of seeing an emotion being provoked. No, fate had a way of repaying this kinds of things. Specifically, the red flash of light that began marring the face of Terror. He fell over, clutching his face, screaming. Before he could turn around, Spleen received his own helping of lethal energy as two bolts caught him in the back, falling over without a sound. Fiend even got a few shots off before a red salvo caught her. Vlad looked around, he could see in the distance dark figures walking near, and the familiar sound of a voice being projected through the vocal filters of a power armor helmet. "All clear."

Knight Kacinzky didn't mean to say 'all clear'. He was, after all, by himself. It was just a force of habit. Near the raiders he'd just taken out, someone was getting up and collecting small black objects from the bodies. A prisoner? Whatever the case, Kacinzky was just satisfied knowing three less raiders plagued the wastes. He slowly approached, raising his rifle as he saw the all-too-familiar Tesla armor enclave troops wore.

Merrison realized he was from that cult of terrorists, the Brotherhood, and that in about four seconds he'd be killed for being in Enclave regalia. His life now depended on the acting ability of a staff sergeant, and the gullibility of a patrolman.

"Wait, don't shoot me! I'm... I'm a scavenger. Found this armor on the body of some Enclave supertroop or whatever. Looked like deathclaws took 'em out. I just repaired it and used it."

Kacinzky was skeptical, and kept his rifle raised.

"Wearing that armor isn't a skill you're born with. Better explain how you can take a step in that before I waste you."
"Used to be a... merc. We'd repurpose armor all the time. Comes with the job."

Kacinzky locked eyes with the stranger, trying to decipher the truth. His story was shaky, but it did make sense. Slowly, he lowered the rifle.
"Well, I'm heading towards the Mall, scav. You can tag along if you're heading that way, but I can't let you slow me down. If you're not heading that way... Well, next time, don't get caught by raiders."
Merrison quickly reviewed his situation. Two trained troops had a better shot at making it to the Mall than just one, even if one was a filthy terrorist.
"Suppose I'll tag along, Mr...?"
"Kacinzky. Knight Kacinzky."
"Ralph."
"Well, Ralph, it's time to move.

The days passed quickly and with little in the way of action. Occasionally some indigenous wildlife would try to attack them, but the fiery red death that could be summoned from their rifles stood ever ready to protect them from the harshes of Post-Apocalyptia. Over their resting periods, Merrison maintained his scavenger cover story, and learned that Kacinzky had apparently been with a returning patrol from the Brotherhood that was being re-assigned to their outpost at the Washington monument. Seemed that anyone who wanted to get to The Mall had trouble arriving with living comrades, Merrison observed. He said as little as possible, the more he said, the bigger the chance he said something that contradicted his story. Kacinzky was a decent shot, and he seemed like an agreeable fellow. As far as people watching his back, he couldn't imagine getting anyone better. Anyone not from the Enclave, at least.

The fire crackled as another dead log was tossed into it's center to sustain it. The two armored men sat, staring into it's yellow-orange depths, thinking. It was one of the few pasttimes left in the wasteland. It was also the one that most often led to nihilism, pessimism and loss of hope. Kacinzky wondered if they'd reach the monument without any further complications. Vlad silently contemplated the series of events in the past couple of days that led him to where he now resided. The crash was unpleasant, to say the least. The violence was nerve-wracking. But the death... the death was what made active duty in the field so terrible. Merrison was a veteran. He knew how to keep calm when it was his life on the line, but seeing the boys and girls that served their government faithfully lying on the ground, bleeding to death, that was what left so many soldiers shell-shocked. For the most part, he simply avoided it. Whether he blocked out the sound of their screams, or averted his eyes from those that were rapidly losing their unique, divine spark of life; in the end, all he was really doing was avoiding death. He continued to gaze into the campfire.
"You got a family, Joseph? The scavver only addressed him by his first name when they were resting, Kacinzky had noticed. Probably a habit he'd developed during his combat time. He was actually a pretty surprising person, not many mercs had the kind of discipline he had. Or the intelligence to know when to quit.

"Yeah. No kids, but I've got a wife back at the citadel. One of the scribes. The brotherhood needs more infantry, but I tell you, Ralph, if I thought she was out here squaring off against muties and raiders, I think I might just lose it."
Merrison grunted in reply. Family man. He seemed like a sharp kid. Couldn't be more than twenty-eight, though. Then again, when it came to relationships out here, time isn't something you could squander.
"What about you, Ralph? Got a special woman waiting for you back home?"
Merrison paused, as with all questions regarding his 'past' he'd need to consider it. Immediately, he narrowed his eyes and looked directly above Kacinzky's head. He snatched his laser rifle from it's resting spot and brought it up. Kacinzky was obviously confused, but knew not to move. His breathing stilled to almost nonexistence. Merrison took a deep breath, lined up his shot, and turned the face of the yao-guai attempting to sneak up on the knight into a burning smattering of super-heated goo.

As the mass of fur and muscle collapsed, Kacinzky let himself breathe once again and turned around to face his would-be killer's corpse. He turned back to Ralph and gave him the nod that could only be recognized by those that had saved another's life, or had their life saved. It was a wordless thank-you, but between soldiers, it spoke volumes. It didn't hurt, however, that they now would be able to partake in roast yao-guai meat for their dinner. As they finished consuming their portions of the hearty meal, they both nodded and went to their respective cots, ready for sleep after a long, long day.

Kick ass! I love your writing. I also see that you decided to do this instead of Mass Effect. I have to say that this was the better choice.

Wow, you've got quite the talent! And a good story aswell!

:clap:

'nuff said.

good job man

I cannot sum up this awesomeness in a word... So, will this do? :clap:

Excellent work. Not many people can convincingly write a someone as bad-ass as your Enclave character. I look forward to more.

Kacinzky looked around for a moment. Yes, undoubtedly, he'd identified the problem.

Everything was pitch black.

Removing his helmet, he gave it a quick inspection. The visor's light-adjusters had screwed up. Now they had adjusted to their darkest setting, making the world around the wearer pitch black. No parts to repair it out here, he'd have to get a new one at the monument. He set in on the tallest rock near him. Who knows, maybe some raider dirtbag would see it and think this is Brotherhood territory and turn tail. Not that there was any population around here that would be saved, but sometimes, just knowing that the scum were scared into a different route was reward enough. The air was dry. When you're encased in a comfortable suit of armor for long enough, you start to forget why you put it on in the first place. The wasteland's inhospitable climate was quick to remind him.

They, that is, himself and the scav, Ralph, had been travelling this road for a few days. No doubt only a day and a half, give or take, 'till they reached The Mall. Apart from some of the local wildlife and the raiders that seemed to frequent this road in particular, the journey wasn't half bad. Kacinzky wasn't sure what Ralph thought of it. For a scavenger, this might be the most action-packed couple of days in his entire life. Kacinzky, however, operated alone. Working around, or sometimes right through, hostile territory was as routine as going to pick up the paper. Or, it would be, if they still had papers to pick up. Was that a... sign? The knight moved closer to inspect it, careful to watch for mines or, as the raiders had been using more and more frequently, baby carriages full of explosives and a recording of a baby crying. Ralph said nothing, cautiously moving his rifle around, checking for any possible hiding spots for assailants to leap from, or for any approaching hostiles from the horizon. Kacinzky read the sign aloud.

"Beware. 106 territory."

The knight was surprised. Most raider crews had more vicious-sounding titles. Even fewer actually had numbers at all, much less only numbers. He discarded the pseudo-psychological review as he came to terms with the fact that, no matter the title, raiders were all just wild dogs. Wild dogs with different packs. And wild dogs simply needed to be put down. He slowly walked up to Ralph.

"Raider turf. We can either move around, it'll take more time, but we won't need to sweat the psychos, or we can go right through and save a bundle of time."
Ralph snorted decisively, "Cut a swath through. Saves time and we might do the world a favor if any of these junkies try to jump us."
Kacinzky liked the scavenger. He didn't say much, as opposed to most of the scavs, who talked as if the minute they stopped they'd never get to say another word, and often with aggression. Not to mention, he wasn't afraid of the wastes. Not many wastelanders who could claim that truthfully. And, though he didn't say much, he seemed to be warming to the knight as well. At least from what Kacinzky saw.

Hours later, they'd trekked halfway through the so-called 106 territory. They'd met a few raiders, and the raiders in turn met quick deaths. However, the sun was rapidly descending from the sky. Soon, it'd be too dark to see by, especially without the nightvision his helmet, had it been functioning, could've provided, and definitely too dark to fight off raiders in. So, after looking for a suitably secure location, they found a rusty, sheet-metal shack with a single door. Cautiously invading the tin sanctuary, they moved through the two adjoined rooms swiftly and silently. Meeting no resistance, they were satisfied that it was clear. Rolling out their cots, the knight and Ralph were allowed the luxury of a restful night in their rusting port-in-the-storm.

The morning came swiftly, and with it, the dull ache of sleeping in the makeshift environs that the wasteland provided. It was better than what some had to endure, sleeping on damp, moldy entanglements of springs and soggy fluff. Checking his weapon, he woke the scavenger. Time was wasting, and they needed to get moving. Ralph was up and about, giving a wordless thank-you to the knight for the wake-up. Checking his laser rifle, he cautiously opened the door.

The morning was still in it's earlier phases, and the light had not become harshly bright quite yet. Scanning the horizon, he didn't notice any immediate threats. Merrison despised this location. Surrounded by rocks, boulders and other makeshift huts, this was as close to urban warfare as the Capitol Wasteland got. And as every grunt knew, urban warfare was a pain in the ass. Any corner left unchecked was crammed with hostiles. Any room cleared haphazardly was the site of an impending ambush. And worst of all, the enemy had lots of cover, and knew how to get it.

Kacinzky stepped out. Although he missed his helmet's light compensators, it was a fairly decent morning. Didn't make up for the fact that they were now left with the unenviable task of navigating a road potentially full of psychopathic murderers, but, all in all, it was more to look forward to than The Mall. In that godforsaken warzone, the only good news was when you got to man a post inside it's high, thick, stone walls. Those poor bastards guarding the gate got a thigh-high wall of sandbags and big guns to compensate for being in direct line of sight of the super mutant trenches. And yet, still they stood, ever vigilant, forcefully ignorant of the fact that, while their miniguns and gattling lasers could pump out so much firepower in such rapid succession that they could trim hedges with them, they still had an effective range under that of a decently-maintained hunting rifle. Those were the mutants you had to watch for. The ones with hunting rifles. Those minigun-toters and nailboard-swingers would be lucky to make it halfway towards the sandbags before they were mowed down by the unstoppable wave of lead and energy-based death that was about to wash over them.

He shook it off. Time to focus. The two power-armored travellers began their slow trek through the shanty town.

The raider twitched. Sneaky bastard. Vlad put a final laser blast into his forehead. That's how you could tell if they were dead or wounded. A wound from combat makes people smart. And the smart people try to fake their deaths. Luckily, their bodies are still reeling from the foreign affects of gunfire and do a passable-at-best attempt at keeping still. Unfortunately for these scumbags, Merrison was searching for survivors in an attempt far beyond passable-at-best. An uncontrolled twitch warranted a steady, carefully-lined shot to put the target down for good. It was the ones who tilted their heads and tried to talk that the sergeant would dispatch with haste. The talkers were the dangerous ones. They had enough energy to talk, maybe they had enough energy to conceal a weapon. Or pull the pin on a grenade. Or worse still, figure out a way to barter for their life. If you put the barrel of a gun in the face of a man, he'll never be able to fully trust you ever again. If you shoot a man, as long as he continues to draw breath, he'll want your head. So letting these abhorrent cockroaches attempt to barter for their lives was entirely out of the question. One of them might have something worth their life, which let emotion get into the picture. Specifically, greed. One greedy man lets his enemy live in exchange for something, he'll get screwed over eventually. It's a simple fact.

So Merrison treated it like the exchange it was. The battle has been completed, now he was just cleaning up the remains. The remains in question were those of more raiders, these ones wearing extremely dirty vault suits, with a designation that appeared to be of 106. They had jumped the two without so much as a word. Until the actual combat began, at which point the whole bloody lot of them couldn't stop screaming. Kacinzky was watching Ralph's back as he finished off their aggressors. Another encounter survived, another day in the wastes. At the very least, Knight Kacinzky noted, by the end of the day, they arrive at The Mall.
-----------------------------------
The first half of an installment. Will post the the second half in the next few days. I've got big plans for it. Ooh, I'm excited.
:P
Letters From The Mall lives once more!
-Dracth

:clap:

Someone looking for that emotion?

Anyway man, you deserve it, this [censored] pretty damn good.

I can't believe how fast the stories sink now, with the flood of new additions to these play-by-post RPs. Less then a day after I posted the newest update, it was on the second page.

Working on the next installment. With any luck, by the end of the week we'll see the newest addition

Sorry for the very, very late response to all the great fanfic you wrote.

Overall, I love your creativity and the potential each story has to become something much bigger.

Things I totally want answered:

- What is up with double agent intelligent mutants? How can they be so eloquent and deceitful? I'm curious!

- You've introduced quite a few characters. Are you going to intertwine and connect them in upcoming chapters? That would be sweet.

- Let me know if you write Mass Effect fan fiction - that's my 2nd favorite RPG (FO3 FTW!). lol Would love to read it too (obviously from a different forum web site)!

As to the first and third questions, only time will tell.

Regarding the second, it will be starting in the next chapter, a secret that would have been kept concealed were it not for your unnaturally high perception.

Sorry! I knew I shouldn't have picked up that Perception Bobblehead! lol

Wow, seriously. I've read tons of fanfics on this board and on fanfiction.net. So far, -none- have beaten yours! It reads like a train, the story is very interesting and makes me hunger for more, the atmosphere is simply perfect in tune with the characters and vice versa. Keep it up!!

Adrian

Absolutely remarkable writing, bravo :clap:

This is very interesting can u make more? and how soon

The sight of rusted metal had become disgustingly constant. Kacinzky was about ready to take a Fat-Man to level the place, and if he saw one more of these damned huts, he might just do it. But whoever had been in charge of the architecture had been feeling somewhat merciful, apparently, as he could see the end of the small valley up ahead. A narrow exit, flanked on either side by large walls of rock. The knight clenched his rifle tightly. Narrow passages were the perfect spots for an ambush, and whoever had been assigned to ambush placement had, as anyone who'd been with Ralph and Kacinzky would know, not been feeling anywhere near as merciful as the architect. For the past mile and a half, they had been ambushed left and right. At this point he wasn't even sure they could be called ambushes, as that was what they had come to expect.

Merrison narrowed his eyes. The exit to what could only be described as a labyrinth of marauding madmen. He wasn't worried about dying, no more so than anyone in the middle of a warzone, at least, but he only had two full batteries left for his rifle, and for both pistols he had a combined total of two batteries left. He wasn't quite sure how this 106 crew got this many people. No doubt some up-and-coming thug managed to cow some of the weaker sheep into following his lead, and simply expanded from there.

A full-blown apocalypse later, and the world was still run by overbearing, petty tyrants. One day, however, the Enclave would prevail, and all the thieves and murderers and despots would be driven before them, the ever-vigilant Enclave. But that was certainly not this day, and he wouldn't make it to the next if he continued to philosophize while a chokepoint lay directly ahead of him. As the exit grew closer, Vladimir could feel that ever-present, subtle, gnawing sense of doubt. You'll fail. Behind those walls are men waiting to kill you. You're not fast enough, you're not as sharp as you used to be.

The staff sergeant blinked a slow, hard blink. He could not dispel his doubt, not while he still had a human free will, but he could tell it to sit down and shut up until they were in the clear. He used the one technique that gave him strength. He remembered basic training.

He lay on the grass, feeling it's coolness, feeling it beginning to make his skin itch. But he didn't move. He was nestled against his rifle. Along with fifty other maggots. Behind them paced Drill Sergeant Firth. Merrison remembered the sound of the weapon firing, and the other weapons firing around him, and the target downrange being burned by laser fire. But first and foremost, he remembered Firth yelling out what each and every one of the grunts was to take solace in: You will be shot at! Your friends will die! Your enemy will look at you with a steel gaze and a cold heart, but you will remember that "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for I am agile, mobile, and hostile; My rifle and my training, they do not comfort me, but the hole in that ugly mother****er's chest does! Oo-rah!" Merrison remembered the fifty accompanying "Oo-Rah!"s that followed. He looked forward at the towering walls. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

Kacinzky stopped as they approached the mouth of the exit. On the other side, The Mall was nothing more than a long jog away. He looked at Ralph, Ralph looked back. Giving him a confirming nod, Kacinzky took his first step into the dark threshold between the hellish valley and their ultimate destination. It was dark, but narrow enough that anyone trying to ambush them was probably going to have to do so in a single-file line, and Ralph's footsteps behind him gave him confidence as well. The light of the other side grew ever closer, and they eventually stepped out. It lead to a tiny hill, with rocks sprinkled liberally across it's small terrain. With the darkness of the cave only a few feet behind them, they each stopped for a moment, letting their bodies take the edge off the nervousness they'd experienced going through. As they were preparing to take their next steps forward, a vicious scream penetrated the hot air.

"DON'T MOVE AN INCH!"

Merrison and Kacinzky looked around. Across the rocks, raiders were popping up everywhere, each armed with a gun of one sort or another. Behind them, three more emerged from the cave, shoving them forward. Every gun was trained on them. The man who had howled the warning stepped forward, wearing a chain of human ears. This identified him as the leader quite easily, with raiders, the most savagely brutal was either the leader, or soon to be
the leader. He was also armed the best, with a chinese assault rifle.

"You've killed a lot of my boys. Heh, heh heheheh." The man sniggered, as if amused by the deaths of his underlings. He continued on, looking at each with eyes devoid of humanity. They weren't animal, either. They were simply... different. Filled with something beyond hate or fear, some kind of sick inner peace, as if he'd reached a depravity of such immense stature that he'd gained a kind of quantum of sanity from it.

"A whole lot of them. Making the ground red. And pink, for those headshots. Bet you guys are strong. Stronger than any one of us. Too bad there are so many. But who is stronger of you two? We'll find out. Drop your weapons. Kick 'em to me."

The two lowered their weapons to the ground. Pausing, not wanting to disarm themselves around people so obviously insane, the man screamed

"KICK THEM TO ME!", realizing they had no choice if they wanted to live another minute, they did as he demanded. He threw the weapons aside.

With a hand motion lacking any grace or dexterity, he motioned for his two of his men to walk towards them. They were carrying nailboards, which they presented to the staff sergeant and knight. The man motioned for his men, and they all formed a large circle around the two, their leader stepping back to join the circle. With almost thirty men surrounding them, the leader called out,

"You've got the weapons. You must have figured out what's to happen. One of you kills the other. He gets to join the crew and live. Till some new strong guys come and kill you, heh heh." He said, adding that terrible chuckle at the end.

Each of them gripped the nailboards in their hands. Looking up at one another, they tried to read the other. They both stepped back a few paces, as Merrison looked around at the circle. Kacinzky did the same. They backed up as far as they could from eachother, as Ralph gave a curt nod to Joseph. Raising his improvised weapon up, the sergeant began charging at the knight. When he was about two thirds of the way there, Kacinzky began charging as well, each hoping, praying, begging that the other guy was thinking what he was thinking.

As they were about to meet, each continued charging. Before their audience could fully process the meaning of their missed collision, Vladimir had implanted the nail of his weapon into the skull of the raider directly behind Kacinzky's original position. As he did so, the Brotherhood knight had made a sharp turn and done the same to a raider about five men to the right of Merrison.

Merrison's face was impassive as the man's body began to die. Grabbing the chinese pistol from his hand, he swung his arm under the neck of the soon-to-be dead raider. Using him as a human shield, he began firing at the two raiders adjacent to him. Both collapsed as hot lead entered their chests. He fired a third shot at the next closest raider, who grabbed at his throat as blood began pouring from it, and as he readied his next shot, he heard the distinctive scraping of metal as the unkept weapon jammed.

This was a simple problem to solve, when one didn't have twenty armed opponents within effective range of oneself, but that was, in fact, what Merrison did have. Grabbing the dead body that had now absorbed three bullets with both hands, he hefted it at the raider sprinting at him. As the mass of dead weight collided with the charging man, they both hit the ground, giving him time to scoop up an assault rifle, run towards the man and put a three-shot burst into his face.

Kacinzky impaled the man in front of him using the nailboard. As the rusty nail entered the man's chest cavity, he grabbed his outstretched arm, twisted it, and grabbed an the chinese assault rifle in his now-loose hand. Smacking him with the butt of his rifle, the man fell in a heap, the nailboard still lodged in his chest. Kacinzky dove for a nearby rock, stray bullets bouncing off the plating of his power armor.

Merrison had attracted the unmitigated attention of the raiders, and sprinted for the rock Kacinzky had dived behind. Tucking his legs up, he used the speed from his sprint to roll behind the rock. The two looked at eachother, nodded, and popped up, their automatic weapons giving off white starbursts as they sprayed the raiders with gunfire. As the raiders finally understood what was happening, they began firing back. More began toppling over as, in their drug-addled confusion, they began shooting at anything that moved, including eachother. As the remainders puzzled out their mistakes, they, too, got to cover. They blindfired staccato bursts in the general direction of the two. Merrison moved towards the right flank of the clump of raiders, as Kacinzky rose from cover once more to provide a field of covering fire.

The raiders, now incensed with the death of their comrades and, more importantly, a challenge to their ability to do whatever they felt like, rose in unison and returned fire. Kacinzky ducked back under the rock, blindfiring at them. They half-ducked, only to rise once more. Kacinzky began to rise again, but saw only the sight of each remaining raider fall within seconds of each other as the steady muzzle flash of Ralph's assault rifle blared an accompanying sound all too familiar that every soldier knew to be the sound of gunfire. Returning to Kacinzky's side of the field to begin his post-battle check, Kacinzky went to where the clump of raiders was, only to be rewarded with the sight of raider chests mangled by bullets. He heard labored breathing, following the source to find a man lying next to the corpse of the leader. As he raised his rifle, the raider said,

"Wait... I... I know you. I remember your face... I... I knew your father. You... you look just like-"

BAM! BAM BAM BAM!

The crisp burst of gunfire tore up the raider's face, and Kacinzky wheeled to see that Ralph had moved up behind him and dispatched the wounded raider.
Kacinzky's face began to contort in anger born from a mix of adrenaline beginning to pump from being surprised by gunfire, and from someone who might've been a friend of his father's being killed, even if he was a raider. Before he said anything, Ralph nodded at the body. From the hand that had been half-concealed, a grenade hung, held in the now-limp hand of the wounded raider, with a finger in the pin, ready to be pulled. As Kacinzky thought about it, anyone could have said that. It didn't prove a thing. He was ready to listen, and doom himself to the explosive trap the wounded raider had planned for him, were it not for Ralph. He'd been saved by Ralph so many times during their journey he'd lost track. Or he was emotionally exhausted to keep track. Either way, he mouthed a silent thank-you to the powers that be that put him in a situation that let him meet the hardy scavenger.

Oh God Almighty, he could finally see it.

On the other side of the dusty, barren plain, he could see The Mall. He looked at Ralph, jerked his head in the direction of it, and Ralph nodded. They began a continuous sprint towards it, until they reached it. In what felt like months, they had finally reached The Mall. As if to add one last insult, it had grown dark since they emerged from the mouth of the cave and fought off the raiders, and to enter The Mall at night would be, at best, a quick death, and at worst, a long, agonizing torture delivered by a far too enthusiastic super mutant. The two looked at eachother, and Kacinzky let out a sound that Merrison couldn't decide if it leaned more towards a chuckle or a whimper.

They ripped a bundle of dead branches off one of the few trees in the area, setting them down in a pile. Merrison got them lit, and slowly sat down. Kacinzky rolled out his cot. "I'm going to hit the sack a little early." Kacinzky said, as he lay down on his temporary bed. Ralph answered with only half a nod, his eyes gazing deep into the fire, as if contemplating a question with no easy answer.

War. Death. Destruction. Women ran, screaming, from cackling shadows, spewing fire and death. Children were shot in the back as they ran from their destroyers. Kacinzky, seeing himself in a way that clearly told him this was nothing but a dream, yet was unable to determine this as his mind was not truly awake, watched as men, women and children were killed. Murdered, without so much as a second though. His every nerve screamed for him to act against these ghoulish attackers, and yet he could not. And then, an unfamiliar feeling washed over him, and all went black.
Kacinzky shot up, his mouth cottony and dry. His body was covered in sweat. His breathing, at first fast and irregular, gradually slowed as he consoled himself with the truth that what he had seen was not reality. He lay back down, gazing at the stars, until he quietly drifted off to sleep.

Slowly, Joseph Kacinzky looked around. Rolling out of his cot, he stood up shakily. Quickly getting his bearings, he noticed the camp fire had been put out. Merrison was pacing back and forth. He turned and noticed Kacinzky, now awake. Kacinzky waved his hand casually, and, typical Ralph, he did nothing. Kacinzky nodded his head towards The Mall, and all he got in return was yet another of Ralph's nods. Walking at a steady pace, they approached. Finally, they got into the actual urban environment of The Mall. They were on the northern side, as shown by the fact that they were very close to the Capitol Building. All around, Talon Company and super mutant corpses littered the area. Some on the steps to the Capitol Building, others on the ground leading directly to it. And one merc appeared to still be standing, but upon closer inspection, one could see that, behind him, a bayonet attached to a hunting rifle was stuck into the bottom of his neck and the top of his spine, giving him the ghastly appearance of a standing corpse. Kacinzky noted this and said,

"My God. What the hell happened here? Maybe they really did kill eachother. The bodies look fresh, so, guessing, I'd say Talon Co. won't send a new platoon for a few days, and the muties won't send more out of the trenches for at least a day. Probably two. I'll do a quick recon and see if I can't find a quick route to the monument."

Ralph said nothing.

Kacinzky took this to mean that he would hold the perimeter. He'd gotten better at reading the silence of his associate over the course of their journey. He cautiously moved along the side of the heart of the warzone. Not many people had the guts or the stupidity to dive into the trenches. Some people said that the lone wanderer did it all the time, but Kacinzky believed that, when it came to a feat like that, he'd need some kind of proof to believe it. Or, he would, if he was willing to follow some stranger into super mutant-infested trenches just to prove a rumor. Super mutants. They truly were the worst feature of The Mall. Hell, Talon Co. would probably just stick to the Capitol Building if they were allowed to go unopposed, but with the muties around, just getting from one side to the other was a very real, very life-threatening risk. The only reason this place was a warzone was because the mutants had made it one. He didn't understand how the ghouls managed to establish something resembling a community on the doorstep of it. Though, the mutants did seem to leave them alone. Maybe a kind of misguided camaraderie.

Looking ahead, he could see the clear outline of the Washington Monument. Well, still in one piece. With a breath of relief, he turned to go back to Ralph. But the price of inattentiveness at a moment like this had killed more men than history could ever record, and Kacinzky knew it. He constantly scanned every inch of terrain he approached. The rubble and the buildings provided ample hiding spots for someone who wanted to kill anyone unlucky enough to approach. Keeping his rifle up, he soon approached the spot where they'd arrived in The Mall. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked around, trying to spot Ralph. He half-mockingly thought to himself, If he got himself killed while I was gone, I'm going to kill him. But still he could not see the scavenger. He called out,

"Ralph!"

Nothing.

"Ralph, We're clear to go. We need to move!"

And then, Kacinzky truly began to worry. He was in the middle of an active warzone, and Ralph was left by himself. Sure, he was smart, and they both knew he knew how to fight, but no one is invincible. He couldn't help but imagining super mutants grabbing him as he struggled to break free, screaming for the knight's aid. And as he sank into his thoughts, for a split-second, his body couldn't quite pinpoint what the odd sensation was that he was feeling.

A line of cloth.

Then, he started losing breath.

His hands shot up, grabbing at the improvised garrote. His legs kicked and spasmed as he was strangled. Clawing at the piece of cloth being pulled against his neck, his vision began to swim with red. His eyes were bulging as the last of the air in his lungs ran out. His hand shot out once more over his shoulder, connecting with something, but not stopping the strangling. And then, Kacinzky saw no more, and his body went limp.

Gently, Merrison set down the body. He didn't like it. In fact, he hated it. He was a smart kid. Knew what to do in a fight, and wasn't afraid of facing his fears. It was a true loss to mankind to lose a human being of his stock. And he did not enjoy making a widow out of a wife. But if America was to regain it's former glory, terrorists could not be allowed to roam free. That was what Merrison told himself, and his heart and mind struggled over it's validity. Perhaps they always would. It didn't matter now. He had seen the vertibird that set down on the upper level of the outer terrace of the Capitol Building. He looked down at Kacinzky. His eyes still bulged, as if they were still shocked.

He bent over, closing the knight's eyes for the last time. He made a quick motion, cloth still in hand, up to his face, then dropped the cloth beside it's victim. He began walking up the steps of the Capitol Building. Uncorking his canteen, he emptied the entirety of the water supply over his face. He was a man of the Enclave. Men did not show their tears, especially when they would never be understood.

FIN.

Epilogue

Paladin Miers looked down his scope. Knight Kacinzky. He'd heard about his cousin's reassignment to The Mall. Sounds like he finally made it. Picked up a friend, too. He always was a bit chummy with the natives. He leaned in a bit further than he should have, and winced. His injuries, a parting gift from a super mutant that had ambushed him, were still healing. He saw Kacinzky cupping his hands, but couldn't hear what he was calling out, but gave a quick laugh of exasperation as he saw his cousin no doubt calling for someone that was right behind him. Sometimes, that kid could be-
Jonathan looked up from his scope, and immediately looked back in. He couldn't have just seen...

That man is strangling your cousin. Your blood. He saw his cousin kicking and convulsing as the air was forced from his lungs. Jon wanted to help him. But what would he do? Jump from the multiple-story building, run across the mutant-infested trenches, and put a round in that bastard's skull?

He was considering it.

He watched, impotent except to watch, as his cousin threw one last, desperate punch, hitting the killer in the shoulder, but not stopping him. He watched, as his anger became hatred, as the murderer slowly set the body of his kin to the ground, dropping the makeshift garrote as... what? A final insult? Jonathan felt it, like a dull ache at first, grow, nay, explode into seething hatred. And then he felt something that every sniper had to learn to contain. He felt in uncontrollably and unstoppably.

He felt rage.

This man will die.

Holy [censored]! I'm kind of shocked right now! We want moar!

No Kacinzky how can he die. Awesome story hope I see more of your writing.

Thanks for the positive feedback, guys. In the end, I'm not quite sure who I ended up 'liking' more, when it came to Merrison and Kacinzky. I looked at the two characters I'd written and thought "Man, I really want to tell their story how I think it should be." I'm pretty happy with the result.

And still, I am brutally outposted by the play-by-post RPs. How are us humble writers supposed to keep up with a team of posters?

-Drac

Well nonetheless your a great writer and this was one of the best stories on here :goodjob:

No Kacinzky!!! Great chapter.

Wow, great story Dracth!
Very well written and without using too many words.
I need to learn that some more, have you been able to read my story?