PROLOGUE




A mottled reflection of a man could be seen overlooking a flooded shanty town. Though it would look insignificant to an average on looker, this town could possibly be the most important component for truly rebuilding a new life for the citizens of the Capital Wasteland. The only light in this town was coming from the Governor's bay window inside of his "mansion", merely the remnant of a renovated office building. Inside sat a large, African-American man. He looked as if a bomb had exploded inside of him. His home was a world of difference from any of the other shacks inside of his town.

A plush, red carpet filled the entire third floor. A polished hickory desk was topped with a brilliant green lamp and several stacks of papers and folders. A dying brown plant stood on a wooden table in the corner of the room below a large, ragged poster of Abraham Lincoln. A large, comfy recliner sat next to a gigantic hickory bookshelf, filled with a number of prewar books. The Governor leaned back in his chair, admiring the life he had made for himself. A loud series of knocks on his door removed him from this undeserved bliss. His red, sweaty faced turned to the door, nostrils flaring.

"Please, get off my back! I've been swamped with work all week, and the last thing I need right now is for you to come into my office every damn day just to whine about insignificant leaks in the Rivet City pipeline. They're still getting their water, and there's nothing I can do to make it any better at this time. Don't come back here unless you have a real complaint." he yelled, slamming his fist onto the hickory.

His greasy black hair began to fall in his face. The Governor licked his palm and slicked his hair back into its original position. He smiled, thinking he had finally scared off the pestering Rivet City scientists. He was wrong. A black, slightly rusted foot protruded through his door, sending bits of wood across the office. The door knob and lock landed next to the dying plant, its gold finishing similar to the withering color. Through the opening walked a sharply dressed man in a pressed, gray suit. His graying hair was combed over a large bald spot on his head, not very well hidden. The man's smile revealed a row of yellow teeth. The Governor's once angry face had turned to a look of dread. You would too if you had two power armored soldiers staring you down.

"You sounded so confident, what happened," laughed the man. "I was expecting for you to put up a bit of a fight. You know why we're here, though. I would be terrified myself if I were in your shoes. I don't need to explain what you've done wrong, do I?"

"N-No, I know what you're here for. Please... please... don't do this. I'm sorry! What I told you is all completely true! I don't have the manpower right now. We need this money, the city needs this money. Without it, we might-"

"Ha! I can't believe what you're saying! Do you think I would ACTUALLY fall for that? I've been around the block, Alonzo, don't treat me like a [censored] fool. You've built your entire career on lies and deceit." he said, moving close to Governor Alonzo. "The Remnant doesn't like being played for fools, and we don't take kindly to betrayal. You've done both. Now, you pay the price."

With that, the two powered armor men moved next to Governor Alonzo, holding him down firmly in his chair. The Remnant officer produced a cigarette from his jacket, along with a silver lighter. He placed the cigarette into his mouth, a small cloud of smoke forming above him as he lit it. The bitter smoke blew into Alonzo's face.

"Please, I'm sorry! Don't do this! I'll do anything you want, I promise! Give me anything, and I'll find a way to get it done!" the Governor cried. A small puddle of urine had formed under one of his pant legs.

The officer contemplated his decision for a moment, rubbing his temples. As his eyes locked with Alonzo's, an immediate look of disgust crept across his face. He took a deep draw from the cigarette, making a bright red cherry formed at the tip. He blew the smoke out slowly, savoring the flavor.

"Keep his eyes open. This is going to be a lesson he'll never forget." he said sternly. One of the power armored men opened Alonzo's left eye with his thumb and index finger, his immense strength allowing him to keep the Governor from fidgeting with just one hand. The officer slowly moved the burning cigarette towards his eye.

An ear piercing scream ran through the house, waking the rest of his family and his servants. If it weren't for the pouring rain, it could probably be heard all the way to the Jefferson Memorial. The sobbing governor covered his eye with both hands, burying his face into his desk to hide the shame. This truly was a lesson he could never forget. The officer and his bodyguards turned to make their leave.

"You know your mission. We expect to hear about your success by the end of the month, or you're not going to be so lucky next time..." the officer looked back at the governor through his broken doorway. "and Alonzo, we'll be watching you. Don't you dare try and leave, or we'll make sure your family dies too."

Well, I did post this at a very awkward time to be on the computer for most people who browse these forums, but I would appreciate feedback, positive or negative.

Pretty good, but aren't you suppose to start a new paragraph every time someone speaks?

I see where that is, I meant to make that run on.

1. I like it

2. Keep going

3. Your avatar is pure pwnage

Chapter 1




A thick fog lay flat over the near opaque water of the Potomac, being carved in half by a humming, wooden monstrosity. A bright spotlight led the way, barely able to pierce the fog. Many scratches and imperfections lined the wooden hull, revealing a tarnished, peeling green body. The only remaining paint was found on the stern, spelling out "Kurtz" in dark red lettering. Lanterns floated through the air, attracting hordes of buzzing mosquitoes. Several of them were hung over the port and starboard, giving a better view of the water. The rest rested on the stacks of wooden crates surrounding a single, circular table. A group of four identically dressed man sat low of the ground on terribly small stools, arching their back into a painful position, only worsening the fact that a hungry horde of mosquitoes were biting on every bit of uncovered skin.

For the crew aboard the Kurtz, this was nothing different. All kinds of critters loved the clean water, the perfect place for mosquitoes to breed. Each of the men working on the ship were covered head to toe in bites. The crew was always changing; either because of accidents on the water or by abandoning ship whenever they hit port. Partially the reason they ever stopped or allowed anyone to leave. Michael was a new deckhand, the greenest of all the men. Never did much except whine and moan about everything. Had barely any possessions of his own besides that grimy, mud covered raincoat.

"I hate this damn boat. Owens hasn't paid us in weeks, and I'm getting tired of eating [censored] mutfruit and rotten brahmin for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day. Least he can do is stop at a damn port and let some of us stay behind to watch the cargo while the rest go and trade for something decent." muttered Michael.

A small man on the port side roared with laughter. It was Henry Grisham, a self proclaimed adventurer and the acting captain of the Kurtz. He was originally from the Canadian wastes, living in almost whiteout conditions his entire life. He developed a knack for exploring and hunting at a young age, which triggered him to explore more areas, going after all types of big game. Grisham was only here as a favor for an old friend, and a promise to explore the coasts of America, though he had seen damn near everything the country had to offer.

"Now Michael, that's not how a seaman talks. You're a role model for every youngster out there to leave the wasteland and make the best of the world. You're a modern day frontiersman! Why, I remember during one of my expeditions through the Alabama swamp lands, me and Howi had our raft tipped by a-"

"Please, no more, shut up. I hate your stories more than I hate this boat. They're all so boring and half of 'em are probably made up. Why couldn't you just stay in Canada?"

Grisham frowned and turned back to the side of the ship. He prided himself on the stories he told, and would repeat them to anyone he came across. It would be a cold day in hell before he tolerated that kind of behavior on his ship. He watched as a number of caiman, a smaller breed of the cadmon, brushed up against the ship. Grisham enjoyed every type of animal, even the mutated monstrosities alligators had become.

"Howi... I think Mr. Cacase needs to be escorted off of the ship, right away. I only want what's in his best interest." he whispered softly.

Howi was a towering tribal that Grisham had encountered on his trips through the Vermont forests. His tribe had fled from Badlands after running out of any source of food and water. For years he and Grisham had traveled together, acting as muscle for him. From head to toe he was covered in intricately hand made, tattoos, supposedly symbolizing different tales of his life. No new ones had been added since he met Grisham.

The tribal nodded in compliance, and made his way towards the deckhand. He scooped him up by his shoulders and carried him over to the stern of the ship. The caiman congregated over to the propeller, instinctively knowing what was about to happen.

"You're not really going to do this, are you? Cohon's just around the next bend."

"I know, it's a shame, isn't it?" Howi laughed. With that last remark, Michael was over the stern and into the water. A frenzy instigated almost immediately as the vicious caiman tore him apart. He didn't have enough time to yell out before he was killed. The tribal lumbered back to the round table and took Michael's seat. the other deckhands carried on their game of cards through this entire event. The navigator, Nicholas, folded his hand and stood up,cracking his strained back in the process.

"What a [censored]. I always hated that guy. Dibs on his radio."


( It'll pick up into the main story next chapter, I'll introduce the main characters. )

If only I could find some mistakes, and I could call you out. Stop being so perfect. Wait, I like that. So keep it up

Chapter 2





The Kurtz had arrived in Cohon just at the break dawn. The sleeping shipwright was barely awake enough to sign off its cargo. Most of the shopkeepers were just now opening up and washing off the mud that had collected on their porches and homes during the rainstorm. Cohon was slowly becoming one of the more prosperous cities in the Capital Wasteland due to its location next to the Jefferson Memorial and being at the mouth of the Potomac Basin. Regardless of the trading, people were taxed into oblivion for the maintenance and luxury of unlimited, clean water. Mismatched pieces of salvaged lumber made up most of the shops, and the unlucky lived on the muddy shores in tin huts. It wasn't uncommon for people to live inside of their stores and bars. The ranchers on the outskirts of town were considered the upperclass, though most were owned by Governor Alonzo.

A morning run followed by a glass of watered down vodka had become a ritual for Charlie Fulton. He had settled in Cohon nearly a year earlier, surviving on odd jobs at different establishments, every once in a while taking a job as a caravan guard or helping the town guard to stop a raider attack on the farm outskirts. More commonly, he could be found shoveling brahmin crap or knee deep in alcohol at the Clermont. Small cargo boats were getting more and more common nowadays in Cohon due to the growing population. The demand for food shipments and materials was rising drastically. At the looks of the number of crates the Kurtz was carrying, it might be a good chance to cash in on some extra caps.

"Looks like you poor bastards got a few hours of work ahead of you. The crates sure look heavy. Maybe I could give you a hand?" he said, slowly advancing on the ship.

Grisham poked his head out through the port side window, beaming at Charlie. He retreated back in, but almost instantly reappeared on the deck, hopping down on the docks. He had a large, red mustache, obviously well taken care of. A polished, finely carved hunting rifle was slung over his back. A fine collared tan shirt with olive green shorts topped off this walking adventurer stereotype. All he needed was a sun hat and he'd be straight out of On Safari with Theodore Roosevelt.

"I love your enthusiasm! It's so nice to see someone who enjoys the early morning sun, ready to start a afresh. There's nothing better than seeing the sun rise to start a new day. I still love seeing the sunrise over the Oregon bluffs, when you're on the highest point for miles around, at the mercy of the beating heat of the sun. I was actually on an expedition through the Oregon Badlands after a rumored surviving buffalo, where I saw it for the first time still have the beast's head hanging in my home among my prized possessions. You haven't seen a sunrise until you've seen it in the midwest." he said. Grisham grabbed Charlie by the sleeve and led him onto the deck.

"That's... interesting. I'm not going to be doing this for free you know. I have better things to do than lift crates all day. Namely, shovel more crap to pay off my tab at the Clermont."

Grisham laughed and patted Charlie on the back, a loud popping noise with each strike, almost knocking the wind out of him. The man's laugh was billowing and annoying. Nothing could break his eccentric attitude.

"Of course! You'll be paid handsomely! Go and talk to Howi, the tall tribal over there. He'll get you set up with some work. Maybe after the job is done I'll entertain you with some of our stories over a glass of bourbon at the Clermont, or whatever you call it."

A story wasn't much of a reward, but the caps should be flowing from as much caps as they'd be making off this cargo. Howi set Charlie up immediately moving boxes off to several of the shops in town. Wade's General Supply had the most boxes coming in, not surprisingly being the most popular store in town. After hours of work, their effort had paid off. It was up to Charlie to deliver the final package and meet up with Grisham at the Clermont for his pay and undoubtedly another barrage of adventuring tales. The package was addressed to a new duo in town. They called themselves mercenaries, but everyone in town knew they weren't. As soon as the raiders came they were holed up in their room at the Cohon Lodge.

The Cohon Lodge was a watering hole for tourists and gamblers. No one ever struck it rich there except for the owner, who had probably rigged most of the games anyways. Charlie was decently well known there, having made friends with some of the employees. He walked straight up the stairs to the guest rooms, counting down the numbers.

"11... 13... 15... 17... 19... 21!" he said happily. Payday was just around the corner. Before he could even knock on the door, he heard several of the locks disengaging. Charlie waited patiently as everything unlocked. The door slowly creaked open, revealing sounds of laughter. He pushed open the door, met face to face with a towering, yellow mutant. Charlie stood eyes wide, straining to look at the mutant, almost twice the size of himself. He raised the box he had been holding.

"Delivery..."

Awesome, minor grammar mistakes. Also, the name Kurtz and Owens, I was just readin this most interesting book for the second time, is it me or is there a connection?

Does it have something to do with the Horror! and a dark heart?

Perhaps.....

You probably know what book is influencing this then.

Yes, I'm seeing it now, it was a good book. Took me twice to really get it.