Foreword

Alright, last year, I worked on this idea. It died in my brain after the first chapter but it kept eating at me and I feel like I just have to get the new version back out there. Granted, I feel like an idiot for using myself as the main character, but it helps me get connected to the story. I don't consider this original, it's like taking the actual video game and turning it into text, i.e. there's a lot of violence, a lot of talking, and many different small stories with one larger story. The intro itself is about two pages, it will seem overdrawn, but it has to cover most of the setting. Keep in mind, I'm a fan of using the rule of English that says when a different character starts talking, you start a new paragraph and I avoid saying "he said" as much as possible

2256 A.D. 179 years after the bombs fell. 14 years after the events of Fallout 2.
Pocatello, Idaho, North-west commonwealth.

Chapter 1: Foundation

It's that sound that really gets to your core and shakes you. When you witness a man executed, you hear the sound of the vertebrae separating and tearing into the meat of the man's neck. Today was one of the days when that sound was heard. Marshall Higgins, a man dedicated to his job, was in charge of this deed. From atop the gallows he cried, "Good people, these men have accosted us and stolen from all of you what you rightfully deserve. They took your food; they burned your homes, and killed the ones you loved." He knew how to stir the crowd.

"Hey, screw you man. You're not the only one who has to try to survive out here," one the men on the deck shouted before being struck angrily in the gut by a rifle stock. The raider let out a sick gasp as he fell to his knees. This scene prompted more people to cheer as the marshal paced back and forth. Higgins approached the bold man and asked in a thick, low, threatening voice, "Why, aren't you just so eager to die?" grinning he continued, "Make sure you string him up after this one. We don't need to hear anymore from him."

"You think you're the big guys? Why can't we be left alone? What makes you better than us? All you do is chase us down, starve us, and execute us for your own fun."
Both men glared into the other's eyes. "We are better because we have respect for human lives. You lowlifes aren't fit to be called people. Are they!?" he these two words as spun around to the crowd throwing his hands in the air. Everyone made a viscous blood thirsty clamor. "Looks like death warrant just got finalized," he smirked over his shoulder.

With a wave of his hand he signaled the first execution. One man had been standing steadfast upon the gallows, even as the noose cinched on his neck and the crowd roared for his death, he stared into the cold darkness of the bag around his head. In a split second, his life ended. Officers heaved him back onto the wooden stand as Marshal Higgins approached the corpse. Removing the bag and stuffing the face of the second man's face into view of the corpse he said coldly, "You know this man?" as he shook the live man's entire body by the neck, "Do you know what your kind has done to these people?" Now the man who was once so brave held his tongue. Shivers of fear ran through the raider's body as Higgins pressed ever tighter on his neck. The marshal tossed the man aside and let his officers prepare him to be hanged.

As he retook his place, the marshal made a small gesture to the hangman as he prepared the noose. A lever was pulled, wood and metal slid and ground pulling away the floor from the man but his death was not quick. Writhing and thrashing, he fought an impossible fight against death while the sweet air was squeezed out of his body. Still, the crowd cheered for they knew one less person could haunt them in the night.

More men stood in line, hands bound by rope but their legs free. Fear gripped one soul forced him to flee. He darted for the crowd. One officer raised his rifle but could not shoot for his own fear for the people must guard. This fear was soothed as a low thump sounded out. Someone had struck the raider to the ground by brute force. Officers retrieved the man and placed him back with the frozen line.

"Nice work there Dillon," proclaimed a man in the crowd.

"Ah, that guy was a pushover. You'd think raiders would want someone tougher than that," returned the larger man who had stopped the convict.

"Maybe he's like me and they just need someone tedious grunt work," his friend continued. The two men watched close as the ceremony continued. Only two more men died on that noose before the old marshal called the day to close. "Well, there go the lucky ones off to be shot at the range."

Both men walked off with the crowd and continued to talk. "Do think they have any point?"

"The raiders? What point is that?" asked Dillon, almost like a raider himself by appearance.

"Well, do they actually have a right to live like we do," asked the smaller man. His name was just Jack and he was a bit under fit for the wasteland, though he survived with the remnant of civilization that was left.

"Why do you ask questions like that? I really think you should take life straight forward."

"Well, someone needs to ask questions. That's how you learn and someone needs to learn how to put the world back in order."

"Pfft, not necessarily. I'm fine as long as I don't get caught doing my job."

"Underground black market dealings? Yeah, your type rarely get put on exhibition, hence the reason the Tongs are a success. Hell, the commonwealth has almost forgotten you guys are around."

"Oh, they know. They just can't catch us and when they do they lose all the resources they invest."

"Yeah, yeah. Big scary Tong's. Quite the name though, given the only ones of Asian blood are the leaders."

"Hey, it's catchy. And don't give us crap; remember how you got that nice rifle?"

"I'm not giving you crap. Anyway, I have to get back to 'the office.' It was hard enough getting the bastard to let me come watch this."

"Told you, you should have gone the way I did."

"I have my own moral reservations. Besides, I need a real job if I want to ever get to study."

"Why study that much anyway? Like I said, I'm doing great."

"I have more plans for my life. Like I said, someone needs to put the world back together."

Pretty awesome Grand! Looking forward to further instalments.

Chapter 2: Condemnation

Work was quiet for Jack, save the hum of the terminal and the scratch of a pencil. All day he would type away and sort out files brought around. Since this small stretch of land had been saved most of the ravages of the war and the governing system of the old commonwealth had managed to survive, life was almost what is today normal. The leadership still demanded taxes and various forms of registration to function and continue to protect its people.

“Dunker!” Jack shot a look to the door hearing his name. “What are you doing?”

“My job… and part of yours.”

The man in the doorway looked back with a look of displeasure. “I mean, why are you here? You got repositioned today.”

“Where to?”

“Train yard. You have guard duty now.”

Standing up in disbelief he shouted, “What kind of [censored] is that?
”
“They need more men these days. You’ve seen what those marauders have been doing.”

“Yeah, but why me? I’ve never had anything in the combat field.”

“You’re the registered owner of a military rifle and I know you can use it. Commonwealth can’t afford to train and equip enough men,” staring back at his underling he continued with a business-like tone, “Look, I didn’t sign you up for this. Take it up with your new boss.”

He pushed up his glasses and sighed, “Fine, when do they want me?”

“You’ve got 2 hours before the whistle blows. Don’t be caught in dereliction, you can get slammed if fail a protection duty.”

Fuming and cussing he hurried out the door to retrieve his weapon and reach the yard. He would have to walk the whole way. ‘This is such crap. Since when can they conscript people. I’ll chew the hell out whoever is in charge of this squad,’ he thought to himself, ‘I know for a damn fact we kept the old constitution this is not a war by any means and it’s not like a commonwealth can keep an army.’

Home, for this man, was a shamble by terms of homes. Houses withered or were torn down for else needed structures such as walls. To accommodate the displaced, old schools became apartments to an extent. All he had for living space one moderate room, second floor, farthest corner from the front. For one wastelander, it was quite adequate even with his work bench and still. There was a clank as shifted a box of glass bottles to the side to get to his footlocker. From his necklace came the key which made a tiny click as it brought out his treasure, one lovingly maintained Chinese R91 assault rifle. With a swing, the strap came to straddle his shoulder. Three magazines, 72 spare rounds, fit snugly into his jacket. Out of habit, he patted his waist to check for his Leatherman tool. Lastly, he went to his still where he cleaned his precious water of waste, filth, and the contaminant of the war, radiation. Charisma may not have been our friend’s strong suit, so he would have to be ready if would be forced into this service.

Walking alone, yet surrounded by all the self sighted citizens, he made his way to the train yard with only some haste. No matter if he would be late or leave an ill impression, he’s rather just be let go.

After a few miles, he set foot in the depot. This was an ancient center for the railways for almost 400 years. Much had changed. Great bellowing beasts of coal and steam gave way to tamer electric and reactor engines. Several men were seated and conversing in one car that had been sliced about to give them more vision around the hulk of metal. Aside from this, there were all the storage cars, still the same as ever. Up front was the head of the demon, the reinforced engine with a massive steel guard nearly impervious to destruction. About the wheels, more iron walling. A train is far too rare a resource to let be destroyed in not just the material to construct it but the value of its service.
“Oi, you, with the gun,” called out a much ruffed fellow. Jack turned to face him and he signaled him to walk over. “Alright, so you must be…Mr.….” he pulled out a sheet of paper, “Dun-kar?”
“That’s an ‘E’ in there and yeah,” he snapped back smartly.

The man just grunted and stated in his own sharp tone, “Ugh, I knew this wuddunt gonna be pretty. See them?” he pointed to the men at the center of the train in the carved out car, “Get up there before you get in trouble with me.”

“This is illegal you know?”

“Pardon?” he asked as he raised one brow and contorted his face.

“No one can make do this job. Involuntary servitude, 13th amendment to the constitution that never went out of effect,” the younger man stated calmly and plain.

“Read this,” he pulled out another sheet. Jack unfolded and started to look it over as the man continued, “This isn't just a commonwealth now, the senate has taken the power the old national government used to have. 'Necessity, live with it. You’re still getting paid and if you get shot, I could care less.”

“So what if I still refuse?”

“You can sit in jail and eat slop and chat with the next batch o’ raiders we grab.”

“Figures,” he huffed as he tossed aside the sheet, “Old bastards just had to press their limits out at the capitol.”

“You gonna do anything ‘bout it,” came the question in demeaning voice.

In a broken voice he asked as he walked to the car, “What can I do?”

(This one probably should have been two chapters. its long)

Chapter 3: The Rough Ride

“Welcome to the company, you’ve been federally subsidized.” A moderately aged man called as he grinned while Jack pulled himself up and over the ladder to the car.

“You call that a joke?” was the response sent forth as Jack straightened out and adjusted his rifle.

“No, not really.”

The honest truth of the North-West commonwealth was that it had grown wildly in power. When the world was set alight, the fires never consumed this patch of land. The iron will of leading men does not burn and no one had wrested it away. Seeking preservation and protection, citizens still alive within the first weeks of chaos submitted to the old government as way to band in union. Those that rebelled were shunned to the hot sands of the waste, but
they did not rest nor vanish.

The man pressed back into his seat and said, “So, you think you can handle yourself.”

Jack looked around the car. It seemed there was quite an assortment of souls accompanying him. One man leaned against a wall holding a shotgun, running his hands along his cap, and staring blindly out the window across from him, the 9 square foot hole of a window. Behind that man was a more rugged man with a cowboy hat, scruffy black hair, and a plaid shirt. Across from them were two women. The first women had patches and tears all about her jacket, cropped hair, and a vicious machine gun on her lap. Next, there was a nearly manically dressed woman with a pony tail holding a sub-machine gun. Lastly, the man Jack was conversing with was wearing a round business man’s hat and a light green jacket. His weapon had been tucked under his seat, a seat torn out of a bus like the others.

“Hey, pay attention,” the man snapped his finger in Jack’s face and made him flinch a bit.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Jack said with hardly any emotion as he sat down in one of the seats.

Before he could settle himself in the least the other man barked, “No, up there,” he pointed his finger at a protuberance on the car behind this one, “That’s where the new guy sits. You’re the top look out.”

Deciding not to argue, Jack stood back up and made his way over to the ladder. He hopped the gap between the cars and caught the first rung of the metal ladder. Slowly, he pulled himself up and positioned himself. All he had to keep him place was the back of a chair bolted in place and a welded rod sticking straight up to hold to. Gazing down, he looked back into the guard car through another large hole in the roof.

The man in the cowboy hat turned his head and shouted, “Look at that, a rook that listens.”

“You could learn something from him Frank,” muttered his friend at his side.

The supposed leader in the green jacket called up, “I guess we should have some pleasantries. Name?”

“Jack.”

“Alright, I’m Don, these two ladies are Megan and Rachelle,” neither moved much, “and those two dirtbags are Frank and Justin.” The “dirtbags” laughed and shot back their own remarks. “I’m guessing you met your lieutenant and your conductor, Joseph Sanders.”

Jack called back, “The old dude I was talking to?” The group chuckled to affirm his question.

“So what did he say to you to start your first day?” asked Justin as tipped back his hat.

“I told him I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Sign the wrong paper?” inquired Frank.

“He probably got screwed by that whole military assortment deal they just started,” Don replied.

“I still say it’s bull,” Jack called down.

Frank tried to reassure his new acquaintance but with a strangely ominous tone, “Just go with it. Your better here than in lock-up.”

Harrison smirked, “You’d know wouldn’t you?”

There was crackle as voice chimed in over a speaker, “Alright, is everyone back there ready? “

Don spoke up, “Yeah, we’re set Joseph,” before calling back to Jack, “Hold on.” The whole train rocked a bit after a minute. Jack turned around to see several other cars added to the rear end.

Slowly, the iron horse built up speed. Jack looked down and shouted, “Hey, is that conductor any relation to the Marshall here?”
With a smile, Don replied, “Sure is. They’re cousins. Blew in from Montana after the Expansion.” Jack sat back to think for a bit. The explanation made sense. Almost 40 years ago, the Reconstructed Commonwealth decided to expand from its old boundaries rather than attempt any contact with most of the lost territory in California, Oregon, and Washington. Utah and Nevada had their own set of problems that inhibited a civilized system. A bold move was made to reach over the Rockies and bring in more people and more resources. No real authority was established but several outpost towns were established and the commonwealth claimed all territory of the former states regardless of the truth about its control.

“Hey new guy!?” someone called up, “What bullets are you shooting, the State pays for ammo for guards.”

The train’s steady pace made Jack uneasy in his perch but he managed to reply, “Five-fifty-six mil.” Frank rummaged around in a green metal box and threw two magazines up to Jack. Refusing to let go of his safety pole, he only managed to catch one while the other slid on the roof landed several feet behind him.

“Damn kid, you better shoot than you catch.”

Roughly an hour later, Jack had one arm wrapped around the pole for dear life and his opposite hand pressed his hat onto his head. Every second his head would swivel to one side to look for anything dangerous. To him, it was like he was being rushed across an empty world a top a massive beast of burden. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t quite empty. Raiders driving an ATV flew over a hill, barreled at the train, and made a sliding turn that drove them parallel to the car. Jack tried to prepare himself as more wheelers flew out and approached the train.

Bullets clashed on the steel wall just next to Jack as his comrades all leaped to the windows and started firing outwards. The raiders seemed smart enough stay far and mobile. Jack raised his rifle and tried to line up one of the ATVs but someone else knocked its passenger off before he could. Letting go of the rail, he stretched himself flat and fired at the first raider he could find.

“Hey Jack, watch the passenger coach,” Don yelled, “It’s right behind you.”

Jack rolled on his side and peered back. Slowly, he got into a crouch and shambled forward. There was loud crack and clang by his side that made him drop to his stomach. He lifted his body and threw it towards the side and stared down his sights. His foe was gripping the back of his machines driver trying to steady himself. They looked each other in the eye. Jack set his sights while the raider tried to work the action on his rifle. One bullet sailed forth and threw the raider to the dirt. His partner pulled out a pistol and aimed for the man who’d just shot his partner. Several shots went back and forth but none were fatal as the raider quickly struck a large rock and was sent through the air. Jack watched as he smashed his head and spine on the earth.

Once again, Jack regained himself and crawled back to the coach. He slid off the edge and looked around the side. Two raiders on a dirt bike were trying to set some brown block on the train. One shot pierced into their engine and another pierced the driver’s abdomen. The man on back yelled as he toppled to the ground.

Jack let a sigh of relief. Suddenly, there were screams inside the coach. With a leap, he hit the other side and grabbed the door. When he looked in, he saw 4 men all pointing weapons at each other, 2 were holding unarmed people. Their yells were incoherent. Seeing one of the guns turn his direction, Jack ducked behind a seat. More shots rang out and several flew through the seat back. He heard footsteps approaching. He was quick to see the shabby clothes of a murdering raider and shot up as the other man raised his own rifle. In a large push, he threw the man back over one of the benches. Once more there was a shot. The other raider flopped to the ground with a blood spilling out his head. Jack rushed over to a man on the ground holding a gun. Jack asked if he was alright and was responded to quite distastefully, “There’s a bullet in my arm.”

“Alright, grit your teeth, this is gonna hurt like [censored],” Jack said as he pulled out his Leatherman, prepared the pliers, and sunk them in the bullet hole. The man grunted as the bullet was ripped forth. “Get some alcohol on that,” Jack advised and let one of the passengers bring him a piece of cloth.

Looking out the back door, Jack watched a second set of guards fending off raiders from the train. Some the raiders attempted to leap through and only some of them were beaten back. The rest of the raiders were grappling with the guards. With the all the chaos, all Jack could do was watch the struggle and hope for the best. His hopes were well met as raiders were shot, broken, smashed, and thrown. He stepped out of the car onto the ledge to look about. Men started pointing. Jack was almost stunned when he saw what they were seeing. Several men were crouched on a small hill holding large objects on their shoulders. Copper and lead stormed the hill and the bodies fell into a heap.

Distracted, Jack felt something large press onto him and force him to the ground. Staring up, he saw a frenzied and tattered man holding a knife in the air. Jack threw his arms out in front of his face. The weight was lifted as a loud crack ended the man’s life.

More vehicles were still approaching. On the raider’s corpse, there was a small brown square object. Picking it up, the wires told Jack it was an explosive device. It was simple for him to find the trigger and throw it at the approaching pack. This explosion was not just a crack but a thunder that tossed men about in the field. The one ATV that hadn’t been destroyed was riddled by gunfire.

Aside from the rumble of the train, the world became quiet again. There was no celebration or congratulations. Jack shambled up the ladder again and crawled back to his seat.

Chapter 4: Redirection

Time cruised by uneventfully. Jack decided to look himself over. There was no blood seeping out of him but the blood of at least one other man had splashed on him. Running his hand along his jacket, he found a bullet hole. The find shocked him as there was no wound on him let alone where he found the hole.
His concentration was broken by a sickening liquidly sound. Something flew through the edge of vision. Nothing around him seemed disturbed and all the other guards seemed unmoved. Don looked
up and said, "Something wrong man?"

"No?I guess not."

Frank smirked and called, "You're probably just shook up from the raiders. Count yourself lucky, we don't see them that often."

"Frank," snapped one of the women, "shut up. Seriously Rook, don't ever listen to him."

Frank just shrugged off the insult and continues to speak, "So how many did you get? I got six of them bastards."

Jack thought about the question. "Uh?two I think. I just shot anyone that scared me. No, there was something like five."

"Not bad kid, maybe you'll make it around here."

"I don't give a rat's ass since I'm going to get the hell out of this job."

Don spoke up, "That's probably for the best Jack."

"Ah, but then he won't get to come to Vegas tomorrow," Frank joked.

"There is not a snowball's chance in hell I'm going to that hell hole especially on this train," Jack shouted.

"Jack?" Don calmly called back.

"Yeah," was the reply.

"That's why you don't listen to Frank. We're not going to Vegas actually. We're just headed that direction."

"I'm still not going. As soon as this train stops I'm going to head the local office and get this straightened out."

"Well I hope you do. I like guys that more enthused in the crow's nest."

Frank started to chuckle as started, "Ah, Rook, don't be that way. We were just starting to have fun."

He was cut off by Jack, "Shut up Frank."

"Rook definitely learns quick," muttered Rachelle.
A shrieking grinding sound pierced the air as the train finally pulled into its stop. Everyone began scurrying about. Jack stayed still as he looked about and noticed they had stopped in what seemed like nowhere next aside from a town by a river. "Were not going to another depot?" he called down.

Harrison replied, "This town wasn't built for the railroad but they trade all the same."

"And what town is this?" Jack questioned almost getting bitter.

"American Falls. They have a nice purifier here. It supplies a few other towns."
Content, Jack eased down the ladder. As he hopped off the train he heard an enthusiastic shout, "Hey, someone come check this thing out." It was the conductor, Joseph. Several people strode up to the front of the train to see a strange and grotesque sight. Some manner of creature had been struck head on by the train and was stuck to the cattle guard.

People started asking questions all around.

"Is that some kind of mutant?"

"Has to be. To ugly to be natural."

"Well it did just get hit by a train."

"Speaking of which how is any of it left."

The creature was an odd yellow hue and could have been eight feet tall. As Jack examined the corpse, he figured some part of must have been what flew by earlier.

Jack made his way to Joseph who didn't seem busy and asked him where he could deal with his assignment problem. "Kid, you're government property right now so talk to the government. There's and office somewhere in town. I'm sure they can help you relocate. Now just wait for the vehicles and you'll get yourself a ride to town."

"Vehicles?"

"Trade agency owns a nice set. Mostly for hauling in the goods but they shuttle folks too."

"Thanks a lot man."

"No problem. I just don't want you to die on my train," Joseph finished in a way that made Jack feel helped but still uneasy.

One of the train cars started clattering as it was opened up. Ramps were drawn out and clanged as they were set up. The car engines were much quieter, running on batteries with massive electrical capacities that still had to be replaced quite often.

People started lining up to get their seats. Amongst the crowd was the man who'd been wounded in the coach shootout. Somebody was helping him stagger along. Jack started to wonder if he'd helped that man or if he was the reason he'd been shot. Maybe the raiders wouldn't have moved if he didn't intrude. He decided not to think too hard since he'd kept himself alive and he'd done his part to protect everyone else. His job was done.

Don patted Jack's shoulder and pointed to a red pick-up truck. Everyone from their guard car was piling in the bed. Jack hopped up and settled in. Frank started up, "Any of you here the story about the farmer that saw some kind of monster in his fields? I bet it was something like that thing the train squished."

Harrison replied, "Some kind of mutant you mean? I'm sure it was. There's plenty running around and most die pretty quick. Whatever that thing is probably one of a kind."

"But it sounds just like the thing in the story."

"Nobody saw it. It's just a story. It was probably just a rad victim if anything."

Jack added in, "Nothing that stupid and ugly would have a chance to reproduce anyway."

Megan chuckled, "Same goes for you, Frank."

The rest of the ride was as short bumpy trip full of jokes and tales. American Falls crept into clear as the truck hit the off ramp of the highway. Everyone jumped over the side in turn as the electric motor's hum fell quiet. Jack walked carefully to the driver and knocked on the window. As the glass rolled down, the driver said with a dry tone, "No personal rides man."

Politely, Jack responded, "That's fine; I just need some directions to an office of the commonwealth around here." The driver obliged and spat out directions. Jack gave him his thanks and strode into the city. A small crowd was filing past the makeshift guard towers protecting the town.

Along his walk to the commonwealth office, Jack started thinking of some story to get himself cleared. "Hey, boy-o," someone was calling. When Jack turned around, he noticed Joseph waving at him. "Look, I know sounded a bit harsh back at the yard, but I think we both understand how irresponsible it was for the state to go ahead and stick you out on there."

"Well?that does make me feel better I guess. Do have some plan?"

"I have authority over that train and any trade officer will listen to me if I want you booted off. We'll have a good talk down at the office and you can back to whatever the hell you used to do."

"Shuffling papers is a lot more my suit then shooting armed targets."

"You mean you were a clerk!? Oh hell. Son, you definitely need to stay away from open conflicts like that. Come on, quickly." Joseph took off with Jack right after him. They reached the office and Joseph nearly tore the door down as Jack calmly tried to keep up. "Alright, where's the trade commissioner?" Joseph started yelling.

A young lady behind the front desk replied, "Sir, what seems to be the problem."

"The problem is some moron sent me a clerk for a shotgun rider on my train. Now, get the trade commissioner and tell him his ass is about to be grilled." The women pointed down a hallway and the two men set to it.

The commissioner was seated at his desk looking over some paper when his door was flung open. Joseph shouted, "Hey, we have a big problem here. Someone needs to figure out what a train guard looks like."

"Hold, on what are talking about and why are you interrupting me?!" the commissioner shouted back.

"Who ordered this kid reassigned to the guard detail on my train?"

"I'm not in charge of that kind of thing and we don't have an armed duty commissioner in this office."

"Well I'm sure you can a hold of one."

"Would you just get the hell out of here?"

"Not until we get this sorted out."

"Fine, show me the kid and we'll figure out what to do." Jack nervously stepped past Joseph and faced the commissioner who asked, "Can you use that gun you have alright?"

Jack replied steadily, "Yes."

"Then why can't you serve guard duty."

Clearing his throat, Jack started his argument, "Because I'm not enlisted for any armed actions and I don't think the state can just go throwing people into the line of fire just because they feel like it."

"Kid, the state does not have the resources to arm and train all the men it needs right now."

"I'm pretty sure it does since I haven't been paying them any less and that train was over stocked as far I could tell."

The commissioner started to rub his head and continued, "I take it neither of you are going to drop this. Fine, what did you do before this kid?"

Jack started feel a bit of assurance, "Just a desk clerk, sir."

"So I take it you paid attention in your publicly provided schooling and you can fill out reports well enough," the commissioner stared at the young man like he was trying to interrogate him. Jack nodded and the commissioner continued, "And you own that nice gun you seem to carry proudly." Again Jack affirmed the man. "Fine, I'll send word we have a new state hunter."

Jack was slightly stunned and asked, "Excuse me? What the hell does that mean?"

"Basically, you're going to get some kind of job from the state office, like figuring out where some raiders are holed up, and you do what you're told, and you'll be paid," the commissioner stated angrily and sternly.

"Sir, I was looking for something that didn't involve me getting shot at."

"Well, if you're smart, you won't. You're just the scout really."

Jack huffed, "Fine. One more question, why is called 'hunter', sounds pretty unofficial."

"It is. Well, you have a lot different jobs with this but tracking down raiders is the 'fun' part."

"When do I start?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"Now. Go make sure I get an inventory from that train," the commissioner growled as he set back to work. The two other men let him be.

Once outside, Jack thanked for Joseph for his help but still had a look of discontent on his face.

"Kid, I did my best. I get you're still pissed off but your less likely to die now."

"Yeah, I understand. I'm just really starting to hate these government pigs. I should have never signed up with them."

"I know what you mean. When I got here I wasn't too happy with this setup, but it was better than sheep farming and getting eaten by a mutant wolf. I'm still not happy but I deal with it."

Jack nodded his head patted Joseph's shoulder, "Well, you take care. I have another new job to take care of."

Chapter 5: Under the Table

After his first day on the new job, Jack was given a ride home in a state car (at his own expense). He collapsed in his bed when he reached it. His relaxation was broken by a soft buzz on the ham radio by the wall. Jack hauled his body over to the device, played with the dial, and picked up the microphone. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar but it seemed to know him by name, "Hey, is this Jack?"

"Yeah," Jack groaned back.

"You're friend said you'd help us out. We need a permit to transport some guns." There was only person this could be, Dillon. Only Dillon used this frequency to contact Jack and since Dillon was involved illicit dealings that Jack could help with.

"Alright, what's the magic word," Jack almost chuckled.

There was an unclear rabble before the voice returned, "Tibbly-blink?"

"Close enough. I'll head down to the office. Where are you guys?"

"Meet us by old I-15."

"Deal." Jack set down the microphone and shambled out the door. His muscles felt a bit looser now but he still had an exhausted feeling all about him.

No one gave him any trouble as walked to the city office. Jack considered the fact he still had a key until now. At this time of day, no one would be working so he was clear to take what he needed.
All the same, the eerie silence broken by his shuffling made him uneasy.

The old terminal waited on its desk like any other day. Jack made short work setting the machine print off a copy of a weapons trade permit. In the next room, the decrepit printer was slowly churning out the paper. After a yawn and stretch, Jack strolled right into the room with a pen in hand and forged his boss's signature onto the sheet and pressed a half broken stamp, common practice with the lazy bastard.

A voice crept up him, "Hello? What do you think you're doing?"

Jack wheeled around and caught eyes with a young woman. She was some other employee he's run into. "Oh, just handling some leftover paperwork that Smith left," he lied.

"I was told to take care of everything today."

"Probably just a mix up after the incident today. Someone tried to move me to another office but I had to get that cleared up."

"Well, I should probably take that sheet."

"Oh no, I can handle it. It's just a delivery. You don't need to worry."She started to seem suspicious. Jack tucked the paper in his jacket. "This is some old work and if you took it you'd have to re-sign it and everything and I really need to get this out."

"Fine, I'll let Smith know it was handled."

"No, he'll chew me out I was supposed to take this out yesterday," Jack continued to lie as he hurried out the door. He stopped for a moment, looked her in the eye, handed her an old twenty dollar bill and asked again to keep the secret. She seemed compliant.

Jack heart was pounding in his ears as he raced to meet the Tong caravan. He wound through the ancient streets and building until he found an on ramp. He figured they'd be settled at the same overpass. There was one man in the shade of the overpass, Dillon. The man waved each other down.

Dillon spoke first, "Let's see the sheet." Jack pulled out the permit and handed it over smoothly. There was a tinge of joy in Dillon's voice, "Man, this why you kick ass sometimes."

"Hey it's never a problem. Just know that cost me twenty bucks," Jack laughed as responded to his friend. Dark figures slowly exposed them self and a truck warmed its engine up.

"Hey, Mike, can you spot our buddy a twenty?" A figure responded and brought forth the bill. Jack thanked him as Dillon continued, "So you gonna ride with us?"

"You know, I might as well. What the hell else am I gonna do tonight," Jack replied, he had one more job to do. He followed Dillon over to an old city motorcycle. "So, do I get the sidecar today or is that reserved for these hoodlums?" Jack asked as pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the rest of the group.

"Nah, Mike and those guys will fit in the truck," Dillon replied. The group kicked the vehicles into motion and made drove up the withered road. Night winds brushed Jack's face as the motorcycle carried him along the rugged path. This ride was infinitely nicer than the train.

Sleep was starting to grip Jack by the time they reached the state checkpoint. Brakes groaned as the machines brought themselves to a stop.
Dillon didn't show the slightest worry as officers approached the group. "How you boys doing?" he smirked.

"We're fine," the officer replied in a stern tone, "So, what are ya hauling today."

"State ordered firearms. It's the supply for the raider trackers," Dillon continued with his steel nerve speech as one of the guard peeked into the truck. Dillon unveiled the permit Jack had given less than a hour before.

The guard shook his head and asked, "Now who's carrying the rest of the documentation here." This time, Jack silently pulled out the paperwork that said he was with the government. Again the officer nodded and handed back the sheet. They were given a quick wave and the machine took off.

Once they'd cleared the checkpoint, Dillon called over wind, "So, why do we have so much damn paperwork in a wasteland of a country."

Jack responded, "It's the illusion of civility. I think the only people who care about it are the senators who get off on some kind of power high." There was a moment of silence before Jack continued,

"So, who is Big Pu Tong dealing with today," referring to the head of the gang he was assisting.

"New customers, come from up south, Nevada probably."

"Vegas rats?"

"Definite possibility."

"Better than the legion in Utah," Jack joked.

"Better than California too."

"Oh come on, the NCR is more reasonable than this dictatorship."

Dillon concurred, "Amen brother. But for now, enjoy life until they take that too."

Act 2

Chapter 1: Down the Path

November 8, 2256

The sound of frost crushing under foot does seem to only make one feel colder. Jack slowly trudged uphill, determined not to be left behind. Since he had been placed into the commonwealth's militia, life was had been descending into hell. Nothing made sense about his situation but he couldn't fight this situation.

All at once, the ground was silenced and replaced by a voice announcing, "Hold up." Wind rushed past and stole part of Jack's precious heat. Every other member of the militia curled up and shook under their old coats. The lead man turned around and started calling out orders to the 30 some-odd men, but Jack paid little attention. Jack devoted his attention to recounting every wrong he might have committed to prompt fate to place him here. When he finally heard "Team 3", his team, mentioned he turned his head up with a snap and shambled after his group.

Every mountain side displayed a disturbing hue of brown and white, like the world had ended all over again. Nothing about his atmosphere gave any glimmer of hope or joy: dry and biting cold, somber "troops", and the sight of the old prison straight ahead. Some band of raiders holed themselves into the old structure some time ago and now they were about to be stripped out as best as possible. Men fanned out so they wouldn't draw attention to the steady brown blob they made on the hill side. Cold earth became much less friendly as Jack laid out his body and waited.

Engines chimed out a distant growl as the battle ensued. Mad men dressed in wool coats with menacing plates and spines haphazardly strung about them scrambled out and loosed fire upon the advancing vehicles. Team 3 stood itself back up and trotted its way forward, more than 200 yards, to do their part. Gunpowder exploded from a medley of guns that were all out of rhythm. A steady repetition of reports was all Jack could hear as he pulled his own trigger. When this sound stopped, there was the sound of his heart in his ears and the breath in his throat. Somehow, he wasn't ready for this.

His rifle drooped as he proceeded forward. When it rose again, a man's back filled his sight. Jack squeezed his finger tighter. A red stream flew through the air and the man dropped. This wasn't Jack's kill. Again, his dropped his rifle as the world seemed to stop.

Something quickly pressed on Jack's back bringing back to his senses. "Gotta be quicker pal," spoke a mouth wrapped in a scarf, "Come on, we need to keep kicking the hell out of these raiders." Jack followed somewhat confused as to why he couldn't kill raiders today.

Cracks from gunpowder filled the air. The Chinese military weapon in Jack's hands finally found its place and felled a crazed man swinging a large wooden board adorned in blades. Wind filled Jack's lungs like he'd redeemed himself.

Again, the militia marched forward as their ATV rider's strafed the prison. Jack followed the raiders with his rifle as they rushed about. One man stumbled backwards from the fight and leaned against a wall. There was a smirk on Jack's face as he steadied his weapon while everyone pushed forward.

Suddenly the world spun and the rhythm of bullets deepened in Jack's ears. His back slammed onto the ground but there was no sound. Something on his coat was wet?and warm. As he grabbed at his pockets, Jack mumbled to himself, "Don't touch the wound?just get the Stim." With a bite, a pull, and a stab, the flow of blood came to a stop. No reason existed to make Jack feel at ease yet. He could be shot again. But if we fought on, there was the lure of pride. Better yet, he could run and never deal with the militia again.

The lack of a second wound ensured Jack's assailant had fallen or become distracted. Frozen earth shot chills into the young man's body as he clawed his way off the hill. Something caught his attention, voices, the bullets had stopped. "Hey, there's one over here," cried a man. Jack's body laid still as a reaction.

Someone approached and voiced, "Leave him there. Lord knows no one wants to drag him out. Bastards. Something jabbed at Jack's side but he played his game.

"Told you, dead as a door nail. Just let the officers know."

"We're supposed to let command know that we lost 4 guys and didn't help them at all?"

"Raiders set a trap didn't they?"

Jack had to fight back the urge the stand up strike whoever was over him. Freedom is worth obscurity.

srry for not replying! I've been reading this for a while and i hate to post until i've read everythingto the point where I post. This writing is excellent. The manner in which you write is extremely disctiptive of the mood of the situation and really conveys what exactly is going on, painting a mental picture of the scene being read. I look forward to reading more of this!

hey thanks alot man

no problem. I know how frustrating it is to be writing something and be ignored. Believe me though, people are reading, even if they aren't commenting.

Act 2
Chapter 2: Meditation
4 hours since the Prison Raid

A faint set of clicks preceded the creak of the door. Jack stumbled into his tiny room in the old school and caught himself on the bed. The glass of a whiskey bottle made its distinct chime as it was slid across the table. The pungent aroma greeted Jack's nostrils as he poured the liquid over instruments of his multi-tool. Clumsily, Jack found the decrepit lamp and brought forth light. Pain ran through his nerves straight as an arrow to his mind. With a grunt, the copper slug was wrenched from his side. Finally, the acidic burn of the decontamination of a wound by alcohol in a tightly wrapped rag forced him to grunt like a territorial beast.

Nearly putrid rain water bit Jack's hands as he cleaned the blood he'd given today. As he opened the window to set his wool coat to hang, he cursed all the air in the night. After returning the small room to total darkness, Jack crawled onto his ratty mattress. His wound grew sore as he lay out trying to find enough peace to fall asleep.

Darkness broke into a forest. Trees stretched for miles before giving way to scorched ground. Heat and smoke spilled forth from the earth. Once the air cleared, an army of gravestones awaited. Amongst the crowd was an open grave. Jack stood and stared at the carved stone. Looking up from the hole, he noticed every other stone had vanished and he was left alone with the grave that bore his name and beckoned to his soul. He backed away, but his pace was halted by some obstruction. Behind stood a tall tree veiled in brown and yellow leaves that began to fly about in a gale wind.

Sunlight seared into Jack's eyes and made him grunt in annoyance. He sat up and scratched his head. The dream perturbed him, but it was nothing he'd ever care to notice.
Groggily, he shambled over to the window with his ragged blanket loosely wrapped around him. With one hand he pushed the window open with a shrill creak and pulled the close-line holding his jacket towards him. Night air had left the coat with specks of frost but otherwise fine. He dropped the wool coat onto his floor and pulled the old window shut.

A thought crawled into Jack's mind. Yesterday, he had technically died. This was his best chance to make something out of his life or just escape the attacks on raiders. The thought stirred evermore as he surveyed the room. He ran his hand along the length of his old workbench, too large to move anytime soon. Next, he picked up his old Big Book of Science; it was worth holding on to. Finally, his hand moved to the ham radio. After checking the dials, he spoke into the mouth piece, "Hey, is Dillon there?" He waited for the response. "'Kay, tell him his friend Jack would like to see him later."

((For the record, I'm still working on this for whoever is reading it. However, I have become very distracted as I have started Fallout Tactics and found it has a mission mod tool. Currently, I am attempting to translate this story into a custom campaign if anyone is interested in that too))

Excellent mood writing and with character. I could learn from you. :tops:

Descriptions of action could be clearer sometimes. Fast action does not automatically need fast description.

Again, excellent!

Looking forward to reading more.

Act 2: Chapter 3: Dead Man Walking

Jack groaned against the pain in his side as he moved to answer the pounding at the door. Once the door creaked open, Dillon questioned him on the wound. "I'll tell you in a second," was the return.

"You should really get that looked at."

"I've got it sterilized and Stimmed," he winced before continuing, "Okay it was Stimmed until I dug the last bit of lead out."

"Seriously, what if that get's infected and you die?"
Jack shuffled over to the table and tapped the bottle of whiskey. "I don't drink anything this strong." His friend simple shook his head. "Hey. It was late. This was closer and I refuse to deal with the night shift at that clinic."

"It's day now."

"Are you gonna carry my sorry hide half-a-mile to a rusty old clinic for rad poisoning patients?"

"It's probably better than nothing," Dillon returned as he picked up the multi-tool off the table and observed the specks of dried blood and the dish still half full of alcohol. "When did you become a field surgeon?"

"Since I started reading up on the stuff," Jack answered pointing to small stack of books in the corner.

"You have an expensive habit there," Dillon replied with an air of concern.

Jack shot him a grunt of denial and continued, "Better than paying medical bills and lying on as nasty old cot for a week."

"Oh, and that thing's better," Dillon retorted nudging the mattress on the floor with his foot.

"Hey, I'm the only one to have bled on that thing in the last 20 years."

"I wouldn't be too sure about anything beyond that though."

"It's been de-loused?a couple times."

"Yeah? so, how about the story regarding that hole in your stomach?" Dillon inquired.
Between groans and aches Jack retold the story of the assault on the old prison on the mountain side. "So, those idiots just march off while I freeze half to death on the ground. I eventually get my
sorry hide up and walk out just fine and dandy what with the painkillers in that Stim still going strong.

"But here's the fun part, I got to wait for an extra half an hour because of this Black Elk sittin' at the bottom of this hill."
Jack's story was cut short by Dillon's inquisition of disbelief. Black Elk were the evolutionary response to one of the harshest environments in the earth's history. Before the bombs fell, wildlife could be as docile as any child's story made them to be. With resource competition and a lack of cover, violence becomes the most prudent course of action. This new breed of Elk stood backed a rack of spears for antlers backed by hundreds of pounds of raging muscle. Any person that saw this beast would be at least as shocked if they locked eyes with any bear or Bull Moose in rut.

Dillon commented, "Well, the thing couldn't be that bad if it was alone during mating season. You ran into the loser that couldn't get any," he paused before chuckling, "Which means you two have something in common."

"Yeah, that loser that couldn't get any was also probably really ticked off and ready to bowl over anything he saw," Jack retorted before continuing.
Stiffing the chuckle, Dillon asked, "Did you at least shoot it so we can go get it sometime."

"Shoot an animal that weighs around a thousand pounds with a short range weapon while I have a bullet wound to deal with. Lord, No! Why did was I so foolish and wasteful?" Jack's reply was sarcastic and demeaning.

"Dude, you got that damn gun for a reason. Use it."

"That reason was to keep kill thugs and raiders. This is the Wasteland. War breaks out without any notice," after a pause to deal with a surge of pain, Jack continued, "Besides, that gun isn't accurate past something like 60 yards. You should know better than me that a burst from that gun will either miss or wreck the meat on an Elk."

"You'd make some money."

"Yes, because I can clean, draw, quarter, and butcher an animal. I also am not about to piss off an animal that can run off adrenaline, pin cushion me, and drag me to hell with it."

"I know guys that have taken on Black Elk with revolvers and knives and crap."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"You didn't see the thing flop out of a pull-cart with its neck sliced open."

"Did you actually look that thing over for bullet wounds?"

"Yeah. I know you've met Truck. You wouldn't doubt him?"

"Okay, you didn't say that giant was the guy that did it. You could tell me he wrestled it to death."

"I think he did that to a bear."

"I know he broke twenty-something bones in 4 different guys in one fight."

"Good thing I bet on him that day." Jack laughed before giving a loud shout of pain. His friend looked him over and asked, "So are you going to tell them you're alive or you going to hope someone else can employ you.

"I thought I could see if the Tong's would take me. They don't exactly have too much trouble maintain a specific employment base."
"Technically you already do, but it's because you have access to government resources."

"I can keep it up as long as I go in at night or something."

"And if you get caught? You and I know the commonwealth needs more resources. Stealing paper is one thing but I don't think your bosses will take kindly to you trying to operate under their nose for the pure purpose of aiding their worst enemy."

"If they decide to hang me, you'll hear about it soon enough."

"Blow up the jail again? That's always fun."

Continues to be excellent.

Act 3
Chapter 1: Intrigue

"Seriously, I'd like to know why we're driving across hell and into nowhere," Jack questioned finally getting a moment to speak through all the bumps and cracks that jolted the truck on the ruined highway.

His friend turned around in the shotgun seat to face him and answered, "A shipment went never reached our customer have to find clues to what happened and who did it." Suddenly, there thick thud as Dillon was sent rocked into the ceiling. Rubbing his head he snapped to the driver, "Dammit Badger, swerve around that [censored]."

"You want me to roll this thing Grizzly?" the irritated driver replied.

"No, I want you to do your job to a reasonable standard you moron."

"This road is nothing but potholes. You're asking me to thread a nee-"

"Lookout!"

Jack put one hand against the window and the other clutched at the seat as his body shook back and forth from the swerving actions. Dillon recollected himself and continued to berate his pilot, "You pulled that one off well enough. Just a little effort is all I want." Badger grumbled with the clear resent one holds when being lectured. Dillon flicked his hand into the drivers shoulder to get his attention so he could continue his lecture, "You want me to do you a favor you shouldn't make me regret. Keep up this crap and you can go back to packaging." Again, Badger made no actual speech, just a grunt. "Come again," demanded his officer.

"Alright Grizzly."

"Good."

With the two settled down, Jack felt the need to inquire about the nicknames. "Oh, yeah. I never told you about the name the Tong's use for me. The guys higher up feel it's best to stay as secretive as possible. Granted the Commonwealth won't catch anyone off their first name but it helps and if they intercept our radio signals they stay lost."

Rubber, metal, and dirt crunched and ground as the truck suddenly slowed. Badger slowly opened his door as he called out, "I think we found our clue." Before them, lay an overturned Jeep. All three men looked over the scene from the truck.

Dillon was aghast at the sight as he uttered, "What the hell did those raiders do?" He strode to the bed of the truck and retrieved his shotgun and handed Jack his rifle. As Jack moved towards the scene, he placed his hand over his action with cautious expectance. "Badger, look around for anything that might tell us who did this."Jack approached his friend as he opened the damaged vehicles rear door. The bent roof resisted for a moment then groaned in defeat. "The driver's body is still in the seat. Others are missing though. What the hell? doesn't look like they even touched the supplies. Jack, go open the hatchback."

Jack slid to the back of the vehicle and grabbed the handle with his free hand. "It's locked," he called around the corner.

"Hold on," Dillon answered as he worked his way towards the driver's seat. "Catch."

Jack glimpsed a small object arcing towards him and snatched for it then slid the key into the lock. "Wow, everything looks like it's in order?kind of.

Definitely wasn't messed with unless someone put it all back."

"Which still wouldn't make sense." Dillon leaned against the Jeep in thought. "First off, raiders know enough to avoid cars since most of 'em are Tong owned anyway."

"Well, they hit that train I was on several months ago. Something is making them desperate."

"Still, they didn't even touch the supplies. That's not desperation that's anger."

"Maybe they found a new supplier."

"Vegas rats? Caesar's Legion?"

"NCR?" Jack almost shuddered at the last thought.

They broke their deliberation when Badger yelled for them to see something. When they arrived, he was gagging and desperately looking away. Two bodies were strewn on the ground, one torn in half the other had its torso crushed. Both men were further dumbfounded. Dillon stammered, "Alright, someone was is really pissed."

((This and the last bit were a special thing for me. Feel free to give feedback on it. Note: yes the time and point view does change. I just thought a flashback would be fun))

Act 3
Chapter 2: Insight

November 22, 2256

Tong commerce caravan Arbiter: Shale

Destination: Idaho Falls

"Turn the radio down, Granite, we need to radio the base," Shale made his command to his long time driver with respect. Quickly, the melody drained out and let in the mechanical buzz of the electric motor before Shale spoke again, "This is the north-bound caravan to Idaho Falls checking in. We should be about 50 miles out right now. HAM will probably cut out soon."

A voice crackled back, "Alright, Shale, make sure to radio back tomorrow so we know you're not broke down, lost, or dead."

Shale set down the HAM radio and the car radio roared to life with a swinging beat once again. In the back a voice groaned, "Does the music need to be that loud. I'm trying to sleep."

Granite called back, "Jeeze, Rubble, it's only ten."

"These trips take forever when you drive 45 miles an hour," Rubble replied perturbed.

"We have to save juice," Granite answered smugly.

To which Shale responded, "Hence turning the radio down you hypocrite."

"Oh, come on, I'm just messing with him," Granite replied a bit offended as he swerved around a pothole, "Do you guides enjoy being so serious."

"I just have to do what Pu's administrators tell me and they told me to keep you all in order, like every time," Shale answered calmly.

The fourth passenger, Gecko, a replacement for a member on break, finally piped up, "Speaking of the "higher ups" what did they pack us with?"

Shale paused in thought like he wanted the conversation to die down so he could enjoy the radio, "Um?clothes, medicine?and I think a crate of soap."

"No contraband?"

"Oh there's some heavy stuff under all that, not much."

"I thought we were a black market kind of organization."

"Yeah, the Commonwealth doesn't like tax evasion," Shale clarified. Granite grunted at the word "tax" and uttered a curse under his breath. "I know that's why we're all here. The world's barely even trying to pull together and we just pretend like nothing happened."

For the rest of the ride, the men shot around quips at random interval but Shale calmed himself by watching the dark outlines of the terrain when the vehicle didn't fishtail and jostle him. In actuality he was also looking for a random group of raiders as unlikely as one might be. At one point he thought he saw a group of people headed towards the road before he realized they were Brahmin.

"Holy?," Granite called out as he pressed the gas and twisted the wheel back and forth. Metal pangs resounded off the walls as the passenger panicked in the swerving vehicle. "Did anyone else see the size of that freak," Granite stammered.

"What the hell was I suppose-" Gecko started before he felt his face and body strike Shale's seat. Granite gripped the wheel as if he was about to rip it away from the dashboard and hammered the brake with his foot.

"Granite, move this piece of crap," Shale shouted. No sooner had he given his order as he felt his balance change and he noticed the vehicle was being flipped, from a stand still. The group yelled in curses that blended with the crash of metal. Rubble and Gecko kept from cracking their skulls and twisted around to find their door handles and exit the vehicle. Shale placed one hand on the ceiling below him as he undid his seat belt to catch his fall. Granite had also remained tightly strapped in but motionless. Shale noticed the driver door window had spiderwebbed and had red stains filling some cracks. His body refused to respond when Shale shook him. Deciding his own safety was more paramount; he worked the door open and crawled out. Something thick impacted his chest lifting him off the ground. Darkness flashed out the stars above him as he crashed down.

Rubble popped away with his semi automatic rifle at a giant target that he had watched kick his leader. "Come on boy, how many can you take?" he shouted. Gecko was still steadying himself as he watched the two struggle. With an open hand and bloody hand, the beastly figure struck away the weapon and snatched Rubble's arm. With his free hand, Rubble pulled out an old revolver kept handy and continued to plug away. Six reports blasted out before he flipped the sidearm around and hammered at his foes face. Growling the creature hammered a fist into Rubble's chest.

Shakily, Gecko let loose several rounds. The beast tossed his first opponent aside to turn and strike his next assailant to the ground. With one hand, the beast snatched Gecko's rifle and slammed it to the ground bending it beyond use. Something flew into its head. As it turned, the creature locked eyes with Rubble again. He charged forward and hoisted the man into the air. Rubble slammed both of his feet into his attacker's face. Another bestial growl was let loose as the monster placed on hand on each end of the man pulling flexed his muscles taunt.

Rubble felt his insides squirm and then tighten. He struggled to yell, but his lungs had no breath to spare. As looked the giant in the eye, its deep voice growled, "Now you break." Blood spilled from
his midsection. His body split in half after a moment making a sound like a thick stack of paper being torn.

Gecko's fear almost made his heart burst from strain as he watched the scene. His comrade was left in two gory pieces in the dirt. His ears drums pounded with every step. Breathlessly, he prayed he wouldn't meet his end in agony. The world dipped into darkness.

With cruel and twisted grin, the super mutant pressed his foot into the squishy human's chest and laughed. A voice broke his bloodrage ecstasy, "George, that's enough." George grunted in acknowledgment to his master. The master mutant surveyed the scene and bashed his head into George's already bloodied skull. "We needed them alive." Again, George just grunted but with less respect. George towered over his fellow mutant and leader but the master still managed to severely hammer the insolent mutant with his elbow. "I know you can speak! You will obey," the master mutant shouted. More growling than speaking, George uttered a 'yes.' With one hand, the master picked up the limp body of Shale and inspected it. "Mark, this one breathes, take him," he ordered holding the human out to another mutant. The mutant tossed the man onto his shoulder like a rucksack. "We go, now."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
16 hours later

Tong investigation team. Arbiter: Grizzly

Badger couldn't restrain himself, he felt his throat tighten and warm as the fluids of his stomach spilled erupted onto the ground.

"Badger," Grizzly called out.

"Yeah."

"Nut up."

"What do you expect, that's just too intense for me."

Grizzly shook his head as he turned to his friend. "You're holding up well for all this," Grizzly commented.

"I'm trying to pretend it's a deer," Jack replied with a slight gag.

"At least you have so conditioning," Grizzly said coolly, "So, what's your take? I say deathclaw."

Jack looked at the carnage considering the proposition but his mind felt flustered he observed the jeep. "I've never heard of a deathclaw charging and flipping a jeep," he stated ponderously. An image of a large female deathclaw, hunched over and ready to charge, filled his mind's eye. He let the scene play out picturing its muscular mass slamming into the Jeep's passenger door. Even the sounds of crunching metal seemed to meet his ear as he thought. At first, it made sense, those wasteland ravagers stood almost two feet taller than a Jeep on average and seemed to run on pure a hateful, ornery, pissed off super fuel. Then he actually thought about the math. The fully loaded Jeep must be close to a ton or more. He thought about the memory of a hunting trip with his father where he hoisted a gutted Black Elk carcass upright from a tree left standing through the ages. Both men strained in bursts to edge the beast up back then. By relation, he couldn't imagine picking up a loaded down truck. He ran the scene through his mind again. It made sense a deathclaw could put a Jeep on its side from full dash was vaguely possible. Putting a Jeep on its roof was near impossible. And why would it continue to attack something that might as well be dead at that point. "[censored] dude. I don't deathclaws too well. It still sound iffy that would knock a truck over but nothing else can tear a man in half."

"Well," Grizzly began as he lit a cigarette, "I didn't say a deathclaw flipped a truck. You can do that by driving wrong, especially on these worn out roads," Grizzly shouted at the still shaky Badger with the last comment.

Jack contemplated again. "Okay, driver sees a deathclaw in the road, swerves, flips, everyone scrambles out, wild beast gets a free dinner."

"As terrible as that sounds," Grizzly replied before taking a drag, "it has to be to the answer."

"Explains why the supplies are here too. Wait, what about the fourth man?"

"Either he booked it, or got dragged off to feed the babies."

Badger composed himself enough to call out, "There are only a few spent shells so that backs it up I guess. Doesn't seem like raiders."

Grizzly leaned up against their own truck. "Jack, right up the report. Badger, start moving crates into the truck bed."

Jack walked to the truck and picked up a clipboard from the seat through the rolled down window. He set about taking notes about the damages while walked around the Jeep. He crouched at the driver's window. Staring at the driver he took a few more notes and said, "Sorry, we had to meet this way pal." Setting the clipboard down, he pulled the door back open, and clicked the driver's seat belt. "This is the least I can do," he continued as he struggled to set the limp body straight along the ceiling. He leaned in and set the driver's head against the passenger door, folded his hands over his chest and closed the door again. "A little dignity for ya." As walked back away, he could swear he heard a groan. Stepping back, he stared through the broken window squinting. After a moment the body stirred and its eyes fluttered. In flash, Jack ran to the other door, opened it and dragged the man out.

Struggling to breath the man asked, "Am I still?dreaming."

"Guys, over here, he's alive."

Act 3
Chapter 3: Seeking Peace

Twenty-six bodies stood about in a crowd with their heads lowered in a somber silence. Even the wind joined in mourning with a sound like a shrill moan. Two boxes lay upon the soil before the gathering. Though only the best of efforts were made to make give the men their proper final peace, the wasteland proved to barren and hostile for any form of luxury known before the blast. The simple coffins were little more than crates made for a man, only the utmost care was used to build them.

A particularly well dressed man at the head of the crowd broke the silence, “Now we commit these men to the earth to take their final rest. May it be in peace.” Eight men came forward to take up the ropes under the coffins to lower the boxes into the deep of their graves. Onlookers wept once more for the passing of their sons, brothers, and friends.
One man nearly collapsed with grief as he sobbed for his comrades. “Why did I stay? That’s not his place.”

An old hand placed a hand on his shoulder and comforted him, “Do not feel guilt. Neither your hand nor your will brought about our friends demise.” The grieving man looked into the eyes of his great leader, a older man of asian descent, a man known as Confucius to some and simply Pu to others, the figure head of the Tong underworld. This figure of leadership always carried his respect in tow by wearing well kept and expensive clothes. Today he donned a crisp dark shirt and matching pants. Truly, he didn’t want to show off, he simply wanted to ensure he stayed in his position of respect. “You are a father. You have a duty to your young daughter. No man is at fault that does only what his duty asks.”

“My duty was also to be guarding that jeep. I still feel that I got Gecko killed.”

“And where would your wife and child be? Alone and desolate. The wasteland is not forgiving to anyone. Our dear Mike would not want to see you laid to rest and your family in mourning either. Death can’t be beaten,” Pu continued insisting to refer to the departed by his true name. The younger man seemed to compose himself. Pu placed his aging hands on his friend and employees shoulders and gave him an inspiring stare. Turning to the women nearby holding an infant in a bundle and softly spoke, “You must be strong too.”

Jack looked to his friend and shook his head, “I still can’t believe we have to live like this. Damn raiders at every turn and animals that hunt us down.” Scuffing the dirt with his boot, Jack continued his personal monologue, “I really wish we could walk outside without a rifle. It would also be nice if we weren’t rationing everything possible.” He stopped for a second and ran his finger through his grizzly hair sticking out of cap. “And this stupid sun. What the hell is wrong with the world?” Leaning up against a tree, he set his face in his hands.
Someone approached him with the sound of shifting dirt. “Tsk tsk, I see someone else is deeply caught in the moment.

“Confucius, sir…” Jack spoke up looking at the well dressed man.”

“I’d prefer you called be name right now. So ill fitting. Now, please tell me what is eating at you.

“I’m just…up in arms in a way. I’m tired of this place. It’s been almost two-hundred years since the bombs fell and humanity is still scraping along.”

“It’s a long process to build an idyllic civilization,” Pu responded.

“There’s just nothing that seems right. The Commonwealth is in a dream pretending like the world is fine and the old government still works and at the same time we have to hide behind walls of scrap and those are the lucky ones,” Jack was steadily getting more irritated as he spoke.

“The Commonwealth is surely flawed, but some find solace in their authority. We, as the Tongs, exist for those that don’t find the help they need from taxes and trade regulation.”
“And what do we do with raiders that kill our friends?” the younger man imposed.

Pu placed his hands together and shut his eyes, “I believe you wrote the report that suggested our men were attacked by wildlife.”
“It wasn’t my suggestion. It was my friend’s”

“And where is he.”

“He’s paid his respects.”

Pu sat still for a moment before continuing, “I can tell you want to take some kind of crusade to avenge our friends. If I can do anything, I won’t allow it.”
“Someone should make sure there’s justice!” Jack snapped back.

“I’m not worried about justice myself. I’m worried about my men letting hate and rage blind them so we must have more death on our hands,” Pu’s speech remained steady and resonant, suiting his title. “Don’t pretend that you aren’t upset today. Emotions are deep. Let them settle. If we must deal with your theorized raiders or a rampant predator, we can deal with them when you see straight. I want you to respect these men not rush off to defend them only to join them.”

Jack paused as he collected his thoughts. “Why do you run an organization that transports guns and drugs with armed guards if you don’t like death?”
From behind a small smile came the response, “I already said I want to help people live better. Unfortunately, we must deal with those with different goals. I haven’t been your presiding leader very long. I took the reins hoping I could do away with the pain we cause. Our nature is ingrained. The Tongs are a mafia it seems and I’m not enough to stop it. At times I feel like a councilor, but my men need a leader. Truly I follow them like a shepherd follows his flock. I can’t make you deviate from the path you know, but I can guide and hopefully protect you.”
It began to dawn on Jack that his leader was being much forthright than he could have expected. “I never really thought of you like that. Everything I was told was that you were a firm and dedicated leader.”

((author' note: For some reason I'm not as happy with this one. This whole act was mostly a moment of inspiration that seemed like a good way to do some crazy emotional stuff and bring in super mutants. Hopefully I can get the main story going with a few less tangents.))

Act 4

Chapter 1: The Republic

Samuel Baker watched the moon overhead splash its haunting glow on the barren wastes. The brilliant scene took him back none too long ago holding his wife Maria close. His emotions began to further well up as he noticed a wildflower in the dark. Carefully, the plucked it from the ground and looked over it white head as he ran over his hand. As he rose, he felt something in his neck, a sharp pain. Baker’s throat strained to breathe but every pulse of his lung was stopped short. He began gag as he noticed a distinct taste in his mouth before watching the blood dribble from his lips to the ground. In a strained effort, he placed his hands to his neck where he felt the burning pain and wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the protrusion still coated in his own warm blood. Finally his legs lost their strength and his sight turned dark. In his last moments, he could swear he could see Maria’s face there watching him leave.

“Grizzly, we got the scout,” Pheasant held the small radio close to his head as he waited for a reply.

Eventually, his guide crackled back, “Alright we’re in place to hit their camp right now. Let us know when you get ready to join in on the party.”

“Got it Griz.” Pheasant approached the man he’d slain, his broad headed arrow standing straight out from the man’s neck and doused in red liquid. “Told you I could hit him from there,” he quietly called back.

Grouse slunk forward, her own crossbow in hand, shaking her head. Still in disbelief he bitterly replied, “I still think you should have waited for a better shot.”

“30 yards out while the moron looks at a flower, I call that perfect,” Pheasant snapped back.

“It was more than 30.”

“Good, that just makes me better,” the man continued in a proud voice.

“I know I’m here specifically in case you miss, but it would still be nice if I didn’t have to,” Grouse returned bitterly.

“Fine, you get first shot next time. Come on.” Pheasant crouched himself down and cautiously maneuvered through the dry grasses and bushes while Grouse tried to continue her berating lecture before giving up and following behind.
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“You dial that thing in yet?” Grizzly asked playfully as he watched Jack tinker with portable radio.

Still working intently, Jack replied, “It’s a lot harder than you think when they aren’t talking on their own radio.” He clicked the switch on the microphone several times. “Did that get them?”
Grizzly focused the group of men down range with his binoculars. “Wait…yeah looks like it. One of just got up and walked over to it. Hand me the mic.” Setting the binoculars aside, we took up the radios transmitting microphone clearly began his speech, “Attention NCR pigs, we here from the North Western Commonwealth would just like to say ‘Go to hell you imperialist bastards’.”

The ploy took effect. A voice responded over the radio with a distinct ‘pissed off’ tone, “Who the hell is this and what do you think you’re doing.”

A spurt of laughter came over Jack and his fellow Tongs. “Oh man Dillon, this guy is not happy with us.”

“Remember, its Grizzly when we’re doin’ stuff like this,” his friend reminded him.

“Oh yeah, and I have to be Ursus,” Jack replied as he rolled his eyes.

Grizzly motioned for the men to silence as the voice on the radio picked up again; still demanding to know who they made contact with. “Sir, you can just call us the local security. Now, if you don’t pick up and turn back to California we can just escort you straight to hell.”

“We have our right to trade across this land,” the NCR commander responded.

“Hmmm. No I don’t think you do, mostly because we don’t want getting too comfortable and trying to set up shop.”

“What makes you so- WHAT THE HELL,” the speaker trailed off as a rifle report made its distant gentle thunder.

“So confident?” Grizzly smirked as he spoke, “Or so badass. Either way, the answer is my friend out there. Good shot isn’t he what with the lighting and all.” The radio held silent. All three men laid them self on the ground.

Jack set to completely deactivating their own radio quite frantically before rigging another device for operation, a radio sensitive explosive ‘car, a Desert Rat. The device spun its pegged metal wheels into the dirt and hummed forward toward the NCR rangers as they armed themselves expecting a raid. Several more hunting rifle shots kept the ranger’s in a cautious state. Hardly hindered by the few patches of brush, the rat rolled directly into position. Satisfied, Jack threw the radio’s power supply back together and pressed switch down forcefully. The roar from the small bomb struck pure and clear in the night.
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Lieutenant Chamberland pushed himself off the ground slowly, his ears still ringing from the explosion. This wasn’t his first violent encounter with wastelanders. Immediately he began to help his comrades to their feet and taking count of the lost. One of his corporals lay in the dirt bleeding profusely from his ear, clearly caught too close to the blast but alive. Chamberland slowly set the man upright and pointed him to a rock to take cover behind.

A torrent of gunfire rained on the NCR soldiers as they hurried to recover. Their experience against raiders and the Powder Gangs hadn’t included this kind of firefight but they refused to give in and accept death. Their experience did tell them they were better trained and better armed than any wastelanders. They became determined to crush these insects.

Chamberland dropped to his knees and scanned the scene for hostiles. Despite muzzle flashes in the dark, not one body made itself clear for his sights. These Commonwealth types were amply prepared. Plumes of dirt wafted in the air from the strikes of bullets. The Lieutenant was growing anxious listening to gunfire and moans and cries of dying rangers. Finally, he stood himself straight up and leaned around the trailer to get a better angle for just a moment. His body felt unbearably heavy as his eyes turned to the starry skies.

Their experience told them they were better trained and better armed than any wastelanders. These weren’t any wastelanders.
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“Come on, stand up buddy. You know you want to.” The dark figure was nervously shifting behind the cover of the caravan trailer in Grizzly’s scope. Irritated, he squeezed the trigger on his hunting rifle letting a slug plow into the dirt at the ranger’s feet. The veteran marksman skillfully cycled his bolt and continued to wait. His satisfaction was granted as the black silhouette from the campfire shifted around its cover, its shaded torso moving unknowingly right into a set of crosshairs. With another gentle pull, the figure flopped to the ground limp and heavy. “I think I ruptured his heart,” Grizzly proudly stated.

“Still a bit creepy that you’re enjoying this,” Jack responded partially disgusted.

“This is the way things go. I make the most of it.”
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The Lieutenant struggled to push himself off the ground and deny his end. Fire burned in his stomach as he raised his upper body. Two blurry figures were approaching him from the darkness. Chamberland’s fingers grasped for his revolver, but he lacked any strength to wield the weapon. Light from the campfire just barely touched at his attackers now as they watched him struggle. He finally removed his sidearm from his holster and tried to aim toward the shapes. As his he let forth his last breaths, Chamberland watched one figure swing his rifle perfectly in line with his body. He never heard the last blast of the bullet that tore through his chest.
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Regret and satisfaction mixed in Jack looking at the dead ranger. “Well, so much for rupturing his heart there dead-eye.”

“He was dead enough,” Dillon shot back. Calmly he strode over to the body and drove his boot into its side hard.

“Show some kind of respect. The guy is human.”

“He tried to shoot me.”

“You did shoot him first.”

“Eh…let’s just get this shipment divvied up. Whenever those Commonwealth boys want to pop out,” Dillon continued with disdain. Human shapes in the dark dry grass caught the Arbiter’s attention as he motioned them over. His grip on his rifle tightened with the stressful distaste as he stared at the Commonwealth ‘Captain’. “Alright, you guys did you’re part and spent your ammo so you get your share.”

Approvingly he responded, “And here I thought you mafia types didn’t have honor.” Next he turned and called out with a wave of his weapon, “Gretta, inventory.”

Like a programmed reaction, Dillon ordered Jack to do the same, “Make sure they count everything right.” Both grunt workers hopped into the back of the same steam truck. The two set to competitively search crates and calling out the contents, and doubling checking every measurement. A multitude of small arms, a handful of heavy support guns, variations of ammo, and a massive stock assorted scrap gadgets. Boxes were hurled out, reorganized, and hauled off. Everyone accepted the final deal and cautiously turned to leave.

Only the heads of the attack remained in a steady glare. Grizzly was still waiting for the Commonwealth to try and arrest or execute them, but the Captain just calm smile. Finally, Grizzly broke the silence, “So, if anyone asks?”

“Contraband. the Commonwealth veteran replied easily,”You’re excuse?”

“Don’t need one,” Grizzly shot back as if he had been accused of something.

“Fair enough. Now, let’s pretend this never happened.”

Defiantly, Grizzly stepped forward to say, “Oh, I won’t tell anyone I dealt with you,” before finally leaving with a heavy disgruntled foot fall.

His friend had been waiting against the electric truck. “You seemed especially irked today.”

Grizzly seemed ignorant Jack's statement as he took his seat until he finally muttered back, "That bastard cheated me before and put a bullet in me."

Edit: Just felt like taking some time to review some writing. Should have edited this quicker

I amazed to see so many good fan fics right now. I've only read the first three chapters, I wanted to give this a glance at least. At any rate I found it quite good. Their were a few mistakes, like forgetting a word, small stuff like that. You could read it over to catch them, but it doesn't really take away from the reading that much, so it's not really a big deal. The problem that I didn't like was using numbers instead of words. Numbers higher then twenty don't bother me that much, but when you write 2 instead of two, it really gets to me. I don't know, maybe that's just me. I'll finish reading this as soon I'm done writing.

It's quite a lengthy fan-fic, but I like long chapters, so :thumbsup:

Yeah the number rules I dont pay too much attention too, infact I know for a fact I've been using them backwards but for Chapter headings I figure it works better for me. I never plan chapters to be really long but I just write and stuff comes out.

Oh, no the chapter headings are fine. I meant using numbers in the actually story.

Alright, I'm doing something that's out of the norm, I'm asking the board's opinion (I really just wanted to write this for myself). For those of you actually reading and enjoying this (yay pessimism) should I take two steps back, build the background and explain the actual situation because I am leaving some stuff out for the sake of progress. Continue as now and do as I do best. Last choice, full speed ahead and get the actual story done; trust me, like the Fallout games there is a main story and side stories, and I am lost in tangents right now.

((I rebranded 4-2 and 4-3 as side interests since they are more for world detail than story.))

Side Interest-1: Boots on the Ground

Every day in the wasteland was at its best uncomfortable and its worst, unbearable. Today was happily more towards the former.

“Really, that’s what your transporting us in!?” objected the younger man.

Grizzly shifted in the seat of the Brahmin wagon slowly before answering, “I’m sorry it’s not a [censored] Corvega, but we only have four cars, one is still is still busted, this training group isn’t high priority. Now shut up, jump in, and don’t TOUCH anything.” The man moved defeated into the cart. “Hey, Ursus, is that the last one?” Grizzly asked turning back around.

Jack looked at the sheet once more, counted slowly and answered, “One more, I do believe. A woman, judging by the name.” As he turned around to survey the group, he spotted someone toying at a box. Immediately, he snapped at him for defying orders and started to swing around his rifle as threat. The man stopped abruptly and sank back to his seat between the ammo crates.

A warm wind blew in as Grizzly pulled out a small worn wind up pocket watch. “Fifteen minutes and we leave. I’m not waiting all day for one person,” Grizzly grumbled.

His friend uttered a soft grunt before responding, “Hey they’re paying us for this aren’t they?”

“It’s not adjustable. We follow orders, we get paid. They won’t punish us if the rookies can’t keep up.”

After a short time passed, along with more of Grizzly’s patience, someone called out to the group. Grizzly jammed his thumb towards the back of the cart and waited for the woman to settle in. With a quick shout and the snap of the reigns, the Brahmin pair trotted up the decrepit highway.

It took over an hour for the cart to reach the stretch of barren land the Tong’s regularly used to train new gunmen. The group hopped and crawled off the cart quickly. Grizzly eyed the group and before demanding them to line up. After a minute, several seemed unresponsive. Irritated, he shouted, “Hey! Line up you morons.”

“Why?” one of the trainees asked boldly.

“Because dirt brain, you have to learn to take orders properly before you can be trusted with a weapon,” Grizzly snapped marching up to the indignant trainee staring him down. One could almost hear his knees shaking as he stared at a muscular, armed, and angry man. Quickly he backed away found a spot in line. “Now, since you obviously don’t understand teamwork. You are all going to practice following orders quickly and precisely. If you fail this, you will be dismissed immediately and you will walk your asses home,” Grizzly barked, “Understood?” The group returned in a mixture of ill timed statements of agreement. They looked at each other as if they had already failed.

Shaking his head, Jack called out, “This isn’t the American army. We aren’t here to put you in a single discipline. Just do what your told and don’t shoot yourself or anyone on your side.” The trainees looked somewhat relieved. “That being said, those of you that svck are going back to the machine shop, or the packing garage, the record room, the alleyways, or wherever you come from. We have the Commonwealth, the NCR, the raiders, and the Legion to deal with. If you can’t perform better than them, stay home.”

Like a practiced drill sergeant, Grizzly began to bark orders at the line of trainees and waiting for them to follow. Their reactions were quicker than before but still out of sync. “Alright, you all understand leadership now. I believe we can teach you how to shoot properly.”

One of the youngest men piped up, “What’s so hard, I thought you just point and shoot.”

The man’s ignorance made Grizzly laugh. “Jack, go set up one of those targets for dead eye over here.” His comrade complied as Grizzly began to load a bolt action rifle. “Alright, if you miss with this, it’s your own fault,” he stated boldly handing over the gun. Just as Jack finished setting the man sized target upright and steady, the trainee lifted up the rifle. Immediately, Grizzly fist slammed into the side of the man’s head. “You will never point that weapon at anyone you don’t plan on killing you dip [censored],” the larger man continued to yell as he beat the man around. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah but can’t you take it easy on a new guy?” the man asked weakly.

Another blow caught him. “That’s my friend down there. I’m not taking it easy with his safety.”

“Great way to show your affection D,” Jack hollered back watching the spectacle.

The trainee looked up confused, one side of his face beginning to show a bruise, “D?” he asked timidly.

His instructor pushed him aside and told him not to ask. “Now, aim again and shoot.” Slowly, the trainee raised the rifle, tried to hold it in an awkward stance, and loosed a round wildly off course and staggering the gunman. Grizzly snatched the rifle out of the man’s hands and demonstrated the proper form, fully erect, back relaxed, sights aligned, breath released. A slug punched a hole in the wood target causing it to wobble. Once again, the trainee was allowed to shoot, with more luck this time. “Good shot, he’s not dead, but he’s not going anywhere with that leg. Next up?” The rifle was passed along and often reloaded as everyone got to feel the rifle’s power. One at a time, they observed a small arsenal of weapons first hand including a revolver, a semi-automatic pistol, an assault
rifle, a shotgun, and lastly a mounted light machine gun.

“Alright now the fun weapon,” Grizzly called out partly excited. He hopped into the wagon, rummaged in a box and brought out a handheld single-shot grenade launcher. Several trainees showed signs of delight seeing the tube. “Unfortunately, you all have to shoot duds, we don’t someone screwing up and killing the whole group,” Grizzly stated sternly as he took position to fire. “Now, this one’s just a bit different, same basic rules apply, breathe easy and line up the sights, but the kick is a little funny with the powder load.” He let the round arc as his back rocked to take the punch. Again, they lined up to get a feel for the weapon and make sure they weren’t going to shoot their team in the back later.

At the end, Grizzly waved over his friend. Jack hopped off the wagon and walked over. Grizzly smirked as handed him the weapon saying, “Want to try a live round?”

“Sure…” Jack replied taken a little off guard. His friend handed him one round from a special locked ammo box. Setting the shell on the ground, he cracked the gun open and removed the spent test shell before sliding a fresh death dealer. The weapon rested easily in his shoulder. His heart felt like it speeding up, so he aimed high. A quick “thump”, and the round was out, sailing across the wastes. Finally, it descended and struck with a thunderous boom that ignited a thunderous applause from the onlookers. Impressed, he let the tube down slowly and stared at it. Grizzly approached and asked for his reaction. “That was definitely fun. Just knowing hearing that sound, I can imagine what it’s like in a real fight,” he answered.

“Yep, it sure is something,” his friend replied accepting the launcher back. “Alright, everyone load up. Sun’s getting low on us. Next time is the real training. Tactics and formations and what not”

The bruised trainee piped up, “So when do we get a title like you two.”

“When you actually prove you’re worth hiding from the Commonwealth, maggot,” Grizzly growled back, “I actually think that suits you, Maggot. You’re definitely unpleasant and you’re not getting any better.”

Another initiate questioned, “I thought they were all random and based on a theme for a group?”

“Yeah, but sometimes we get inspired with names. Anyway, enough chit chat. We are leaving.” Grizzly climbed aboard the cart again and cracked the reigns. The brahmin pair trotted off over the ruined road ways in a rhythmic set clops and crashes.

(( A note for those who read this. I know I post really slow, like months at a time and that will inevitably lead to this story's downfall. It's not that I'm not interested I just have too many things to do. If you read this regularly, prepare for long waits at times. I still have A LOT planned. After this I might have another story after I get the Fallout pen and paper game I'm getting my friends into. ))

Side Interest 2: The Way Things Work
The soft sound of aged portable power source began to hum in the dim room.

“Alright, let’s see what we get.”

A quick hiss preceding and loud metallic clang.

“Jack, what the hell are you doing in here?”

Carefully, Jack hauled himself upright after falling over in shock. He turned to his friend in the doorway, “The quartermaster let me borrow his room and some supplies to try something.”

“And it is?”

“It’s supposed to be a magnetic gun.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, magnetic as in it’s supposed to use magnets to fire a projectile like a bullet.”

“And how is that any better than gun powder?”

“Well for one, the ammo is easier to produce and two, theoretically, the bullet can be fired much faster resulting in more kinetic energy. Right now, things aren’t going well, I just lost my pellet because it didn’t fly straight.”

“Hence the reason why you should stick to old school stuff.”

“I imagine someone said that when the first gun was invented,” Jack quipped as he began to search the supply room. “Found the svcker!” he popped up holding the tiny ball bearing.
Grizzly stared at the improvised ammo for a moment before commenting, “You had better get something bigger than that if you want to hurt someone.”
“
According to my research this is just about the right size.”

“And how will that help.”

"Well less size will mean less mass and a greater velocity to equal more kinetic energy.”

“How about a smaller bullet makes a smaller hole? I don’t care how fast that thing hits me, I won’t even bleed out of the hole it makes”

“If this thing works right, this thing will hit you, stop dead and dump energy into your body and probably knock you on your ass. It should also rupture several organs.”
“
I somehow fail to believe that.”

“Well, it works, the military used them. I just haven’t seen one.”

“Look, why don’t you take a break and come with me to the garage, they should have that vehicle rebuilt. Hopefully, they also put in those upgrades.”

Jack quietly agreed and rose from the work table and picked up his rifle. There’s no such thing as a paranoid person in the apocalypse, there is always danger.
The pair ascended the aged metal stairs to the ground floor of the old Nuka-Cola bottling plant: the Tong Headquarters and homeless shelter. For thugs, they had a number of hearts and minds on their side. Several people shifted on their ragged mats to watch the armed men pass. The only sounds were of sickly coughs, crackling waste fires, and decrepit radio. Light filter in an array of patterns from the dirty and broken high windows of the factory. Eventually, the two men pushed open the front doors with a loud rusty creek and closed them with a clash. The air was dry as always and the slight breeze was hardly any help. A few bright wisps of clouds hung in the sky. Rain was a long time away.

The old downtown area was clearly ragged but hardly changed since the war. Sturdy brick buildings had lasted against time but nearly every pain of glass had been shattered by looters after the blast. The places that still held humans had been reinforced with trash and wood boards. Many had watchful inhabitants at their entrance holding weapons in cautious grasps.
Their jaunt ended with the sound of metal clang as they knocked on the garage door followed by a long rattle. A man in a welding hood jerked his head to motion them in and closed the clattered the door shut behind them. Today, the shop was quieter than usual, aside from a ratchet and a few flowing fluids.

Grizzly broke the silence, “How much longer until she’s ready.”

The welding hood slid up, “We’re getting the oil changed right now.”

Grizzly peered under the engine and used his foot to wheel the worker towards him. He smirked, “Welcome back to hell.” The mechanic grunted. “It’s your own fault. You didn’t listen and you ran into our ambush. You ‘died’ and know you’re in hell.” Another grunt and Grizzly simply shoved him back into place. The men stood back and waited a few more minutes finally a worker called them over. A woman handed him a key as the vehicle descended from on its platform. “Alright sir, it’s yours.” Excitedly, Grizzly hopped into the driver’ seat. Jack walked around slowly and popped open the side door before pausing, “Where the hell did you guys get all the parts.”

The woman wiped the grease from her face before responding, “Scav team dropped ‘em off.”

Grizzly smirked, “See? We have resources. Now let’s go break this in.”

“Hold on,” called a gruff voice. A series of clanks rang out interrupted by long pauses. A dwarfish man appeared supported by a miserable excuse for a metal crutch. “What makes you so sure you get to go joy riding in MY vehicle?”

“Calm down Roland. You’re not even tall enough to hit the pedal.”

Grizzly was correct, an irradiated development left Roland just over three feet tall. “I may be a mutant, but I don’t have to take your crap,” the short man scolded as he snapped Grizzly with his cane. “There’s one more upgrade I want to install and you’re going to help me with that.”

“Alright, Grumpy.”

“Good, we need to find a better energy capacitor and the caravans just might have that.”

Jack turned to face the crotchety mechanic. “Wasters with high grade tech?” he asked almost baffled.

Roland cracked the door open and crawled his way into the back seat before responding, “Yes, we talked to them a few days ago to square away the deal.”

Grizzly asked bitterly, “And we need you why?”

The dwarf patted the bag he had hauled into the vehicle, “Because I’ve been given the funds for the deal since I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“And why should I?”

“You know, there’s just no winning here is there?”

“Nope.”

With that, Grizzly pushed open his door and signaled the machinists to lift the door. The reworked vehicle pulled out slowly and quietly. People who once stared in suspicion now stared in interest at the rare sight of a running vehicle, specifically one with the Commonwealth branding.

“Where to exactly?” Grizzly asked somewhat bitter.

“Just head right and follow the old highway north. The scavs are camped that way.”

Jack shifted around to ask, “It’s still day. Why aren’t they in town?”
“
Tongs requested them this make deal be more private. Commonwealth probably doesn’t even know they have this capacitor,” the head mechanic responded, “’sides its only one group. The usual junkers are all over Yellowstone.”

The passengers fell silent for a moment. Eventually Grizzly clicked on the radio to which Roland quickly released an angry snap to conserve power. The rest of the trip was filled with the sound of warm breeze at twenty miles an hour after Jack pushed open his guard window.

A faint cloud of smoke poked into view from behind a pair of lean-tos. Someone stood up and waved as the Jeep pulled up.

The first trader decked in a tattered duster greeted the group as they exited the vehicle, “Well, nice of you to show up. It’s just such a nice day to sit in the sun.”

Roland griped back, “You’re being paid plenty enough to deal with some heat for a few hours.”

Jack mumbled to himself, “Not like it’s any better in town.”

Dismissing the stranger’s grievance, Roland continued, “Now then, let’s get this all out of the way.”

“Fair enough,” the scavenger waved over his companion. Slowly the second trader hauled the over some device.
As he stopped to address the group, he moaned with a thick raspy voice, “I don’t care you guys have to keep things secret, but couldn’t you ask for a lighter secret. This capacitor is one heavy S.O.B.”

Looking up at the man’s green and horrid complexion, Roland scoffed, “Is that all you ghouls do is complain?”

Detested yet somewhat humored, the ghoul responded, “You’re a mutant too, what makes you think you can talk?”

“I was born this way and I’m not in danger of eating anyone’s brain.”

Shaking his head, the ghoul shot back, “I think I’ll be the bigger man and walk away. Now let’s hurry.”

Complying, the dwarf handed over the package which made distinct metallic sound. The unaltered human checked the bag and whistled in satisfaction before adding, “Now that’s quite a payment.”

“Well you have quite the piece of hardware there,” Roland replied, “and if would be so kind.”

“Alright Sean, they made us a great deal, hand it over,” the trader requested. The ghoul placed the device in Grizzly’s arms. He seemed to have a much easier time handling it as he walked it over to the vehicles trunk.

The two scavs looked at each other shortly before plunging their hands into their coats. The motion seemed obvious, in its intent. Roland whipped his crutch at one of the traders. After a moment, Jack realized the situation and swung his rifle around and took aim at the ghoul aiming at the dwarf with his handgun. Three loud cracks erupted from the weapon as the scavenger slumped over.

Further enraged, the mechanic brought his crutch up around to slam the assailant square in the knee dropping him to the ground to catch him again in the jaw.
Roland pointed at the wounded man and yelled , “Take him out now.” The command was clear concise. Another round flew forth and burrowed deep into the man’s chest tearing muscle tissue, rupturing blood vessels, and cracking the bone that finally caught it.

Grizzly came back around the side of the vehicle having barely set the capacitor down in the time it took for the battle to finish. Looking over the two bodies, he nudged the human with his boot. No response. Suddenly the ghoul coughed prompting Roland to bear down with his crutch on his throat. With a final splutter that sent a thin stream of blood from his lips, the mutant slowly expired with no way to draw air through his crushed throat and single ruptured lung.

“Well then,” the mechanic began, “nice to know the quality of wasters. Someone grab that bag. I’m sure some other foreigners might have something we can trade the caps for.”

Jack asked what he meant by “caps”.

“I’m sure you realize Commonwealth currency isn’t good everywhere. The odd thing is that there’s wasters that prefer old metal bottle caps,” Roland explained as he hobbled back into the truck and accepted the bag from Grizzly.

‘Best not to ask too many questions,’ Jack thought to himself, ‘Life svcks. Accept it.’