Here's my first attempt at the begining of a story.



Sean Jacobs quickly jumped to his left as a searing hot bolt of superheated plasma rocketed past him at breakneck speed. He tucked and rolled behind a wall as he tried to quickly regain posture and pull out his sidearm. These new soldiers were nothing like the last ones. The last ones, the brotherhood or something like that, had been at least semi-kind to him and his small group of friends. These, strange, plasma wielding soldiers seemed entirely different somehow. Their armor gave no hint that any emotion was even present, as if they were some sort of robot, but that just wasn't the case. They were too agile, too team based, there was audible communication between them. He seemed to recall the brotherhood people warning him of two things; brotherhood outcasts, which these obviously weren't, considering the power armor they wore was completely different, and the Enclave. They must've been the latter, because they were just as described: ruthless, uncaring, and only paying attention to what they could gain from the area and not thinking of the people living there. He peered out to check if they had spotted were he had hid and if his friends were still in place. His head had barely inched out when a hailstorm of heat was ushered upon his cover.

Jacobs leapt up to prevent getting burned by the plasma slowly eating its way with a seemingly unstoppable hunger for anything it touched. As he found a particularly thick chunk of concrete to hide behind, he began loading his .44 magnum with mechanical efficiency. His home-made training schedule he had with his gang had made them exremly experienced when it came to necessary processes such as reloading. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and prepared to pop up, pick a target and fire, at least hoping to dent the armor they wore before getting back into cover and moving to repeat the whole thing over again. He quickly stood up and, with acceptable accuracy, managed to fire two shots into the chest of the officer whom was lacking the heavy armor of the rest. The first round had hit its mark in the right side of his ribcage and embedded itself in with incredible stopping power that the officer seemed to refuse to acknowledge. The second round had hit on the opposite side of his chest and ripped through layers of tissue and organ and bone, eventually coming out the other end in a visibly explosive manner. As the officer himself flew back, limp and lifeless, the other soldiers had already begun suppressing fire on his spot. Once again he switched covers, hoping each time to get closer to his small settlement, where there was at least a small militia ready at all times.

This time however, he noticed a strange absence of the crackling of the air being ripped through by the superheated projectiles. Instead he heard normal, bullet-based weapon fire from the tree-line, and lots of it. He dared to look up at the situation and saw six of his friends firing on the Enclave squad with old, Chinese Assault Rifles; each firing in prolonged bursts, trying to stay accurate. The unprepared soldiers didn't stand much of a chance as the 5.56 rounds tore through the back of the power armor, until finally breaking through, destroying the spine and general back of the men and women inside their metal husks. One militia member even went as far as to disarm a man and use his flamer to boil the poor guy inside of his own armored casket. The pained screams of a tortured body had chilled Jacobs blood and sent shivers down his spine as the slow death by heat and fire consumed him and snuffed out his life completely.

"Sean," his comrade, James Cobrav yelled out to him. "We need to get out of here and back to Bridge Haven! Scouts have reported those helicopter things coming this way fast. Apparently there's something they want there, and whatever it is, they aren't getting it alright?"

"Agreed," Jacobs yelled out and began running. Bridge Haven was a brilliant city for defense, named as such because of its large, retractable bridge leading to a chasm of pitch darkness that was rumored to either be empty and kill on impact from the fall, or filled with incredibly radioactive water. Whatever the case, it had saved the city's life on more than one occasion. But against those helicopters... He didn't want to think about it. His jumpsuit was beyond dirty now though, and if he ever made it through this alive, it may not matter, because his mother would kill him. He needed to repair the large 270 on his back. It wasn't an official vault, but his ancestors didn't have enough money for a real vault, and got into a private made by a very wealthy family that charged lower costs. He never met them of course; it had been hundreds of years since the Vault had closed and opened again. They were the original creators of Bridge Haven but had died off long ago.

As he came up on the city him and the fellow militia members that were with him crossed the bridge, giving way to a thunderous roar as the steel plated boots stomped with furious determination across the bridge, causing an echo from the depths below. The guard at the front of the bridge quickly began to retract it behind them as Jacobs gave him the signal. He went to the tower that the guard resided in and rapidly flew up the stairs.
"Alan," he began yelling out the guard. "Alan Roberts open up the damn door!" He sighed as the door slid open and he saw Roberts already displaying the approaching blips on the old, repaired radar that seemed to be working after years of effort in making it at least a short-scan searcher.

Roberts looked at him solemnly and simply said, "We have a problem, don't we?"





And that's it for now! What did you think? Should I continue? Did i format it wrong? Should it include anything more or less? Please tell me, I am very new here and saw a place for stories and decided to try my hand at it.

Jacobs and the unnamed gang are definitely well made, but Bridge Haven is kind of sketchily described. Make some more!

lol,sorry about that, i wastyping it on word and feared that it had become to long, and had not enough time to type about Bridge Haven nor the character's personalities or physical appearance. I will try to type a piece at least once a day though. TY for comment!

P.S. I had a Troop Meeting tonight though, which is why I'm jsut posting this if this is late, normally, I'm always homebut every other monday, I'm gone for like 3 hours. Plus I have to type in Word bacause my keyboard isbroken slightly and the backspace won't work sometimes so i do it in word for the corrections

Roberts didn't bother waiting for a reply as his hands flew for his old combat helmet. Picking up his M16A5 on the way out, Roberts led the way down the stairs in a swift rush. Jacobs kicked the door open rather than wait for him to fool with the small lock to get to the city beyond. As he surveyed the situation, he noticed that his comrades were already rallying the citizens to either fight or seek shelter in their homes. Many began walking out dressed in raider-style armor; tires, scrap pieces of metal, anything the thought would help attached normally to a leather body piece. Before he set out into the city, he checked once again the amount of rounds he had in his .44 magnum. He put in two rounds from when he fired at the officer and closed the cylinder. It didn't do much, but it calmed him knowing that he had the most ammo loaded that he could. The city that laid before him was a massive structure of pure combat-induced genius. The city was originally non-violent, that all changed after the frequent raider attacks. Beyond the immense bridge was a gate that had been manufactured from old vault parts. It seemed to be a large rectangle of metal that would lift vertically to let travelers in. On the underside of it however, were presented large metal spikes meant to impale those unfortunate enough to be crushed by it.

The actual city layout was an inspired design from an old history book some of the original vault dwellers had at the time. It was built up against a steep cliff rising for a couple hundred feet above the ground, completely covering the back from attack. The rest of the city was forward-facing specifically for combat. Each house had a balcony and was built in rows. The rows were all evenly spaced apart, but the further you went back, the higher the buildings got. Each row was higher than the last, allowing for everyone to be able to fire forwards and/or down without having an obstruction in the way such as another house or wall.

There were platforms connecting each part of the buildings and city together, making it seem as if the whole city was simply built upon a metallic hill. In between the houses, a ramp was going up to the platform above and behind them. Those platforms, in case of attack, could be collapsed and would simply drop out under whoever was there's feet and transportation was gained by retractable bridges that would extend from openings on the side of homes. The first row, ground level, would normally flee up to the second one, seeing as how their level was the most vulnerable. Underneath the city was a chaotic jungle-gym of pipes and support beams used to keep the city lifted that were constantly being maintained from extendable ladders in each building. Plus, the ghouls would often repair some of the support beams since they stayed under the city, in the farthest part where the last row's floors stayed about a good distance above their heads.

Ghouls were largely not minded around the city, but they eventually moved under it on their own after two or three had gone feral and escaped into the city. Being down there allowed them to be as loud and violent as they wanted, which was not as often as one may think. The problem of becoming feral was also helped by all of them simply taking a dose of Rad-X with some purified water and a healthy ingestion of Rad-Away before bed. But when it did happen, radiation would slowly devour the frontal lobe of the victim, vanishing all traces of personality and moral rights. They become dull, almost machine-like. Eventually though, it begins to attack the part of the brain responsible for pain and the nervous system to hit the pain receptors. Blood curling screams could sometimes be heard even above ground from the immeasurable pain from those below. The body feels as if though it is constantly under attack, burning with a severe rage that threatens to kill them in an instant, when in reality they are taking no bodily harm other than brain decay. Every limb loses its ability to go numb and gives the ghoul a pain able to be ended by death or allowing the radiation to eventually find its way further in the brain and shut off the pain completely.

The ones that weren't feral were nice enough, but at times took to wrestling and fighting in the large abode under the city for entertainment and betting. Occasionally, if one of the citizens was obviously becoming feral, they would lock him or her up and wait for it to become fully rabid. After this would be complete they would either pit it against another feral or sometimes just a ghoul thinking he could take it on. Jacobs' normal job was here. He was to regularly go down into "Hell" as the "smooth skins" called it, and make sure they weren't torturing any more ferals. After a while, they stopped feral fighting almost completely, but Jacobs was determined to keep visiting Hell at least once every two days. It was an easy job, but not many people liked ghouls. They didn't mind being around them, but at the same time preferred not to. This being his area of expertise however, it was his responsibility to go down and get the fighters to come up to the surface.






Comments are welcome and I should be posting again today soon.

Halfway to his house on the second row, he began to urgently sprint. Forgetting his key in the guard tower, he simply grabbed an old 10mm pistol from the roof of the house in front of his and shot off the lock, he'd be able to get a new one later. His front door led to his second floor, so he jumped down a hole he'd forgotten to repair a long time ago that he could fit through and fell to the first floor with a thud. He bent down and lifted the trap door to the ladder. A great heat rose up from the hole, yet another reason for naming it Hell, and he tried to ignore it as he let loose the rope and wood ladder to begin his descent. His decent seemed to take hours on the old ladder as he went down, when really it was only a minute or so. He looked to the direction of the Ghoul House and saw nothing but the usual untamable forest of rusted pipes and sheet metal patches. He had to twist and turn, bend and maneuver himself around the demented maze of twisted steel for quite a while before the house came upon him. He knew he was close before that however, because of the music. The people living there often liked to listen to music when a fight was happening. Well, not music to Jacobs' ears, it was more like violent screaming and heavy notes that got them in a savage mood. When he got there he knew knocking would be no use, so he did the next best thing; kicked the door in only to hit two ghouls on the way down.

The situation seemed to rush to him from every sense in a fraction of a second. His ears were assaulted first as the music seemed to be amplified by ten as the door swung open. The thunderous music seemed to shake the whole house as it played. His nostrils were next on the list as the smell of dead flesh and rotten food seemed to come in an unexplainable tidal wave with a stench like that, according to Roberts, "Smelled like a skunk juggling dead hamsters after taking a bath in spoiled milk." The constant odor left a terrible taste in his mouth as he moved on. Beyond the throng of people he could see fists and limbs occasionally pop above the heads of the crowd and he could hear punches landing. Knowing the usual contenders, he knew who was probably fighting in the rink today. He pushed through person after person trying to get to the inner ring. He began to violently elbow some out of his way when a message appeared on his old, hand-me-down pip-boy; "Helicopters spotted, tons of em! Hurry!"

After fighting his way through the crowd, he finally came upon the inner ring and saw what was happening. A ghoul named Clayton was pinning a feral to the ground and attempting to beat it to a pulp with his muscular arms. Clayton Evans was a war veteran from Anchorage, Alaska. He used to be in the heavy division with all the other T51B wearing super soldiers, normally having a miniguns for light attacking and a fat man for full blown assaults. His time spent in power armor and training made him as strong as a bear and a good aim with a rifle. His ghoulification came about when he was nearly blown to pieces by atomic detonation when he returned home. His choke hold on the feral was as tight as any machine could've gotten and his other fist seemed to be pumping like a steam piston into the ribcage and face of the thing.

Jacobs didn't have time for him to finish his fight and decided to make it a lot quicker. He whipped out his .44, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. He felt the recoil travel through his arms and he watched the side of the feral nearly explode and it stop moving.

"Awww," Clayton groaned in the deep, rough voice like any other ghoul. "Why'd you have to go spoil my fun like that Sean?"

"Listen Evans," Jacobs replied. "We are about to be attacked. I need you and your ghoul friends here to help."

"What are we talking? Raiders?" He began quizzically. "Can't you guys handle that yourselves without bugging a bunch of beaten ghouls for help?"

"Clayton!" Jacobs flared. "Listen, it's not raiders. There are these people called the Enclave-" He never got further than that before Evans barreled through the masses of people and flew up the stairs to his room. Every other ghoul in the crowd was rushing at a furious pace for their weapons and what little armor they had as Jacobs began barking orders. By the time everyone had gotten their stuff, Evans still wasn't down. Jacobs had no time to lose and quickly rushed the confused ghouls up the ladder and onto the surface. In the sky, heading the direction of the city, were the helicopters. They flew at low altitudes and kicked up dirt and sand beneath them as they came as a vicious tidal wave of oncoming destruction.




That's all for today, more tomarrow though,

EDIT: I didn't write the last part correctly before, and decided to alter it so that it would better fit.

I may not post for a few days, I just got Bioshock 2... sorry readers.


EDIT: Comments are welcome, I have beaten Bioshock 2 and seeing as how my internet can't search for a multiplayer match, so I should be able topost again soon

Nice work. I look forward to reading more.

Thank you! a comment is always welcome here.


EDIT: I'm srry I haven't posted anything in a while.I had to work on a major English project (Screw you poetry) and my internet has been off and on for the last couple of days. I'll try to make more in Word and just paste it here soon.

Jacobs stared on as the vertibirds flew onwards. He was oblivious to the sounds of screaming and cries of panic that rang throughout the city. The wind began to pick up as they got closer to land in front of the chasm where the bridge once spanned. A roar was audible through the whole city as the propeller blades whirred dangerously fast. Sand and dirt was thrown into the air, giving the impression of a sand-storm or something of the sort. As they touched down, soldiers clad in power armor raced out the sides of the helicopters and were quick to surround what front parts of the city they could. Each one seemed to move with inhuman efficiency as they rapidly spread apart and leveled their rifles. Some were armed with flamers and laser rifles, others with plasma weapons. They stood perfectly still as one last figure appeared to be walking from a distinctly different vertibird.

The 'bird itself was painted all black and had a strange symbol that Jacobs assumed was the enclave logo. From it stepped a man wearing a beige uniform with some black decoration and a matching hat. At his waist was a small but deadly plasma sidearm that could easily consume steel in a matter of seconds. The man walked to the edge of the cliff that the great bridge once extended to and peered down at it. Unable to see the bottom, he simply kicked a small rock into it in a very clich? manner. He waited for the satisfying 'thump' of it shattering upon impact and nodded curtly. He stared for a moment, into the militia that was aiming rifle and pistol at him. It seemed to not bother him because he didn't so much as flinch. The officer smiled and began to speak.

"Gentlemen," he started politely. "Am I right in assuming that this is the fabled 'Bridge Haven' that I've heard so much about?" typical bad guy. He would start in a polite manner, trying to earn trust and dissuade thoughts of violence. Unfortunately, the countless rifles aimed at the city did him no good.

"That would be correct sir," Jacobs returned in a not unkind voice. "But may I inquire why you have come upon my city in such a time?"

"Am I also correct in thinking that you," he said, ignoring Jacobs question, yet referring directly to him, "are the mayor and leader of this city?"

"I am leader yes, but not of the whole city. I control its military; the mayor is currently seeking shelter in his home so that he may return to lead in case of battle's aftermath." Jacobs declared. "But I ask yet again, why do you come to us now?" talking was Jacobs strong suit, and wherever it could be used, he would jump at the chance. He was one of the few in the city who could read and write, and very well at that.

"I see you are a man of business mister??"

"Jacobs. Sean Jacobs sir."

"Ah, I see. Well mister Jacobs I am here on important business for the Enclave, you may have heard our national broadcast on any radios you have. You are currently in possession of U.S. government property sir, and it is the Enclave's duty to have it returned."

Jacobs glanced at the officer's collar and saw a pair of shining bars. "I'm sorry Captain, but we have no technology here, especially none that the shambles of government would find useful. Unless," he added, "you are looking for another laser rifle. But that too may as well be useless seeing as how I've modified it using a prism-"

"Sir," the captain interrupted. "You and I both know we don't need any more laser weapons." He motioned to the army standing behind him that seemed to be frozen in time, each one with a rifle leveled at a different person in the city. "However, if you truly believe that our Intel is incorrect, we could do a simple search through your city and be on our way. Besides, it isn't that large and probably wouldn't be that much use to you anyway, seeing as how I doubt anyone uneducated in its ways could operate it." A smile seemed to try to work its way to his lips, until he forced it back into a straight face.

"Let me get this straight." Jacobs yelled across the pit, at the officer. "You come to this town, hundreds of armed guards, each one threatening to annihilate the men and women and innocent children here. You come bearing weapons and armor; fully ready to battle us all and destroy what we have left in order to get what you claim is valuable to a dead government and expect us to let you in our homes? Our churches, our bars, and markets?" Some of the men began cheering and yelling approval of Jacobs' speech. "Sir, with all due respect; f*** you." The men and women began screaming and cheering, leveling rifles with enclave members.

"Typical wastelander." Captain muttered under his breath. He put his hand up to his ear to speak into his mic and ordered an attack. They wasted now time as a volley of green death spewed towards the city.

Sorry for the slow posting, i don't have much time on my computer.

Relax on the time of your postings. It's all good and the story is worth the wait. You make me want to try my hand at this.

well, it's more of a personal desire to meet a deadline. I want to have the feeling of having to get something done, yet making it good and on time. It's a bit of a pet peeve i guess you could say that i try to maintain to get in a good habit of doing things properly and on time.

An if you want to try at it, go ahead. I am by far not the most experienced writer i know, as a matter of fact I'm pretty new to long-term stories, and have only begun to write in a larger form. It really isn't that hard so long as you have a general idea, can elaborate on it later, and can put it into discriptive wording.

Anyway, I should be posting another short one soon, like later today soon.


That and I'm a Floodian (one who post on the Bungie off topic forms: The Flood) so I'm used to having to keep up with a fast-paced, impatient community lol

Jacobs let his feet fall out under him and landed flat on his stomach as the wave of green fire streaked towards the city. The projectiles weren't the fastest, but they could still outrun someone and burn through them without a problem. All around him, he heard chaotic screams as dying men and women who couldn't get down in time began burning as flesh instantly hit its boiling point. The acrid smell of flesh being seared rose to the nostrils of city members and was proceeded by gagging and coughing. The unrelenting plasma storm was eating its way through buildings and homes as the Enclave refused to rest their trigger fingers. Jacobs waited for a slight pause as they speedily starting to re-load a new micro-fusion cell into their guns.

He took the chance, rose up, and looked down the sights of his .44 magnum. His first target had jammed the cell and had to re-arrange it. The powerful magnum shot still had to hit four times before it broke through the advanced power armor and shattered the man's head into several different directions. A blast of bullet-based firearms exploded around him as the militia stood up and fired into the ranks. The remaining soldiers in Bridge Haven were armed with nothing but a few automatic rifles, bolt-action hunting rifles, pistols, and anything else the wastelanders could find and scavenge.

As the ground around the Enclave seemed to leap up into the air from impact, some rounds hit their mark and made it to power armored attackers. The sound of metal colliding with metal filled the air as some Enclave lost balance from being shot at, while other, more experienced ones, simply continued reloading and firing at anyone they saw. People from both sides fell while others fired in a glorious exchange. Light filled the air as it was either sliced by bullets of scorched by plasma. The sight became almost blinding to look at after a few seconds so Jacobs ducked and tried to shield his eyes until he heard the tell tale sound of a rocket soaring through the air. He peered through his hand at the last second to see a group of about four Enclave explode into a cloud of dust, limbs, and blood. Apparently someone managed to find a very good raider base and make it back alive.

But at last came the sound of something he knew no one in Bridge Haven could operate simply because of its sheer weight. In the back, he heard the classic sound of a minigun being spun up.




I know its short, but this maybe allyou can get for a while. I am going camping this weekend and I won't be able to type there. Though I may write a few pages there and put it into Word to copy/paste it here when I get back.

Cool, Have fun I look forward to the next chapter.

Huzzah for free time in IBCA class! Here's the next part until the end of the weekend. hope you like it.






As Jacobs looked back, he saw the brilliant flash of the muzzle fire of the minigun. He wondered if maybe more than one person was using it or if it was perhaps mounted to they didn't have to carry it. The sound of several hundred round being pumped out in a few seconds caused deafening roar throughout the city as the still-unknown man fired into the Enclave. The rounds tore through the metals of the power armor and quickly disposed of the men inside. As it persisted, the militia continues to keep fire on the soldiers and Jacobs shot his last two rounds, one hitting the ground, one going into the leg of a man in a type of Enclave armor that seemed to be covered in lights and have small bolts of electricity jump from and to each one. It seemed to be a heavier classification of the suit, but it didn't really matter to Jacobs, it was just a wider area to shoot. The constant explosions of rounds had caused his ears to rings until it came to an abrupt stop. He peered back and the first thing he saw, of course, was a polished chrome, six barreled minigun that was still letting smoke escape from the end and the barrels were still glowing a fiery red. That alone was enough to stun anyone, but the suit of T-51b winterized power armor definitely seemed to have just as much of an impact.

The power suit was the exact model that they used during the re-taking of Anchorage, Alaska. The soldier held the empty gun in one hand and began sprinting down a recently raised platform leading to the level Jacobs was on. There, while still under heavy fire, he undid the latches on his helmet to reveal a face like that of a corpse. Flesh was rotting away and hair seemed to be missing in patches on his head. Several teeth were gone and the remaining ones seemed to have yellowed. Most of his face didn't even have skin on it; what was left was isolated and seemed to be flakey. It was a ghoul alright, and there's only one ghoul with that kind of power armor training.

"Clayton," Jacobs attempted to yell over the explosion from a few frag grenades. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you still had that stuff? Do you know how useful that would've been during pretty much ANY time we go out for food?"

"Well," he replied, a bit of guilt in his voice. "I didn't want to get it dirty; besides, I only got the power cells in it to begin fusion for powering the damn thing a few months ago!"

"You?dirt?" Jacobs seemed to be both stunned and holding back a rage like none other. "A few months ago!? Clayton Thomas Evans, what the hell is wrong with you!?"

"Hey, if you don't want my help-"

"Shut up and load a new belt into that thing," Jacobs interrupted, still fuming at the thought of being able to use power armor to rid the trails to food of raiders. "By the way, is that suit what the Enclave is looking for?"

"No, but they'd be delighted to have it. This," he said, reaching into a bag cluttered with Microfusion cells. "Is what they're looking for." He produced what looked like a gauss rifle with a bipod and a protrusion jutting out from the right side that looked like a flat box attached to the side, instead of the usual, banana clip thing.

"And, that would be?" Jacobs didn't get a verbal answer. Instead, Evans stood up and fired two burst of three shots in one and four in another. He got back down and didn't even reload. "What the hell? I thought those things were one shot and you had to reload."

"They normally are, that's why the enclave wants it so bad, it more efficiently transfers the energy of these," He flipped it over to reveal four microfusion cells in a square. "so that it can fie automatically. Its not quite as powerful as the singe shot version, only 40% decrease in strength. If they get their hands on it, they'll figure out how it works and make it their standard armament."

"How did you get that?" Jacobs asked, staring in awe.

Evans just smiled at him, pulled on his helmet and said, "I built it."

"Bulls***"

"Yeah, but I'll tell ya all bout it later kay?" He responded. Even though he was wearing a heavy T-51b helmet, Jacobs could tell that he was smiling underneath. He stood up and delivered a small spray of small gauss rounds and ran for a different section of the city, probably the side with more Enclave directly in front. Jacobs knew that good 'ol Bridge Haven wasn't going to last much longer without something more though. He felt a shift in weight of the city and nearly lost his balance; along with everyone else standing on it. Yeah, it needed something more. Fast. He racked his brain for something, anything that would help here. If he had missiles or some heavy-duty stuff, he could take out whole groups of soldiers faster, but the only missile was launched a few seconds ago. The thought process normally works best under pressure. It's forced to think differently, more effectively when given limited resources. Jacobs looked back onto the Enclave to see some slowly backing up. At first, he thought it was a retreat, until he realized what was actually happening. The Vertibirds they flew in on were armed with missiles and heavy, armor-piercing miniguns.

The realization struck him in a second and nearly caused him to bust a blood vessel from stress. He had to do something. The nearest house, a small one labeled 38, soon had its door kicked in as Jacobs searched for anything that could help take at least one helicopter out. If he got one, they were so packed together it would most likely cause a chain reaction. He found some lead weights in the house. Quite a bit at that, and he knew just how he could use them. Cobrav was extremely creative when it came to making home-made weapons, even if tried to test them inside the city sometimes. One of them was a large, cannon-like gun that could fire anything up to 105lbs that would fit in it. His house's number was 40, only two doors down on the end of the row.

Jacobs lifted the weights and sprinted outside, dodging a laser that hit the building beside him, causing the metal to flash a bright orange for a few seconds. When he got Cobrav's door open, he found three cannons. These would be perfect, if it weren't for the fact that Jacobs was now trapped the way he saw it as the front wall of the house began heating red and orange hot in places were lasers were striking. Holes began to form from plasma and molten steel that was giving way to the intense heat. He clenched the sides of his head and began pulling his hair in frustration. He had to tools to maybe save the city, but instead he was trapped in his own, "Combat efficient" city. He looked ahead and made a decision. If Bridge Haven was going to make it through this, it needed would require sacrifice, as he'd seen already; and he was ready and willing to do that. Cannons in arms, he tackled the door with his shoulder and rolled out onto the platform in front of him, the next house in the row ahead barely above his. He had to shield his eyes as the remorseless storm of plasma and amplified light of the lasers were ushered on him. He was planning, if he could ever move, to, in a sense, make a flak cannon. He would align all three side by side and fire a hailstorm of random, heavy, solid objects at the copters, hoping to damage the blades or strike a fuel tank; anything that had a small chance of working.

His breath escaped his as he rolled to see a man only 10 yards from him, running to help him up, got vaporized from the waist up in the blink of an eye. No time to reflect on life, none to say prayers or goodbyes, nothing to be remembered by, just gone in a fraction of a second without a trace but a pair of legs and some ashes in the wind. Tears came to Jacobs' eyes as he looked back up to see barely any infantry left, and most vertibirds already in the air, all aiming directly at the foundation of Bridge Haven, ready to annihilate the fortress of a town in some epic downpour of lead and explosives as soon as they all got off the ground.

Where was the Brotherhood now? Where were their knights in shining power armor when they needed them most? It just went to show, you put your trust in anyone that you don't know, and you'll be screwed over faster than you thought possible. Jacobs watched the aircraft lift one by one as he scrambled to at least do something with the cannons as the panicked screams that surrounded him grew evermore into a frenzy.







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That's all for now, more tomarrow hopefully though!

I should be posting again soon, though it may be short, I've been kinda busy so please excuse the absence of posts.

Jacobs scrambled out of the door to find three of the five vertibirds that were on the ground already in the air. He needed some help if he wanted to get one of the helicopters to explode. He turned to face the city, hands cupped around his mouth as he began shouting into the militia.

"The one on the left!" He shouted, trying to get their attention. "Shoot the vehicle on the left!" Those who didn't hear were alerted by others and began targeting the vertibird on the left as the right one took to the air. The sound of bullets colliding into the armored plating made a high pitched note that rang similarly to how it did when shooting at the power armor. Most ricocheted off the side or didn't manage to work their way through. He spotted the light blue projectiles of Evans' Gauss Machine Gun exploding on the side, causing blue flames to lick up its plating, scorching certain spots that it hit on. He tried to load a charge into the barrel of the cannon to project anything that he could fit in it. He shoved the lead lifting weights and paper weights and such as deep as he could, hoping there was no place for air to escape so that they could go with as much power as possible. He could only use two at a time, so he discarded the third. By the time he had them braced up against a wall, the last 'bird was already taking off as everyone kept fire on it.

He aimed down the sights and closed his eyes as he svcked in a deep breath. With one swift movement, he pulled both levers as quickly and strongly as he could. Each one gave a deafening roar as the stuff loaded into it shot out, spreading across the air at incredible speeds like a shotgun. One piece went low and nearly took of the leg of an infantry soldier as it made contact for a second. The top pieces managed to hit the left propellers and have it spin. The pilot was visibly having a hard time trying to gain control as hit began hastily losing altitude. The man eventually gave up as the monstrous helicopter slammed into the ground with an earsplitting shriek of grinding metal. Jacobs' heart leapt when he thought of the explosion to come, and how he might actually manage to take out the Enclave squad. In a perfect world, this would happen, and a chain reaction would occur, but this was not so, and things did not always go according to plan.

To his horror, the other pilots had caught on and moved a safe distance away. The bird on the ground detonated in an intense flash of fire and smoke, but to no avail as the others simply stayed put, unaffected by the blast. Jacobs began trying to think of a way out. He tried to process everything going on in attempt to save the city one last time. Nothing. There was nothing he or anyone else could do. He closed his eyes gently as he heard missiles streaking through the air. He thought of his comrades that would go down with the city with him. He, Sawyer, James, Clayton, Alan, Adam, Lee, Alex, Bryce, William and Ryan were the best gunmen this city had, and they were all about to be blown halfway to hell in a moment. Before the impact, he heard heavy footsteps on the platforms racing towards him, and was surprised by a cold embrace of a heavy figure covering him almost fully with its large stature. It was almost comforting before the first explosion came from the back of the city, up in the Mayor's office. Metal groaned and creaked as it hit its breaking point and the city collapsed on itself as the pipes and supports gave way to the burden of the city. Buildings collapsed all around him and dropped to the ground as the continuous sound of missiles blowing up scattered scrap metal and shrapnel around the town. One last hit came almost directly behind him, the same direction the armored figure was shielding him, and he was swept off of his feet as the concussive force pushed him out. His eyes remained shut as his limp body took flight across part of the city.

The bone crushing landing came and Jacobs slipped into blackness. Bridge Haven was gone, along with anything and anyone in it. The Brotherhood of Steel couldn't make it here in time. For a moment, he considered trying to fight the blackness engulfing what little sight he decided to try. The he accepted it, and it covered him as the sight of the rubble of the city faded away from him. He didn't want to go on, he just wanted to be done with this.


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Huzzah for more free time in IBCA! Anyway, there's more to come soon. Don't think that this is the end of it, that was the prolouge.

Good to know there is more on the way. It has been a fun read.

Good story. keep it going! :tops:

TY, I'm kinda stuck on a part in the new DLC for Borderlands, so i think i may try to type oneor two more sections before the end of the day. Might take a while but I'll get there hopefully.

Anyway, thanks for commenting, its always good to know that another person is reading.

EDIT: Woot! Made it to second page!

Jacobs awoke to find only blackness. His sight was nothing but pitch darkness as he attempted to look around. He began to wonder if this is what death was like. If it was, he wanted to die again and move on to something more relaxing than darkness. He tried to move his arm in attempt to sit up, seeing as how he was apparently lying down. A pain as if someone had slashed up from his wrist to his shoulder shot up his arm as he screamed from the unexpected burst of soreness. No. He wasn't dead. You couldn't feel pain if you were dead. Not unless he was in Hell, but he didn't buy into all that religion stuff. He clenched his arm and felt a warm liquid seeping out from the pit of his elbow and began to panic. His tight grip only became more powerful as he heard incoherent voices shouting among him. They sounded worried, panicked, as if something bad was going on. He pondered for a moment what it could've been and his thoughts led him back to his arm. He chuckled at the thought. Could there really be someone left that cared about him? No, it was probably some raiders worried that their catch wasn't going to sell well to slavers around here. Heavy hands rested on his shoulders and he began to try to fight them off. He twisted in a jerky movement, still unable to see, hoping to elbow one of them. Despite his resistance, the hands laid him back down on his back again and he didn't try to get up. His arm was then picked up and he could feel the stiff gauze tape being tightly wrapped around his elbow to stop the flow of exiting blood and a sharp pain of a stimpak as his muscles tightened around it. The substance injected into his veins gave a burning sensation before it started cooling slowly to a calming temperature that soothed him wound. Then blood leaving him was wiped up with a rag as it felt and the person doing the operation audibly took a few steps back.

"Well, he's awake now you freakin idiot!" Someone got smacked in the head and let out a squeak of fright. "Ugh, take the blindfold off, I don't see why y'all put it there in the first place." The voice didn't sound necessarily angry, rather upset, worried even. The same strong hands that had put him on his back fumbled with a knot on the back of his head as he tried to undo it. The man muttered something about it being stupid and he felt the cold edge of a knife that was dull press against the back of his head as the cutting edge sliced through the fabric. The cloth fell from his eyes and he was greeted by a light that stung his eyes. Jacobs squeezed his eyes shut again as the stinging sensation grew and threatened to blind him. "It's okay; just look down, no need to gain all your sight back right away, let it come naturally." He could swear that he'd heard the voice before. As a matter of fact?

"Al- Alan?" Jacobs stammered, forgetting to address him by his last name, something he had made a habit of to keep the illusion of authority. Not that it mattered now but still.

"Calm down, people don't heal from missile strikes very quickly, you need rest." His voice was soothing; it was good to know that he wasn't amidst raiders and whatnot.

"Wha- What the f*** is going on man?"

"Ugh, you don't ever listen to the doctor do you man?" A ghoulish voice chimed in. That must've been Evans.

"Be quiet, my ears hurt and your gruff voice isn't exactly doing wonders dude." Jacobs replied. He tried opening his eyes again while looking at the ground to find that the light had been moved. His vision was blurry, and things seemed to be in pairs. "Mentats?" he asked. "Do you have any Mentats on hand?" He held out an open palm and was given a small box that he ripped opened, downing about three at once. He pressed his fingers into his eyelids and opened once again, this time clearer and more defined. He looked around, and realized just how wrong he was before. Standing guard around him in the encampment were dozens of raiders, each one with a smile on their face at the thought of how many caps they could get for their catch. He looked up at Alan whom had a finger to his lips, cautioning him to be quiet.

"Okay," Jacobs said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "What the hell is going on? One minute I'm trying to defend a city, the next I'm dead, now I'm surrounded by raider, what f***ed up dream is this?"

"If only it were that easy." Alan said, looking over Jacobs' shoulder at a raider. "Listen man, after the blasts you, me, and Clayton were the only ones to make it out. Well, us and James, but we're not sure if he'll pull through. Personally, I'd think that our chances of getting out of this one are pretty slim."

"It would seem that way wouldn't it." He said grimly. "They took our weapons didn't they?"

"Yep."

"And our armor."

"Yep."

"And they're gunna sell us."

"You know it."

"Damn." Jacobs said, letting out a sigh. "Alright, there's a way out of this besides death, and we have to find it."

Alan exhaled and looked at him. "Good luck, these guys don't sleep. Well they do, but they're actually organized. They work in shifts. This place is only a temp until we start to move. I think they're going to the pitt, and if that's so, then we gotta make damned well sure they don't get there. I don't know about you, but livin in some hellhole making freakin steel for slavers ain't exactly my paradise ya know?"

"Yeah. By the way, fix your grammar, it atrocious."

"Did we manage to stash anything?" Jacobs continued. "knives, extra stimpaks, anything?" Roberts merely shook his head. "Do you have any other stimpaks besides the one you used on me?"

"Yeah, but they're all empty. We had like 10 of the damned things before."

"Okay, if we manage to fake an injury or a fight or something, will one come to bring us meds?"

"Probably," Evans put in. "They want their catch in mint condition, or as close as you can get after being hit by a missile strike. That's the whole reason they let us have those other Stims in the first place. We were gonna try to operate on James next."

"Listen, we need to move inside a tent, when we're there, I'll give the signal to Roberts," He pointed to him briefly, "to start screaming for help. Make something up about blood loss or anything like that, something believable." They picked up the stool Roberts was sitting on before and a couple of old mats that they were allowed while Evans shouldered Cobrav into the tent. Inside, it was small and cramped, but it would do. "Check the med kit in here. See if you can find anything other than water and bandages." The yellowed-white container opened with a pop to reveal its contents. Jacobs smiled at his luck; it was a raider stash.

Inside lied three psycho syringes, a few doses of Med-X, and two jars of Buffout. Jacobs began crushing the Buffout into a grainy powder until he was satisfied at the remains. The psycho was drained about halfway and the rest was filled with Med-X. After adding some powder from about five Buffout pills, he capped the concoction off and set it aside. He mixed one more exactly like it and tossed one to Evans as he stood against the wall of the entrance to the tent. He nodded first to Evans, who nodded in agreement on what to do, then to Roberts.

"We're losing him!"He began, his voice raised so that it could be heard throughout he camp. "God dammit there's to much internal injury here, we aren't equipped to handle this kind of stuff. His pulse if fading." It didn't seem to be working very well so he switched tactics. "Someone get a damn stimpak in here if they want the 500 caps this ba***** is probably worth!" With that, they heard a set of footsteps quickly approaching the tent. The door flap opened to reveal a raider with some leather armor on that had some pieces of scrap metal bolted to it for more protection. Jacobs quickly pulled the man in and covered his mouth. His flailing limbs were calmed as the massive dose from two concoctions slid into his neck and began pulsing through his veins. The man first went into a limp state until foam started forming around his mouth. His arms and legs started to jerk around as a seizure took him over and he lost control of movement all together.

Alan wrapped a cloth around his mouth and nose to stifle the noise as the man choked on his own fluids and was slowly killed by the drugs coursing in bloodstream. They hovered for a moment over the lifeless body of the raider to examine what they had done. Jacobs wasted no more time however, and immediately began taking his armor and the automatic assault rifle he was holding. Luckily, he also had two extra magazines and a frag grenade on hand.

"Okay Sean," Evans interrupted. "You've got the armor, you've got a rifle. Now what? Do you expect to take out a whole raider gang just like that?"

"Well?" Jacobs said, unsure of exactly what to do next. "No but, well I was thinking about?" He took a deep breath. His arm, still throbbing with pain, didn't help at all. "Okay look, I need a helmet, one with a facemask. If I can-"

"Don't even think about it dude. I think they know their own squad well enough to tell when ones being impersonated." Roberts cut in.

"Well I don't see you coming up with any ideas. Besides, how many of them are there?"

"Like twenty."

"Alright, how 'bout a good ol' fashion charge straight to where they're keeping our crap?"

"You realize," Evans said, glaring at him. "That that's death sentence?"

"And staying here isn't?" When he got no reply he just pulled back the hammer on the rifle and looked at them. "Let's get our s*** back."

there you go, more to come later. Hope you like it.

Keep going. Good luck to the protagonists on this one. Question: Do you write this here on the site or write it in a word program and then transfer it? Just wondering.