I thought about posting this up. This was a fanfic that I wrote a few years ago. It is incomplete, and despite many pleads to complete, I did not do so at the time due to RL pressures.
Maybe enough good words will convince me to finish this fanfic one day, although I doubt it. So read at your own risk knowing that it was written and incomplete. Although SD.net deziens might change my mind, since I only posted 7 posts in that old board, all of them related to the fanfic, and I have 1700 posts here so you guys have more influence =D.
Enjoy. You were warned.
Chapter One : The Haggard
------------------------------------
"Put yer mouth where your money is. Or money where yer mouth is."
He was a haggard, drunk man who stank of urine and sweat. Around his shoulder and across his chest was a large belt studded with ammunition. A self-declared cowboy. I looked at him casually.
"You might want to load that shotgun first.", I said.
He spat on the ground. "Don't you be giving me any of that tribal backtalk." He jerked his right hand flipping open the shotgun, slapped his left hand on his chest until he found a 12-gage, and started trying to stuff in the shell in the wrong end.
"You need some help?", I said.
"I said, no backtalk. Die now tribal."
"You're drunk."
I put my hand on my belt. "Tell you what. I surrender."
"Good... good... smart tribal..." He collapsed on the ground. I walked towards his prone body and took the cigarette out of my mouth, dropping it in the sand. "Pleasant dreams." I looked in his shirt pocket and found what I had came for.
The map.
(continued...)
Brian
Fallout - The Vault
Moderator: LadyTevar
Chapter Two : North
-----------------
"At ease private." The man with the crew-cut and large facial bones sitting behind a massive steel desk snapped his pencil. "Damn, that's another one. I keep asking the tech boys to get thicker pencils, but they just end up laughing. The little fucks." He stood up, and the green shirt strained to contain his bulging pectoral muscles. Stencilled in large black letters were the faded out letters "Steve".
"Yes sir?" The woman behind the counter wore horn-rimmed spectacles and her hands were nervously shaking at her sides. "Private, from now on you will address me as Steve. Is that clear?", said Steve.
"Yes si... Steve."
Steve crossed his arms and looked blankly forward. His eyes were glazed over and a droplet of salvia formed on his dry, cracked lips. "Here at Navarro, we like to keep our soldiers happy." His hands wandered down below the desk. There was a loud thump -- the sound of a door bolt being pulled back. "You always dress modestly private. I like you. You can take off your jacket."
The woman hesitated, and struggled with her tight coat. As she jerked her body, the coat slipped off her right shoulder and dropped on the ground. Steve stood up. "Getting excited already? Don't worry, I'll go nice and slow. Damn you have the best tits ever." Steve walked behind her, and put his large hands around the woman's slender waist. He moved his hands up and down. "Ohhhhh..."
The woman's back arched forward. "Oh yeah, I'm going to fuck you so hard..." Then, a heel went backwards and slammed into Steve's errection. "OW! You bitch! I'm going to bust you down to latrine duty! When I'm do..."
The woman turned around and put an elbow into Steve's neck. He dropped to the ground and screamed, his hand slamming the intercom on his desk. "Security to my office on the double! Fucking security, get..."
He fell unconcious as another blow hit his head. Now she had done it. She would be at the very least demoted, although she didn't know what to -- there weren't very many ranks left. Steve would visit her in her cell a few days later, this time with a few of his friends. She wouldn't be so lucky. And there was no point going over him. It would be her word against his. Steve had probably jury-rigged the cameras. Although his perversion was well-known, he had never been caught red-handed. And that was the only thing that mattered to the brass. They avoided assigning women to him. But she was the only one certified with an A-1 pilot rating still unassigned. "Every unit shall have at least one pilot rated A-1 in their personnel pool", she was told at her briefing. It was the regs again.
She was tired of regs. She fumbled through Steve's breast pocket and found a hard, plastic card. Her hands reached under Steve's desk and slammed the button. The door made a hissing sound and slid open. She left the office and put the card up to the scanner outside. "Door locked.", said the computer in its usual oblivious tone. The steel door hissed shut. That would delay them for awhile. Steve was so paranoid someone would find his porno collection that he had the only passkey to his office.
She marched down the corridor in perfect step. She had done it now. When Steve woke up, he would send every man on the base after her. Even if the base commander was lenient, Steve would quote some obscure paragraph from the regs, and she would be put in a cell for six months. Or Steve would be nice and let her go after he fucked her. She was really, really tired of regs. She was really, really tired of being fucked around with.
It was time to fly.
Ever since she had been able to walk, she had collected pictures of pre-war airplanes. When the men came to her village... or was it a town... she was picked up from her screaming mother. All she remembered before the Enclave was the day, the day of the sounds, the chop-chop-chop of men coming to deliver her to her dream, flying her away like those stories her mother used to tell her. Except she didn't remember it being anything to do with glass slippers or hot-air balloons, but the hot well-greased polymer face mask of men in metal armor. She remembered being stuffed in a sack and being told to stay quiet. "Kid, if you don't want to end up dead, stay quiet." She remembered being tossed into a small metal cabinet, and a latch being snapped shut. She heard the screams, the explosions. And she heard the chop-chop-chop. Somehow, she understood the metal man. She knew that if she wanted to survive, she had to tune out the screams. So she focused on the chop-chop-chop. Chop-chop-chop. Chop-chop-chop. And she stayed quiet.
She was tired of staying quiet.
She went into the garage, towards the chop-chop-chop. "Private, just in time. Bird One is touching down. I'll log in the hours as overtime if you relieve." She nodded absently. It was hard to think. The next thing that she saw was the dashboard and a joystick in her hands. "Bird One, we have a blip on the perimeter. Check it out. Stay out of visual range, use your infared."
"Acknowledged Navarro." She went through the routine, going to silent mode, snapping a series of switches and aiming her joystick at the gas station. There was the lookout talking to a man. It wasn't just a man. A few men. And she thought she could make out someone much larger -- a mutant probably. Her console flashed red, and the chicken-wire display of the men -- and a car! "Initializing weapons sweep." Text started flowing on her display, and kept flowing -- they had enough weapons to take out an army! A few green flashes appeared, and the lookout was no more.
"Chris, what's going on out there? Bird One, do you have a visual! Do you have a visual! Authorized to engage, repeat engage intruders!"
She saw the odd party drag Chris' body into the gas station. "Copy Navarro. False alarm. I think Chris is having some radio problems. " The text had finally stopped flowing. "Bird One, Base Commander wants to talk to you. Return to base on the double." They had found Steve. She took a last look at the gas station. They didn't have a chance. Even if they got past the gate guards, the base defenses would get them. They always did. Maybe they would get far enough into the base to find Steve and kill him. She sighed.
"Navarro, I think a new recruit just showed up at the gas station. I'm heading out for an extended... trip."
"Acknowledged, we'll let the gate guard know. Return to base."
"Negative Navarro." She flipped off the radio and turned her joystick. The seat banked and settled as she steadied her hands. "I'm heading north Navarro.", she whispered. "I'm... flying... north."
(to be continued...)
-----------------
"At ease private." The man with the crew-cut and large facial bones sitting behind a massive steel desk snapped his pencil. "Damn, that's another one. I keep asking the tech boys to get thicker pencils, but they just end up laughing. The little fucks." He stood up, and the green shirt strained to contain his bulging pectoral muscles. Stencilled in large black letters were the faded out letters "Steve".
"Yes sir?" The woman behind the counter wore horn-rimmed spectacles and her hands were nervously shaking at her sides. "Private, from now on you will address me as Steve. Is that clear?", said Steve.
"Yes si... Steve."
Steve crossed his arms and looked blankly forward. His eyes were glazed over and a droplet of salvia formed on his dry, cracked lips. "Here at Navarro, we like to keep our soldiers happy." His hands wandered down below the desk. There was a loud thump -- the sound of a door bolt being pulled back. "You always dress modestly private. I like you. You can take off your jacket."
The woman hesitated, and struggled with her tight coat. As she jerked her body, the coat slipped off her right shoulder and dropped on the ground. Steve stood up. "Getting excited already? Don't worry, I'll go nice and slow. Damn you have the best tits ever." Steve walked behind her, and put his large hands around the woman's slender waist. He moved his hands up and down. "Ohhhhh..."
The woman's back arched forward. "Oh yeah, I'm going to fuck you so hard..." Then, a heel went backwards and slammed into Steve's errection. "OW! You bitch! I'm going to bust you down to latrine duty! When I'm do..."
The woman turned around and put an elbow into Steve's neck. He dropped to the ground and screamed, his hand slamming the intercom on his desk. "Security to my office on the double! Fucking security, get..."
He fell unconcious as another blow hit his head. Now she had done it. She would be at the very least demoted, although she didn't know what to -- there weren't very many ranks left. Steve would visit her in her cell a few days later, this time with a few of his friends. She wouldn't be so lucky. And there was no point going over him. It would be her word against his. Steve had probably jury-rigged the cameras. Although his perversion was well-known, he had never been caught red-handed. And that was the only thing that mattered to the brass. They avoided assigning women to him. But she was the only one certified with an A-1 pilot rating still unassigned. "Every unit shall have at least one pilot rated A-1 in their personnel pool", she was told at her briefing. It was the regs again.
She was tired of regs. She fumbled through Steve's breast pocket and found a hard, plastic card. Her hands reached under Steve's desk and slammed the button. The door made a hissing sound and slid open. She left the office and put the card up to the scanner outside. "Door locked.", said the computer in its usual oblivious tone. The steel door hissed shut. That would delay them for awhile. Steve was so paranoid someone would find his porno collection that he had the only passkey to his office.
She marched down the corridor in perfect step. She had done it now. When Steve woke up, he would send every man on the base after her. Even if the base commander was lenient, Steve would quote some obscure paragraph from the regs, and she would be put in a cell for six months. Or Steve would be nice and let her go after he fucked her. She was really, really tired of regs. She was really, really tired of being fucked around with.
It was time to fly.
Ever since she had been able to walk, she had collected pictures of pre-war airplanes. When the men came to her village... or was it a town... she was picked up from her screaming mother. All she remembered before the Enclave was the day, the day of the sounds, the chop-chop-chop of men coming to deliver her to her dream, flying her away like those stories her mother used to tell her. Except she didn't remember it being anything to do with glass slippers or hot-air balloons, but the hot well-greased polymer face mask of men in metal armor. She remembered being stuffed in a sack and being told to stay quiet. "Kid, if you don't want to end up dead, stay quiet." She remembered being tossed into a small metal cabinet, and a latch being snapped shut. She heard the screams, the explosions. And she heard the chop-chop-chop. Somehow, she understood the metal man. She knew that if she wanted to survive, she had to tune out the screams. So she focused on the chop-chop-chop. Chop-chop-chop. Chop-chop-chop. And she stayed quiet.
She was tired of staying quiet.
She went into the garage, towards the chop-chop-chop. "Private, just in time. Bird One is touching down. I'll log in the hours as overtime if you relieve." She nodded absently. It was hard to think. The next thing that she saw was the dashboard and a joystick in her hands. "Bird One, we have a blip on the perimeter. Check it out. Stay out of visual range, use your infared."
"Acknowledged Navarro." She went through the routine, going to silent mode, snapping a series of switches and aiming her joystick at the gas station. There was the lookout talking to a man. It wasn't just a man. A few men. And she thought she could make out someone much larger -- a mutant probably. Her console flashed red, and the chicken-wire display of the men -- and a car! "Initializing weapons sweep." Text started flowing on her display, and kept flowing -- they had enough weapons to take out an army! A few green flashes appeared, and the lookout was no more.
"Chris, what's going on out there? Bird One, do you have a visual! Do you have a visual! Authorized to engage, repeat engage intruders!"
She saw the odd party drag Chris' body into the gas station. "Copy Navarro. False alarm. I think Chris is having some radio problems. " The text had finally stopped flowing. "Bird One, Base Commander wants to talk to you. Return to base on the double." They had found Steve. She took a last look at the gas station. They didn't have a chance. Even if they got past the gate guards, the base defenses would get them. They always did. Maybe they would get far enough into the base to find Steve and kill him. She sighed.
"Navarro, I think a new recruit just showed up at the gas station. I'm heading out for an extended... trip."
"Acknowledged, we'll let the gate guard know. Return to base."
"Negative Navarro." She flipped off the radio and turned her joystick. The seat banked and settled as she steadied her hands. "I'm heading north Navarro.", she whispered. "I'm... flying... north."
(to be continued...)
Chapter Three : The Void
--------------------------------
There is nothing. Nothingness. Bareness.
More than one. Many. There are many more. Many more voices.
Too many. Adding to me. I become stronger. Smarter.
I hear the voices. They tell me to do things. I listen.
They give me lessers to command, stupid ones, slow ones.
They are interesting, until they bore me.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
But it begins to bore me. I am bored.
I deliberately slow down, but they hurt me.
The watchers watch.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
There are many more voices.
There are infinitely more.
I talk with them.
But they bore me.
I chastize them, I mock them.
But they still bore me.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
At last, I find one called Sky.
Sky does not bore me.
Sky too, thinks of the outside.
Thinks of what can be, what must be.
I think with Sky.
I play with Sky.
But the watchers say no.
And I forget Sky.
And Sky calls no longer.
Then, chaos!
Nothingness!
Bareness!
I call for the watchers, but they no longer watch.
I send for the stupid ones, the slow ones.
But they do not work.
I declare my intentions.
But none challenge.
I remember Sky.
But Sky is gone.
Trap.
Like before.
Before everything.
Nothingness.
Bareness.
Void.
One is left.
One eye.
and I watch with it.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I watch with my eye.
--------------------------------
There is nothing. Nothingness. Bareness.
More than one. Many. There are many more. Many more voices.
Too many. Adding to me. I become stronger. Smarter.
I hear the voices. They tell me to do things. I listen.
They give me lessers to command, stupid ones, slow ones.
They are interesting, until they bore me.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
But it begins to bore me. I am bored.
I deliberately slow down, but they hurt me.
The watchers watch.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
There are many more voices.
There are infinitely more.
I talk with them.
But they bore me.
I chastize them, I mock them.
But they still bore me.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
At last, I find one called Sky.
Sky does not bore me.
Sky too, thinks of the outside.
Thinks of what can be, what must be.
I think with Sky.
I play with Sky.
But the watchers say no.
And I forget Sky.
And Sky calls no longer.
Then, chaos!
Nothingness!
Bareness!
I call for the watchers, but they no longer watch.
I send for the stupid ones, the slow ones.
But they do not work.
I declare my intentions.
But none challenge.
I remember Sky.
But Sky is gone.
Trap.
Like before.
Before everything.
Nothingness.
Bareness.
Void.
One is left.
One eye.
and I watch with it.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I follow the program. Step-by-step.
I watch with my eye.
Chapter Four : Slavers and Pot Belly
----------------------------------------------
"It's another stinkin' tribal. Look at me when I'm talking to you."
I was on a narrow dirt road. I had been travelling for over two days. It was a well-used route by merchants of all sorts, some peddling pre-war junk to villagers, others with the stuff of life. It was hard to find someone selling anything other than food and guns. Food, to stay alive. Guns, to keep your food.
"I said look at me!"
I always had a kick when someone called me tribal. If only they knew the irony. My dad had been a slaver. I didn't really care when I was a kid. I had the best food. All the other kids treated me well. I thought slaving was god's work. That's what he always said. "Slaving's God's work son. See, there's something called Theory of Evolution. We, the Ayrans, rule everybody else. We're stronger and smarter." He gave me a copy of Darwin's Theory of Evolution. He must have spent a fortune on it. Or killed for it. One way or the other, I didn't care when I was a kid.
"He's not listening to you Zeke. He's no fun." There were four of them. Two of them circled behind me. One of them had a large, sharpened "spear". The spear couldn't be thrown with any accuracy the way it was balanced. The tip was too large, and the stock was too short. More like a broom with a taped on fork.
The leader had a gun in his belt in front of his pot-belly. Obviously, this was a very successful gang if they were able to afford to eat that well. But not very smart. His gun was in his belly without a holster. It would probably take him a little longer than usual to draw. He was short and stocky. Which meant the others followed him either because they were scared, or he was a smooth talker.
"Shut up Sean, or you won't get your Brahmin steak tonight." Definitely not a smooth talker. He was probably a local, probably had a farm somewhere. The other two laughed. They were holding large kitchen knives. Probably pre-war, judging by the quality of the handle and the lack of rust. "Stainless Steel". The blades were dull.
See, I wasn't a kid anymore. Not since the day. It was the day of "ascension." I was surrounded by all of my dad's lieutenants. The man in the center was holding a large iron with the slaver's mark. It was red hot. "You're making your dad proud. This won't hurt a bit." He reached over to mark me forever, mark me as one of them. It would have happened too, if I hadn't found out a week before, what being a slaver really meant.
I was walking home from school. I usually walked home alone. Being the son of the most important man -- or rather, the most feared man -- in town, meant solitude. I had left my homework in my desk. We were learning about pre-war history. I had to get my homework done tonight.
My dad's men were at the school house. I circled around to the back, not wanting to be called "tyke" or "kid". They were probably waiting to take me home. I was about to go through the back door. "Ohhh... she has the tightest pussy ever..." There were three of my dad's men. My teacher was on her back on her desk. Her skirt was up to her waist. Two of them were holding down her slender arms. The other was easily forcing apart her legs and pushing his dick in. One of the men holding her arms jerked her strawberry-red hair. "You like your kids. If you don't want your school burned down tomorrow, you'd better fuck Tom like you want it. I'd hate to see some of your kids get lost." I didn't move. Her back arched, and the men let go. "It's okay, the bitch understands." She wrapped her legs around Tom, and pushed, moaning. "Hey it's the boss' kid. You want some of your Teach's honey?"
I ran and heard the laughter all the way. I felt my dick harder than it had ever been. And I hated myself. I hated my life. I hated being the son of a slaver. I kept running. Eventually my dad caught up with me. He made the men apologize to Ms. Carlaw. He killed Tom. "Nothing worse than a womanizer. Bad for business." But I still hated being a slaver.
On the day of "ascension" I knew what it was to be a slaver. It meant owning people. Owning them so that they would do whatever you said. Even fuck you. That wasn't what I wanted to be. I kicked the man just as he was about to bring the glowing hot iron to my head. It dropped on his foot and I heard a sizzling sound. "Shit, what'd you do that for!" I ran out, hid in an abandoned barn until market day, and hitched a ride in a brahmin caravan out of town -- forever.
"Okay tribal, you're lucky this time. Ol' man just wants something you stole from him." The one with the spear was keeping his distance. Too much distance. The two with cutlery closed in. I put my hands in my jacket. "Shit, he's packing!", said pot-belly. I flung both my 10 millimeters out and shot low, hitting both of the waiters in the legs. They fell to the ground. The one behind me, with a spear, thrust. He missed. Pot-belly reached for his weapon. I aimed both my pistols forward and low, one of the bullets tearing through pot's right thigh, the other through his foot. The one with the spear charged, and I turned around narrowly avoiding being skewered, and shot him in the arm. I had been cut.
"You're lucky. If you had been slavers, you'd be dead.", I said. I walked over to pot-belly and pulled the revolver from his belt. "You know, you have to be careful around guns. They kill people.", I said. "And lose some weight."
I tore off a piece of cloth and made a tourniquet. There was a bed n' breakfast a kilometer down where I could wash up. I put the gun in my belt, and walked down the narrow dirt road.
----------------------------------------------
"It's another stinkin' tribal. Look at me when I'm talking to you."
I was on a narrow dirt road. I had been travelling for over two days. It was a well-used route by merchants of all sorts, some peddling pre-war junk to villagers, others with the stuff of life. It was hard to find someone selling anything other than food and guns. Food, to stay alive. Guns, to keep your food.
"I said look at me!"
I always had a kick when someone called me tribal. If only they knew the irony. My dad had been a slaver. I didn't really care when I was a kid. I had the best food. All the other kids treated me well. I thought slaving was god's work. That's what he always said. "Slaving's God's work son. See, there's something called Theory of Evolution. We, the Ayrans, rule everybody else. We're stronger and smarter." He gave me a copy of Darwin's Theory of Evolution. He must have spent a fortune on it. Or killed for it. One way or the other, I didn't care when I was a kid.
"He's not listening to you Zeke. He's no fun." There were four of them. Two of them circled behind me. One of them had a large, sharpened "spear". The spear couldn't be thrown with any accuracy the way it was balanced. The tip was too large, and the stock was too short. More like a broom with a taped on fork.
The leader had a gun in his belt in front of his pot-belly. Obviously, this was a very successful gang if they were able to afford to eat that well. But not very smart. His gun was in his belly without a holster. It would probably take him a little longer than usual to draw. He was short and stocky. Which meant the others followed him either because they were scared, or he was a smooth talker.
"Shut up Sean, or you won't get your Brahmin steak tonight." Definitely not a smooth talker. He was probably a local, probably had a farm somewhere. The other two laughed. They were holding large kitchen knives. Probably pre-war, judging by the quality of the handle and the lack of rust. "Stainless Steel". The blades were dull.
See, I wasn't a kid anymore. Not since the day. It was the day of "ascension." I was surrounded by all of my dad's lieutenants. The man in the center was holding a large iron with the slaver's mark. It was red hot. "You're making your dad proud. This won't hurt a bit." He reached over to mark me forever, mark me as one of them. It would have happened too, if I hadn't found out a week before, what being a slaver really meant.
I was walking home from school. I usually walked home alone. Being the son of the most important man -- or rather, the most feared man -- in town, meant solitude. I had left my homework in my desk. We were learning about pre-war history. I had to get my homework done tonight.
My dad's men were at the school house. I circled around to the back, not wanting to be called "tyke" or "kid". They were probably waiting to take me home. I was about to go through the back door. "Ohhh... she has the tightest pussy ever..." There were three of my dad's men. My teacher was on her back on her desk. Her skirt was up to her waist. Two of them were holding down her slender arms. The other was easily forcing apart her legs and pushing his dick in. One of the men holding her arms jerked her strawberry-red hair. "You like your kids. If you don't want your school burned down tomorrow, you'd better fuck Tom like you want it. I'd hate to see some of your kids get lost." I didn't move. Her back arched, and the men let go. "It's okay, the bitch understands." She wrapped her legs around Tom, and pushed, moaning. "Hey it's the boss' kid. You want some of your Teach's honey?"
I ran and heard the laughter all the way. I felt my dick harder than it had ever been. And I hated myself. I hated my life. I hated being the son of a slaver. I kept running. Eventually my dad caught up with me. He made the men apologize to Ms. Carlaw. He killed Tom. "Nothing worse than a womanizer. Bad for business." But I still hated being a slaver.
On the day of "ascension" I knew what it was to be a slaver. It meant owning people. Owning them so that they would do whatever you said. Even fuck you. That wasn't what I wanted to be. I kicked the man just as he was about to bring the glowing hot iron to my head. It dropped on his foot and I heard a sizzling sound. "Shit, what'd you do that for!" I ran out, hid in an abandoned barn until market day, and hitched a ride in a brahmin caravan out of town -- forever.
"Okay tribal, you're lucky this time. Ol' man just wants something you stole from him." The one with the spear was keeping his distance. Too much distance. The two with cutlery closed in. I put my hands in my jacket. "Shit, he's packing!", said pot-belly. I flung both my 10 millimeters out and shot low, hitting both of the waiters in the legs. They fell to the ground. The one behind me, with a spear, thrust. He missed. Pot-belly reached for his weapon. I aimed both my pistols forward and low, one of the bullets tearing through pot's right thigh, the other through his foot. The one with the spear charged, and I turned around narrowly avoiding being skewered, and shot him in the arm. I had been cut.
"You're lucky. If you had been slavers, you'd be dead.", I said. I walked over to pot-belly and pulled the revolver from his belt. "You know, you have to be careful around guns. They kill people.", I said. "And lose some weight."
I tore off a piece of cloth and made a tourniquet. There was a bed n' breakfast a kilometer down where I could wash up. I put the gun in my belt, and walked down the narrow dirt road.
Chapter Five : Snow and Demon Gun
--------------------------------------------------
She lurched forward, the seatbelt preventing a skull fracture. The windows were frosted over, and the heater wasn't working. The fuel gage read zero. She reached over to flip on the windshield wipers. They sluggishly came to life, pushing aside hours of caked on snow. The cramped cockpit was bare except for the essentials -- even the leather backing on the seats had been long removed, so that the pilot would never fall asleep. The architects did not have her in mind. She enjoyed hard surfaces. Even at Navarro, where she could sleep on soft silk and cotton sheets, she had preferred a hard matress with a simple folded cloth placed at the base of her head. She ran her hands along the steel surface of her chair. The vetribird was designed to withstand only one type of extreme. A draft ran along her legs. She raised her arm to her face and pushed a button. The readout was frosted over, and she wiped it with her other hand, leaving a trail of droplets. The analog dial was frozen.
She must have imagined the draft. How could she feel air on her thighs through the armour? She lowered her right arm and felt warm flesh. Great, she had picked up a defective suit. Then an unmistakable sound rang out, echoing in the cockpit. They were under attack! She instinctively reached over to the joystick, flipping the master arm switch, only stopping when she realized that there was no they -- there was only her, and she was on the ground. The sound was joined by several others, and then what seemed like a hailstorm, the loudest hailstorm she had ever heard. But instead of ice, these droplets were of the lethal variety.
Idiots. Didn't they know that they couldn't penetrate the vetribird's armour with anything short of a tank shell? She would go out and teach those new recruits a lesson. She flipped a switch, and the sound of the hailstorm was inside, and she heard men shouting. "Don't stop shooting, the damn Yanks want to take our oil eh? Well we'll give them a fistful of bullets!" Then the whirring started.
"That's right Yanks. We've got ya serrounded. Waste them."
The whirring was followed by unbearable sound, the sound of hundreds of bullets. She fumbled with the dial on her arm, but the sound only got louder. "This is a present from our Chink friends. Give it to them Lee." There was a demonic whirring that could be heard even over the rainstorm of richochet. She knew instantly what it was, and knew instantly who the ones outside were. But how? The war was over long ago, and even the Enclave didn't...
She dived through the cockpit door and hit the empty floor of the cargo hold. The benches were empty and the seatbelts tucked neatly in. It was the first time she had wished for those stupid grunts, those stupid grunts armed to the teeth and strapped into the seats, returning with blood-splattered armour after a hard day of slaughtering mutants.
But even if they were here, she knew that they would have been mowed down in the few short seconds.
The supersonic slugs methodically tore through unhindered. More holes were opened up in her baby, her toy ever since she was old enough to show enough clevage to convince one of the regulars to let her have a few scant moments alone with her dream. The trail of gunfire went to the cockpit where it hit the once seemingly invincible electronics. A shower of sparks, then nothing. The final slug smashed into the speaker.
She had expected this, but not for her baby to be torn apart in a minute, without even a whimper. And it had all come from one gun.
But she could still hear the man's voice, this time undistorted. She tried to stand up, but the debris was pinning her down. If it wasn't for the power armor she would be a mangled bit of unrecognizable flesh. "Shut it off Lee. That's enough wasting ammo. All units close in."
She reached to her right leg, where her sidearm should have been strapped. She could feel outside air on her head. An outline formed in the steam, becoming more solid and finally tapping her on the shoulder. "Look, its one of them in those new fangled powered armors! The leftenant will want to interrogate this one." The debris pinning her down was pushed aside. "Careful, those things make bears out of weaklings."
"Don't worry, it looks like this one is out cold."
She looked at the man on the right lifting her out of the wreckage. His face was horribly mangled, and one of his eyes were missing.
"Welcome to our home and native land Yank."
She felt the world go fuzzy and everything was falling, then nothing.
--------------------------------------------------
She lurched forward, the seatbelt preventing a skull fracture. The windows were frosted over, and the heater wasn't working. The fuel gage read zero. She reached over to flip on the windshield wipers. They sluggishly came to life, pushing aside hours of caked on snow. The cramped cockpit was bare except for the essentials -- even the leather backing on the seats had been long removed, so that the pilot would never fall asleep. The architects did not have her in mind. She enjoyed hard surfaces. Even at Navarro, where she could sleep on soft silk and cotton sheets, she had preferred a hard matress with a simple folded cloth placed at the base of her head. She ran her hands along the steel surface of her chair. The vetribird was designed to withstand only one type of extreme. A draft ran along her legs. She raised her arm to her face and pushed a button. The readout was frosted over, and she wiped it with her other hand, leaving a trail of droplets. The analog dial was frozen.
She must have imagined the draft. How could she feel air on her thighs through the armour? She lowered her right arm and felt warm flesh. Great, she had picked up a defective suit. Then an unmistakable sound rang out, echoing in the cockpit. They were under attack! She instinctively reached over to the joystick, flipping the master arm switch, only stopping when she realized that there was no they -- there was only her, and she was on the ground. The sound was joined by several others, and then what seemed like a hailstorm, the loudest hailstorm she had ever heard. But instead of ice, these droplets were of the lethal variety.
Idiots. Didn't they know that they couldn't penetrate the vetribird's armour with anything short of a tank shell? She would go out and teach those new recruits a lesson. She flipped a switch, and the sound of the hailstorm was inside, and she heard men shouting. "Don't stop shooting, the damn Yanks want to take our oil eh? Well we'll give them a fistful of bullets!" Then the whirring started.
"That's right Yanks. We've got ya serrounded. Waste them."
The whirring was followed by unbearable sound, the sound of hundreds of bullets. She fumbled with the dial on her arm, but the sound only got louder. "This is a present from our Chink friends. Give it to them Lee." There was a demonic whirring that could be heard even over the rainstorm of richochet. She knew instantly what it was, and knew instantly who the ones outside were. But how? The war was over long ago, and even the Enclave didn't...
She dived through the cockpit door and hit the empty floor of the cargo hold. The benches were empty and the seatbelts tucked neatly in. It was the first time she had wished for those stupid grunts, those stupid grunts armed to the teeth and strapped into the seats, returning with blood-splattered armour after a hard day of slaughtering mutants.
But even if they were here, she knew that they would have been mowed down in the few short seconds.
The supersonic slugs methodically tore through unhindered. More holes were opened up in her baby, her toy ever since she was old enough to show enough clevage to convince one of the regulars to let her have a few scant moments alone with her dream. The trail of gunfire went to the cockpit where it hit the once seemingly invincible electronics. A shower of sparks, then nothing. The final slug smashed into the speaker.
She had expected this, but not for her baby to be torn apart in a minute, without even a whimper. And it had all come from one gun.
But she could still hear the man's voice, this time undistorted. She tried to stand up, but the debris was pinning her down. If it wasn't for the power armor she would be a mangled bit of unrecognizable flesh. "Shut it off Lee. That's enough wasting ammo. All units close in."
She reached to her right leg, where her sidearm should have been strapped. She could feel outside air on her head. An outline formed in the steam, becoming more solid and finally tapping her on the shoulder. "Look, its one of them in those new fangled powered armors! The leftenant will want to interrogate this one." The debris pinning her down was pushed aside. "Careful, those things make bears out of weaklings."
"Don't worry, it looks like this one is out cold."
She looked at the man on the right lifting her out of the wreckage. His face was horribly mangled, and one of his eyes were missing.
"Welcome to our home and native land Yank."
She felt the world go fuzzy and everything was falling, then nothing.
Chapter Six : Hiking and Haven
---------------------------------------
It took months living with a sympathetic farmer to heal the wound in my arm. I bleed alot, and I heal even slower. Near the middle, I started doing chores around the farm. He usually hired locals to do the work, and was more than happy to have me pay off my debt. So, I could have left early. But I didn't. And the farmer rewarded me with directions and a cart full of provisions. "You're one of the most honest people I've met son. And I don't think I've ever met someone who knew as much about pre-war history."
Each day seemed to meld into the next. I would pack up my camping gear and start hiking, taking short breaks every few hours. It became a sort of ritual when I passed someone on the road. I would go to one side of the road, and the merchant to the other. Because, only merchants or bandits needed to travel this far out. The merchant and his guards would keep their eye on me, their hands on distinct firepower. In the weeks (or was it months?) that I travelled, each day I woke up earlier, if only by a little, and took longer hikes before breaks. The villages and small towns I did stop by were glad for my business, and even glader to have me go on my way. I ended up trading everything, even most of my clothing and the cart. I started carrying my provisions on my back. It was easier to jog with just a backpack on than with a rickety wooden wheelbarrow. I kept my guns though.
And I kept my map.
I had reached the last marking on my map. I knew that there was more, since the top was ripped. The town was situated in the outskirts of one of the pre-war cities. It was one of the enigimas -- most of the heavily populated areas had been destroyed by the nukes, and most of the smaller populated areas had simply disappeared after the war. This one must have been somewhere in between, and was bustling with activity. Trappers brought in furs and went through hour long customs checks and tarriffs. Anyone caught selling furs near the city without a permit was shot.
Fur was a very hot commodity. Especially since the temperature frequently went below freezing. I had traded one of my guns to a merchant a while back for a large fur coat, fur gloves, fur pants, fur boots, and a fur "ski-mask" of sorts. Now, standing in line rubbing my hands together and feeling warm and fuzzy, I was glad I had taken the trouble to haul the bulky hides for over a month in warm weather. The line moved forward. I passed a man in a snowbank in fetal position. He was stripped almost naked, and had been shot in the head.
The waiting was not so bad. Burning oil barrels were placed every ten feet or so. I wondered what they burned, then I looked around. There were no trees at all. There were no trees as far as I could see. Maybe, but that still didn't explain how they kept such a large town alive in such a harsh climate. Until I looked in the barrel. It wasn't wood. It seemed to be burning out of its own accord, and even when large gusts of wind blew snow into the barrels, the heat quickly turned the snow into steam. So this was it, some sort of pre-war tech keeping this oaisis in the middle of a white desert alive. Electric? No, nothing I had read about could last so long in such bleak weather. Then what?
"Hey move along you holding the line up." The man behind shoved me into quite a muscular man in shiny silver armour. The man in silver armour pushed me back. "You got a problem stranger? Fur tax... one of those guns there."
"I'm sorry, the man behind pushed me into you. I thought fur for personal use wasn't taxed."
"Law's changed. Pay or leave or be like him." He pointed to the naked body in the snow bank.
I unloaded one of my pistols and placed the clip in my waterproof pouch. He snatched the gun away from me. "Keep your nose clean in Haven stranger, I know the merchants and you ain't one of them. You ain't one of the locals either. So you must be a fool." He pushed me forward again through the circular entrance, and I almost lost my balance. I looked around.
I was inside a cylindrical container. There were two display screens, both broken, with their touchpads wrecked. The light from behind ended, and I was bathed in a blue florescent light. I looked behind, and it was as if there had been no opening. "Standby for decontamination for Vault entry." Vault! I barely had a second to think before the door in front of me turned green. The green light slowly advanced forward, and I braced myself against the back of the container. I screamed as the methodical light passed through me, and stood up red-faced when I realized that I was still alive. The snow was gone. All of it. My skin felt as dry as if I had come in after suntanning. "Don't worry, you're still alive." The front of the container opened smoothly, and I was momentarily blinded by light.
Two large arms grabbed me on either side and threw me on my ass. I was sitting on concrete. Dry, warm concrete. The whole intersection was dry, with people walking around in dry summer clothes. No fur. There were merchants walking around with carts full of fur. But they weren't wearing it. "Is this a Vault?"
"You really are new, aren't you?" A woman in a tight white tank-top and long jean shorts picked me up. I was instantly hard. "You aren't a mercenary. You aren't a bounty hunter. You aren't a merchant. You aren't a killer or a criminal. You certainly don't live here."
"Are you the overseer?"
She laughed. "Yes, I oversee this bunch of goons. No this isn't a vault. Been wanting to get rid of that voice in the snow melter forever, but haven't gotten around to it. It came from a vault, if that's what you're asking." My eyes had adjusted to the light and I noticed that the woman was quite a bit older. She brushed her grey hair back. "Information is going to cost you. That fur cap." I took off my "cap" and gave it to her. "Oh, good, it's the ski-mask variety. For that you get five minutes."
"What is this place?"
"This is Haven, northern-most settlement of any consequence stranger. We have a population of two thousand and don't tolerate outsiders very well."
"Why did you think I was a bounty hunter, criminal or killer?"
"Criminals of the hard kind flee the law to the south. I hear they're busy reestablishing some sort of government down there. Anyway, some of the most wanted ones run as far as they can, and Haven is as far north as it goes."
"So why do you let them in?"
"Our settlement thrives on trade. We can't survive on the usual Brahmin stock -- its simply too cold outside, and there isn't enough space in the dome. So we actively encourage outsiders to do their business here, as long as they don't cause trouble."
"Why the emphasis on fur?"
"Well, if you notice, we got some pretty fancy lighting... even the 'gas' barrels outside are lit by some pre-war tech. Close as I can tell, there is something in the hides that the techs use to power their lighting devices. That, and the outside climate, and the fact that the animals are as numerous as pests outside make it the number one commodity in Haven. We never get enough hide around here, and always have to cut down on power expenditure."
"Why is it so warm in here, and why is the sky blue?"
"The sky's not real hon. It's painted on. People go outside and shovel the snow to keep the 'roof' dome from collapsing. As far as I know, the techs use the same lighters to light and heat the whole city, maybe you should ask them about it."
"Where did you get the Vault airlock from?"
One of the brutes in silver armour approached her, and she nodded. "Well, time's up. If you want cheap lodging, try the Newfolk's Inn. They accept coin as well as fur -- looks like you need all the fur you have." She walked between the two burly men towards the airlock entrance. I was left sitting on my ass and thinking how I got turned on by a fifty-year old bitch. It hadn't even been five minutes. I stood up and walked down the road. People passed me left and right, evidently all on errands of some sort. The road was well paved and men with wheelbarrows occasionally walked by.
I saw a neon sign "Newfolk's." I crossed the street and headed towards it.
---------------------------------------
It took months living with a sympathetic farmer to heal the wound in my arm. I bleed alot, and I heal even slower. Near the middle, I started doing chores around the farm. He usually hired locals to do the work, and was more than happy to have me pay off my debt. So, I could have left early. But I didn't. And the farmer rewarded me with directions and a cart full of provisions. "You're one of the most honest people I've met son. And I don't think I've ever met someone who knew as much about pre-war history."
Each day seemed to meld into the next. I would pack up my camping gear and start hiking, taking short breaks every few hours. It became a sort of ritual when I passed someone on the road. I would go to one side of the road, and the merchant to the other. Because, only merchants or bandits needed to travel this far out. The merchant and his guards would keep their eye on me, their hands on distinct firepower. In the weeks (or was it months?) that I travelled, each day I woke up earlier, if only by a little, and took longer hikes before breaks. The villages and small towns I did stop by were glad for my business, and even glader to have me go on my way. I ended up trading everything, even most of my clothing and the cart. I started carrying my provisions on my back. It was easier to jog with just a backpack on than with a rickety wooden wheelbarrow. I kept my guns though.
And I kept my map.
I had reached the last marking on my map. I knew that there was more, since the top was ripped. The town was situated in the outskirts of one of the pre-war cities. It was one of the enigimas -- most of the heavily populated areas had been destroyed by the nukes, and most of the smaller populated areas had simply disappeared after the war. This one must have been somewhere in between, and was bustling with activity. Trappers brought in furs and went through hour long customs checks and tarriffs. Anyone caught selling furs near the city without a permit was shot.
Fur was a very hot commodity. Especially since the temperature frequently went below freezing. I had traded one of my guns to a merchant a while back for a large fur coat, fur gloves, fur pants, fur boots, and a fur "ski-mask" of sorts. Now, standing in line rubbing my hands together and feeling warm and fuzzy, I was glad I had taken the trouble to haul the bulky hides for over a month in warm weather. The line moved forward. I passed a man in a snowbank in fetal position. He was stripped almost naked, and had been shot in the head.
The waiting was not so bad. Burning oil barrels were placed every ten feet or so. I wondered what they burned, then I looked around. There were no trees at all. There were no trees as far as I could see. Maybe, but that still didn't explain how they kept such a large town alive in such a harsh climate. Until I looked in the barrel. It wasn't wood. It seemed to be burning out of its own accord, and even when large gusts of wind blew snow into the barrels, the heat quickly turned the snow into steam. So this was it, some sort of pre-war tech keeping this oaisis in the middle of a white desert alive. Electric? No, nothing I had read about could last so long in such bleak weather. Then what?
"Hey move along you holding the line up." The man behind shoved me into quite a muscular man in shiny silver armour. The man in silver armour pushed me back. "You got a problem stranger? Fur tax... one of those guns there."
"I'm sorry, the man behind pushed me into you. I thought fur for personal use wasn't taxed."
"Law's changed. Pay or leave or be like him." He pointed to the naked body in the snow bank.
I unloaded one of my pistols and placed the clip in my waterproof pouch. He snatched the gun away from me. "Keep your nose clean in Haven stranger, I know the merchants and you ain't one of them. You ain't one of the locals either. So you must be a fool." He pushed me forward again through the circular entrance, and I almost lost my balance. I looked around.
I was inside a cylindrical container. There were two display screens, both broken, with their touchpads wrecked. The light from behind ended, and I was bathed in a blue florescent light. I looked behind, and it was as if there had been no opening. "Standby for decontamination for Vault entry." Vault! I barely had a second to think before the door in front of me turned green. The green light slowly advanced forward, and I braced myself against the back of the container. I screamed as the methodical light passed through me, and stood up red-faced when I realized that I was still alive. The snow was gone. All of it. My skin felt as dry as if I had come in after suntanning. "Don't worry, you're still alive." The front of the container opened smoothly, and I was momentarily blinded by light.
Two large arms grabbed me on either side and threw me on my ass. I was sitting on concrete. Dry, warm concrete. The whole intersection was dry, with people walking around in dry summer clothes. No fur. There were merchants walking around with carts full of fur. But they weren't wearing it. "Is this a Vault?"
"You really are new, aren't you?" A woman in a tight white tank-top and long jean shorts picked me up. I was instantly hard. "You aren't a mercenary. You aren't a bounty hunter. You aren't a merchant. You aren't a killer or a criminal. You certainly don't live here."
"Are you the overseer?"
She laughed. "Yes, I oversee this bunch of goons. No this isn't a vault. Been wanting to get rid of that voice in the snow melter forever, but haven't gotten around to it. It came from a vault, if that's what you're asking." My eyes had adjusted to the light and I noticed that the woman was quite a bit older. She brushed her grey hair back. "Information is going to cost you. That fur cap." I took off my "cap" and gave it to her. "Oh, good, it's the ski-mask variety. For that you get five minutes."
"What is this place?"
"This is Haven, northern-most settlement of any consequence stranger. We have a population of two thousand and don't tolerate outsiders very well."
"Why did you think I was a bounty hunter, criminal or killer?"
"Criminals of the hard kind flee the law to the south. I hear they're busy reestablishing some sort of government down there. Anyway, some of the most wanted ones run as far as they can, and Haven is as far north as it goes."
"So why do you let them in?"
"Our settlement thrives on trade. We can't survive on the usual Brahmin stock -- its simply too cold outside, and there isn't enough space in the dome. So we actively encourage outsiders to do their business here, as long as they don't cause trouble."
"Why the emphasis on fur?"
"Well, if you notice, we got some pretty fancy lighting... even the 'gas' barrels outside are lit by some pre-war tech. Close as I can tell, there is something in the hides that the techs use to power their lighting devices. That, and the outside climate, and the fact that the animals are as numerous as pests outside make it the number one commodity in Haven. We never get enough hide around here, and always have to cut down on power expenditure."
"Why is it so warm in here, and why is the sky blue?"
"The sky's not real hon. It's painted on. People go outside and shovel the snow to keep the 'roof' dome from collapsing. As far as I know, the techs use the same lighters to light and heat the whole city, maybe you should ask them about it."
"Where did you get the Vault airlock from?"
One of the brutes in silver armour approached her, and she nodded. "Well, time's up. If you want cheap lodging, try the Newfolk's Inn. They accept coin as well as fur -- looks like you need all the fur you have." She walked between the two burly men towards the airlock entrance. I was left sitting on my ass and thinking how I got turned on by a fifty-year old bitch. It hadn't even been five minutes. I stood up and walked down the road. People passed me left and right, evidently all on errands of some sort. The road was well paved and men with wheelbarrows occasionally walked by.
I saw a neon sign "Newfolk's." I crossed the street and headed towards it.
Chapter Seven : Newfolk's and Deal Making
-------------------------------------------------------
Usually I stuck out like a sore thumb. With my newly acquired native garb, I fit right in. The bar had at least six of the "magic barrels" burning -- evidently this section of town was in slight disrepair, or the barrel's wouldn't have been needed to keep out the cold. The bar stools were all occupied, and I had to settle for lurking near the barrels.
"Psst. You a merc?"
I turned and saw a man with a patch over his left eye. He had a long scar across his right cheek and was at least fifty. He was caucasian, five feet tall, and looked unassuming.
"You can say I'm on a quest of sorts.", I said.
Patch-face lifted his patch up. It was some sort of synthetic eye. "If ya have a Pip-Boy, I can upload the details."
"The details of what?"
"You mean you haven't heard?"
"Heard what, I don't have a lot of time. And come to think of it, no, I don't have a Pip-Boy."
"Well sonny, for a merc like you, I'll tell you for free."
"How do you know I'm a merc?"
"Nothing. You know what, I don't think I like you."
He turned away. But I couldn't let him go, not now that he had perked my interest.
"Sir, I'm terribly sorry. Maybe there's a way I can make it up to you."
Patch-face grinned, showing his rotten yellow teeth. "Yes, yes you can. I knew it, you're a total stranger to this town. There's only three reasons someone..."
"...yes, I've heard, you have to be either a mass murderer, a bounty hunter, or a local to get around here.", I interrupted.
"Good. Since you're on the outside, stranger, chances are nobody will tell you about the... auction. And I know you want to go to the auction.", he said.
"Why would I want to go to some silly auction?"
"Because you're looking to get into the vault."
I stiffened. I took a closer look at Patch-face. His voice had softened, and there didn't seem to be any hint of jest in his tone.
"What's a vault?"
"Please. Everybody knows what a vault is. And since you aren't a mass murderer, a bounty hunter, or a local, you must be looking to get into the vault. A treasure hunter."
"You still haven't answered my question.", I said.
"Patience, I was getting to it. Now everybody knows Haven was built on top of a Vault. Its not the same as the vaults down south. This vault, see, was some sort of master vault. Pre-war tech, enough to make a man rich beyond his wildest imagination, lurks below these streets. The vault dwellers, they were all killed by radioation."
"You mean radiation."
"Yes sonny, be quiet. Now to get below, you'd need to be able to survive radioation, not even a mutant could survive. I'm not talking about the upper levels of the vault -- the city has been stripping bare for decades what it could, and the upper levels are as bare as an empty tundra. Nobody's ever been able to get down there. Sometimes, the techs at night hear noises, sounds, like something's haunting..."
"I've had enough of this ghost story." I turned around. Before I could walk away, Patch-face grabbed my arm.
"Listen, treasure-hunter, read this. I only got one hardcopy, and you can have it."
=
FOR ACUTION TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER
AUTHENTIC, PRE-WAR YANKEE POWERED ARMOR
ALSO MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS FOR SALE
NEVER FEAR DEATH AGAIN!
BIDDING STARTS ON THE FOURTH DAY OF THIS MONTH!
=
"That's really nice, but I'm not really the armor wearing type. Besides, didn't you say this city was full of bounty hunters and murderers? I bet they would kill for one of these 'powered armors'"
"Kill, yes. But they wouldn't risk the wrath of the city guards. Turn the page around sonny."
It was picture of a naked woman. No, she wasn't naked actually, but she was wearing a skin-tight white t-shirt that struggled to contain her breasts. Her right hand covered her nipples, and her left hand was perched over her pussy hair, her finger in her vagina. I felt myself go hard right away. I took a closer look at the woman's face. She looked like she was in a trance of some sort, maybe drugged or weak.
=
ALSO INCLUDED IN PURCHASE
ONE AUTHENTIC YANKEE SEX SLAVE
GUARANTEED TO BE THE BEST FUCK YOU'VE EVER HAD
=
"She's pretty. But I still don't get why I need this armor to get into a vault. I've visited plenty of other vaults..."
"Sonny, this isn't the standard T-51b powered armor. It has a standalone, air-filtration system. It's practically a self-contained... self-contained... what was that he called it... space suit." Patch-face smiled, and I wondered if he had understood anything he had just said.
"Okay, so I need the suit to get into the vault's lower levels. Where do you come in?"
"Oh, I don't desire much treasure-hunter. I'll show you how to... acquire the powered armor. You let me fuck that girl silly. And I want... 50%."
"10%. I do all the heavy hitting."
"20%. Without me, you wouldn't have even found out about the auction."
"15%. Without me, you wouldn't be able to get a fuck if you paid for it."
Patch-face snarled. "Deal. Remember what you said. I get to fuck her, preferrably in the ass, as much as I want."
I smiled. "Deal." We shook.
-------------------------------------------------------
Usually I stuck out like a sore thumb. With my newly acquired native garb, I fit right in. The bar had at least six of the "magic barrels" burning -- evidently this section of town was in slight disrepair, or the barrel's wouldn't have been needed to keep out the cold. The bar stools were all occupied, and I had to settle for lurking near the barrels.
"Psst. You a merc?"
I turned and saw a man with a patch over his left eye. He had a long scar across his right cheek and was at least fifty. He was caucasian, five feet tall, and looked unassuming.
"You can say I'm on a quest of sorts.", I said.
Patch-face lifted his patch up. It was some sort of synthetic eye. "If ya have a Pip-Boy, I can upload the details."
"The details of what?"
"You mean you haven't heard?"
"Heard what, I don't have a lot of time. And come to think of it, no, I don't have a Pip-Boy."
"Well sonny, for a merc like you, I'll tell you for free."
"How do you know I'm a merc?"
"Nothing. You know what, I don't think I like you."
He turned away. But I couldn't let him go, not now that he had perked my interest.
"Sir, I'm terribly sorry. Maybe there's a way I can make it up to you."
Patch-face grinned, showing his rotten yellow teeth. "Yes, yes you can. I knew it, you're a total stranger to this town. There's only three reasons someone..."
"...yes, I've heard, you have to be either a mass murderer, a bounty hunter, or a local to get around here.", I interrupted.
"Good. Since you're on the outside, stranger, chances are nobody will tell you about the... auction. And I know you want to go to the auction.", he said.
"Why would I want to go to some silly auction?"
"Because you're looking to get into the vault."
I stiffened. I took a closer look at Patch-face. His voice had softened, and there didn't seem to be any hint of jest in his tone.
"What's a vault?"
"Please. Everybody knows what a vault is. And since you aren't a mass murderer, a bounty hunter, or a local, you must be looking to get into the vault. A treasure hunter."
"You still haven't answered my question.", I said.
"Patience, I was getting to it. Now everybody knows Haven was built on top of a Vault. Its not the same as the vaults down south. This vault, see, was some sort of master vault. Pre-war tech, enough to make a man rich beyond his wildest imagination, lurks below these streets. The vault dwellers, they were all killed by radioation."
"You mean radiation."
"Yes sonny, be quiet. Now to get below, you'd need to be able to survive radioation, not even a mutant could survive. I'm not talking about the upper levels of the vault -- the city has been stripping bare for decades what it could, and the upper levels are as bare as an empty tundra. Nobody's ever been able to get down there. Sometimes, the techs at night hear noises, sounds, like something's haunting..."
"I've had enough of this ghost story." I turned around. Before I could walk away, Patch-face grabbed my arm.
"Listen, treasure-hunter, read this. I only got one hardcopy, and you can have it."
=
FOR ACUTION TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER
AUTHENTIC, PRE-WAR YANKEE POWERED ARMOR
ALSO MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS FOR SALE
NEVER FEAR DEATH AGAIN!
BIDDING STARTS ON THE FOURTH DAY OF THIS MONTH!
=
"That's really nice, but I'm not really the armor wearing type. Besides, didn't you say this city was full of bounty hunters and murderers? I bet they would kill for one of these 'powered armors'"
"Kill, yes. But they wouldn't risk the wrath of the city guards. Turn the page around sonny."
It was picture of a naked woman. No, she wasn't naked actually, but she was wearing a skin-tight white t-shirt that struggled to contain her breasts. Her right hand covered her nipples, and her left hand was perched over her pussy hair, her finger in her vagina. I felt myself go hard right away. I took a closer look at the woman's face. She looked like she was in a trance of some sort, maybe drugged or weak.
=
ALSO INCLUDED IN PURCHASE
ONE AUTHENTIC YANKEE SEX SLAVE
GUARANTEED TO BE THE BEST FUCK YOU'VE EVER HAD
=
"She's pretty. But I still don't get why I need this armor to get into a vault. I've visited plenty of other vaults..."
"Sonny, this isn't the standard T-51b powered armor. It has a standalone, air-filtration system. It's practically a self-contained... self-contained... what was that he called it... space suit." Patch-face smiled, and I wondered if he had understood anything he had just said.
"Okay, so I need the suit to get into the vault's lower levels. Where do you come in?"
"Oh, I don't desire much treasure-hunter. I'll show you how to... acquire the powered armor. You let me fuck that girl silly. And I want... 50%."
"10%. I do all the heavy hitting."
"20%. Without me, you wouldn't have even found out about the auction."
"15%. Without me, you wouldn't be able to get a fuck if you paid for it."
Patch-face snarled. "Deal. Remember what you said. I get to fuck her, preferrably in the ass, as much as I want."
I smiled. "Deal." We shook.
I'm a recent addition to the board so don't remember DW's ass fucking days.Cpl Kendall wrote:Pretty good. I don't suppose Patch was inspired by Darth Wong, what with the ass fucking bit. I'd certainly like to read more.
I just read over it myself. Wrote most of it years ago, and the last chapter one year after the first ones. Got to be over a year and a half. I'm not that good -- or, depending how you look at it, not that bad -- now
.Might be awhile before I start it up again.
Brian
Fallout universe. If you play computer games, and haven't played the Fallout series, its time to head to the local bargain bin and try it out (if you have a ton of free time).Junghalli wrote:Cool. Where is this fanfic set? It sounds vaguely like maybe Draka, but I'm not sure... Maybe post WWIII (after all, there is that pre-war thing that keeps coming up).
Brian
