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Chorrol.com _ Fan Fiction _ Once Upon a Time in New Vegas

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Nov 29 2011, 09:32 PM

Greetings and salutations, good folk of Chorrol.com forums! I return once more to these fair forums bearing a tale I would add to your vaunted archive of work, a tale of the Mojave Wasteland, a story of intrigue, betrayal and greed, a prelude to the epic chronicle of the Courier. For who were the people who made the great changes wrought upon this place possible? Of course, we all know of the plotting of Mr. House, the ambition of Caesar and Benny, the hopes of the NCR, but what, I ask you, of the little people who made all of that possible? What of those who brought all of these grand plans together, the real unsung heroes of that great story?

Sit back and relax, my friends, and prepare to be told the tale of those who made everything possible, a true tale of the Mojave Wasteland and of New Vegas, first told by the Softworkers of Bethesda and related to you now, in the hope you might take pity on a traveller and grant him food and shelter for a night.

Prepare to hear the tale of Anston and Co.


IPB Image

"Lack of money is the root of all evil."-George Bernard Shaw


Chapter 1

"Oh god, please I'm begging you, please stop, just please stop, please, I-"

The length of wood thumped down and silenced the pleading, reducing it to nought but whimpering through broken teeth. The figure on the floor curled up in a ball, trying to shelter his head from the blows the two baseball bat wielding individuals standing above him would bring down. It did him little good, another slamming into the back of his skull with painful thud.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Michael exclaimed, snatching the bat away from Ripley's hand before he could hit him again. "We were paid to mess his face up, not kill him, idiot!"

He shook his head, before prodding the prone figure with the tip of the bat.

"He still alive?" he asked.

"He's still whining like a little kid, if that's what you want to know," Alex said, nudging his victim in the stomach with his boot.

"Good," Michael said as the pleading began once more.

"I've got caps," he sobbed desperately. "You want them, take them. Just please, damn it, please stop. I'm begging you here."

The nudge became a kick.

"Shut up, pal!" Alex snapped, snarling. "Jesus, some people don't get the hint, do they?"

"Way you've been hitting him, I'm betting he's not gonna be taking many hints all that easy now," Brutus remarked with a chuckle. "Mike, how come I can't have a go on him?"

"You're six and a half feet of muscle and steroids, that's why, idiot. You'll kill him with one damn hit," Michael replied with a dismissive shake of his head. He sat down on his victim's bed, smoothing down the lapel of the dirty suit he wore, before he said; "You know why we're here, George?"

From his place on the floor, George shook his head.

"Because you're a moron, that's why," Michael said. "Because you didn't think about who you slept with, and now you've got to pay for thinking with your damn loaf of bread."

All he got was a whimper of frightened pain, and he shook his head. He wasn't expecting much else anyway.

"Hey, boss, I was doing a little thinking of my own," Alex said, pushing George onto his back where he clutched at his ruined face. There was the same smile on his face that he always wore when he was thinking of something particularly nasty. "You know you've got that saying yours, about importance of the customer?"

"Oh yeah," Michael said. "'The customer is the most important part of the job,' that's the one."

"Yeah, right, well I was thinking, maybe we should do a little more on George here," Alex said, prodding his prone victim's crotch with the tip of his bat. "Y'know, going the extra mile for the customer? I mean, seeing as our friend here thought of this before anything else, maybe we could make sure that our, uh, offending article could be made to think twice."

Michael nodded, a slow grin crawling across his face.

"Of course," he said. "I mean, hey, what does Anston and Co. value more than its beloved customers? We're always willing to do a little extra for them, Alex, always. We've got a reputation to keep up, after all." Alex smiled, before the bat thudded down and George screamed.

"Hey, I think I just realised how good maintaining customer relations feels," he announced cheerfully.

"Value the customer, that's what I've always said," Michael said. "And speaking of which…"

He pressed a few buttons on the Pip-Boy 3000 on his wrist, tuning the inbuilt two-way radio, before he said into it; "That Mr Palson there?"

"It is," came a gruff reply. "Who is it?"

"It's Michael Anston, of Anston and Co." Michael answered. "About a certain individual you asked us to deal with."

"You got him?"

"Bleeding, rolling on the floor and crying like a damn baby," Michael said. "Hey, Brutus, pick him up and get him over here, will you?"

Brutus reached over with his massive robotic arm, the pincer at the end roughly picking up his victim by the shoulder and hauling him over to the bed.

"Georgey," Michael said to him warmly as he was dropped next to him. "I've got Mr Palson on the other end here. Y'know, the man whose daughter you dishonoured? I reckon you've got something to say to him, haven't you?"

George nodded slightly drunkenly, before he said; "I'm sorry for messing around with your daughter, Mr Palson sir. It won't happen again."

"It had better not," the voice of Mr Palson said. He chuckled. "Sounds like you did a real number on him there."

"Well, we take our job seriously," Michael replied. "But believe me, he won't be luring any decent young women into his clutches again any time soon, don't you worry about that."

"Glad to hear it," Palson said. "You head back here and I'll settle your payment."

"Just give it to Doris, she should still be around," Michael said. "Remember, redhead chick? She'll be picking it up for us."

"Oh, your young lady friend," Palson replied. "I'll get it to her, don't you worry about that. Thanks very much."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Palson," Michael said. "Be sure to hire out Anston and Co. for all your future violence-based needs."

"I think I might just," Palson said. "I'll have someone contact you again if I ever need your, ah, services. Palson out."

Michael grinned as he flicked it off, before he stood up and crouched next to George.

"Now, Georgey," Michael said cheerfully to his victim, who was near falling into unconsciousness. "What have we learned today, then?"

"Not to…not to mess around with…the wrong ladies," he managed to slur in reply, looking at Michael with unfocussed eyes.

"Very good," Michael replied patronisingly, patting him on the head. He grimaced as his hand caught a smear of blood from the hair, and wiped it off on George's shirt. "Now don't do it again, or we'll have to come back and finish the job, and we don't want, do we?"

George shook his head.

"Atta boy," Michael said. "Glad we've got an understanding, eh? Now you keep out of trouble, friend!"

He straightened up, adjusting his fedora before he strode out of the door, with a triumphant announcement of; "Gentlemen, our good deed for the day is complete. Now let's go and collect our well-earned reward, shall we?"

He led the way through the grimy corridors of Freeside's Weatherly Hotel, tipping his hat to the old woman who sat the ancient desk at the foyer of the hotel. She simply watched him go warily, the small sum of caps Michael had given her in exchange for George's room number already disappeared into a strongbox.

Being paid made everything look better, Michael said, even as he looked upon the dingy slum that was Freeside, baking in the heat of the Mojave summer. The sun shone down mercilessly, beating off tarmac and concrete, and most of the residents that could be indoors were hiding to escape the heat, while beggars and vagrants huddled in the shade afforded to them by the ruined buildings.

"How come I had to come along for this job?" Brutus asked as they made their way down the cracked and worn street.

"Freeside ain't safe, is it?" Michael said. "People would be trying to jump us all over the shop if you weren't here to scare them away." "I could," Alex said.

"Alex, you're a goddamn kid," Michael replied. "A baby molerat isn't gonna be scared by you. I mean, three guys going along here by themselves, they'll think we're not too hard a target. But if there's four of us, and one of them's some big guy with a giant pincery robot arm, then they're gonna think twice about it, aren't they?"

"But I like the Strip," Brutus protested.

"All you'd be doing is gambling your hard-earned caps away or spending it to get balls deep in some guy in Gomorrah," Michael said. "I'm doing you a favour, buddy."

"He's gonna be doing that anyway," Ripley pointed out. "I was planning on it."

"Since when were you into guys?" Alex asked.

"I meant with a ghoulette, idiot," Ripley snapped back. "God, you're stupid sometimes."

"Hey, shut up," Alex retorted.

"Oh, both of you can it!" Michael exclaimed despairingly. "Y'know, sometimes I wonder why I even bother with you people,"

They drew up at the gate to the Strip, the mesh fencing and crude concrete barricade blocking their way to the jewel of the Mojave. As always, the small guard of Securitrons was manning it, and one of the machines wheeled towards Michael, the cartoonish policeman on the screen at the centre of the bulky blue robot's chassis scowling at him.

++State your business++ it demanded, its artificial voice harsh and grating.

"Just heading onto the Strip," Michael said.

++Credit check++ the Securitron said brusquely, in reply to which Michael held up a slip of paper.

"Corporate pass," he said. "Anston and Co."

There was a whirr, before the machine announced ++Pass verified. Carry on through++

The gate slid open as the Securitron wheeled aside, and four fifths of Aston and Co. stepped through into the most wondrous place on earth.

Even in the middle of the day, the New Vegas Strip glowed, neon ablaze even in the harsh glare of the sun. To their left rose the vacant Lucky 38 Casino, the sign advertising its famous revolving restaurant vandalised by some joker long ago to replace the second 'V' with a harsh black 'T'. On the other side of the street, bedecked in crackling flames of ionised gas, Gomorrah beckoned with the gaudy lure of debauchery and pleasure, while the Tops promised riches galore right down to the suited guards standing outside. Vault-22's unbecoming façade seemed to both hide and flaunt the potential hidden below, while the Ultra-Luxe sat apart and aloof from its base brethren.

Michael ignored these beguiling sights for one that he found standing before him. Sunlight glistened off red hair, pouting crimson lips smiled at him alluringly, and Doris stepped forward from the kerb to grab Michael in an embrace and kiss him. So what if that beauty was through the work of the expensive, rare commodity of makeup? She still looked damn good in Michael's eyes.

"Hey baby," he said after a moment, still holding her waist and grinning at her. "How you doing?"

"I'm not happy, hun," she said. "You know I don't like it when you go off for work when you're supposed to be having fun. And you dragged the others with you as well! That ain't fair on them, sweety."

"Told you," Brutus said slightly triumphantly. "Hey, I got an opportunity and I took it," Michael said defensively, kissing her again. "What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, honey, you shouldn't just waltz off like that," Doris protested half-heartedly. "You know I don't like being excluded from things."

"Hey, it was dirty work," Michael replied. "You know I don't like you getting involved in that stuff."

"So busting Raider dens, doing drug runs for the Khans and getting knee-deep in mirelurks and molerats ain't dirty work?" Doris asked.

"Ah, c'mon, you were having such a nice time at the Ultra-Luxe I thought it wouldn't be fair to drag you away," Michael said. "Besides, you know me; I take an opportunity when I get it. That's why you hooked up with me, baby. You said I was destined for great things, remember? I had the ambition you looked for in a guy."

He kissed her again, and she giggled slightly.

"Forgive me?" he asked.

"Alright, honey, you know I can't stay angry at you for long," she said. "And I suppose we've got the rewards of this little opportunity taking, ain't we?"

"'Xactly," Michael said. "Don't say I don't treat you nice, eh?"

"Hey, lovebirds," Alex interjected. "You gonna give us our caps any time soon?"

"Alright, alright," Michael said. "Doris, sweety, you got 'em? Don't want all my hard work being for nothing."

"Yeah, your hard work," Ripley muttered.

"Hey, I'm the brains of this operation," Michael retorted. "And delegation is part of leadership, isn't it? Besides, I ended up getting blood on my hands; you know how I hate it when that happens."

"Oh boohoo," Ripley said sarcastically. "Anyway, the caps?"

"Sure, sure," Doris said, pulling a pouch from her pocket. "Payment was two hundred and fifty caps, so fifty each."

"Ah c'mon, that's barely enough to get a lapdance or nothin'," Alex complained.

"Hey, they've got slot machines and roulette tables in Gomorrah, haven't they?" Michael asked. "Might get lucky and win big. Besides, what happened to the rest of your cash?"

"Lost it all in poker," Alex mumbled, blushing slightly.

"Typical," Ripley muttered, the ghoul shaking his head.

"Ah, just blush like that around a couple of rich-looking ladies and they'll probably take pity on you," Brutus said. "It's what you always seem to do, anyway."

"Hey, I'm a charmer," Alex said. "What can I say?"

"Whatever works for ya," Michael said, handing out the caps. "You guys go and enjoy your night."

"You not coming with?" Brutus asked.

"I'm not letting my Michael into that place with you people," Doris declared. "I'd be a single woman before the morning."

"And be with some moneyed up Chairman by the next," Ripley remarked disparagingly, getting a vicious glare from Doris.

"We'll be at the Tops," Michael said. "You want to meet us tomorrow?"

"Sure, outside the Lucky 38," Brutus said.

"Great," Michael grinned, clapping his hands together. "Go have a little fun, fellas."

The three turned towards the hive of sin to drink and gamble the day away, and as Michael and Doris began to wend their way to the tops the redhead laid a hand on his arm and said; "Hey, sweetie…"

"I know that voice," Michael said, an edge of humorous weariness to his voice. "You're gonna ask me for something, aren't you?"

"You know me too well, hun," Doris said. "I was wondering though; could I borrow a few caps?"

"What? What happened to the ones you had when we came here?"

"Oh, come on, it's the Strip," Doris protested. "What do you think happened to them?"

Michael shook his head despairingly.

"God dammit, did you lose them on the slots again?" he asked.

"What? I like those," Doris protested. "You can win real big."

"Doris, I've told you a thousand times, the slots are a goddamn scam," Michael said. "The odds against you are way too high."

"Hey, people win on them," Doris protested as the couple stepped back onto the curb towards the spacious driveway of the Tops.

"Well yeah, a couple of people win on them so they can fool everyone else like the gullible suckers they are," Michael said, before hastily adding; "Not saying you're one though, baby. But we're using these caps on the poker table, alright? That's how we'll win big."

"Whatever you say, sweety," Doris replied somewhat half-heartedly, but as they approached the doors of the Tops, one of the suited guards pulling it open for them, Michael wasn't listening.

He could already feel the money flowing into his pockets.

Posted by: mALX Dec 1 2011, 02:35 PM

GAAAAH !! It's been so long since I played New Vegas, I can barely remember it, lol. Great Write !!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 1 2011, 07:06 PM

Hehe. I've got a bit of a quandry between playing Skyrim because, well, Skyrim and playing New Vegas for 'research purposes' myself. tongue.gif

Thanks for reading, Malx. smile.gif

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 3 2011, 06:02 AM

I miss New Vegas...Played it exactly the same as Oblivion (except as Shining Knight in Sheriff's Duster) and had a blast...Then came the update just before Old World Blues and it completely changed the game...Dunno why...Just did, so I haven't played it since...*Sigh*...

Really enjoyed this chapter...Took me back brilliantly...

Love it...

Nice one... biggrin.gif ...

Looking forward to more...*Applauds*...

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 3 2011, 04:57 PM

I haven't actually played New Vegas for quite a while now either, which is a shame. I probably would, but there's so much Skyrim and I feel like I'm cheating if I go and play something else before I've, at the very least, completed the main quest. There's just so much...

Anyway, thanks for the kind words, McBadgere, and I'll be sure to have more coming. smile.gif

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 4 2011, 12:16 AM

Author’s Note: For the sake of making things nice and clear, Michael’s monologues are indicated in italics. He should, at the moment, be the only narrator who intersperses the prose.

And by all means, critique, comment and generally let me know what you think; I’m happy to hear it all.

Or else I’ll set Brutus on you…tongue.gif



Chapter 2

Money? Money never changes.

Just over two hundred years ago, when mankind beat the ever-lovin’ beejesus out of itself with nukes, there were two things that seemed set to stick around in spite the of radiation and the mutants; war, and money. Turns out, it seems, you take away the civilisation but kept the cash, people would still hang on to the stuff. We’d come a long way from the barter system which, believe me, ain’t too good in the first place, and we didn’t want to get rid of our precious cash.

So what if notes became Nuka-Cola caps and the banks were gone? We still had money, didn’t we? One commodity exchanged for another, facilitated by lovely little bright red disks of metal.

So the new world became divided; on one side there were those who were only interested in war, the raiders and folks like Caesar’s Legion, and on the other those who were interested in cash and keeping things nice and civilised, like all the caravan companies or the NCR. So where do Anston and Co. sit in all this? We sit right in the middle, that’s where. You pay us enough, and we’ll kill whatever you want us to.

So who are we, then?

First off, there’s me.

“I’m raising,” Michael said, pushing a small pile of chips into the centre of the table. The off-duty NCR trooper there cast him a suspicious look, while the caravan-trader was beginning to look nervous at the amount the suited, goateed mercenary was placing the table, his girlfriend on the seat next to him grinning maliciously.

“I fold,” the trooper said suddenly, placing his cards down on the table. The caravaneer looked nervous, and with that prompt, he did the same.

“Looks like they’re all out,” Michael said to the dealer. “Stick out the last cards, will ya?”
The dealer nodded, before placing the final card on the table. Michael laid out his; a two and a five, practically worthless and not even with a pair. The NCR trooper cursed, and the caravaneer simply glared at him as Michael grinned triumphantly and collected the chips.

I’ve met a lot of people in this line of work and they’ve got a lot of reasons for doing it; some of them think they’re heroes, others are out to make as much of a mess as they possibly can and everything in between, but for me, it’s all about the money. Nothing more, and nothing less; money, pure and simple. Best way to get paid, I figured, was to go out and hurt people. There’ll always be someone, somewhere, who needs somebody else’s head kicked in, and I’ll be there with a boot, a smile and the best customer service in the Mojave Wasteland. Of course, I won’t be doing the kicking, god no; I’m a businessman, an entrepreneur, not a goddamn barbarian. Hell, I’m a pacifist, for god’s sake; never hurt my fellow man in my life. It’s just that I employ people who don’t share my fine code of morals and are damn good at hurting my fellow man for me.

My second in command is Brutus, god love ‘im. He’s saved my life more times than I care to count and sure, Anston and Co. look out for each other, but Brutus and I are a real team; he’s the muscle, and I’m the brain. Big guy ain’t dumb, though; sure, he ain’t as sharp as yours truly here, but everyone seems to think that if he’s got the muscle power then he ain’t got any thinking power. Piece of advice; not true. But it takes people by surprise, and hey, surprises are fun.

He’s ex-Legion, got chucked out somehow, but I’m not sure how. I always figured that he’d tell me what happened if he wanted to, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate me being nosy. I found him about three years back, wandering up near Goodsprings with his left arm chopped off at the shoulder and pretty much crazy with thirst and hunger; only reason nothing had killed him yet because he was so big he scared them off. I guess I could’ve left him there, but I figured that a guy like that had potential, and I’m not one to pass up an opportunity; take life by the horns, that’s what I always say. So off I dragged him to the doctor in town, and a couple of stimpaks, some water and a few antibiotics and he was right as rain. Took the guy for a drink, explained who I was and what I wanted, and he agreed to sign up with me. Of course, some ex-NCR guy took exception to Brutus wearing Caesar’s Legion gear, but before I even had a chance to talk him down Brutus just picked him up and threw him out the window so hard his neck snapped like a twig when he landed. My intuition had been right all along; paying the caps to get him fixed was the best investment I ever made.

Anyway, we got him hooked up with his robot arm thanks to some guy called Doctor Henry in Jacobstown, and after that, we stuck together. I found us jobs to do, and then we did them; we built ourselves a bit of a name out in the Waste, found ourselves some gainful employment. Even in those first days, we were one hell of a team.

“Now look fellas, you and I both know that shooting me isn’t going to be a good idea,” Michael said calmly, hands held nice and clearly in the air where the three individuals pointing the rifles at him could see them. “We’ve got NCR patrolling these roads, and let’s face it, a corpse on a route as busy as this one isn’t something they’re going to be able to ignore.”

“Stow it,” the one in the centre said, prodding Michael in the chest with his rifle. “If I wanted to hear you beg I’d be telling you to beg already.”

“Look,” Michael said. “All I’m saying is, you shoot me and all you’re going to do is bring down every trooper in the nearest ten miles on your heads. But if you let me go, then that’s going to be a problem.”

“Guy’s got a point,” the one on the left said, glancing over at his leader in the middle. “Unless he’s Mr House or something he’s probably not got the caps on him to make it worth the trouble.”

The central bandit weighed that up for a moment, before said; “Maybe your right. Hand over all your caps and we’ll let you go.”

“Okay, that seems a fair deal,” Michael said, slowly. “Buuuut, I might just make you a counter-offer.”

“What’s that gonna be?” their leader asked with a derisive snort, a sneer curling across his feature. “You’re not really in a position to bargain, now are you?”

It morphed into an expression of wide eyed terror as a metal claw wrapped around his skull and lifted him upwards, squeezing just enough to let the unfortunate victim of its attention know that it could crush the bone with ease. One of the bandits raised their rifle to point at the huge figure that had loomed behind him before a fist grabbed the weapon and wrenched it from their grasp. The same bandit was grabbed by the collar and hurled into his comrade, the two of them tumbling away, weapons scattering on the floor. The giant figure hadn’t even bothered to draw the great machete at his belt.

Michael calmly picked them up from where they lay, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and taking the pistol in hand.

“Here’s my new offer,” Michael said. “You hand over all your caps, and Brutus here won’t crush your boss’ head.”

From where they lay on the floor, the two would-be highway looked up at their leader.

“Do what he says!” he choked desperately, fear in his eyes as he grabbed onto the lower pincer to stop himself from being strangled.

Hesitantly, Michael’s stolen weapon pointed quite calmly at them, they stood, turning out their pockets and placing the caps and NCR dollars within carefully on the ground. Michael gestured for them to step away before sweeping the currency, before he nodded to Brutus. The bandit held in his iron grasp fell to his knees as the massive mercenary dropped him, gasping in relief.

“You too,” Michael said, stepping next to him and nudging him with his foot. “Come on, pay up.”

His nose wrinkled, and he added; “You didn’t piss yourself, did you? Really? God, man, that’s disgusting.”

The bandit ignored him, suddenly reaching for the carbine he’d dropped before Michael kicked the battered and scratched weapon away and said; “Caps, before I let Brutus have his fun.”

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, before reaching into his pockets and picking the discs of metal out. “There, that’s all we’ve got. Now will you let us go?”

Brutus glanced at Michael as he picked up the man’s carbine, who nodded. The ex-Legionary gently kicked the bandit in the backside and sent him sprawling, before Michael said; “Yeah, you’re free to get out of here.”

The man scrambled to his feet as one of the others asked; “Can we at least have our weapons back?”

“You stupid or what?” Michael said. “Course you can’t.”

“What?” the other protested. “We’ll be killed!”

Michael shrugged.

“Should’ve thought of that before you tried to rob me,” he said. “See ya round, gentlemen.”

Sure, we weren’t the biggest players in the game, but we were making good money. We were a small scale company, so we did small scale jobs; short contracts, a few beatings and business killings, that sort of thing. And then one day, we met Doris.

Lady says she picked us out from the crowd in Gomorrah when she saw the ambition in me, but that isn’t true. What she saw was Brutus’ muscles, but when she found out he wasn’t interested in the ladies she picked out the next best thing, which was me. I don’t blame her, but hey, we’re happy now. In love. Weirdest thing; I always figured that you aren’t gonna get love out here in the Wasteland, but boy, she still doesn’t fail to take my breath away after all this time. Turns out she’s pretty handy with explosives; apparently she was in one of the NCR’s railway gangs for a little while before she broke out, picked up a few tips on how to use dynamite and the like. Course, she isn’t so good with money as I am, but with me around to look after her, that isn’t as big a deal as it could be. Sure I have to cover for her sometimes, but so what? Small price to pay, I reckon.

Next up in the little happy family that’s Anston and Co. is Alex. He’s an interesting one; picked him up in the Bison Steve Hotel in Primm. Funny story, that.

The bar was quiet, and every eye that dared to look was on Brutus. The massive ex-Legionary was a commanding sight, hunched over the counter and a couple of empty bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla. The glances at him were furtive, nobody wanting to make trouble this size, and Michael and Doris were enjoying the privacy that their attention-demanding companion gave them, together in a quieter corner of the bar. There was only one exception to that rule, a dark skinned kid who kept giving him a kind of cocky grin. It was beginning to get on Brutus’ nerves.

“What’re you looking at, kid?” he suddenly asked, a glare shot in his direction, resting his bionic on the bar before him and nonchalantly flexing the claw. Usually, Brutus found, that was enough to scare off any would-be challengers.

“Nothin’,” came the all-too composed reply, that smirk still staying in place.

Brutus shrugged, before he stood and a massive hand reached over to enact the usual solution to such a problem, to crush it into the surface. He figured he’d be merciful, seeing as it was just a kid and a pretty looking one at that, slam just the side of it down instead of doing his usual manoeuvre of sending any potential aggressors’ faces into their glasses and then grind it down a bit.

And the kid was gone.

The next thing he knew, the breath had been knocked from his lungs and Brutus was doubled over, the kid already bolting for the door. Michael grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up a moment later, and snapped; “Brutus, what the hell are you waiting for? Get after him!”

“Why the hell…would I want to go after him?” Brutus panted. “Dunno what he did, but…Jesus, my stomach!”

“Hello, idiot, he just got you down,” Michael said, already dragging his much larger colleague towards the exit. “I’m finding that kid and offering him a job!”

Alex is a funny one. On one hand, he’s got the cutest face you’ve ever seen on a guy; ladies are all over him, and with good reason, and he’s almost as good a charmer as I am. To be honest, if I ever get too old for this stuff he’s the first person I’d pass the business to; he’s good at talking to people, has a head for numbers and folks just like him, and public relations are important in this line of work; you get a bad rep and nobody’s gonna pay you. But there’s always been something kind of…funny about Alex.

Turned out he’d been drifting since he was a kid, all across the Mojave. Now don’t get me wrong, nobody’s ever gonna live a nice, comfortable sheltered life out here, but with nobody to look after you then half the time all you can survive on is being vicious and quiet. Poor kid’s as messed up in the head as they come; crazier than a Nightkin on Psycho sometimes. On the other hand, he’s quick, quiet and doesn’t have any problems with killing people, so generally I’ll send him out on his lonesome for the precisions jobs we sometimes get asked to do. Besides, he’s either sane most of the time or at least acting like he is, so that keeps him outta trouble. In any, case he’s even better up close than Brutus is; that’s what got him into this line of work. Thing is, when you’re fighting Alex, he doesn’t really care about winning, or skill or nothing like that. It’s wasteland logic; all he wants to do is kill you as quickly as he possibly can so he’s got the most time to get out of trouble. So he hits where it hurts the most and where it’ll get you down the quickest. Not too bad a philosophy, I reckon.

So finally, there’s Ripley. Ghoul seems to have been everywhere and done everything; run with the NCR Rangers, worked with the Shi up in San Francisco, even apparently fought against the Master in the Boneyard. Half of it’s Brahmin-crap, but he’s got a good few stories of his so I let him lie. Generally, Ripley seems to be our scout, sniper and survivalist; he’s hunted everything from bighorns to raiders to Deathclaws, and if he hasn’t skinned it, cooked it or taken the valuable bits off its corpse, it ain’t real.

He’s a funny story, Ripley. Only member of the company to approach us and out-and-out ask for a job, not the other way round. Said he needed caps, and that we had potential, and so I took him on; considering how useful he is, I’d be an idiot not to. Sure he’s got a bit of a mouth on him, but he does what I tell him and that’s what matters.

So there we go. Our band of merry men. We’re here, we’re staying, and we’re gonna get every cap from this patch of desert that we possibly can. Because there’s money to be made out here, big money, and we’re gonna make it.

We’re gonna make it whatever the goddamn cost.


Posted by: Zalphon Dec 4 2011, 07:08 AM

Show me, don't tell me. How does it feel? Is the weather warm? How does it smell? What's everyone wearing? How do they sound?

Edit: Don't think this is saying it's bad, it just needs some more...flavor so-to-speak.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 4 2011, 09:05 AM

Thanks for the advice, Zalphon, and I'll be sure to keep that in mind. This is probably the heaviest chapter in regard to monologues, as I wanted to introduce the characters and so forth, so hopefully this won't be a problem in later chapters.

Thanks very much!

Posted by: Zalphon Dec 4 2011, 10:27 AM

*Nod* I do what I can smile.gif

Posted by: mALX Dec 5 2011, 11:02 PM

I loved New Vegas (and Fallout 3)! Your story is making me miss playing it, lol. Great Write!

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 6 2011, 06:53 AM

Totally agree with mALX here...Sooo desperate to get back there again... laugh.gif ...

Aaamywho...I love your story as it is...If you want to add the stuff to it to so it's how you imagined it, go for it...But I'm imagining it quite fine ta... biggrin.gif ...I'm totally there...Jacobstown, Goodsprings, Bison Steve's...Been there, imagined that...Oh yeah!!...

Loving the monologues...I'm imagining tracking shots of the mojave with all the monologues over the top...And then the charater stuff...Most excellent...

*Hearty applause*...

Please, more?...

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 8 2011, 08:30 PM

QUOTE(McBadgere @ Dec 6 2011, 05:53 AM) *
Loving the monologues...I'm imagining tracking shots of the mojave with all the monologues over the top...And then the charater stuff...Most excellent...

Got to say, I'm enjoying writing the monologues a lot, and that was exactly the sort of thing I was hoping people would get into their heads as they read; a sort of Film Noir style story, only with more mutants. tongue.gif

Anyway, thanks very much for reading, Malx and McBadgere. Next part should be coming soon!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 9 2011, 05:02 PM

Chapter 3

“We’re rich, we’re rich, we’re really goddamn rich! We’re rich, we’re rich, we’re really goddamn rich!”

As Michael celebrated, the Strip was ablaze. Neon glared from every sign, tickling his senses as he danced on the cracked concrete outside the Tops, whooping and cheering to the clear dome of the desert’s night-time sky. Buzzing on Jet and pure euphoria, he clapped his hands, grinning at the panoply of light and music before him, raising his arms like a man caught in religious rapture, turning on the spot and grabbing Doris in an embrace before kissing her roughly on the cheeks.

“Honey, calm down,” she protested, laughing in any case.

“Calm down? Calm down?” Michael said. “I’ve just landed us the biggest job we’ve got yet! Why the hell should I want to calm down? I’m king of the world, here! I’m Caesar, Papa Khan, President Kimball and Mr goddamn House all rolled into one at the moment! I’m a frickin’ god! Why should I be calm?”

“Sweety, it’s just the Gun Runners,” Doris said, raising a hand to try and calm her lover. “I mean, they’re not that big, and it’s not even that huge a job.”

“Not that big? Not that big?! Doris, baby, they’re one of the richest merchant families to come out of the New California Republic, and they said that they’d heard that we were good,” Michael said. “They’d heard that we were good! That’s what matters, don’t you get it? They approached us, not the other way round! That’s big news, sweety, huge news! Those guys are big fish, and they wanted, above all the other merc groups in this area, us. They went and looked us up!”

Let me take a minute to explain here. In the merc business, reputation is everything. Y’see, every time you hire out a mercenary, you’re taking a risk, making a gamble. Yeah, sure, they might do the job, but then again they might just the down payment and then leave, or sell on whatever it was you wanted to pick up to a higher bidder. But the problem with that is that nobody wants to employ you once word gets round, and soon enough you find yourself scavenging or in a gang. Even the big players like Talon Company over in the east eventually went down that way, once they got cocky; though apparently some unkillable wastlander started going after them as well, this ‘Lone Wanderer’ all the trading caravans keep from over there going on about (and if you believe half the stories about that guy it seems he can shoot lasers from his eyes and kill people just by yelling at them). Anyway that’s where Anston and Co. differ; our business plan revolves around us being one hundred percent reliable, so that people didn’t just employ us once, but kept coming back to us again and again. Our goal was long-term customer retention; that was where the real money was.

“Right, we gotta find the others, tell them about it,” Michael declared. “Man, they’re gonna love this!”

“Michael, maybe we should wait until tomorrow?” Doris suggested. “Y’know, let them enjoy their evening; you already dragged them out for a job once today.”

“No way, we’ve gotta get on this now,” Michael said. “C’mon!”

He hurried along the cracked and battered paving stones, Doris in his wake, riding the ethereal wave of the Jet as well as his own greedy joy. He barely waited for the guards at the entrance to Gomorrah to pull the door open for him before he was through, drawing his pistol and handing it handle first to the bouncer there who collected weapons from the patrons.

“Where’s Brutus?” he asked the man he had just given his weapon to.

“Brutus?”

“Big guy, good six feet tall, Caesar’s Legion-style gear, giant robot arm. Can’t miss him,” Michael said. “I need to talk to him.”

“And you are?”

“His boss, damn it. Where is he?”

“I can’t say myself, but if you want to wait here and I can ask…”

“No point, I’ll find him myself,” Michael said, stepping past him. He hurried through the main hallway of the casino, past the main gambling floor bedecked in grubby, ancient marble, walls decorated with peeling pink-red paper. Through a corridor he went, into the main theatre of Gomorrah, a huge, dingy room bedecked in faded, crumbling gold leaf, more slot machines lining the wall while part of the hall housed roulette, blackjack and poker tables. Brutus was to one side, leaning back in a large Brahmin-leather chair while some androgynous kid who seemed even younger than Alex cavorted and gyrated on his lap, the Legionary’s contented grin indicating his approval at the services he had just bought.

“Brutus,” Michael called. “Hey, Brutus!”

He hurried over, the Legionary finally catching Michael’s gaze before the merc stopped by the chair where Brutus was enjoying himself. The kid glanced over his shoulder at Michael as he performed some kind of complex turning manoeuvre on the giant’s lap.

“Brutus,” Michael said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait, Mike?” Brutus asked, gesturing to the kid.

“No it can’t,” Michael replied. “For god’s sake man, I’ve got a job, a proper job. Get the kid out the way, will you? I’m trying to talk to you here.”

“It’s a job,” Brutus said. “Great. It can wait until tomorrow.”

The kid, on the other hand, ignored Michael and continued his dance with a nod of approval from Brutus.

“No it can’t,” Michael said. “We do the job tomorrow, right now we plan it.”

“We can plan it tomorrow as well,” Brutus countered, not really listening. Michael shoved the kid off Brutus, the dancer falling to the ground with a startled yelp. He shot a reproachful glare at the CEO of Anston and Co. and Michael tossed him a handful of caps, saying; “Get lost, kid, we’re talking here.”

A tip was a tip, and the boy gathered them up and scurried away.

“Hey, I was enjoying that!” Brutus protested, before Michael grabbed him by the shoulders, leaning close as he said; “Brutus, buddy, we’ve got bigger things to deal with here. It’s a big job, the biggest we’ve ever had!”

Brutus was quiet for a moment, before he said; “You’ve been taking Jet again, haven’t you Mike?”

“And what?” Michael asked. “You’re not in the Legion any more, what do you care? And for the last damn time, we have bigger things to deal with here!”

“Fine, what is it?” Brutus asked.

“The Gun Runners,” Michael said. “The goddamn Gun Runners went and gave us a job. They approached us, Brutus, one of the big players approached us.”

“You sure it was one of them?” Brutus asked.

“It was that Alexander guy,” Michael said. “Y’know, the one who gets most of their business with the caravans and up at Hoover Dam?”

“Yeah, I know the one,” Brutus said. “So what’s the job?”

“I’ll explain once everyone’s here,” Michael said. “Where’re Alex and Ripley?”

Brutus thought for a moment, before he shrugged and said; “No idea. Could be anywhere.”

Michael was quiet for a moment, before he kicked over a chair and swore.

#

“Heya Mick,” Michael said nonchalantly as he entered the small Freeside store. He took the aviators he usually wore off so that he could see in the dingy, dim ambience of the shop’s overhead striplights, and grinned at the shopkeeper of Mick and Ralph’s. “How you doing?”

“I’m alright, yeah,” Mick replied cautiously from his place behind the counter, watching Michael as he headed towards the counter through one of the store’s two aisles of shelving. “What can I do for you, Michael? You looking to buy?”

“Just wanted some information, that’s all,” Michael said. “Y’know, part of our contract.”

The ‘contract’ that Anston and Co. held with most of the shopkeepers in Freeside was not, before you ask, protection. We paid a fair price for their goods, and we didn’t ask for any caps; poor guys had enough to pay all the other gangs and thugs around there, and we put more pressure on them and we might end up with nowhere to resupply on vital stuff. Instead, our deal was a fair one; you give us information when we need it, and Brutus doesn’t smash the place up and rip your arms off.

“Can’t say I know anything important,” Mick said. “Nothing interesting’s come up.”

“Ahuh?” Michael asked. “Y’know, new business deals, stuff like that.”

“Er…no,” Mick replied. “Nothing like that.”

Michael raised an eyebrow and asked; “You sure? You sound a little…uncertain.”

The rusted bell that hung over Mick and Ralph’s door tinkled merrily as it swung open, Brutus’ huge silhouette ducking under the frame and stepping inside. His claw rested on the top of one of the shelves, indicating calmly that, while he wouldn’t right now, it would be very, very easy to send all of its fragile contents crashing down.

“Look, I don’t know anything,” Mick insisted.

“Really?” Michael asked. “I want you to think real hard about this.”

“Hey, if I call Ralph in here-” Mick began before Brutus interrupted with; “Then I’ll tear his head off.”

The shelf began to tip gently, a stimpak syringe sliding gently off and skittering on the bare concrete floor.

“Alright, alright!” Mick said defensively, raising his hands. “What do you want to know?”

“We need to know about any shipments you’ve got coming in,” Michael said. “Specifically, ones of guns.”

“There was one guy,” Mick said. “Said he could get me a bulk load of them at cut price.”

“Which guy?” Michael asked, leaning forwards across the counter.

“Name of Feyman,” Mick replied. “Antony Feyman. He didn’t tell me where he got the guns, and the deal was too good to turn down.”

“Feyman,” Michael said. “Alright, good. Where can we find this guy?”

“I was going to meet him by the Mormon Fort where the Followers of the Apocalypse stay,” Mick said. “Arranging details and that sort of thing.”

“When?” Michael asked.

“Three p.m. today,” Mick replied. “That’s all I know. Are you done?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Michael said as Brutus gently let the shelf fall back upright. “Thanks very much, Mick; I appreciate you helping us.”

He nodded to Brutus as he headed for the door, the two of them stepping out onto the strip. Michael snapped his shades open and slid them on to protect his eyes from the glare, removing his fedora to fan himself for a moment before placing it with the brim forwards to try and shade his face a little.

“So, Mormon Fort, three p.m.,” he said to Brutus. “Anthony Feyman. Looks like we’ve got our guy.”

Brutus nodded; “Seems a pretty easy job, I’d say. Nice way to get three grand.”

“I dunno,” Michael said. “They wouldn’t be paying this much if they thought it would be simple. Whoever was able to steal an entire weapon shipment from the gun runners either has a lot of muscle or a lot of smarts.”

“So you reckon Feyman isn’t the guy we want?” Brutus asked as they set out through Freeside, past the ancient, rusted shells of cars and crumbling buildings.

“Nah,” Michael said. “He’s probably a middle man or something. Still, we can trace him back to whoever’s responsible.”

Brutus nodded.

“Makes sense, I guess,” he said, as they reached crossroads that lead towards the Atomic Wrangler Casino and the Silver Rush, home to the main rivals of the Gun Runners, the Van Graff family. Ripley was lounging against the wall, the necrotic ghoul leering cheerfully at the girl who worked as the crier for the Atomic Wrangler before he noticed his two colleagues approaching.

“Hey boss,” he called, pushing away from the wall and heading towards them. “How’d the shakedown at Mick and Ralph’s go?”

“Pretty good,” Michael said. “I thought I asked you to go ask around in the Wrangler.”

“Yeah, but there were a bunch of guys giving me lip and calling me zombie and so on, and management wanted me out before they started a scene,” Ripley replied. He spat up a gobbet of thick phlegm in disgust. “Goddamn bigots.”

He shrugged, before adding; “Anyway, Doris and Alex are asking around inside. Hopefully they’ll have something.”

It was then that the door to Wrangler swung open and Doris and Alex emerged, both of them grinning triumphantly.

“You look pleased,” Michael observed. “You get anything?”

“Feyman,” Alex announced. “Anthony Feyman. Grilled a couple of merchants, said they had a shipment of guns coming from him. They were gonna meet him by the Old Mormon Fort-”

“At three p.m., I know,” Michael said. “Got exactly the same piece of news.”

“What’s the time now?” Ripley asked.

“One,” Michael replied, glauncing at the heavy gauntlet of his Pip-Boy. “Looks like we’ve got time to get things all worked out.”

#

One of Michael’s great talents was the fact that he could, for all intents and purposes, turn completely invisible when he wanted to. A trick he’d learnt long ago, all he needed to do was lean against the fort’s tan brick wall, fedora resting gently over his eyes to shelter him from the harsh glare of the sun, and adopt an air of such calm nonchalance that people’s gazes simply slid away from here. And so here he was, serenely smoking a cigarette and waiting.

Brutus was a few streets away, the Legionary’s massive profile far too noticeable for this sort of job, and instead Ripley was waiting with his scoped hunting rifle in an empty, derelict building down the street, while Alex and Doris were concealed in the alleyway opposite. All they needed to do was wait.

The clock hit three, and Michael watched as a figure in the usual heavy gear that most wasteland traders wore walked up the ancient, poorly looked after street, hand resting on the butt of a pistol by his belt. He stopped by the fort, looking around at its occupants for a moment; he subconsciously missed Michael, despite the fact that with his white suit with dark pinstripe he was easily the most extravagantly dressed person there, seeing a few beggars that huddled in the shade provided by the yawning maw of a long-broken shop window, a couple of Followers of the Apocalypse returning from their daily rounds with a Brahmin laden with water barrels. The merchant cast around once more for anyone familiar, before he settled into place with one hand in his pocket and the other still resting on the grip of his weapon.

“Anthony Feyman?” Michael asked suddenly, stepping forwards into view. The guy turned suddenly, jumping before he challenged; “Who wants to know?”

“Name’s Michael Anston. I was looking for you, hoping to find out about a shipment of weapons.”

Feyman glared at him suspiciously, before he said; “You’re not one of the people I contacted.”

“Well done,” Michael said sarcastically. “Have a cookie, pal. Now, I want to know a few things about that.”

“And why the hell should I tell you?” Feyman asked, slipping his pistol out of its holster. He paused as he felt something chill and sharp pressing against the back of his neck.

“Don’t,” Alex said from behind him.

“I’d recommend you put that gun down, friend,” Michael said in a tone that didn’t seem all that friendly. Obediently, the pistol clattered to the floor. “Now, I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna give me some answers. If you don’t, Alex is gonna start cutting little pieces off you, bit by bit.”

“Alright, alright,” Feyman said. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Glad to hear,” Michael said warmly, clapping Feyman on the shoulder. “Now, these guns. Where’re you getting them?”

“There’s a load of guys I’m buying them from who stole them in the middle of desert,” Feyman said, the bead of sweat currently tracking along the side of his head probably not just from the heat. “I’m getting them at a low price, and I’ve already got businesses to sell it on. It ain’t much, but the profits from it are gonna be big anyway.”

“Which guys, and when and where are you meeting them?” Michael asked.

“I’m meeting them later, up by Broken Tooth Rock, at dusk, just to the east of here,” Feyman blurted out, all too aware of the blade Alex had resting on the back of his neck.

“Alright, and who are these people?” Michael asked.

“Look, what does it matter to you?” Feyman pleaded. “I mean, I’m just trying to make a living here, that’s all.”

“Just tell me who they are, Feyman,” Michael insisted. “Now, or I’ll let Alex go to work.”

“They’re Caesar’s Legion!” Feyman said. “Alright?”

“Caesar’s Legion?” Michael said. “Well well well, looks like our day just got a lot more interesting.”

Posted by: mALX Dec 9 2011, 05:13 PM

The beginning of this had me in hysterics remembering my son doing that exact same thing everytime he found money on the street - it could be a penny and he'd be singing that exact same song, lol. "I'm rich, I'm rich, I'm filthy dirty rich!" ROFL !! Great Write !!

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 10 2011, 05:02 AM

Oh yeah!!...Excellent... biggrin.gif ...

Quoties...

QUOTE
kill people just by yelling at them
Fus-Ro-DAH!!!... biggrin.gif ...

QUOTE
semipermeable
I laughed at that...Not many places where that could be an insult... biggrin.gif ...

QUOTE
“Caesar’s Legion?” Michael said. “Well well well, looks like our day just got a lot more interesting.”
Oh dear...Oh dearie dear... biggrin.gif ...

Well done that man...Keep it up!!... biggrin.gif ...

Nice one...*Applauds*...

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 10 2011, 09:19 AM

mALX: Yeah, Michael's a bit like that as well. Only if he found a cap on the pavement, it would because Brutus was holding some poor sod upside down and shaking out his pockets... tongue.gif

McBadgere: Damn filter. Have to fix that now...

Anyway, glad you two enjoyed it. And remember; be sure to Fus-Ro-Dah every morning for complete dental hygiene!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 12 2011, 11:21 PM

Author’s Note: As of a couple of recent ideas, the original idea I had for this story’s plot has changed drastically. The original plan, a prequel for Fallout: New Vegas where Anston and Co. get the Platinum chip (no, it’s not a spoiler if it doesn’t actually happen, be quiet. Especially you, Clive, I don’t care what you think, shut up, shut up, this is why you don’t have friends) has now been scrapped in favour what I can only call a wildly different approach to the Fallout: New Vegas storyline. Though it’s not really the storyline at all. It’s complicated.

Long story short, what I have planned will be both extremely different to what you know from the tale of the Courier (who doesn’t look set to feature, though that’s open to negotiation) and at times rather familiar. Basically, different story, same time period. And, of course, the same recourse of betrayal, brutality and dark humour. Because that stuff’s fun.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, on with the show!

P.S. Also, I’ve added horses into the story from this chapter onwards. They always struck me as fairly practical for getting around the wasteland with, so I figured I’d include them.

P.P.S. The Latin in this chapter was taken from an online translator, so if you’re a Latin buff and you find the grammar’s terrible then it’s not my fault. But feel free to call me up on it anyway, and I’ll fix it.

Chapter 4

“Why am I even here?” Feyman whined as he stumbled on a pothole in the parched, hard earth of the Mojave desert.

“Because,” Michael said. “We don’t trust you enough to just send us to the wrong rock and get the hell out of town before we get back to kick your head in, that’s why.”

He looked at the great expanse of dry, compacted earth, bordered by distant mountains to the north and the Colorado to very east, the direction they were headed now. If Freeside was hot, it was worse out here, the sun beating on dead earth mercilessly. The only breaks in the terrain were a few rocky outcrops and the half-collapsed skeleton of a house, while New Vegas lounged opulently behind them to the West.

“God, I hate the desert,” he muttered, tugging at his collar, sticky with sweat.

“Maybe if you didn’t wear a suit all the damn time that wouldn’t be a problem,” Ripley said in his usual hoarsely disparagingly tone.

“Hey, my suit is a damn fine piece of tailoring,” Michael said. “Besides, I’m a businessman. I’ve got to look the part.”

“We’re in the middle of the desert,” Ripley said. “Who the hell’s gonna care?”

“I’ll care, that’s who,” Michael replied defiantly, taking a swig of water from the canteen he had in his pocket.

Not really listening to their conversation, Feyman broke in; “And why am I paying you people to do this to me?”

“You’re employing us as bodyguards to protect your person in the dangerous area of the eastern Mojave,” Michael said, slightly exasperated. “We went over this in Freeside, remember?”

“And what are you supposed to be protecting me from?” Feyman challenged.

“Us putting a bullet in you and leaving you for the coyotes, that’s what,” Ripley said.

“Exactly!” Feyman exclaimed. “This isn’t bodyguarding, it’s blackmail!”

Michael shook his head, before he glanced over his shoulder at Doris, a few metres behind them and said; “Doris, can you have a turn looking after the idiot here? I’m getting bored of hearing him talk.”

“Fine,” Doris said reluctantly, trudging forwards a little faster as Ripley and Michael dropped back.

“Look, boss, in all seriousness, I’m kind of worried about the big guy here,” Ripley said, nodding to Brutus at his place in the front, the giant ex-legionary’s bionic left arm whining rhythmically as he walked. “For all we know, this job could end up with us shooting at these Legion guys that Feyman’s supposed to be meeting, and I’m not sure whose side he’s going to be on.”

“Brutus has got my back,” Michael replied. His usual hyperactively flippant tone had gone for a moment, his high-pitched, slightly nasal voice more serious for a moment. “We can trust him.”

“Look, I know he’s been with you for a while, but you know how loyal Legion folks are supposed to be to their Caesar guy,” Ripley replied.

“I said we can trust him,” Michael said. “And we’re gonna trust him.”

Ripley shrugged.

“Fine,” he grated. “But if we end up having to put a bullet in his head then don’t say I didn’t warn you, boss.”

Michael shrugged, and continued to trudge onwards through the desert.

#

I suppose a bit of an explanation is in order before I get any further; most of you are probably wondering why Caesar’s Legion were stooping so low as to nick weapons from the Gun Runners, ain’t ya?

Basically, turned out those weapons were going to the NCR’s armouries through the Gun Runners. A Legion scouting party heard about it and decided to steal them all instead, deny supplies to the enemy, and then, so they had some way to get rid of them somewhere where the NCR couldn’t just find them and pick them up, sell them off to various merchants around the Mojave to make them pretty much impossible to get back. So they contacted Feyman somehow and he agreed to sell them on for them, dispose of them quietly. Only problem for them was us. Still, the guys aren’t Fiends; I was hoping we might be able to negotiate a deal with them. Do things nice and civilised.

“I can see people coming,” Ripley announced, sighting through his scope.

“How many?” Michael asked.

“I count ten,” the ghoul replied. “All on horseback, Legion gear.”

“That must be them,” Feyman said.

“Yeah, wonder what gave you that clue?” Michael muttered. “Alright everyone, let’s keep nice and calm. No need for things to turn into a shootout.”

Alex made himself scarce, Ripley moving up to a firing better position, while Doris made sure her lighter and a few sticks of dynamite were in easy reach. Michael remained standing next to his unwilling client, while Brutus quietly watched the riders approach through the miniature canyons formed by the ridges of this part of the Mojave’s hillier region. Gap Tooth Rock was the biggest of the lot, more like a small hill than anything else, and from their position they could see the horsemen get closer, breaking free of the rocks and gently trotting towards the slope before them, machetes, rifles and machine pistols within easy reach should they choose to use them.

“Feyman,” the one at the front called out, the distinctive feathers around his headdress marking him out as Decanus, the leader of the group. He glanced at the members of Anston and Co. who were visible. “Who are these people?”

“These are-” Feyman began, before the Decanus held up a hand for him to be quiet, looking over at Brutus and asking; “An tu, Brute?”

“Etiam,” Brutus replied. “Non novi vos diu, Calidius.”

“The hell are they saying?” Doris asked Michael while the one Brutus had addressed as Calidius dismounted to talk to his gigantic former comrade.

“It’s Latin,” Michael said as the two continued their conversation in their foreign tongue. “Just let him do the talking for now, alright.”

He frowned after a moment, and then said; “He’d better not tell them about the job we’re doing here.”

Calidius broke off his conversation with Brutus before he headed to Michael and said; “I understand that you’re currently Brutus’ employer.”

“That I am,” Michael said warmly. “Michael Anston, C.E.O of Anston and Co.”

“Indeed,” Calidius said. “Decanus Calidius of Caesar’s Legion. Brutus tells me that you’re currently accompanying Mr Feyman here in the capacity of bodyguards.”

“That’s right,” Michael replied. “Something about a weapons pickup.”

“Yeah, about that-” Feyman began, before Calidius interrupted with; “Later. It’s fortunate you’re here, Michael Anston. We might be in need of some help.”

“Help’s what Anston and Co. do best,” Michael replied. “For a price, of course.”

“Decanus,” one of the mounted Legionaries behind Calidius asked. “You aren’t going to be employing…mercenaries?”

The last word was spat out, layered with contempt.

“The Legion has employed auxiliaurii before,” Calidius replied. “Besides, we have good grounds to.”

“What’s your problem?” Michael asked.

“There’s an NCR patrol that has been tracking us for the past day,” Calidius said. “We need your help with dealing with them.”

“What’s in it for us?” Michael asked.

“The Legion’s coffers should be able to spare you five aureii, if you’re willing to help us,” Calidius said.

“Sounds fair,” Michael said. “But I’ll want half up front.”

“What?” Calidius asked.

“Company policy, in case you try to rip us off,” Michael said. “All contracts have a fifty percent down payment for expenses and as a deposit. No up-front pay, no job, and you’re dealing with those NCR on your own.”

Calidius glowered at him, before he fished into a coin-purse at his belt and produced a handful of gold and silver coins.

“Two aureii and twelve denarii,” he said, passing them to Michael, who quickly counted them before pocketing them in the inner pocket of his suit. “That should be the right sum.”

“Seems good to me,” Michael said. “So, whaddya want us to do for you?”

#

“So we’re just gonna lead these NCR people into a trap?” Alex asked. “What if they don’t buy it?”

“They probably won’t,” Michael said. “So we’re gonna work for them instead. Tell them where the Legion ambush is, surround that and deal with those guys, then get the guns and return them to the Runners. It’s perfect.”

“What about the guns?” Doris pointed out. “We don’t know where they are.”

“We’ll leave a Legion guy or two alive to grill,” Michael replied. “No problem.”

“Still sounds risky,” Alex said.

“Look, it ain’t perfect but unless you can think of anything better it’s what we’re doing,” Michael replied. He surveyed the parched, scrubby plains before him, watching for anything approaching, noting a small group of riders rounding a small hillock. “Looks like someone’s coming. Could be the NCR.”

“Or Fiends,” Ripley said.

“The Fiends are out west, idiot,” Michael said. “Take a look at them through your scope or something, will you?”

Ripley glanced down it after a moment, before he said; “Yeah, looks like NCR.”

“Alright, good,” Michael said. “Alright everyone, just let me do the talking.”

The riders got closer, khaki NCR uniform visible for all to see, and Michael waved at them, their steady canter slowing to a halt as they drew near.

“What can I do for you?” their leader asked, a sergeant’s chevrons on each shoulder.

“You’ve been tracking a bunch of Caesar’s Legion, right?” Michael asked them, getting a frown from the Sergeant.

“How did you know that?” he asked.

“I got paid by them to lead all you guys into an ambush of theirs up the road,” Michael said. “But I figured I wouldn’t do it.”

Their leader nodded.

“Thanks for the tip,” he said. “Where is this ambush?”

Michael held a hand, shaking his head.

“Ahuhuh,” he said. “Not so fast, sarge. There’s gonna be a price involved.”

“It’s not NCR policy to pay mercs, I’m afraid,” the sergeant replied.

“Then just think of it as rewarding a good citizen for his contribution to local security,” Michael said. “Alternatively, you could just walk on not knowing exactly where this ambush is. Maybe you’ll all make it out alive, maybe not.”

The NCR sergeant looked thoughtfully at him for a moment, before he said; “How does one thousand NCR dollars sound?”

Michael quickly did the maths in his head, before he said; “Sounds fair.”

“So where are they?” the sergeant asked, throwing a bundle of the dollars held together with an old elastic band to Michael, who flicked through them quickly.

“Camped out over Broken Tooth Rock,” Michael replied. “Waiting for us to lead you to them. You loop round to the east and then move up behind it from the north and you can beat them at their own game.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, before nodding to the Pip-Boy on Michael’s wrist. “That thing got a working radio on it?”

“Sure does,” Michael said, flicking on Radio New Vegas for a moment to demonstrate, a brief snippet of a saxophone solo playing sounding through before he snapped it off for a moment.

“Good,” the NCR sergeant replied. “Set it to frequency nine three point two. I’ll give you a few clicks on it when we’re in position. Distract them until then, got it?”

“Understood,” Michael said. “We’ll be heading back. Oh, yeah, we need one of them alive, if you can do that. Got some info want to grill them for.”

The sergeant nodded, pulling the reins of his horse out to east and cantering away, followed by the other seven troopers with him.

“That went well,” Michael said, flicking through the bundle of notes once more before pocketing them. “Good work everybody.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Ripley pointed out. “We just let you do the talking.”

“’xactly,” Michael said. “You did good work doing nothing and letting me do the talking. That’s teamwork, ain’t it? And you kept Feyman there nice and quiet.”

I didn’t really want to drag that crapsack around with us, but I was worried he’d blab to the Legion about us, so I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t really gag him without the NCR asking questions, so I just had Ripley hit him whenever he opened his damn mouth to say something. It worked, and Ripley seemed to like that job.

As they turned back, Alex suddenly said; “Hey boss, I thought you said that you didn’t want us to rip off customers. That it was bad for business.”

“I said it was bad for business if you don’t get away with ripping off customers,” Michael countered. “I mean, a Legion patrol disappears in the middle of enemy territory; who the hell is gonna question that? We, on the other hand, look good for helping out the NCR.”

Alex shrugged, before he said; “Makes sense.”

Anston and Co. headed back to defraud one of their customers.

#

The radio had clicked twice just as they were nearing Broken Tooth Rock, stepping into the bowl just by the outcrop where the Legion had wanted them to lure the NCR forces. There was silence, before Michael called out; “Bad news, fellas!”

After a moment, Calidius stood, and called; “What happened?”

“NCR didn’t take the bait,” Michael said. “Went off somewhere else.”

The Legionary shook his head, and Michael added; “And you’re not getting the down payment back.”

That got him a vicious glare, before Calidius asked; “Do you at least know where they went?”

“Yeah,” Michael replied. “Right behind you.”

To his credit, Calidius didn’t hesitate as he turned to see the rifle-holding NCR trooper who had emerged from where he was creeping up behind him. The Decanus’ submachine gun chattered as he emptied the magazine into the soldier’s chest, bullets punching crimson holes into the man’s torso as the rest of the ridge erupted into gunfire. Anston and Co. scattered, diving to what little cover they had as the Legion tried to fire upon them and the NCR forces who had crept up behind them at the same time. Michael grabbed Feyman and dragged him behind a rock, his nine-millimetre pistol in hand, and growled; “Don’t try anything, got it?”

Calidius did not bother reloading his weapon, dropping it and scrambling over the rocky slope toward Brutus, a look of pure fury on his face as he charged. A bullet from Ripley’s rifle scraped against the metal plate that he wore as armour for his shoulder, but he kept going, unslinging a fire axe from his belt. Brutus simply stood there quite calmly, machete in one hand, his claw raised and ready.

The metal pincers closed round the haft of the axe and pulled it away, stumbling Calidius before the blade of his machete sunk between the vulnerable, unarmoured join between his shoulder and neck, forcing the Legionary to his knees. The blade was not particularly sharp, but with its sheer weight and the power behind it that point was purely academic, and crimson trails already began to leak from the wound.

Calidius snarled at Brutus, even as bloody foam began to leak from the corner of his mouth, and with his dying breath he managed to choke; “Lanius should have killed you instead of just chopping your precious arm off, traitor.”

He collapsed as Brutus wrenched the gore-spattered blade free, the brief but furious firefight already over, the outnumbered and surprised Legionaries no match for their opponents, half of them already dead before they knew combat had even begun.

The NCR sergeant headed down the sloping sides of the hill, towards Michael, a fairly young looking Legionary with his hands bound by coarse twine in tow, the kid looking abjectly miserable.

“Good work there,” he said. “Saved a lot of good lives there, and we couldn’t have done it without you.”

“No problem,” Michael said. “Besides, we had a job to do.”

The sergeant nodded, and said; “I won’t intrude. Still, on the behalf of the NCR I’d like to thank you.”

“Just be sure to consider Anston and Co. for any future violence you want inflicted on people you don’t like,” Michael replied with a grin. “See you round, sarge.”

The sergeant nodded, pushing his captive to his knees before turning round to the other NCR troopers who were on the ridge, searching the bodies of the dead.

“Got two minutes to finish grabbing any ammo or weapons you need from these guys, then we’re mounting up!” the sergeant called as he headed back up the slope with a final nod to Michael.

“Alright,” Michael said, turning to the Legionary and clapping his hands together with a malicious grin as Brutus approached, wiping blood off his machete. “So, buddy, what do you know?”

“I won’t tell you anything,” the kid replied defiantly.

“Yeah you will,” Michael said. “Kid, we just massacred your friends and we don’t have any reservations about hurting you real bad to get what we want. Don’t be a hero; just tell us what we want to know and we’ll let you go.”

“You don’t scare me,” the young Legionary replied, but there was an edge of uncertain fright to his voice.

“We should,” Alex said from behind him, resting the razor tip of one of his knives on the top of his head. “Whaddya want me to take off, boss? An ear? Both?”

“Don’t hurt him too bad,” Michael said. “Yet.”

The blade ran along the top of his skull, drawing a trail of blood that gently welled up around the blade, stopping just above the spinal cord. The Legionary hissed in pain, gritting his teeth, before Alex withdrew the blade. Michael leant down on one knee to be at eye-level with him.

“We’re good at hurting people, kid,” Michael said. “You don’t want to find out just how good, do you?”

His nerve broke.

“Alright, want to do you want to know?” he asked in terror.

“Your people stole a whole load of weapons,” Michael said. “We want to know where they are.”

“With the horses!” the kid blurted. “Just south, only a hundred metres or something that way!”

Michael nodded, before he said to Alex; “He’s no use. Kill ‘im, will ya?”

One of his knives stabbed into the back of his neck and the Legionary slumped forwards onto the dusty, stony ground, limp and helpless as a ragdoll.

“Come on,” Michael said. “Let’s go get those weapons, shall we?”

He grinned.

“And hey,” he added. “Free horses!”

Posted by: Fawkes Dec 13 2011, 04:06 AM

You're making me miss New Vegas!
I sort of got sucked in this story when I started reading it, really great read!

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 13 2011, 07:17 AM

D'yknow, because of this story entirely that I'm now playing Fallout 3... biggrin.gif ...Yeeeess, I know it's the wrong one, but FNV is too much like Skyrim at the mo...So I'll get to that later...Oh and I spent £20 buying Old World Blues and Lonesome Road and those other two weapons packs... biggrin.gif ...

Plus the newbie there *Waves* joined up to tell you how cool yer story was...

So, how does it feel to be a Man Of Influence™?... tongue.gif biggrin.gif ...

To the latest part...

QUOTE
Author’s Note: As of a couple of recent ideas, the original idea I had for this story’s plot has changed drastically. The original plan, a prequel for Fallout: New Vegas where Anston and Co. get the Platinum chip...etc...


What?...Change the storyline of a game on a fan-fiction?...Surely not...It's be like as if my Knights of The Nine flattened the Thalmor invasion fleet to prevent most of the Skyrim storyline... wink.gif ...

I don't think it matters any, changing stuff but keeping it familiar is a cool thing for fiction in't it?...

Brilliant write btw...Fantastic...Loved the whole "play both sides" thing...Then betrayed the Legion...Oh yeah...Good man that one...

I winced at the execution of the young soldier, but *shrug*...I shoot them while they sleep in the game so...Hey, who am I to say... laugh.gif ...

Typo...
QUOTE
I won’t intrude. Still, on the behal of the NCR I’d like to thank you


All in all another excellent part of the story, and I'm very much looking forward to continuing accross the mojave with your merry band of mercenaries for however long and wherever they go on...*Applauds*...

Posted by: mALX Dec 13 2011, 05:04 PM

Love the new direction you are taking this - and your little asides scattered throughout are hilarious, lol. Great Write !!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 13 2011, 08:22 PM

Fawkes: Thanks very much, and glad you like this. Out of interest, your username a reference to the Super Mutant from Fallout 3?

Malx: I'm enjoying Michael's little asides a lot; very fun to write, and good to see I'm not the only one who likes them.

McBadgere:

QUOTE
What?...Change the storyline of a game on a fan-fiction?...Surely not...It's be like as if my Knights of The Nine flattened the Thalmor invasion fleet to prevent most of the Skyrim storyline... ...

Oi, don't be cheeky, you! tongue.gif

QUOTE
Brilliant write btw...Fantastic...Loved the whole "play both sides" thing...Then betrayed the Legion...Oh yeah...Good man that one...

I winced at the execution of the young soldier, but *shrug*...I shoot them while they sleep in the game so...Hey, who am I to say... ...

Enjoyed the whole ripping off the Legion plan myself, and it was a good way to show how this lot operate (vis. as greedily as they possibly can), and Michaels money-grabbing schemes are going to be a major driving factor in the plot to come.

And I've got to say, the wincing at the execution was the sort of reaction I was hoping for; they're not nice people, Anston and Co., though I want the reader to be rooting for them by the end in any case, which is a track balance to strike. That execution was an attempt to hammer home their rather ruthless side.

And thanks for pointing out that spelling error, by the way. I'll go fix that one.

Thanks for reading everyone, and enjoy Fallout 3, McBadgere. Stellar game.

Posted by: mALX Dec 13 2011, 08:53 PM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Dec 13 2011, 02:22 PM) *

And I've got to say, the wincing at the execution was the sort of reaction I was hoping for; they're not nice people, Anston and Co., though I want the reader to be rooting for them by the end in any case, which is a track balance to strike. That execution was an attempt to hammer home their rather ruthless side.



Sort of like how Benny tries to kill you and leaves you for dead buried in the desert - then pops up so pleasant to the player when caught on the strip - "Lets be partners!"

Or how Caesar's Legion is slaughtering people left and right, but when you meet Caesar in person you have to struggle with yourself to not side with him - or kill him (because he kind of wins the player over to his side and makes them second guess their earlier decisions about him and his army?


I absolutely love being able to find a sympathetic side to an evil character, to me that can completely make or even overset a plot in such a stunning way !!! Very excited to see it play out !!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 13 2011, 10:05 PM

QUOTE(mALX @ Dec 13 2011, 07:53 PM) *
Sort of like how Benny tries to kill you and leaves you for dead buried in the desert - then pops up so pleasant to the player when caught on the strip - "Lets be partners!"

Or how Caesar's Legion is slaughtering people left and right, but when you meet Caesar in person you have to struggle with yourself to not side with him - or kill him (because he kind of wins the player over to his side and makes them second guess their earlier decisions about him and his army?

Exactly the sort of thing I'm going for. Though in my case I shot Benny (I wanted that suit) and ended up siding with House against Caesar, mainly because he was the most stylish side you could take. tongue.gif

Posted by: Fawkes Dec 14 2011, 12:09 AM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Dec 13 2011, 01:22 PM) *

Fawkes: Thanks very much, and glad you like this. Out of interest, your username a reference to the Super Mutant from Fallout 3?


Yup! My favorite companion in that game! To bad he can't give piggy back rides D:

Posted by: mALX Dec 14 2011, 03:13 AM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Dec 13 2011, 04:05 PM) *

QUOTE(mALX @ Dec 13 2011, 07:53 PM) *
Sort of like how Benny tries to kill you and leaves you for dead buried in the desert - then pops up so pleasant to the player when caught on the strip - "Lets be partners!"

Or how Caesar's Legion is slaughtering people left and right, but when you meet Caesar in person you have to struggle with yourself to not side with him - or kill him (because he kind of wins the player over to his side and makes them second guess their earlier decisions about him and his army?

Exactly the sort of thing I'm going for. Though in my case I shot Benny (I wanted that suit) and ended up siding with House against Caesar, mainly because he was the most stylish side you could take. tongue.gif



Well, I killed Benny too (for his suit - loved it !!) - but I only pretended to side with the House and got my nice hotel suite - but while House thought I was on his side I sneaked around and disabled all the robots going into the strip and inside the casino.

Then I blew up all the robots under Caesars camp (thereby making him think I was siding with him) - however, I then sneaked into Caesar's tent and killed everyone in there too.

Then I went back to the casino and disabled the computer from the House so he couldn't control any of his robots to sic them on me. That way I got the nice digs to live in without having robots controlling everything, lol.

That game had a game ending glitch before the big battle at the end every time I played it, I never got to fight that giant in the gold mask in the camp behind Caesar's camp, never got to have the battle on the dam - still, I loved the game, loved playing it.

*

Posted by: Zalphon Dec 15 2011, 01:38 AM

"We're good at hurting people, you don't want to figure out how good, do you?"

Some people have a knack for imagery. Some people have a knack for character development. Well, it's too early to tell if you've got those, but I know for certain you've got a knack for dialogue.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 18 2011, 12:15 AM

Zalphon: Thanks very much! smile.gif

Malx: That's an...interesting plan. I kept the robot army and killed House, myself, and then made friends with all the people I could get on my side. Legion didn't last as long as they hoped they might, though may there be a pox 'pon that glitch's scaly hide!

Fawkes: Fawkes is indeed awesome, and...well, if I could I'd mod in piggy backs (a pity I can't). Though if you ask me, it's Veronica all the way!

Posted by: mALX Dec 18 2011, 12:21 AM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Dec 17 2011, 06:15 PM) *

Zalphon: Thanks very much! smile.gif

Malx: That's an...interesting plan. I kept the robot army and killed House, myself, and then made friends with all the people I could get on my side. Legion didn't last as long as they hoped they might, though may there be a pox 'pon that glitch's scaly hide!

Fawkes: Fawkes is indeed awesome, and...well, if I could I'd mod in piggy backs (a pity I can't). Though if you ask me, it's Veronica all the way!



Veronica was my absolute favorite early in the game, I could watch her punch Deathclaws forever and never tire of it, lol !!! She was awesome in an early game, but at higher levels she kind of just couldn't keep up.

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 18 2011, 04:32 AM

Veronica and ED-E were brilliant for me...But then I got to a point where I just said "Enough" and I got shut of her...She was miffed...At least in Skyrim they're more polite about it... biggrin.gif ...

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 28 2011, 07:09 PM

Chapter 5

“Four thousand caps,” Michael said, looking at the sum on the table before them. “Four. Thousand. Caps. Goddamn, life is truly beautiful today.”

“Might want to stop drooling over the cash, Mike,” Brutus grinned. “We’re still waiting for our cut.”

Michael shook his head, leaning back in his chair in the smoky, dingy confines of the Atomic Wrangler. The wooden piece of furniture creaked under his weight as he did so, and he said; “Y’know, that’s fair. Alright, seven hundred caps each. Best paying job yet, I do think.”

“Nice,” Doris said, while Ripley declared; “I’m hitting up the Tops!”

Alex had a slight frown on his face, before he said; “Hey, isn’t it eight hundred each if we’re getting paid four grand?”

“Yep,” Michael said. “I’m putting aside four hundred to get us a nice little stimulant to business; an advertisement for Anston and Co. on Radio New Vegas. Was gonna head over to the studio and buy us a nice little recommendation; long term business, y’know?”

“Hey, can I come, then?” Alex asked.

“I was just gonna be doing business there,” Michael said. “Doubt it’s gonna be all that exciting.”

“Yeah, but Mr New Vegas seems like a cool guy,” Alex said. “I wanna meet him, and if we’re going over there to ask about an advert then we might just.”

Michael shrugged, before he said; “Sure, if you really want.”

“Cool,” Alex said. “Thanks, boss.”

“No problem,” Michael said, before he leaned forward on the round table they were seated around and divided the small pile of caps, NCR dollars and Legion aureii on the table before them evenly amongst each member of Anston and Co. “Alright, there we go. Your cash, you do what you want with it. I’m heading over to the Radio New Vegas studio on the Strip, the rest of you can come with me if you want.”

There was a round of nods, the rest of Anston and Co. eager to spend their earnings in the grand casinos that populated what had more than once been called ‘The Richest Place on what’s left of Earth.’ Through Freeside they went, passing by crumbling, dilapidated buildings, through the gate that separated the Strip from its far less glamorous counterpart.

“See you guys later, then,” Michael said in way of farewell as his company, and he and Alex were left alone on the Strip as they made their way towards Radio New Vegas’ studio.

There was quiet as he and Alex made their way along the cracked tarmac roadway, a pair of Securitrons whirling past them in the opposite direction, before Michael asked; “So why do you want to meet Mr. New Vegas so much anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “He just seems like a cool guy.”

Michael shrugged.

“Guess we’ve all gotta have someone we look up to,” he said after a moment. “S’pose there’s worse people to do that with than Mr New Vegas.”

I know what you’re all thinking, and yeah, I do have someone I look up to as well. In fact, Alex and I were walking past his place just then. So, who was this guy? Mr House, of course.

Y’se, the way I had things figured, the situation in the Mojave with New Vegas and the NCR went something like this; the NCR occupied the place, and House gave them power from the Hoover Dam. Now, the Strip doesn’t actually need that much power, and I remember hearing from some NCR techie that all it really requires is something like five percent of the dam’s output (don’t quote me on that, this is years ago). Still, that’s barely anything, and House had absolutely nothing else he needed to do with all that electricity going spare, so he just shut down those generators.

Then along comes the NCR, with a whole goddamn army and it starts demanding all the juice from the dam. All House had was his Securitrons, so he doesn’t have much choice other than to agree with them. Except that, of course, what he gets in return is a whole ton of cash from all the tourists going to the Strip, and an entire army to keep his territory safe, and in return all he needs to give the NCR is power that he doesn’t even need in the first place. Now, I might well be getting the figures wrong, but while the NCR thinks they’re getting a pretty sweet deal out of all this, they seem to have pretty much turned around, bent down, pulled down their pants and said to House; “Do what you want with me, baby.”

“Pity you didn’t get to see Mr New Vegas in person, uh?” Michael said slightly sympathetically as he and Alex left the studio and returned to the Strip, flicking the arms of his sunglasses out and sliding them on. “Still, the advert’s on air now, and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” Alex said, still sounding a little disappointed. “Hey, another time, maybe. Anyway, were you going to be hitting the Strip, boss?”

Michael shook his head.

“Nope,” he said. “That’s all that the others seem to do, though; make their money and then spend it away on the tables or strippers. There’s no long term plan.”

“Was there going to be?” Alex asked. “I mean, we’re making pretty good money at the moment.”

“Pretty good?” Michael said slightly derisively. “Pretty good isn’t good enough! I’m thinking long-term, big business here; making proper, steady money and getting rich, eating at the Ultra-Luxe every day rich. So I’m saving up all this cash, gonna invest it wisely, that sort of thing; that’s why I’ve got the advert, that’s why I’m gonna find us somewhere that we can use as a proper base of operations and that’s why I’m not just gonna spend all of it in the casinos. Beside, you know what they say; cap saved is a cap earned, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Alex said. “Though thinking of that, I had an idea.”

“Ahuh?” Michael said, raising an eyebrow at Alex in interest. “Let’s hear it.”

“You know the Thorn, over in Westside?” Alex asked.

“Oh yeah, that fighting pit,” Michael replied. “You thinking we could try any betting or something out there?”

“I thought we could put Brutus in there,” Alex said. “Y’know, put some bets on him and stuff, get some cash out of that.”

Michael nodded slowly.

“That’s…that’s a pretty good idea, actually,” he said. “If Brutus would be up for it, mind; we’d lose a pretty big part of the company if he was taken out of action.”

“Sure he’d be up for it,” Alex said. “He’s a big guy; he can look after himself in a fight if any of us can.”

“Suppose so,” Michael said. “We’ll ask him, I guess. Good a way as any to get some cash, isn’t it.”

He nodded contemplatively, and said; “Y’know, you could be on to a winner, there.”

#

“So,” Michael said to woman before him. “This is the Thorn then, uh?”

Harsh striplights glared down on a dirt pit walled in concrete, floor stained with blood, while metal walkways snaked above and around it, and only two lead down to the pit itself. There was an underlying, unpleasant scent of viscera and sweat pervading the air, made all the worse by the fact that it was trapped under the ground in the sewer tunnels that housed the Thorn.

“This it is,” Red Lucy replied, the mistress of the Thorn looking Michael and his associates up and down with a critical eye. “The testing ground where you can choose the moment of death against destiny, where the Wasteland and humankind are placed in competition with one another.”

“Right,” Michael said slowly. “Right, that sounds…sounds like the sort of thing we’re here for?”

“You’re here to fight?” Red Lucy asked, folding her arms. There was the faintest trace of a smirk on her features; all Michael wore was a suit, after all, and even though the jacket was lined with Kevlar it would do little good in a fighting pit when all it needed was a well placed knife in the lapel to stick steel into a target’s vitals.

“Myself? No,” Michael said. “Brutus, on the other hand, is.”

“So I should hope,” Red Lucy said, giving Brutus a far more approving look. “He looks capable of handling himself in there.”

“Glad to hear,” Michael said. “So, what’s he fighting?”

“It depends,” Red Lucy replied. “We have animals he can fight, but we also captured some Fiends just a few days ago, three of them. Some of the Westsiders wanted to put them on trial, but I persuaded them to let them see if they could prove themselves worthy of survival in the Thorn. Your big friend could fight one of them, if he wished.”

“I’ll take all three,” Brutus replied.

There was a long pause, before Michael said; “Brutus, buddy, are you nuts? Three on one?”

Brutus nodded.

“Small pit,” he said. “They’ll get in each other’s way. I can handle that, easy.”

“If you’re sure,” Michael said slowly.

“I’m sure,” Brutus said, his tone calm. “Three Fiends aren’t a problem.”

Michael shrugged, before he said; “What are the odds on him winning, then?”

“Two to one,” Lucy said quickly, working the numbers out with the speed of an experienced bookie.

“Good,” Michael said. “I’ll put four hundred caps on him.”

Red Lucy nodded, and she called to one of the guards; “Get the Fiends, all of them; we have someone who wants to try himself against them.”

The guard nodded in reply, leaving through a metal side door to somewhere in the pit below, and Red Lucy nodded to Brutus.

“Head down,” she said. “Wait for the gates to open.”

Michael and the others headed to the raised ring of flat concrete that surrounded the Thorn’s fighting pit, and he lit a cigarette as Brutus headed into the gated area that lead into the arena.

The Legionary rolled back his shoulders, loosening them up a little, and drew his machete. There was a soft ‘whumph’ as he span it in his grip, blade parting the air, and he looked through the chain-link fence to see what was coming.

Like most of their kind, the three Fiends of New Vegas that emerged from the opposite pen were scrawny, wiry individuals, bodies ravaged by drug use and malnutrition. They wore a patchwork of metal plates and crudely tanned leather to serve as armour, and Brutus could see one of them, a particularly skinny one holding a metal pipe with its end wrapped in barbed wire, twitching slightly; a symptom of Psycho withdrawl. The other two were armed with similarly crude weapons; a sharp hook on the end of a steel chain, the Fiend wielding it whirling it around in front of him and grinning wickedly, and the other carrying a pair of broad bladed knives. Brutus made a mental note to watch the chain-wielder; the other two would need to get in reach of his machete or claw if they wanted to try and deal with him, but the one with the chain wouldn’t have that problem.

He could hear the roar of the crowd begin to dim as he focussed only on the combat ahead, the details of his opponents’ bodies already being assessed instantaneously, almost unconsciously; a bullet wound on the knee of the Fiend with the knives, possibly impairing mobility, fingers laced through the links of the chain, making it harder to let go of and either a blessing or a curse, depending on the circumstances. In normal combat, this tunnel vision would have been too risky to use, but Brutus knew what he was fighting. For the next few minutes, the entire world would simply be four walls and three enemies.

There was a rattle of chains and the gate swung upwards; the crowd roared its bloodthirsty approval, cheering on the fighters, and Brutus and the Fiends emerged.

They spread out, trying to flank him, but in the small pit’s confines that was easier said than done, Brutus making their job all the more difficult by backing into a corner and keeping them in his sight.

The chain swung down from his left, and Brutus raised his bionic, the hook wrapping around its claws. He closed them and yanked down just as Knives dashed forwards, using Chains’ weight as a counter pull himself out of the way of the barely controlled charge. A split second later, and the wire-wrapped pipe swept into his shoulder, barbed wire and metal hitting muscle with a wet slap.

He threw up his machete, pushing away the pipe with the flat of the blade and wincing as the wire pulled loose a few chunks of flesh and spatters of blood. Chains was still holding onto his weapon, trying desperately to tug it from his grasp, and before Pipe and Blades could do anything Brutus pulled, yanking himself towards Chains. His machete swung down, blade splitting Chains’ skull, and Brutus turned with surprising grace to face the others, limp corpse of their compatriot between them.

“Your friend’s good,” Red Lucy remarked to Michael from their place above the pit. “Didn’t know he did arena fights.”

Michael frowned down at the combat as Brutus blocked the swing of the pipe with his bionic, seeming to manage it with little difficulty despite the fact that it was constricted by the chain still wrapped round it, and said; “Neither did I.”

Below, Brutus slashed outwards with his machete, forcing Pipe and Knives to back away, and tugged, wrenching the chain from his dead enemy’s grasp. That thing swinging around was going to be irritating, but at least he wasn’t trying to fight and lug about a corpse at the same time.

Knives suddenly dived forwards, his two blades raised, and Brutus threw himself out of the way only for Pipe to swing at him as well. The former Legionary gave a yell of pain as the crude weapon sank into his gut, barely managing to stagger away, bleeding from the dozens of miniature holes punched into his stomach from the wire. Knives went for another attack, but the weapon he struck with glanced off the metal plating on Brutus shoulder and he stumbled. Brutus’ claw struck down and crushed his skull with a single blow, bone no match against solid steel.

Pipe circled Brutus warily, looking for an opening of some kind, feinting to the left before diving in suddenly. Brutus didn’t rise to the bait, knocking away his enemy’s crude weapon before the rear of his claw swung out and slammed into his chest. The Fiend was sent flying, rolling to the floor in a breathless tangle of limbs, and Brutus took a moment to wrench the chain from his claw before advancing, machete raised.

He kicked the Fiend onto his back, a boot pressing heavily down on his victim’s chest, and prepared to strike the final blow, before someone in the crowd suddenly yelled; “Crush his head! Use the claw!”

“Yeah!” someone else called. “Crush it!”

In moments, it was a beat of the same word over and over; “Crush! Crush! Crush! Crush!”

Obligingly, Brutus picked up the raider by his head, ignoring the man’s desperate flailing as he struggled to break free.

“Crush! Crush! Crush! Crush!”

Slowly, Brutus began to apply pressure.

“Crush! Crush! Crush! Crush!”

The screams grew louder, the struggles more desperate.

“Crush! Crush! Crush! Crush!”

Bone began to crack, yells sounding less like that of a man and more like that of an animal.

“Crush! Crush! Crush! Crush!”

It burst, blood, brains and a corpse dropping to the ground, and the crowd roared its approval, Brutus raising his viscera streaked claw to the ceiling in acknowledgement. The fight’s audience had gone wild, standing on their feet in barbaric joy at the spectacle before them, clapping enthusiastically and cheering. Even Red Lucy was smiling quietly, clapping slowly. Only Michael was quiet, looking thoughtfully down at the co-founder of his company, a slightly contemplative expression on his face underneath his goatee.

“Crowd like him, don’t they?” Red Lucy asked as Brutus began to ascend from the pit, spattered in blood and still bleeding, but triumphant.

Michael nodded.

“Hell, they love him,” he said after a moment. “Though I’ve got a question for you; how much would you pay me to have him come back same time next week and wow them again?”

Violence in exchange for money. That was Anston and Co. all over.


Posted by: McBadgere Dec 29 2011, 04:42 AM

Excellent!!!... biggrin.gif ...

I missed this... biggrin.gif ...

Semi-controlled laughing moment (3.30-ish am, the kids'll be unamused if I wake them biggrin.gif )...

QUOTE
Now, I might well be getting the figures wrong, but while the NCR thinks they’re getting a pretty sweet deal out of all this, they seem to have pretty much turned around, bent down, pulled down their pants and said to House; “Do what you want with me, baby.


Hah!!...Nice one... biggrin.gif ...

More!!...


Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 30 2011, 08:32 AM

biggrin.gif Cheers McBadgere; was particularly pleased by that little summary of events. Michael's a savvy fella. tongue.gif

And my near-apologies to your kids for nearly waking them, to. wink.gif

Posted by: Acadian Dec 31 2011, 02:27 AM

A New Vegas story! I confess I have not played any Fallout, but from the mountain on which I live, I do overlook the Las Vegas Strip in the distance, if that counts.

Oh, anyway, you have a nice crisp and natural style with dialogue. I have been in TES so long that it is fun to see using things like sunglasses as props to smooth and connect dialogue.

And you have some gritty descriptions. Seems no matter where you go, some things never change: ’Violence in exchange for money.’

Posted by: MyCat Dec 31 2011, 04:39 AM

QUOTE
They drew up at the gate to the Strip, the mesh fencing and crude concrete barricade blocking their way to the jewel of the Mojave. As always, the small guard of Securitrons was manning it, and one of the machines wheeled towards Michael, the cartoonihs policeman on the screen at the centre of the bulky blue robot's chassis scowling at him.

You've hooked a new reader. Everyone has already made all the comments I was going to make. I've been too busy spending 189 hours in Skyrim sad.gif

I noticed a typo, "cartoonihs", in the first post.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Dec 31 2011, 02:09 PM

Acadian: Not played New Vegas? Shun the unbeliever. Shuuuuun... wink.gif

And yep, some things never change, like war and money. Didn't you read the subtitle tongue.gif

MyCat: Don't worry about the Skyrimmy stuff it's all good. And thanks for pointing out the typo, I'll go fix that up.

Thanks for reading, you two! biggrin.gif

Posted by: mALX Jan 1 2012, 04:54 PM

Urk! Graphically gross end to another great chapter, lol.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 2 2012, 06:03 PM

Squish squish slop... hehehe... wink.gif

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 12 2012, 09:47 AM

Chapter 6

Three weeks went by, and all in all, life was pretty good. Business came rolling in since the advert, Brutus kept getting asked back to the Thorn to beat the crap out of whatever it was that Red Lucy had lined up for him time (except for the Deathclaw. I drew the line at that Deathclaw; I need Brutus alive). The only problem was, there was something missing. I couldn’t place it, at first, and then it hit me, just like that. Bam, bolt from the blue.

“An office,” Michael announced suddenly. “That’s it, an office!”

“What?” Ripley asked from his place around their table in the Atomic Wrangler.

“We need an office,” Michael said. “A headquarters, a base of operations.”

“The hell do we need that for?” Alex quizzed, raising an eyebrow. “That sort of thing’s expensive.”

“Kid’s got a point,” Brutus added. “We’re getting by pretty well already. Office would be pricey; need power, plumbing, someone to keep an eye on it when we’re gone, all that.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got money coming in,” Michael said. “We can pay for that. But we get an office, and people know where to find us, more business comes in, we get richer. Besides, it’s an office. A proper goddamn office! C’mon, gimme one merc company that has themselves an office; you can’t, can you?”

“That’s because they don’t need and office, though,” Ripley said. “A base or something, mesh fence and all that, that’s better.”

“No it ain’t,” Michael said. “Sure, it’s safer, but a client isn’t going to be happy about just going into any place full of armed thugs where they’re surrounded by big walls and gun turrets; they aren’t at ease, are they? While an office, that’s different; an office has class. An office shows that the people they’re dealing with here are a cut above the rest of the hired thugs out there, marks us out as private military contractors as opposed to just mercs.”

“What’s the difference between those two anyway?” Alex asked. “I still don’t get it.”

“There ain’t one,” Doris said. “Just that private military contractors sounds better.”

“Exactly,” Michael replied. “This is all about selling ourselves, people; we want Anston and Co. to be the go-to company for any mercenary work, and that means we need a place in a busy location where we can drum up lots of business.”

There was quiet for a few moments as the rest of the company considered this, before Brutus asked; “Where were you thinking, Mike?”

“Somewhere in Freeside,” Michael said. “Near the strip gate; I noticed a couple of old buildings that are in pretty good shape and just need the bums turfing out of them.”

“Reckon the Kings wouldn’t appreciate someone setting up on their territory,” Ripley pointed out. “They get pretty good business out of escorting folks to the Strip; might think it’s a threat.”

“Kings can suck it,” Michael declared. “Besides, there’s hardly any overlap, is there? We do bigger jobs, they do smaller ones. If we’re scrounging caps getting people through Freeside then we’ve got bigger problems than just the damn Kings.”

“The King won’t see it that way though, will he?” Brutus said.

“Worst case scenario, I talk things over with him,” Michael said. “He’s a reasonable guy, he can be brought round.”

“Hope so,” Ripley said. “I don’t want the Kings gunning for me.”

Michael waved a hand dismissively, saying; “It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

#

They found their potential office on the run up to the Strip, near the end of the long straight road, not too far from the gate. It was, come to think of it, one of the perfect places to set up shop; near enough so that wealthy patrons from the casinos could enter feeling safe and secure beneath the ever-vigilant gaze of Mr House’s securitrons. The old front doors were held closed by several near-rotten planks of wood, but Brutus’ claw made short work of that, wrenching them off with ease.

“Nice looking front on this thing,” Michael said as Brutus prised the ancient, rusting doors open. “I like it. S’almost like one of the casinos.”

Next to him, Doris nodded, adding; “I like it. That’s got style.”

She was right; the façade of the building stretched skywards, almost a good storey above the rest of the structure, a metal front that was rusted and pitted, a bit of polish would scrub the place up to a shine. Over the front doors was some kind of awning or balcony, a few letters scattered randomly across its front, and there was some kind of cubicle next to the entrance, its glass front shattered.

“What do you think it was?” Michael asked as they entered. They found themselves in some kind of foyer, an ancient, rotten linoleum carpet slowly surrendering ground to the concrete floor beneath it as damp and mould ate away at it. The only light was dimly filtered in from the sunlight outside There was, he was pleased to note, a desk off to one side, an ancient sign above it announcing; ‘Tickets and snacks.’

“No idea,” Brutus said, looking around as Michael approached the desk with a curious frown.

The legionary’s boss crouched down next a glass cubicle on the desk, the cubicle itself empty, and asked; “Any idea what ‘popco’ is?”

“Some kind of prewar company, maybe?” Doris suggested. “Like Robco?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Michael said. “Must’ve owned this place before the bombs dropped.”

A door behind them creaked slowly, and they glanced around to see a figure dressed in rags shuffling out of a doorway. He peered at them with unfocussed eyes, and managed to mumble a challenge; “Who’re you?”

“We’re moving in here,” Michael said.

The bum seemed to mull this over, swaying slightly, before he said; “But…but I live here.”

“Not any more,” Michael replied. “Go on, off you go.”

There was a confused silence, before Brutus simply clapped a meaty hand on the man’s shoulders and led him to the door. The bum stood on the cracked pavement outside, in the blazing sun, looking completely lost before he wandered away down the run-down street.

“Alright, let’s take a look around,” Michael said. “Hopefully that should be the last of any of those drifters.”

He pulled open the door that the intruder had accosted them from, revealing a flight of stairs. Brutus and Doris were in his wake as he climbed them, getting to a corridor at the end of the stairs, flicking on the light of his Pip-Boy to compensate from the fact that they were walking in total darkness.

“Hope Alex and Ripley find that generator,” Doris remarked as Michael shone the torch on his wrist ahead of him down the corridor. “This place isn’t going to be much good if we can’t light it up.”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Gotta say, this place is bigger than I thought.”

Brutus nodded as Michael pushed open a door off the side. The room his Pip-Boy illuminated was small and boxy, much of the floor taken up by an ancient, rotting mattress. Pointing towards an empty window that simply showed more darkness, a strange, boxy device with a lense rested on a table, with a pair of large wheels held above it by a few metal struts. Michael peered at it, spinning one of the wheels with a finger.

“Wonder what this place was,” he said.

Brutus just shrugged, before he suggested; “Shall we check downstairs?”

“Yeah, might as well,” Michael said.

In the foyer, they pushed open another door, this one set back in the wall and with a sign of some sort above it, the letters above it long since fallen or peeled away. The room they entered seemed to be large, despite the fact that it was pitch black, and as Michael shone the torch around them they realised only then the scale of where they were.

Michael grinned.

“Now this,” he said. “This is something else.”

#

“Y’know what I don’t get,” Alex said as the door he pulled open revealed a cupboard full of protectron parts. “Is why all the robots about have ‘tron’ at the end of their names.”

Ripley just shrugged as he hauled away a sheet of corrugated iron and glanced underneath to see if there was anything there.

“I mean, there’s the protectron,” Alex continued as he quickly climbed over the ancient conveyor belt that ran through the derelict robot factory that occupied a quiet, largely ignored corner of Freeside. “And you’ve got the securitron as well, and there’s the…the...uh…”

“You can’t think of any other robot names, can you?” Ripley asked.

“Alright, I can’t,” Alex admitted.

“Well I remember there was the sextron back before the war,” Ripley said.

“What?”

“Well, basically, you’d bend over-”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

“And the sextron would have this fist on a kind of arm-”

“Shaddup, shaddup.”

“And it would stick it-”

“SHUT UP, RIPLEY!”

Ripley cackled hoarsely and grinned at him through rotten teeth.

“Just pulling your leg, kid,” he said.

“Oh, thank god,” Alex said. “Man, that’s just gross.”

He shook his head, before he said; “Whatever, what I mean is that tron’s gotta mean something, hasn’t it?”

“No idea,” Ripley replied. There was a clattering and a curse as he knocked over a box of ancient, rusted tools. “I remember…I remember robot used to mean ‘slave’ in Greek or something.”

“What’s Greek?”

“Another language,” Ripley explained as he pulled open a door. “Hey, here we go.”

He picked up the small fission generator that sat at the bottom of the maintenance cupboard with a grunt, and said; “Gimme a hand with the door, will ya?”

Alex held it open for the Ghoul as they stepped out of the old factory, blinking in the change of light from the dim confines of the factory to the blazing sunshine that beat down mercilessly upon Freeside.

“This place it too damn hot,” Ripley grizzled as they made their way up the street. “I swear, I should’ve stuck around the Boneyard; sea kept things cool there. This, though, this just wears you out.”

Alex nodded at this. The light duster he wore was loose, the collar of his shirt undone, and his shaved scalp was glistening with a sheen of sweat; even though they were good desert clothes, they were sticking to him like glue in this heat.

“August in the Mojave,” Ripley continued. “Is not a pleasant time of year.”

“There any place cooler?” Alex asked.

This got a strange glance from Ripley, before the ghoul remembered that Alex had spent his entire life in the Mojave; before the war, the world had shrunk to the point where a fission jet could fly all the way around it in a matter of hours, but the falling of the bombs had blasted everywhere far, far apart from each other.

“I remember I took a holiday in a place called Canada once, way up north,” Ripley said. “Around this time of year, too. Nice and mild up there. Lots of trees.”

Alex shrugged.

“Could do with some mild weather now,” he said.

On the other hand, Freeside in this heat was quiet; the usual gangs of thieves and muggers that marauded the shanty town had retreated to the shade along with the beggars and the rest of its residents, and the closest they got to trouble were a few glares from the groups huddling there. It seemed that the consensus amongst Freeside’s people was that it wasn’t worth braving the heat just to mug two people lugging an old generator up the street.

“Hey!” Michael called to them as they were on the approach to the Strip. “You two, over here!”

“You picked the old movie theatre?” Ripley asked disbelievingly as the two approached the building.

“I picked the old whatty what?”

“The movie theatre,” Ripley said. “That’s what this place is, isn’t it?”

“I dunno,” Michael said. “It’s just some big old abandoned building. The hell’s a movie?”

“It’s like…it’s like a picture that moves, and they play sound to, y’know, tell a story,” Ripley said as he entered the foyer. “I remember as a kid that every week they’d show an instalment of the Adventures of Captain Cosmos; showed every Saturday, and you paid a nickel to get in and watch.”

“Why’d you pay to see the same thing again every week?” Michael asked.

“They left it on a cliffhanger every time,” Ripley answered. “So they’d have Captain Cosmos in some new kind of danger so you’d want to come back each time to find out what happened next.”

Michael looked thoughtful, before he said; “Not a bad idea.”

“Anyway,” he said. “There’s a place you can hook the generator up down in the basement, that should give us power.”

Ripley nodded as he followed Michael down, the torch on his Pip Boy lighting the way. There were a couple of battery powered electric lanterns hanging in the small brick room, and Doris was waiting with a box of tools she’d found from somewhere.

“That the generator?” she asked.

“Yep,” Ripley replied. “Where shall I stick it?”

“Just over there,” Doris said, gesturing to a gap in the wall where there were several wires loose. “Used to be where the place was hooked up to the grid. Just have to hope this generator works.”

She nodded over to Michael, saying; “Gimme a minute or two, hun. I’ll get it going.”

“Alright,” Michael said, heading up to foyer. He glanced around the dimly lit room, lighting a cigarette, and it was burnt almost down to the filter when Doris called up; “Michael, honey, I got it working. Give the lights a try, will you?”

He searched for the switch, flipping it up and the striplights that illuminated the foyer flickered on after a few moments.

“They’re good!” he called back, before he headed into the huge room they had discovered earlier. Seeing that the power was on, Brutus followed, and Michael tapped the many switches by the doorway as he entered. Before, they had stumbled around it in the dark, but now the true extent was revealed; easily a good fifteen metres across and more than twice that in length, tiers of seats all in neat rows, facing a white, flat screen that was speckled with mould and damp.

“Could have one hell of a firing range in here,” Brutus remarked with a grin.

“Yep,” Michael said. “Y’know what? This has gotta be the best office any merc company has ever had.”


Posted by: McBadgere Jan 12 2012, 02:11 PM

*Runs around cheering madly...*

I loved this...Soooo much...

Michael's enthusiasm for the idea of an office...I can picture the location from the game...All that stuff Ripley (who's my fave character btw...Old and grumpy...I like him... wink.gif ...I don't share his...Orientation though... biggrin.gif ...) was saying about "before the war" and also the tour of the cinema, where - obviously - we knew what it was, but Michael and that lot had no idea...FANTASTICally done...

Soooo good...So so soooo good...

*Applauds with aplomb*...

Nice one x infinity... biggrin.gif ...

Posted by: mALX Jan 13 2012, 09:41 AM

My fave character was Fisto, lol. (KIDDING) !!! Great Write !!


Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 13 2012, 08:15 PM

McBadgere: Gotta admit, I had a lot of fun writing that scen, and no suprise you like Ripley; two of you have a lot in common. wink.gif

Malx: blink.gif

Posted by: McBadgere Jan 13 2012, 10:04 PM

QUOTE
no suprise you like Ripley; two of you have a lot in common. wink.gif


Dammit!! You've seen my picture haven't you?... huh.gif ...

tongue.gif ...


Edit...I have to apologise for something in my post previous to this one...I got Ripley and Brutus confused in remembering the old Lap-Dance scene at Gomorrah...Chapter...Um...Earlier...

My apologies...I therefore wholeheartedly embrace my Ripley-ness... biggrin.gif ...

GET AWAY FROM HER YOU B*TCH!!...Oh wait... huh.gif ...No...Hang on...

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 13 2012, 10:20 PM

QUOTE(McBadgere @ Jan 13 2012, 09:04 PM) *
QUOTE
no suprise you like Ripley; two of you have a lot in common. wink.gif


Dammit!! You've seen my picture haven't you?... huh.gif ...

tongue.gif ...


Edit...I have to apologise for something in my post previous to this one...I got Ripley and Brutus confused in remembering the old Lap-Dance scene at Gomorrah...Chapter...Um...Earlier...

My apologies...I therefore wholeheartedly embrace my Ripley-ness... biggrin.gif ...

GET AWAY FROM HER YOU B*TCH!!...Oh wait... huh.gif ...No...Hang on...

Most droll, sir Badgere, most droll. tongue.gif

Also, I thought you meant Ripley's inclinations towards Ghoulettes, so no misunderstandings there (frankly, if you were inclined towards having your women slightly rotten, I'd be somewhat worried... wink.gif )

Posted by: Arcry Jan 14 2012, 12:41 AM

Now this, this I like! I have not read a good Fallout Fic in a loong time! People have already beaten me to the punch by expressing their own opinions, which I agree with, so I can nay add much to the love. That said....

QUOTE
“We need an office,” Michael said. “A headquarters, a base of operations.”

LOVE this guy. Mich is one helluva business man and I think him and my old char Aaron Blint would get all nicely, talk over some scotch and a cigar or two...

QUOTE
“You picked the old movie theatre?” Ripley asked disbelievingly as the two approached the building.
I have had an attachment to Ghouls since first picking up the Fallout games. Not sure why, though I suspect its that "Been there, Killed that" Attitude they have. I love ol' Ripley here and his nostalgia flashback. Pre War ghouls rock.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 14 2012, 11:37 AM

Thanks very much, Arcry!

Got a feeling that Michael and this Blint character would, especially if Michael's not paying for the scotch or cigars. wink.gif Though he'd get a little tetchy over being called Mich; only Brutus has the privelige of shortening his name, and the guy had to earn that.

Got to thank my dad for that flashback there, who was young in the 50s and thus is useful for research. If, at times, a little rambling. Bless...

Thanks again, and glad you're enjoying reading! biggrin.gif

Posted by: mALX Jan 15 2012, 02:26 AM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Jan 13 2012, 02:15 PM) *

McBadgere: Gotta admit, I had a lot of fun writing that scen, and no suprise you like Ripley; two of you have a lot in common. wink.gif

Malx: blink.gif



Lol !! Couldn't resist, lol.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 22 2012, 07:25 PM

Author’s Note: The tusker that appears in this chapter is, yes, my own creation (I’m a sexy genius, I know). But if you want to use it, just ask nicely, give some credit and you’re welcome to it.

And now, on with the show!

Chapter 7

“You Anston and Co.?”

Michael looked up from the old ticket desk that now served as a greeting point for any would-be customers into the ‘cinema’ they’d occupied to see who was asking, tipping the chair he was leaning on forwards. The man in question looked like most of the drifters and guns for hire out there on the wasteland, a shotgun of some kind slung over his shoulder and wearing armour stitched together from tanned leather and metal plating. There was a girl behind him, in a fairly similar gear, a submachine gun and a pistol at her belt.

“That’s what the sign over the door says,” he said. “What can I do for you two?”

“My sister and I are looking for a job,” was the answer Michael received. “We were hoping you were hiring.”

“That so?” he asked. “What’re your names?”

“I’m Ed Heltzer, and this my sister, Abby,” he said, gesturing to the girl behind him.

Michael nodded, before he said; “Good to meet you two, then. So, what can you bring to my company?”

“I’m a good shot, and we’ve both got combat experience,” Ed said. “That’s got to be useful, right?”

“Oh, it’s useful, yeah,” Michael said. “But to be honest I could drag anyone from wasteland into here and they could say exactly the same thing. I mean, you two going through an army of super mutants single handed or something, that’s slightly different, but this is the Mojave; everyone fights everyone out there. So what else can you do to make me consider hiring you?”

“I can hack computers,” Abby suddenly said. “Any kind of system, I can get into it for you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, and he said; “Sounds pretty good.”

He tapped the computer console next to him, and said; “Okay, there’s a password on this thing, and nobody in here can get into it. You break it open, and you’re hired.”

Abby nodded, before she said; “Lemme take a look.”

Michael wheeled the chair he was sitting on out of the way as she went round the desk, leaning over the computer. She tapped a few buttons on it, peering at it intensely for a few moments before her fingers flew into life, hitting each key with a rapid clicking. It was only a minute before she said; “Alright, I’m done.”

She swivelled the computer console over in Michael’s direction to prove her claim, and he raised an eyebrow.

“That was pretty impressive,” he said after a moment. “You’re on board, kid.”

He turned back to Ed.

“So, why should I hire you, then?” he asked.

“Because if you don’t, then I’m not joining and you’ll have to find someone else who’s as good with computers as I am,” Abby replied from beside him.

Michael was quiet for a moment, giving her a careful, contemplative look, before his face split into a grin.

“Y’know, I like you kids already,” he said. “Alright, that’s fair. You’re on the team then, Ed; make yourself useful, don’t make me regret taking you on board, and you might just find yourself making some pretty good money.”

“What’s the pay?” Ed asked.

“Pay’s an equal split between however much you get paid for each job, by each person who did it,” Michael said. “So we get paid seven hundred caps for an assignment and everyone here does it, you get paid one hundred, so on. You pay for your own ammo, stimpaks, food etcetera, but we’ve got plenty of room to spare in this place so find someplace that isn’t being already used and you can shack up there. You want to do some extra work out of the company like serving drinks somewhere or whatever, then that’s fine with me so long as it doesn’t get in the way of jobs for us, and if it does then you’re out. I’m the boss, CEO, God come to earth, and my orders are followed; you got ideas, I’m happy to hear ‘em, but my word is final. If I’m not around, then you take orders from Brutus, the big guy with the robot arm who looks like he can floor a bighorner with a punch, can’t miss ‘im, and if he’s not around, you take orders from Ripley, our resident Ghoul. Got it?”

They both nodded, and Michael smiled.

“Great!” he said. “Welcome to Anston and Co.”

#

“So what’s in this package, anyway?” Ed asked as their horses made their way along the dirt path, no more than a patch of clear earth made by feet kicking a way through the parched, scrubby bush on either side of it.

“No idea,” Michael replied from his place in the front. He shifted the small satchel that he carried it in as if to emphasise his point, and added; “We’re getting paid to deliver it to Nipton without tampering with it, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

“I get that,” Ed said. “It’s just kinda fishy, that’s all.”

“How so?” Brutus asked from behind him.

“Well, wouldn’t they usually get the Mojave Express or something to deliver it?” Ed asked.

“Hey, if they’re paying us to do it instead, then I’m not complaining,” Michael said. “A cap’s a cap, after all.”

“I know, but why are they getting mercs to do it instead of the usual couriers?” Ed said, pressing the subject.

“Why is it that big a deal?” Abby asked.

“Because what I’m saying is that if they want us to deliver it instead of a courier, maybe the guys paying us is expecting someone to try and take it, maybe,” Ed said. “So maybe we could keep an eye out.”

Michael nodded.

“That’s a good point,” he said. “Can’t say I thought of that.”

Well, it certainly didn’t sit right, now that Ed had pointed it out. Two days with the company, first ever job, and he was already making me paranoid. Who’d have guessed?

“Alright, keep sharp,” Michael said as his horse began to climb up a small hillock in the dry scrub they were walking through. “Now Ed mentions it, he might be right. Wished that she’d mentioned there was a risk someone might take it.”

“Just another job,” Brutus remarked. “You know what customers can be like.”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “I need to tell you two of the time some guy tried to scam…”

He trailed off as he saw what lay before them.

“Ah crap,” he muttered.

The pot-bellied animal that lay in the small valley below them had its back to them, curled tail raised. There was a grunting and a crunch as it chewed on the scrub before it, a trotter pulling up a few roots, and Michael inwardly cursed. Of all the things they had to run across on their journey, it had to be a goddamn tusker.

Now, for those of you who aren’t too familiar with the creatures of the Mojave, let me tell you now that running into a tusker is not good news. Believe me, those things are half a ton of muscle and bad attitude and their tusks that can gut anyone unlucky enough to get too close (why d’ya think they call them tuskers?). Seriously though, even Deathclaws avoid them if they can; those things are too stupid to feel pain, and if they smell anything they don’t like, which is everything, then they charge, no questions asked. Still, there’s good eating on the things, if you’re lucky enough to kill them, but frankly half the time they aren’t worth the trouble.

“Right,” Michael said quietly, looking at the valley around them. The path ran right through where the tusker was enjoying its meal. “We’ll go around it. No need to annoy that thing.”

The others nodded. Better to go through the scrub and maybe risk stepping on a rattlesnake than annoying a tusker.

They dismounted and stepped off the path, Michael leading his way and glancing at his feet occasionally, glancing over at the tusker as it uprooted a plant to feast on the juicy taproot below where it stored water away from the merciless kiss of the Mojave’s sun. Fortunately for them, the air was still, and the tusker was too focussed on its meal to hear the occasionally snap as they stepped on a bush. So long as there was no breeze, they should be alright; tuskers had a damn good nose, but they could only see a few feet around them and their ears weren’t up to that much. Their horse whickered nervously in the presence of the creature, but they had been reared by Caesar’s Legion and were trained to fear the consequences of bolting.

Michael’s horse suddenly reared in fright at the hiss of an angered serpent, and his grip on its bridle was thrown. Instinctively, he stepped back to avoid the animal’s flailing hooves, and stumbled, losing his footing and falling backwards into the small dip.

He landed on his back, upside down and with his hat rolling off his head, and his breath caught in his throat as he heard a snort, and the sound of large nostrils in a round snout sniffing the air.

On comically short legs, the huge bulk of the tusker, covered in tiny, bristle-like hairs, turned and Michael came face with it. A jaw filled with teeth and twisted, gnarled, razor-sharp tusks opened and it gave a squealing roar of fury. Michael scrambled away at the blast of stinking air, before desperately rolling out of its way as it barrelled towards him, snorting in blind, stupid fury.

He pulled himself to his feet as it passed him, thrashing through the scrub before it came to a halt, turning to face him for another charge, and Jack called down; “What do we do?”

“What do you think, you idiots?” Michael called back. “Goddamn help me!”

He grabbed his pistol from its holster and managed to unload three bullets into its thick hide, fourth round sticking in the chamber, but if anything that just seemed to make it angrier. It stampeded towards Michael once more, heedless of the trio of bleeding holes he had punched into its flank, and one of its warped tusks caught the fabric of his suit trousers as he dodged, ripping it off. Still, better that than his actual leg, he guessed.

He pulled himself up from where he lay on the ground as the tusker skidded to a halt, dashing for the hills as Ed’s shotgun boomed, the spray of buckshot kicking up a puff of dust. This was enough to get the tusker’s murderous attentions, and Michael took the opening to scramble up the side of the bowl as it searched for its new opponent, beady eyes glaring madly around as it snorted and snarled.

“Hey, porkchop!” Brutus called as Michael managed to reach the top. “Over here!”

The ex-legionary waved his machete in the air as Michael pulled the slide of his pistol back to try and clear the jam, hissing; “What are you doing?” at him as he did so.

“Gonna kill it,” Brutus replied simply as the tusker finally noticed him and pawed at the ground in preparation to charge.

He raised the weapon as it thundered towards him in mad fury, while Michael yelled at him to get the hell out of its way. Brutus ignored his calls, and instead swung down just as the tusker came into reach.

The heavy blade slammed into its skull with a wet thump, and the animal gave a squeal of pain before it tumbled, machete embedded in its head. It barrelled into Brutus, flooring him, and he gave a bellow of pain as its weight rolled onto his stomach. Lying on its side, it thrashed wildly before Brutus’ clenched claw shoved it off.

Both of them managed to pull each other to their feet, and it swiped its tusks at him viciously. He managed to deflect them with his claw, cursing as it tore a chunk of its armoured casing off, and he backed away as it squealed in fury, mad rage in its tiny, bloodshot eyes. Somehow, a machete being dug into its skull had served only to make it angrier.

It looked as if it were about to charge again, when a series of rapid, chattering claps sounded out. Both knees on it right legs suddenly folded under its weight as bullets shredded the bone and tendons, and it rolled onto its broad flank, screaming with a sound that almost sounded human and thrashing wildly. Abby simply trained the smoking barrel of her submachine gun on the soft flesh under its jaw and fired off another short burst, a group of rounds pulverising its diminutive brain.

Michael glanced at the massive corpse, Brutus bracing a boot on its head as he wrenched his machete out of its skull, and then back at Abby, before he said; “Good thinking, there.”

“Seemed like common sense to me,” Abby replied. “Didn’t any of you come up with that?”

“Well the thing was trying to gut me,” Michael pointed out. “Didn’t have time to.”

Abby shrugged as Brutus wrenched his machete free of the tusker’s skull with a wet sucking noise. He took an old oilcloth that he kept tucked into his belt and wiped the blood off it, looking disapprovingly at the dent that the impact with bone had managed to hammer into the blade.

“So,” he said after a moment. “Who wants pork for dinner?”










Oink oink...

Posted by: McBadgere Jan 22 2012, 07:49 PM

*Sighs contentedly*... biggrin.gif ...

Aw hell yeah!!...

Good fight...Good mutant...Awful punchline...But I'll forgive you that... laugh.gif ...

I love Abby already...May be my NCIS obsession... huh.gif ...*Shrugs* who cares?!!...Excellent character...

Robert loves kick-a$s girls with brains...*Goes to see if he missed that she happens to be a red-head too tongue.gif *...

Great chapter btw... laugh.gif ...

Didst love it muchly...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*... biggrin.gif ...


EDIT: Kick-Boat?...Really?...*Shakes head*...

Posted by: Arcry Jan 22 2012, 09:12 PM

That was one helluva Mutant! Great fight, like the new additions to Anston and Co. Abby is intriguing and I want to see more of what Eddy can do.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 22 2012, 11:42 PM

McBadgere: Well, punchlines aren't really Brutus speciality. Punches on the other hand...

And I can't say I've watched much of NCIS, so I can't comment on similarities, but I'll have to make sure that she isn't a redhead so nobody says I'm ripping her off... wink.gif

And the filter is silly, yeah.

Arcry: Got an interesting idea or two up my sleeve for those two, just you see. Was also quite proud of the Tusker idea, myself; always though that if there was anything that could survive in a nuclear wasteland, it would be pigs. Which would then become bigger, meaner pigs that would happily eat anything.

Also, I don't suppose I would look too cheeky if I were to commission your rather skilful artistic talents for a sketch of one or two of the cast members (namely Brutus, possibly Michael), would I? If you'd rather not, then that's fine, but as you're here and as I'd like someone who can actually draw (as opposed to desperately flail around with a pencil like me), I feel I may as well ask.

Posted by: Arcry Jan 23 2012, 07:09 PM

I will do my best to put Brutus to paper (Namely because I am a fan of Caesar's Legion) and then work down the line. Finished a preliminary of Brutus and sent him off to ya.

Hoping the PM system works as it does not say I have sent any messages.... Anyway he is on my Deviant if the PM failed.

I really like that arm....

Posted by: mALX Jan 23 2012, 07:28 PM

I got a kick out of Abby earning the hiring and then blackmailing them to hire Ed, lol. Loved your invention of the "tusker" - and the (urk) detailed killing of it, but especially the "oink oink" at the end, lol. Great Write !!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 23 2012, 09:05 PM

Thanks very much, Malx!

Already getting a soft spot for Abby, and I'm quite proud of the tuskers (I'm going to need to feature them again, some time). Can think of a few places I can put them...

Posted by: mALX Jan 24 2012, 12:03 AM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Jan 23 2012, 03:05 PM) *

Thanks very much, Malx!

Already getting a soft spot for Abby, and I'm quite proud of the tuskers (I'm going to need to feature them again, some time). Can think of a few places I can put them...



You really should be proud of the tuskers. I love coming across examples of a writer's own world-building like that (and modders that create something out of their own imagination) - and I agree, Abby is a very interesting and likable character so far.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 26 2012, 08:15 PM

Malx: Ah, now you're making me want to make a tusker mod for New Vegas. Yeesh, imagine coming across one of those in the Thorn...

Anyway, more is hnyah


Chapter 8

And this next song is brought to you by Anston and Co.; people hurt and things broken. Find them on Freeside, in old cinema by the Strip Gate.”

“You hear that?” Michael asked, as Mr New Vegas’ husky tones were replaced by cheerful guitar chords and male voices singing in quite a pleasant harmony of what they could do with a little bit of money and you. “That’s the sound of business coming in; music to my ears.”

“Nice lullaby for you, then,” Brutus remarked from his place by the fire, comment accompanied by a regular scraping as he ran a whetstone along the blade of his machete. He had been trying to get at least something resembling an edge on the dented part, but so far it seemed that he’d need to hammer it back into shape first. Not that it really needed to be all that sharp, Michael thought; that weapon was less a sword and more a club with an edge.

“Yep,” Michael said, as he lay the parts of his disassembled pistol on the lining of his shrugged-off jacket. “Sweetest tune I’ve ever heard.”

He opened the cleaning kit he’d taken from his satchel, and began to clean the chamber of the small firearm in the light of the fire. That jam with the tusker earlier in the day hadn’t been helpful, and last thing he wanted was a repeat incident with some radscorpions or cazadores or anything else equally nasty.

“Mike, I don’t get something,” Ed said suddenly.

“Don’t call me Mike, I’m your boss,” Michael replied simply.

“What? Brutus does?” Ed said.

“That’s because Brutus earned the privilege to call me Mike,” Michael replied. “You haven’t yet. So it’s Michael, got it?”

“Alright, fine,” Ed said. “Anyway, can I ask that question?”

“Go nuts,” Michael replied as he flicked some stray dust particles out of the chamber of his stripped down pistol with a brush.

“You said you were a pacifist, right? So how come you were shooting at that tusker?”

“It’s a tusker,” Michael replied dismissively. “Besides, the thing didn’t care.”

“That’s not really an answer though, is it?” Ed pressed.

“Look, it’s just some dumb animal,” Michael said. “It’s only really with people that I have that rule.”

“Why is that?” Ed asked. “I mean, this is the Mojave; people kill each other all the time out here.”

“I know,” Michael said. “I just always felt that killing people is, I don’t know, messy. Unprofessional.”

Ed frowned, before he said; “You’re the boss of a merc company, though. I mean, you kill people for money.”

“That’s different,” Michael said. “I coordinate the killing of other people for money.”

“How’s that different? I mean, that seems the same as just killing them, to me,” Ed said.

“It’s just…it’s just how I do things, alright?” Michael said. “I never said it’s a perfect system, but it works for me.”

Ed shrugged.

“Alright,” he said. “Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Fine,” Michael said. “Abby, how’s that food going?”

“Gimme a minute,” she replied. She pulled the old frying pan on which the porkchops and tubers they were cooking sizzled on, and poked one of them with a slightly rusty fork. “Think they’re good.”

“Great,” Brutus said. “I’m hungry.”

“Then chow down,” Michael said, as Abby slid the food onto a few battered tin plates. She just had hers right in the pan, and Michael couldn’t help but notice it was the biggest of them there, but he let it slide. He supposed she’d earned it by making sure Brutus’ innards stayed inside him. “You’ve got first watch, big guy.”

Brutus shrugged, before he said; “Fine.”

Michael nodded as he chewed. He swallowed the mouthful of pork and said; “Anyway, get some sleep after we’re done eating; we’re on our way to Nipton tomorrow.”

#

“Goddamn dust,” Michael muttered resentfully as he wiped the fine powder off the lenses of his sunglasses. “Last leg of the journey and we get hit by a dust storm. Typical.”

“This one isn’t too bad,” Brutus said. “I mean, we can still see ahead of us, can’t we? We’ve been hit by worse.”

Michael nodded as he squinted through the ochre haze, one hand held on the bridle of his horse. He checked the compass on his Pip Boy to make sure they were going the right way through the dust once more, and was relieved that they were; getting lost in one of these things wasn’t life threatening, but it certainly was irritating.

“I guess,” he said. “Jeez, you remember that time the weather got so bad that that arm of yours seized up?”

“How could I forget?” Brutus said. “Now that was a dust storm.”

“Hey!” Ed called from his place a few metres ahead, voice slightly muffled by the scarf he was using to cover his face. “I think I see Nipton up ahead.”

“Well thank god for that,” Michael remarked. “Be good to get out of this dust.”

The storm began to slack off as they approached, moving into the lee of the arid, rocky hills on the west side of town that sheltered it from the wind. They climbed up a bank of earth that lead up from the cracked, parched expanse of flat ground they had just traversed, the crude barricade of scrap metal, old wood and debris that surrounded Nipton coming into view.

“Is that smoke?” Ed asked as he looked at a pillar of the stuff that was gently drifting skywards.

“Looks like it,” Michael said, still heading forwards. “Hope there ain’t anything wrong; might not get paid if there is.”

Brutus nodded as they approached, but it was only a few minutes later that they saw the two banners of Caesar’s Legion standing right outside the entrance of the gate.

“Ah crap,” Michael muttered as he saw them.

They drew to a halt, and Abby asked; “Well, what do we do?”

“We’re getting paid on delivery,” Michael said. “We’ll need to check it out.”

They were about to enter the town, when there was a whooping noise, someone cheering. The small band paused as they saw someone running towards them, hands going to weapons before they saw he was the one laughing.

Michael frowned, before he called; “You alright, pal?”

“Alright? Alright? I’m great!” came the reply. “I won the lottery! I’m okay! I wont the lottery!”

“What lottery?” Michael asked as the man drew to a halt by them. He was dressed in some kind of stained denim coverall, and was there was a crude bandage made from a strip of cloth around his upper arm.

The lottery!” the winner replied. “And I won it! Hah, I’m free!”

He pushed past them, jumping in the air in exultant joy with a cry of “Winner!” before he disappeared into the haze.

“Goddamn lunatic,” Michael remarked disparagingly as they watched him go. “C’mon, let’s go check this out.”

Nipton was in a bad state as they entered it. A lot of the small, one-storey wooden prewar houses that made up the majority of its architecture had been burned and were nothing more than collapsed piled of scorched timber, ash and embers, the smell of smoke and death causing their horses to whicker and whinny nervously. Those that had been fortunate to remain upright had had windows smashed and their doors kicked in, and there were more than a few bodies scattered around. They rounded a corner, and froze for a moment, briefly stunned by the crosses that lined the street, men and women alike lashed to them.

“Eesh,” Michael muttered. “This ain’t pretty.”

Now, I’m no saint, and I won’t pretend that I am. I’ve had people do some pretty nasty things on my behalf, and had more than a few beaten up and even killed, but even I have my limits and crucifixion is beyond those. I mean, there’s sending a message and then there’s being just plain old nasty for no good reason, and that’s definitely in the second category.

They advanced along the road cautiously, and Michael noticed that Abby wasn’t trying to look at the unfortunates lashed to the rebar crosses, shuffling closer to Ed. Brutus looked to be completely impassive, and Michael realised that he was probably used to this sort of sight; he was formerly of the Legion, after all. The far end of the street was occupied by a grand building, one wing slightly scorched, and there were several figures waiting outside it.

Michael and his small cohort drew to a halt as they were noticed, Legionaries gathering in front of the building, and for a moment a tense silence reigned. Michael’s gaze flickered across the group they were facing; there were ten of them, against just four. If they decided to attack, there was no way they would get out in one piece.

“Who are you people?” one of them suddenly challenged. He wore dark goggles, and there was the head of an animal, a fox, growling over his own, worn like a helmet. “And what are you doing here?”

“My name’s Michael Anston,” Michael answered. “I’m in charge of Anston and Co. We’re here to deliver a package.”

He looked around at the massacred town, and added; “Or at least, we were going to.”

A Legionary suddenly emerged from a house, a young man with a strange dent in the left side of his shaven head, before he said; “Frumentarii, we searched the house. It wasn’t in there.”

The one in the fox helmet glanced over at him, and said; “Did you check everywhere, Nuncius?”

“I did, Frumentarii,” the one called Nuncius replied. “It wasn’t there.”

Fox Helmet shook his head, before he turned back to Michael. “What were you delivering and to whom?”

“We weren’t to tamper with the package, so I’ve got no idea,” Michael replied. “Said we had to deliver it to some old guy called…lemme see…”

He flicked his Pip Boy on and read out from his wrist; “Give to a John Payne.”

This seemed to get their interest, Michael noted, before Fox Helmet said; “I’ll have that package, Michael Anston.”

“Whoa, hey, not so fast here,” Michael said. “I can’t just go handing it out to anyone. That’s not what I was paid for.”

He noticed the change in the body language of the Legionaries surrounding Fox Helmet, hands resting on the grips of weaponry, leaning forwards slightly and he stepped back, before eh said; “Hey, look, let’s take things from the top here, alright? What about some proper introductions, huh? You know me, so can I ask what your name is?”

“Vulpes Inculta,” Fox Helmet replied. “Frumentarii of Caesar’s Legion.”

“Vulpes Inculta, right,” Michael said, nodding. “You mind if I call you Vulpes?”

Michael guessed that he was being frowned at, but beneath the goggles and the outlandish helmet that Vulpes Inculta wore it was impossible to tell.

“If you really have to,” the Frumentarii replied slightly icily.

“OK, great,” Michael said. “Look, Vulpes, I’m not gonna lie; you try and jump us and take this package, then, well, it’s eleven on four; you’re gonna get it. But, we’re all armed, we’ve all fought people before; we aren’t just some townies who just rely on walls to keep us safe. So, you try and take it, it’s yours, but we’re going to do some damage, aren’t we, you’re going to lose people. But, and here I am guessing that this package of yours is important, if you go back to Caesar with a full-strength raiding party as well as whatever it is you’re looking for like when you came out, then that’s going to make you look good.”

Vulpes Inculta was quiet for a moment, before he said; “What do you suggest?”

“Well, we were being paid on delivery,” Michael said. “So you give us the fee for it, we give you whatever’s in this package and then we part ways amicably like civilised people.”

“How much was the delivery?” Vulpes Inculta asked.

“Five hundred caps,” Michael said, pulling up the highest plausible figure he could.

“I’ll give you two aureii for it,” Vulpes Inculta replied.

Michael was about to press it, before he looked at the Legionaries that had him and his small group surrounded and decided against that course of action.

“Alright,” he said. “Can’t really argue with that, can I?”

He withdrew the small cardboard-wrapped package from the satchel he carried it in, and passed it over to Vulpes Inculta, who handed over a few small golden coins in return. Michael bit one of them to check if it was genuine, before he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Good doing business with you, Vulpes.”

Vulpes Inculta nodded, before he said; “A final question for you, mercenary; one of our long-range patrols out here disappeared a few weeks ago, one lead by a Decanus called Calidius. Do you have any idea what happened to them?”

“Afraid not,” Michael said, thrown for a moment. “Must have run into the NCR or something.”

Vulpes Inculta shrugged.

“I thought as much,” he said. “We’ll be returning to the Fort now that we have this.”

Michael nodded.

“Anything worth taking here?” he asked, gesturing to the stricken town around them.

“We haven’t looted much, no,” Vulpes Inculta replied. “You’re welcome to help yourselves.”

He nodded to the Legionaries under his command, and they headed for the town’s gate past the rest of Michael’s small group.

“Ave, Brutus,” he said to the massive man as he passed him, the mercenary returning the greeting, and with that they left.

Michael looked around the half-destroyed town, before he shook his head.

“Well, we definitely got the short straw there,” he said. “Damn, can’t believe it.”

“We got paid, didn’t we?” Ed asked. “And we got out alive.”

“I suppose,” Michael said, eyeing the two coins he’d bee given. “Not as well as we could have been.”

He shrugged, before we said; “We’ll split this once we get back to the strip. Might as well see what we can take while we’re here.”

Posted by: McBadgere Jan 27 2012, 05:39 AM

huh.gif ...Why no shootee head off?...Arnaud shootie Vulpes' head off...So why no shootie head off?...

biggrin.gif ...

The first time I got to Nipton...My Fallout Farn character walked up to Vulpes, suffered his waffle (not a euphamism) and then blew his head off...and while yes, he barely made it out in one piece, took all of the rest out...Arnaud was well unimpressed...

But that's just me... tongue.gif ...

As for yer story...Oh-ho-ho yes!!... biggrin.gif ...

Loved it...

Nipton was brilliantly realised, not a pretty place...

The indoor campfire scene was excellent... biggrin.gif ...

Loved this...

QUOTE
“You said you were a pacifist, right? So how come you were shooting at that tusker?”

“It’s a tusker,” Michael replied dismissively. “Besides, the thing didn’t care.”


That made me laugh...Brilliant characters...Brilliant scenes...

Needs more Ripley... biggrin.gif ...

But that's just me... tongue.gif wink.gif ...

Nice one!!!... biggrin.gif ...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: gerun Jan 30 2012, 07:34 PM

Awesome story man, i realy like that. You should publish somewhere in blogs or something you are good writer.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 30 2012, 09:14 PM

McBadgere: In answer to your question, well,from what I'm guessing, this Arnaud fella of yours is a heroic badas$. Michael, on the other hand, is a cowardly, greedy, self-serving swine; there's a big difference. wink.gif

I'm having a lot of fun working Michael's rather odd form of pacificism into the story, and it does make for some interesting dilemmas in a world as violent as the Mojave. And Ripley should poke his ugly face into proceedings in the next chapter, don't worry.

Gerun: Thanks very much! smile.gif I never really considered blog publishing before, but I might well give it some consideration now that you mention it. Cheers!

Posted by: mALX Feb 3 2012, 05:04 AM

*

Ooh, you should make the mod! Urk, I hate Cazadores! Oh no, Nipton! I've got memories of guard dogs there, lol.

Awesome meeting with Vulpes Inculta, (loved his character in game!) really loved the interchange the trio had with him! Great Write!

*

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 3 2012, 08:35 PM

Malx: But I don't have the ub3r 1337 skillz to do that. Or New Vegas on my PC. So how would I do so? HOW?!

Vulpes sequence was rather fun, even if it was simply because it went for the rather unusual approach of bargaining with him and then, instead of telling him to mend his Wicked Ways ™ just asked nicely if there's any loot. It's surprisingly fun to write a character as amoral as Michael.


Anyway, more is here. As of this chapter, I have decided that I hate both the King and the Kings for having such confusing interchangable names. Damn them. Damn them all

Also, before anyone yells at me for getting it wrong, I’ve taken a bit of creative license with the King and made him a little older than he appears in the game. He always just felt like he should be slightly older than he is with his voice, so I figured I’d just roll with that idea. Whatever, it’s creative license and art and stuff. So, y’know, complaining about it actually means you’re oppressing art and freedom of speech, which probably means you’re a Communist or something.

Commie…

Chapter 9

All in all, I guess Nipton wasn’t a complete train wreck. Hardly our biggest success, but we got out of it with our hides in one piece and with a bit of cash as well. As for the loot, well, Nipton was a hole in the ground even before the Legion came, and all that we found that was worth any caps was a laser rifle that Abby picked up which she decided to keep. So with that done, we saddled up and headed back to base. I wasn’t too worried about taking flak for giving the package to the wrong person; oh, we delivered the package, yeah, picked up some supplies and headed back here. Really? The Legion raided the place and burnt it to the ground? Jesus, what are the chances?

The walls of concrete chunks and detritus that surrounded Freeside and New Vegas finally hove into view, the buildings within spearing skywards, and Michael grinned as they approached.

“Good to be back home, eh?” he asked as they made their way along the cracked road they were travelling along, in the shadow of an ancient and crumbling raised freeway.

“I’ll be feeling better once I’ve had a nice cold beer or something,” Ed remarked.

“I’ll drink to that,” Brutus remarked with a chuckle.

Michael nodded as they trotted further onwards. The journey wasn’t long, and the most major hazards that they had to deal with were a few potholes, and soon enough they’d reached the east gate of Freeside. The gate’s infamous sign, a massive construction of ramshackle scrap metal with ‘Freesid’ spelt out on it in flickering neon letters, was still intact, and they guided their horses to the base of it where Freeman Ike’s stables were.

There was a trio of Kings hanging out by the metal gates to the stables, the place’s security, wearing their usual uniform of leather jackets and jeans, and Michael and his small party suddenly got their attention as they approached. One of the stepped forwards as they reached it, flicking his burnt-down cigarette into the dust, and said; “You’re Michael Anston, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement, and Michael pulled his horse to halt.

“Who wants to know?” he asked.

“The King wants to see you,” was the answer he got. “Now.”

“OK,” Michael said. “I’ll go see him once we’ve got our horses stabled.”

“No, he wants to see you right now.”

“And you expect me to take horses into Freeside?” Michael said. “Someone’d steal and eat the damn things before I could blink.”

“Not my problem.”

“Well,” Michael said, dismounting and approaching the King who’d challenged him. “Tell his majesty I’ll be right over once I’m done with the horses.”

The King stared at him for a moment, before he said; “Fine.”

“Good,” Michael said, patting him gently on the cheek. “Go on, off ya go.”

He turned away from the ganger, heading through the open gates of the stables as the others dismounted and followed him into the dusty yard. There were a few horses tethered in place underneath a corrugated iron shelter, out of the sun as a stablehand groomed them, and there was the sound of whinnying and whickering from the barn that dominated the far corner.

“Hey, Freeman!” Michael called. “Freeman!”

There was no reply, though the stablehand gave them a glance, and Michael said; “Go fetch your boss, kid.”

He got a nod, and the kid hurried to the wooden building that sat next to the barn. He knocked on the door, and it was pulled open by a rotund, flabby man in a vest and stained trousers.

“What is it?” he growled past a smoking cigar.

“It’s me, that’s what,” Michael called over with a grin. Freeman saw him and smiled with stained teeth, before he said; “Michael! Good to see you back in town already.”

He glared irritably at the stablehand and added; “Go get their horses already.”

“Good to be back,” Michael said as the kid took the bridle from him and lead it away. “Though I was getting lip from the guys at your gate just a minute ago. What was that about?”

“Oh, yeah,” Freeman replied, taking a puff from his cigar. “King was getting antsy about that little base of operations you’ve got set up in Freeside. Apparently he had some people knocking on your door just yesterday only to find you were out of town.”

Michael frowned.

“You know what he wants?” he enquired.

“No idea,” Freeman answered with a shrug. “All I know is he wants to see you.”

“Eh, fine,” Michael said. “Oh yeah, how are those horses I sold you?”

“Those Legion ones?” Freeman asked. “Managed to flog ‘em off for a pretty good price to some Chairman in a fancy suit and some Khan bodyguards; going on some trip to Goodsprings or somewhere around there, I think he mentioned. Anyway, it was good of you to send ‘em my way on the cheap.”

“No problem,” Michael, a man who knew the value of an unreturned favour, said. “Hell, they’d have been more trouble for us if we’d kept them.”

He shrugged, and said; “Anyway, I should probably go find out what the King wants with me. Probably isn’t anything good.”

“Well, best of luck, then,” Freeman replied. “Try not to wind up dead, will ya? You’re a good customer.”

“Believe me, I’ll be doing my best not to,” Michael said with a grin.

They made their way into Freeside, heading towards their old cinema through the dilapidated half-ruin that was New Vegas’ outer slum. The streets seemed quieter at the moment, more subdued; you didn’t last long in Freeside if you couldn’t smell trouble, and there was tension in the air.

“Lot of Kings about,” Brutus remarked quietly.

Michael nodded, seeing members of Freeside’s impromptu law enforcement lounging on street corners or old lampposts. They weren’t doing anything and there didn’t seem to be more than usual, but Michael couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being surrounded. The King believed in the rule of law and the rights of man, he told himself, and if there was anyone who’d at least let him speak his peace it would be him; the Kings wouldn’t just surround them and shoot them down, that wasn’t his style.

They reached the final run of the Strip, where the King’s School of Impersonation was as well as their own base, the tinny music that played from the School echoing across the street emptily. Michael slung the satchel that he carried off his shoulder and handed it to Brutus.

“Go head back to the base,” he said to the ex Legionary.

“You sure you don’t want me in there?” Brutus asked,

“Nah, I need to look like I’m willing to play nice and, no offence, but you’re not gonna make that kind of impression,” Michael said. “Besides, if the Kings decide to jump us then I doubt there’s all that much you could do about it anyway.”

“Alright,” Brutus said. “I’ll see you later.”

Michael nodded, and headed towards the King’s School of Impersonation.

I’m not gonna lie; I was pretty damn nervous about this whole meeting. The Kings had one hell of a lot more muscle than Anston and Co., and if they decided to kick down our door then we were done for. But if I could talk him round, then we should be good. Of course, this was the second time I had to negotiate from a weak position in the last couple of days, and believe me when I say it isn’t a fun situation.

“Hold up,” one of the Kings said with a raised hand as Michael entered the main theatre hall of the King’s School of Impersonation. “Any weapons?”

Michael pulled out his pistol and handed it to him without argument. The King nodded, and quickly patted his pockets down.

“He’s clean,” he called over his shoulder.

“Send him through,” another voice ordered, and the King who had just searched him nodded.

Michael stepped past the ganger and sat down in the chair proffered to him, next to the King of Freeside.

For a man who carried such authority in the slum, he was a rather unimpressive sight in many ways. His thinning hair, styled in a quiff, was streaked with grey, and more than a little belly protruded over his belt, but Michael knew from the way that the Kings that surrounded him looked at him with respect proved him their undisputed leader. He was in the presence of someone powerful, and if he didn’t tread carefully then he would invite that power to come crashing down on his head.

“You’re worrying me, Mr Anston,” the King said as Michael sat down. He had a deep, rich velvety voice, one that would probably be able to sing one hell of a song if he put his mind to it. “I can’t say I like that.”

“That so?” Michael asked carefully. “Might I ask why that is, Mr, uh.”

He paused for a moment, and said; “Actually, before we go any further, what do I call you? King, Mr King, Your Majesty?”

“King will do just fine,” the King replied. “And as for why I wanted to speak to you, well, as I said; you’re worrying me. You’re throwing your weight around Freeside, and there are quite a few concerned citizens out there who asked me to have a word with you and ask what the hell you’re doing.”

Michael nodded, before he said; “OK. Throwing our weight around how, exactly?”

“I would have thought that, all things considered, that would be pretty obvious,” the King said. “You seem to have beaten a lot of people up, and I had Mick over from Mick and Ralphs and some merchant named Feyman complaining to me that you full on threatened to kill them. Now, back then I thought you might be some run-of-the-mill gang of thugs, but then you put on a radio ad, and suddenly you’ve got yourself a little base of operations just down the road. That stinks of ambition, and there are a good number concerned citizens here in Freeside who are worried that this place isn’t going to be big enough for you people as well.”

“Who’re these concerned citizens, then?” Michael asked, deciding it would probably be good for him to find out exactly who it was that he could find himself up against.

“Well, Julie Farkas from the over in the old Mormon Fort mentioned you people just a few days ago,” the King said. “And Gloria Van Graff was all for busting the doors of your base and letting you know what’s wrong with threatening her business. You should be thanking me, you know; I was the only person who managed to talk her out of it.”

Michael managed to control his expression for the moment, but that was worrying; the Van Graffs, a merchant family armed to the teeth with energy weaponry and with their own small, but elite, group of guards in their employ, were hoping to go after them. He wouldn’t stand a chance if they decided to.

“The Van Graffs?” he asked, injecting his tone with confused concern. “Why the hell are they going after us? We’re not a threat to their business.”

“Gloria didn’t seem to think of it that way,” the King replied. “She thinks you’re dangerous, too ambitious.”

Michael was quiet, nodding slowly, before he said; “Well, I guess I can’t say I blame her. I won’t lie to you, King, I am an ambitious guy. I dream big, and I want to make those dreams real some day. But if she thinks we’re a threat to her business then I’d tell her myself that we’re not interested in selling energy weapons.”

“I think she was more worried about the number of heads you were breaking,” the King replied, leaning back in his chair.

Michael shrugged.

“Look,” he said. “We’re mercs. Breaking heads is what we do. If you wanted us to stop that then we’d have to find some whole new way to make caps and, frankly, I’m not too interested in stopping. And I’ll admit it; we’re not exactly saints around here. But, if you’re worried about our modes of operation, then don’t be. We’re concerned with doing business in a nice, civilised manner, and we’re not the sort who’re dumb enough to crap on our own doorstep.”

“So what’s that mean, exactly?” the King asked.

“Simple,” Michael said. “We carry on doing our work, but when we do jobs in Freeside we don’t touch anyone important to business, none of the Van Graffs or the Followers or anyone like that. I can’t say our work isn’t going to involve us killing people here, because that’s what it’s about, at the end of the day, but to be honest most of our work isn’t going to be in Freeside anyway, so you don’t need to worry.”

The King was quiet for a moment, and Michael took that as a cue to continue.

“Look,” he said. “I can appreciate that you’re concerned, but you don’t need to be. I’m not here to turf everyone out of Freeside and burn the place to the ground. I’m here to do business, first and foremost, and if that means playing nice, then fine, I’ll play nice.”

The King nodded at this.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s fair. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Michael Anston, and I reckon there’ll be other people in Freeside doing the same. Just keep that in mind, son.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Michael said, standing up and extending a hand, which the King shook. “Was a pleasure talking to you, King, and I’m glad we got this little misunderstanding straightened out.”

I paid a little visit to the Silver Rush and talked things over with Gloria Van Graff (something that was even more nerve-wracking than speaking to the King; he’s a reasonable guy, but the Van Graffs are armed with some of the most powerful weapons in the Mojave and that harpy’s on a hair trigger even at the best of times). Anyway, I explained to her that I wasn’t out to get the Van Graffs or anyone else in Freeside, and as a token of my goodwill I bought a nice new plasma pistol from there and offered her a discount on any jobs she’d want us to take up on. I don’t think I made her actually like me, but she doesn’t like anyone much and so long as I don’t have them trying to kill me I’d probably be alright.

Of course, the real lesson in all this was that I wasn’t playing this game carefully enough. The others had been willing to let stuff slide now I’d explained it, on account of me being a new player without a full understanding of the rules, but now that I was in the know I knew that they wouldn’t be so willing to do so again. I’d have to play nice and careful and, God forbid, might even have to turn down jobs if they meant I started treading on people’s toes. Because if the Kings or the Van Graffs decided they wanted us out of town we were done for. Maybe some time in the future, things would change, but until then I’d have to be careful.

But I wasn’t going to quit just yet.


Posted by: McBadgere Feb 3 2012, 09:44 PM

QUOTE
McBadgere: In answer to your question, well,from what I'm guessing, this Arnaud fella of yours is a heroic badas$. Michael, on the other hand, is a cowardly, greedy, self-serving swine; there's a big difference


Fair enough... biggrin.gif ...Arnaud isn't exactly squeaky-clean, but bad guys beware...And Michael isn't actually a bad guy...Just a mercenary...As you say cowardly etc... tongue.gif ...If he wasn't exactly being bad...Arnaud might actually have worked with him...Well, Arnaud and ED-E... biggrin.gif ...They have a total mad-on for the Legion though... laugh.gif ...

Aaamywho...

Loved this chapter...Good fun...

The Kings got on my nerves too...The only reason I did that whole thing was to get the free pass to the Strip...

Brilliantly done...

Nice one!!!... biggrin.gif ...

*Applauds heartily*...


Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 4 2012, 12:01 AM

Hehe, interesting sounding fella then, this Arnaud.

My grief was with the naming systems of the Kings, not with the Kings themselves. I quite liked them, personally...

And thanks for the praise, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. smile.gif

Posted by: mALX Feb 4 2012, 09:24 AM

*


Eh, I don't have New Vegas on PC either, just the 360.

I loved the King in the game, and how you've portrayed him here. Have to agree with you on the Silver Rush - those people had me shaking every time I went in, scared to death they would just suddenly decide I was no longer welcome (like they did the first time I walked in accidently, lol)

Awesome Write !!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 4 2012, 03:44 PM

Yeah, Van Graffs are frightening. Though how did you manage to get in with all your stuff? I thought the guard guy outside stopped you.

Anyway, thank you very much, and I'm glad you enjoyed.

P.S. Working my way through Maxical's Adventures; so far, it's great stuff! smile.gif

Posted by: mALX Feb 4 2012, 04:23 PM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Feb 4 2012, 09:44 AM) *

Yeah, Van Graffs are frightening. Though how did you manage to get in with all your stuff? I thought the guard guy outside stopped you.

Anyway, thank you very much, and I'm glad you enjoyed.

P.S. Working my way through Maxical's Adventures; so far, it's great stuff! smile.gif



I had just (finally) made it into the Strip, that was one of the first places I went to. I think you are right that I was stripped of gear going in, all I know is that they opened fire on me in the first seconds - didn't like the way my character looked? I died. Reloaded the autosave - killed again.

Finally had to go back to a previous save before entering the Strip and do the whole thing all over again. (finding the gate in - that took forever for me. Having to do it all over again was awful.) I think the only way you live when you go in there is if you are on a quest.

I loved New Vegas, and your story has me feeling egged to play it again! They put out a new patch last summer, so maybe I'll be able to make it to the big fight at the Dam this time! Twice my game crashed fatally before reaching the big battle, both times the saves were wiped out.

QUOTE

It's surprisingly fun to write a character as amoral as Michael.


I have to agree with you on this, but only in New Vegas. In the TES games and Fallout 3 it did not give the same feel as it does in Vegas. My vegas character was pretty darned cold and made all his decisions based on how they would benefit himself, (with the exception of Veronica. He treated her well).

(and thank you for reading mine, appreciate that!)

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 5 2012, 06:59 PM

QUOTE
I had just (finally) made it into the Strip, that was one of the first places I went to. I think you are right that I was stripped of gear going in, all I know is that they opened fire on me in the first seconds - didn't like the way my character looked?

"Oh god, it's mALX! KILL IT! KILL IT WITH PLASMA!!" tongue.gif
QUOTE
I have to agree with you on this, but only in New Vegas. In the TES games and Fallout 3 it did not give the same feel as it does in Vegas. My vegas character was pretty darned cold and made all his decisions based on how they would benefit himself, (with the exception of Veronica. He treated her well).

(and thank you for reading mine, appreciate that!)

Yeah, that's true; in FO3 it usually felt like you got the same rewards for being a hero with people liking you as well, while in New Vegas it felt more realistic. Not to mention it also felt like your decisions and so forth had real impact, which I liked.

And no problem; you've taken the time to read through this, and I can at least return the favour! smile.gif

Posted by: mALX Feb 6 2012, 05:20 AM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Feb 5 2012, 12:59 PM) *

QUOTE
I had just (finally) made it into the Strip, that was one of the first places I went to. I think you are right that I was stripped of gear going in, all I know is that they opened fire on me in the first seconds - didn't like the way my character looked?

"Oh god, it's mALX! KILL IT! KILL IT WITH PLASMA!!" tongue.gif
QUOTE
I have to agree with you on this, but only in New Vegas. In the TES games and Fallout 3 it did not give the same feel as it does in Vegas. My vegas character was pretty darned cold and made all his decisions based on how they would benefit himself, (with the exception of Veronica. He treated her well).

(and thank you for reading mine, appreciate that!)

Yeah, that's true; in FO3 it usually felt like you got the same rewards for being a hero with people liking you as well, while in New Vegas it felt more realistic. Not to mention it also felt like your decisions and so forth had real impact, which I liked.

And no problem; you've taken the time to read through this, and I can at least return the favour! smile.gif



ROFL !!!!

Agreed, it was more realistic in New Vegas. I loved that you could get people hating you, or wear their faction's armor and trick them into thinking you were a part of their faction.

In Oblivion the only people that even noticed if your character was evil was the guards, and in Fallout 3 everyone liked you regardless of your karma except the hired mercenaries. I shot Daddy James in the face repeatedly when he gives you the BB gun at 10 years old, and his Assistant just stood there and watched, then talked sweetly to me, ROFL !!!


Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 10 2013, 10:53 PM

This is madness! This is blasphemy! This! Is! THREADOMANCEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Yeah, it's back. You can blame Eva for this; all the talk of New Vegas she stirred up, plus her story and general struggles with writing the last few chapters of Madgod have got me trying this out for a bit to keep in shape and because Michael and his band of merry mercs have never quite escaped the back of my mind. I mean, it's only been a year since the last update. That ain't too bad, right?

Right?



Yeah, I'll just post the chapter up...

Chapter 10

“Oh thank god you’re alright,” Doris declared as Michael stepped in through the front doors of Anston and Co’s headquarters. She grabbed him in an embrace and kissed him on both cheeks. “We all thought the King was gonna kill you!”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Michael said. “I had it under control, baby, don’t worry.”

The rest of the company were gathered in the building’s foyer, and Michael raised an eyebrow at them as he stepped out of Doris’ embrace.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked.

“We figured the Kings might come busting down our door any minute, so we decided we’d give them a nice warm welcome,” Brutus said, sliding his machete back into its sheath. “Glad that isn’t the case, though.”

“What happened in there?” Alex asked.

“Long story short, the King and a couple of other eminent citizens of Freeside didn’t like the fact that we’d set up our little base and were worried about what our long term plans might be,” Michael said. “I just assured him that he had nothing to worry about and that we had no intention of making any trouble. As far as I can tell, we’re in the clear so long as we behave ourselves.”

That got a round of nods from the rest of the company.

“Alright, you can get going with whatever it is you’ve got on the go,” Michael said. “Doris, sweetie, can you stay a moment?”

“Sure, what is it?” Doris asked as the rest of Anston and Co dispersed.

“Just wanted to ask if anybody had had any work that needed doing,” Michael said.

“Some scientist type over at Camp McCarran said he needed some mercenaries to get something done for him,” Doris said. “Go into an old vault and find some data; said it would pay well.”

“Interesting,” Michael said. “That has the potential to be profitable, definitely, even if it’s just from salvage and loot. Anything else?”

“Not really,” Doris said. “Seeing as the King was getting kind of iffy about us I think people on the Strip and in Freeside might have wanted to steer clear.”

“I see,” Michael nodded. “That’s annoying. Actually, thinking of that, did anybody threaten you or the rest of the company while I was gone? Make any trouble?”

“Alex said that a couple of Kings told him that he was gonna have to watch his back when he was walking through Freeside,” Doris said. “And Red Lucy was getting a bit antsy about Brutus missing his slot in the Thorn, but that was no big deal.”

“Eh, no surprise with the Kings,” Michael said. “Still, they shouldn’t be making any more trouble, hopefully.”

Doris nodded.

“So what you gonna do now?” she asked.

“Get in touch with the contact for the job and let her know that the package made its way to Nipton,” Michael said. “Just wrap up the job.”

“Yeah, how did that go?”

“Coulda been better,” Michael said. “Nearly got gutted by a tusker on the way there and once we did get to Nipton we found the place had been torched by a group of raiders from Caesar’s Legion.”

“Christ,” Doris shook her head. “How did that pan out?”

“Well, turns out they were interested in that package we were delivering,” Michael said. “So we passed it on to them for a couple of Aureii and made our way back here. Though I’d appreciate it if you kept that last part quiet; official company line is gonna be that we got to Nipton, delivered it to the person we were supposed to leave it with and then headed back before the Legion rocked up.”

“Got it,” Doris said. “You’re gonna be off, then?”

“That’s the plan,” Michael said. He her kissed on the cheek. “I’ll speak to you later, honey.”

They parted ways, Doris heading through the doors of the firing range, as Michael flicked the radio on his Pip Boy on and adjusted the frequency to the one agreed on.

“Anybody there?” he called. “Paging Alison Hale, do you hear me?”

“This is Alison Hale,” came the reply. “Who is this?”

“Michael Anston,” Michael said. “You know, of Anston and Co?”

“Is the job done?” Alison asked. “Or is there a problem?”

“The job’s done,” Michael said. “Just confirming it, that’s all.”

“Good,” came the reply. “Come meet me at the bar at the Ultra Luxe, we’ll talk there; I don’t want to say much else over an unsecured channel, not when people might be listening.”

“Uh, sure, see you there,” Michael said. “Gimme ten minutes or so.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

The connection was cut, and Michael raised an eyebrow. After that, he went upstairs to where Brutus had disappeared to. He found him in the room the former Legionary had made his home, hunched over a table on which he had laid his prosthetic arm. The casing was off and he was looking over the servo in the elbow with a screwdriver in his hand.

“Hey Mike,” he said, looking up as Michael entered the room. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Michael said. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just taking a look at the servo,” Brutus said. “Hasn’t quite felt right ever since that tusker tried to rip this thing apart, seeing if I can fix it up.”

“Got it,” Michael said. “Thing is, I was heading to the Strip and I was just gonna ask if you could come with.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Brutus said. “I’m kind of tired from the journey and I’d rather just get my arm fixed up and then hit the hay.”

“Ah, c’mon Brutus,” Michael said. “If I head out to Freeside on my own I’ll get robbed in a second, and I don’t trust any King I pay to see me through in one piece. I’ll buy you a drink once we’re there, if you want.”

Brutus was quiet for a moment as he mulled it over, before he said; “Alright. Just gimme a minute to get the casing of this thing on and we can go.”

With only his right hand, he placed the thick, reinforced steel casing on the arm and inserted the screws that held it in place in one by one. Each movement was made with meticulous care, Brutus squinting at the screws as he wound each one in with his organic hand. Once it was in place, he lifted the heavy arm up with a grunt and inserted it into the bulky steel port built into the stump of his left shoulder. He flexed the claw a few times and moved the arm about to see if it was still working at its best, and nodded to Michael.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said.

As they stepped out into the sweltering heat of Freeside, Michael couldn’t help but notice that there were people beginning move about between its crumbling concrete and brick buildings. The sense of tension in the air had abated, and aside from a trio of Kings hanging about by the door of an old apartment building, most of the gang members had disappeared.

“So what exactly did you say to the King?” Brutus asked as they went up the street.

“Basically, he was worried about us throwing our weight around Freeside,” Michael said. “Said that there might be trouble with the Kings if we carried on doing it. In the end, we came to an agreement; we don’t mess with the Kings, the Followers of the Apocalypse, the Van Graffs or anybody important in Freeside and they’ll leave us be.”

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Brutus said.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “I’m just glad we could sort the whole thing out without it ending up being us versus the Kings.”

“That wouldn’t have ended well for us, no way,” Brutus agreed as they reached the gate to the Strip.

“Credit check,” one of the bulky blue Protectrons ordered in its harsh synthetic voice as they approached, rolling forward on the single wheel that supported it. Michael just flashed the corporate pass he’d been given by one of Mr House’s human officials a while back. The robot scanned it over before it announced; “Head on through. Enjoy your visit to the New Vegas Strip.”

“I don’t get why they bother with the whole ‘enjoy your visit’ schtick,” Michael said as the mesh gates that lead to the Strip swung open for them. “I mean, with that voice they just sound like they’re telling you to have a nice time or else.”

“Least they try to be polite,” Brutus shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess,” Michael said as he glanced over the strip. Even in the daylight it was lit up by silent, chilly flames of blazing neon that adorned the casinos, the doors of the massive cathedrals dedicated to gods of money and material gain thrown wide open. They made their way along the cracked concrete road, up to the circular forecourt of the Ultra-Luxe, the area thrown into shade by the shadow of the large, curved building, around the fountain in the middle of the court.

The bar inside the building was probably the most impressive in New Vegas, a ring around a large metal sculpture made to look like some kind of huge blooming flower. One of the suited doormen, the lower half of his face covered by the masks that all the casino’s staff wore, bowed as they entered and said; “Good afternoon, sirs, and welcome to the Ultra-Luxe. Before you go any further, I’m afraid I must ask you relinquish any weapons on your person; it’s casino policy, for security measures, as I’m sure you two gentlemen understand.”

“We’ve just got this,” Michael said, handing over his pistol. The greeter’s eyes flickered to Brutus’ arm. “What, you want him to give up his damn arm?”

“I’m afraid that some guests might find such a thing…unnerving,” the doorman said.

“I don’t see you asking any other visitors to take their arms off for you,” Brutus said. “And I don’t see you giving them a hard time just ‘cause they’ve had the bad luck to be injured.”

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” Michael asked. “That ain’t fair.”

The doorman’s face flickered with indecision before he said; “You’re both quite right. I apologies most profusely, so please procede.”

He handed Michael a plastic token and added; “Simply hand this in at the cloakroom before you leave to retrieve your weapon.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, as they made their way to the bar. The doorman pulled a walkie-talkie from the inside of his jacket, and just on the edge of his hearing Michael heard him say; “Could do with a couple of extra guys from security up here; got two potential trouble makers that need keeping an eye on. Some thug with a big robot arm and a little weaselly friend of his in a suit.”

Michael ignored them and looked for his contact. It took him only a few moments to find her; a blonde woman at the bar in a long red dress, smoking a cigarette on the end of a long holder. Despite the time of day, she had a cocktail on the counter before her.

“Anston,” she said by way of greeting.

“Good to see ya, Alison,” Michael said, sliding into the seat next to him.

“Nice to see you to,” Alison replied, though her tone of voice suggested that this was merely for the sake of formality. She nodded to the bartender. “Get yourselves a drink, on me.”

“Vodka martini,” Michael said.

“Just a Sunset for me,” Brutus added.

The bartender nodded and retreated to pour the drinks. Out of the corner of his vision, Michael noticed that a pair of Ultra-Luxe staff had appeared, two bulky men whose suits didn’t fit all that comfortably over their large frames, the leather straps of pistol holsters just visible beneath their jackets.

Alison took a pull of her cigarette with enough ferocity to suggest she had some kind of personal grudge against it, and looked over at Michael.

“So, Anston, you get the job done?” she asked.

“As we were paid to do,” Michael replied. “We got to Nipton, delivered the package and got the cash for it there, as agreed.”

It was one of the best lies, as it was nothing but the truth.

“Good,” Alison agreed. “My employer wanted verification of that from you personally; you have no idea how important that package was.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Michael said as their drinks arrived. He took a sip, savouring the flavour of chilled mint and alcohol. “Who is your employer, anyway? I like to know who I’m working for.”

“My employer is a man who values his privacy,” Alison replied. “And one who knows the worth of agents who don’t ask too many questions.”

“One of those types, then,” Michael said. “I suppose it’s only fair to respect that sort of thing, but, you know, there are some people who might not appreciate the kind of lack of respect I’m getting right now.”

“You know what, Anston?” Alison said. “From where I’m sitting you’re a hired gun with a fancy suit and delusions of grandeur who’s only motivation is simple greed, who convinces himself he’s a civilised man because he asks other people to shoot people on his behalf and someone who is, once you take his suit, his ego and his very shaky code of morals away, nothing more than a gutless coward who brought his ‘roided up tribal friend with him to try and intimidate the ice queen that he doesn’t like but will suffer the company of her because she gives him money. You’ll forgive me if I reserve my respect for those more deserving of it.”

She tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette and finished her cocktail.

“I’m guessing that that’s the long and the short of the situation,” she said.

“You got one thing wrong,” Brutus said.

“And what’s that?” Alison asked.

“Don’t use steroids,” Brutus said. “Never have; Legion doesn’t approve them.”

“So you mean to tell me that you got that big without using chems?”

“Yep,” Brutus replied, taking a swig of sarsaparilla.

“Huh,” Michael said. “Guess I should’ve listened to my mother when she told me to eat my greens.”

“Your friend’s bodybuilding techniques aside, the point still stands,” Alison said. “Stop pretending that this is a conversation of equals when all that’s happening is me giving you caps to do my employer’s dirty work. I don’t have the time or patience for that.”

“And supposing I take offence at that kind of talk,” Michael said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alison said. “You like the money too much for it to make any kind of difference.”

Brutus snorted at this.

“Hey, shut up,” Michael snapped at him before turning to glance over at Alison. “You’re a real people person, y’know.”

“My employer doesn’t pay me because I’m nice,” Alison replied. “He pays me because I get things done.”

She stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette, all but stabbing the ash tray with the embers, and removed the filter from its holder. She snapped open the satchel that she had stowed over her shoulder next to the pistol holder and inserted it inside the bag.

“More work will be coming up soon,” she said. “I’ll contact you again when I need the services you and your band of thugs can offer.”

“Yeah, fine,” Michael said, a sour edge to his expression. Alison nodded, stood and left the bar. He glared over at Brutus, who was still grinning at him.

“She really put you through the wringer there, Mike,” he said.

“Shaddup,” Michael said. “God, that woman pisses me off.”

“So why don’t you just not work for her?”

“Too good a source of income to turn down,” Michael said. He glanced around at the Ultra-Luxe. “Feel like a hand of Blackjack?”

“Nah,” Brutus said. “I wouldn’t mind heading back to the HQ; I need some rest.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Michael said. “Between talking to the King and Van Graffs down and dealing with the ice queen I’ve probably managed to earn myself a bit of R&R.”

Brutus nodded.

“Let’s finish our drinks and head back,” he said. “Hell, we’ve got tomorrow; brand new day, full of opportunity.”

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 10 2013, 11:15 PM

I did wonder how long it would take you... biggrin.gif ...

An excellent job, as ever...

I have missed the boys something rotten... tongue.gif ...

Looking forward to whichever story you throw at us... laugh.gif ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: Eva Feb 10 2013, 11:30 PM

QUOTE(Colonel Mustard @ Feb 10 2013, 09:53 PM) *

You can blame Eva for this; all the talk of New Vegas she stirred up, plus her story and general struggles with writing the last few chapters of Madgod have got me trying this out for a bit to keep in shape and because Michael and his band of merry mercs have never quite escaped the back of my mind. I mean, it's only been a year since the last update. That ain't too bad, right?

Right?


Ahaa, you could blame me... and i'd be very happy to take the blame! MUST START READING THIS! Glad I'm not the only NV storyteller here!!

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 16 2013, 01:20 AM

McBadgere: Thanks very much! I'm pretty pleased to have them back too, and the stuff I've got planned is looking to be a lot of fun.

Eva: And I would've gotten away with not writing this if it weren't for you kids and your darn meddlin' dog!

Wait a minute, that isn't right...




Also, go to page 1 to check out my awesome cover!


Chapter 11

“So here we are,” Michael said as they drew up to the imposing gates. “Camp McCarran, NCR-Central.”

The gates to the former airport were large, imposing things, heavily fortified with a guard tower on either side and sandbagged emplacements on the front, every position armed with a machine gun and bristling with barbed wire. On top of each tower was a searchlight, switched off in the daylight, their large round lenses facing towards the wasteland beyond it; Camp McCarran was right next door to Fiend and Great Khan territory, and the gate to the Mojave’s second most heavily guarded fortress was well kept.

As Anston and Co approached on horseback, the machine guns swivelled to face them, the soldiers standing sentry took aim with their rifles and even a few grenade launchers and a woman wearing the pips of a lieutenant picked up a microphone and called out; “Stop right there! One of you forward to identify yourselves, or head back the way you came now!”

Michael trotted his horse forwards ahead of the rest of his company, dismounting near the gate and approaching the lieutenant on foot. She had a carbine in her hands but she lowered it as he came close. The other soldiers kept their weapons raised.

“Your name, stranger?” she asked.

“Michael Anston, of Anston and Co,” Michael said. “We were asked here by Doctor Hildern, to do some work here.”

“I see,” the lieutenant said, pulling a walkie-talkie from the pocket of her fatigues and flicking it on. “Come in Terminus, this is Gatekeeper, come in Terminus, over.”

“Gatekeeper, this is Terminus, what can we do for you, over,” the small device crackled.

“We’ve got seven people here who claim to be part of a mercenary company, name of Anston and Co,” the lieutenant said. “They say they’ve got an appointment with Doctor Hildern. Please confirm, over.”

“That’s right, Gatekeeper, let them through. Terminus out.”

“Stand down!” the lieutenant ordered her troops. “Alright, Anston, your people are good to go. Somebody get this gate open, let ‘em through! Private Rheese!”

“Yes ma’am?” a young soldier with a baseball cap with a pair of goggles above its sunshade perched on his head asked.

“Escort these people to Doctor Hildern’s lab,” the lieutenant said. “Make sure they don’t get lost.”

“Yes ma’am,” Rheese nodded. “Follow me please, sir.”

The heavy gates swung open as Michael signalled the rest of the company to join him. They dismounted, Brutus getting a few suspicious glares from the soldiers at the gate, and made their way through. The area beyond them was a large, flat plain, occupied primarily by rows of tents, though here and there were larger buildings made from brick, scrap metal and concrete. A road surrounded the entire plain and a platoon of soldiers was jogging along it, being yelled at by an NCO as they went.

“You can put your horses here, sir, and then I’ll take you to the lab,” Rheese said, gesturing to a large building just by the gate. “It’s the patrol stable, but our cavalry troops are out at the minute so there’s room.”

The horses were stabled and Rheese led them around one of the rows of tents, past a wall of mesh boxes filled with rubble.

“What’re those things?” Michael asked, pointing at one of them.

“Mortar defences, sir,” Rheese said. “For when the Fiends send ordnance strikes our way; all that rubble catches the blast and shrapnel.”

“Good thinking,” Doris said.

“Yeah, that’s the NCR’s Fifth Engineering Division doing their work,” Rheese replied. “Those guys are full of bright ideas like that.”

“They fix this whole place up, then?” Michael asked as they went around the perimeter of basketball court, where a small group of off-duty NCR troopers were in the middle of a game.

“Just about,” Rheese said. “Turned this place from an airport surrounded by chainlink fence into a goddamn fortress.”

‘Fortress’ was the right word for McCarran, considering half the things you heard about the place; ask just about any NCR trooper about it and he’ll be happy to run his mouth about how great the five thousand personnel and vertibird wing they have there is. Credit where it’s due, they keep the Fiends and the Great Khans from overrunning the place, but the way they go on about it you’d almost think that President Tandi herself was buried there.

Abby gave a sudden yelp of shock, glancing around her before her gaze settled on a tall, rangy woman in NCR combat fatigues and a red beret. She lowered the sunglasses she was wearing to grin and wink at her before heading on her way.

“What she do?” Ed asked, casting a suspicious look her way.

“Pinched my a$s,” Abby murmured.

Up ahead, Rheese pushed open the doors of a larger building, and gestured for Michael and the others to follow. They were lead into the atrium of a large building, one that had been refurbished into a command centre of some kind, bustling with personnel who were examining maps and models of the Mojave detailing troop movements, talking into long-range radios or working with computers, the scene overlooked by a the NCR’s flag. Anston and Co got a few glances as they headed through, the eclectic company of mercenaries sticking out in the sea of khaki.

The private knocked on a door covered with a plethora of warning notices, and it was opened a few moments later by a young woman in a labcoat. She shot Rheese a curious look, and the trooper replied; “These are the mercs Doctor Hildern asked for.”

“Ah, I see. Which one of you is in charge?” she asked.

“That’s me,” Michael said.

“Good,” the scientist said. “I’m afraid it’ll just have to be you who comes in; there isn’t enough room in the lab for your entire company.”

“Sure,” Michael replied, and the young woman stepped back from the doorway, into a room occupied by small plants growing in pots along shelves. There were sensors of some kind sticking into the soil, running back to a computer terminal, and a chemistry set on a desk off to one side.

“Doctor Hildern?” the young woman called through a doorway. “That mercenary you hired is here to speak to you.”

“What? Ah, very good.”

A man with greying hair took Michael’s hand and shook it.

“Doctor Thomas Hildern,” he said. “Office of Science and Industry.”

“Michael Anston, Anston and Co. Good to meet you, Doc.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr Anston,” Hildern said. “Now, I suppose you must be wondering what I’ve asked you here for.”

“Details on a job are always useful,” Michael nodded, leaning on the doorframe.

“Of course, of course,” Hildern said. “The work I am asking you to do is one of utmost importance, one that could help improve all human civilisation for the better.”

He gestured to the plants on the shelf, and said; “We get almost all of our food via agriculture, but even though we’re able to provide enough food to support our population, demand is constant and in this climate, it’s difficult to grow enough to meet it; the soil here is dry and not particularly fertile, and in order to keep plants growing at the NCR’s sharecropper farms we need a great deal of water and artificial nutrients to be shipped in. But I believe that we might be near finding a solution to such a problem, a means to let plants grow in almost any climate imaginable. To turn the Mojave from the barren wasteland we know today into a series of green fields that provide enough food to feed the entire NCR.”

“That certainly sounds interesting,” Michael said, deciding to not comment on the fact that the speech sounded rehearsed. “But what’s that got to do with my company?”

“Simple,” Hildern said. “Not far from here, to the northwest, there is an old Vault, one where plant are spilling from the entrance and are growing in abundance even though they are not being tended or watered. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you of the sort of technology that’s stored away in those places, and I believe that there is something down there which holds the solution to this food issue. Get to the Vault’s server room, download any research data that is there and return it to me.”

“What’s the pay?” Michael asked.

“Your company will be given three thousand caps for the job,” Hildern said. “And any technology you can salvage down there is yours to keep; all I’m interested in is the data.”

Michael was quiet for a moment, a look of indecision flitting across his face.

“Is there a problem, Mr Anston?” Hildern asked.

“Yeah, I’m just thinking of something,” Michael said. “I mean, you’ve heard stories of most of those Vaults, right? Some of them are crazy dangerous, aren’t they? Full of ghouls, mutants, mad robots, radiation, all sorts of things, and the safe ones have already been picked clean. This place has been sitting wide open for, what, two hundred years with nobody going in there to scavenge from there or live in it, so what does that say to you?”

“You’re afraid of going in there?” Hildern asked.

“Of course not,” Michael said. “What I’m saying is that right now the current fee doesn’t reflect the inherent risk of this job.”

Okay, that’s a lie; three thousand caps plus all the fancy Vault-Tec loot we can take isn’t to be sniffed at, even when split between the company, but Hildern didn’t need to know that.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Hildren said. “I suppose I can stretch the budget to another thousand caps; it’ll certainly be worth it in the long run. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” Michael said. “So we get to the server room, wherever that is, download the data and get it back here. Nice and simple, I like it.”

He stepped away from the doorframe.

“I’ll see you when I’ve got that data for you,” he said.

“Actually, wait a moment,” Hildern said. “I do have somebody with you who might be useful; he’s an expert on pre-war technology, and considering the nature of Vaults he could be helpful, and he’d like to come along.”

“Who’s that?” Michael asked.

“Nick!” Hildern called. “Come in here, would you?”

A young man with dark hair and a small, thin moustache poked his head around the door. He glanced at Michael with a look of uncertainty and asked; “What do you need, Doctor Hildern?”

“Nick, this is Michael Anston,” Hildern said. “He’s going to Vault Twenty-Two, and I was thinking that you could come with him.”

“Oh, is, er, is that so,” Nick said. “I see. Er, hello.”

Michael extended a hand. Nick hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he shook it.

“Michael Anston,” Michael said. “Good to meet ya, kid.”

“Nicholas Telsen,” Nick replied. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr Anston.”

Hildern pressed a hand into Michael’s shoulder in the universal gesture to show that he wished to have a private word, and lead him to a corner.

“Nick’s an absolute savant,” the doctor said. “But he’s not so good with people. Trust me, though, he’ll be useful in the vault.”

“If you say so,” Michael said.

“Good, good,” Hildern proclaimed, smoothing down the lapels of his lab coat. “If there’s nothing else, then I suggest you head on your way to the Vault.”

Michael nodded, and said to Nick; “C’mon, kid, let’s be on our way.”

They left into the main body of the lab, and were about to head out of the door when the young woman who had greeted stepped in Michael’s way.

“Anything you need?” he asked.

“Yes, there is something,” she said. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and that Hildern didn’t mention Keely at all.”

“Who-ly?”

“She’s one of the OSI’s researchers; she went to the Vault a few days ago to take a look at it herself.”

“She did?” Michael said. “If it’s fine to send a scientist there, why does Hildern want a merc company going in there?”

“He didn’t mention the others? Dammit,” the young woman muttered. “Let’s start from top. I’m Angela Williams, assistant researcher for the OSI.”

“Good to meet you,” Michael said. “But what others?”

“Other mercenaries,” Nick said. Michael glanced at him, and the scientist looked embarrassed at speaking, but managed to scramble together some more resolve to speak. “You guys aren’t the first.”

“You’d be something like the third or fourth bunch that Doctor Hildern has sent, in fact,” Angela said. “You’re the biggest group he’s hired by far, but he’s sent other mercs the way of that vault; none of them have come back. Keely decided to go on her own initiative.”

“Would’ve appreciated it if Hildern had added that little detail in,” Michael said. “But let me guess, you want me to see if Keely’s alright and get her back?”

“That’s right,” Angela said. “There’ll be a reward for you if you can do it. I can’t spare much, but if you’re going there anyway, I’d appreciate it if you looked for her.”

“Yeah, of course,” Michael said. He glanced over at Nick. “Why do you want to come along on a high-risk mission like this, though?”

“I want to help find Keely,” Nick said. “She was always nice to me and Doctor Hildern…he isn’t that great as a boss.”

“By which he means to say he’s a bully who takes credit for the work everyone else here does,” Angela said. “Look after him, will you?”

“I’ll do my best,” Michael said. “But if he gets in the way, I’m sticking him up top to wait outside.”

“Fine by me,” Angela shrugged. “So long as he stays safe.”

Michael nodded.

“I’d best be on my way,” he said. “We’ve got a job to do, after all.”

Vault Twenty-Two. If there was ever a job that made this company what it was in our little golden age, it was that one; sure, it wasn’t the biggest job we did, it wasn’t the best connected one and it didn’t get us noticed by any big figures, though I’d say it was probably one of the most dangerous we ever did.

But Vault Twenty-Two was the job that made Anston and Co. It was the job that proved to us that we could actually take mercenary work somewhere. It was the job that showed us that we might actually have the balls and the brawn and the brains to make it big.

And all things considered, I guess that that was because Vault Twenty-Two was the job that nearly killed every last one us.

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 17 2013, 06:14 AM

Ooooh!!!...

*Drools in antici-pation...But immeadiately regrets the Frankenfurter impression...I don't have the legs for it...And don't bloody start with the "Who the hell is Frankenfurter?" else we will have to have a chat about pop-culture references...*... biggrin.gif ...

But, I digress...

Seriously, amazing stuff...No, I know that's not a shocker, I just like to mention these things... laugh.gif ...

I remember this Vault...It was a three-in-one (oo-er) 'cause I combined it with having to get the air-scrubbers for the BoS as well...Blimey that was a fun one...

Ooooh...This story's amazing...

Loved it then, loving it again now...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds most heartily*...


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