Fallout: Heartland Remedies (IC)

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Azuremoon, Jun 3, 2015.

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  1. [​IMG]

    'Hey there, drifter. You look like you've got a story to tell. Well, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, why not tell me your tale?'


    'Really? That the truth? Damn, child... Well, like a man once said -'

    War. War never changes.

    'Luckily for you, here in the Heartland such a tale is usual, and we have... remedies.'


    Fallout: Heartland Remedies

    Boulder, Colorado - 2485.

    Boulder hadn't always been home. Despite being so close to Denver - Dogtown - it was one of the most peaceful areas in Colorado. In fact, it was the only place in Colorado that was quiet enough where someone could talk about how fucked up the rest of the state was.

    Having grown from the residents of Vault 255, which had focused on inate child potential and plant-life, It had the perfect means of letting out a civilization of peaceful people. And it did. The problem arose from where they emerged when they left the security of their safe Vault. Colorado. Between the ghouls and Ceaser's Legion it was a nightmare for the fair folk of Vault 255 were not prepared. Most of them died, but what they left was the foundation of a civilization, and the oppurtunity for it to grow. They blockaded the way to Denver and made the only road to access it a road through Kansas, then Nebraska, then Wyoming, then back into Colorado. Suddenly, civilization began to pop up in Boulder, Colorado and it lead to a highly populated social hub. It wasn't as classy as the Vault Dwellers had wanted, but it was a peaceful-esque city.

    And so, our tale begins.

    Enter Allysseus May, better known to the area as 'that Raider bitch, Aly'. Like most of Boulder, she wasn't born in Boulder, but migrated from Nebraska after the Vault Dwellers blocked it off from Caeser's Legion. Most of the inhabitants of Boulder came from Wyoming, after the NCR moved in, and the Great Khans followed most peoples found themselves wanting real freedom, and Boulder wasn't a secret and many followed word of mouth.

    The only danger to Boulder was the monsters outside and Raiders. Raiders were the biggest problem in Colorado, and even Caeser's Legion knew it. With that said, when Aly came to town, dressed up in her Colorado Rockies jersey, a completely shaved head save a downed mohawk that consealed half her upper face, and a baseball bat... well, she was surprised they didn't dress the sidewalk with her grey, thinky, head stuff. She'd lived here for two weeks now and... it was quiet. She hadn't expected that. It was nice, but at the same time she hated it.

    Her pupils were dialated as she looked up at the sun. It was so quiet here, the most exciting thing she could do was sit down, in the middle of the street and shoot-up. Today it was a personal blend of mentats and buffout. Grind up the mentat tablets and blend them with some buffout and she discovered even the most boring of days could become an adventure. That's what she was sitting down, on the hot pavement with her hands placed palms down on the ground between her legs and her head pivoting around randomly.
    She was high, and it wasn't a secret.

    Unfortunately for her, today was not the day to be hallucinating on mainstreet.

    #1 Azuremoon, Jun 3, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 11, 2015
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  2. Nevada, Utah, Wyoming or Colorado? These four states, or should he say wastelands, went through his head as he emptied his boots and wondered where all the sand came from. It couldn't be Nevada, that was too long ago since he left New-Vegas with the Happy trails caravan company all the way to new-canaan. It could've been from Utah, at least partially, considering he walked the entire 15 through that land. Wyoming might be a better chance though, considering he only recently walked all the way through the south part from New-Canaan to Cheyenne with the Hollow swords caravan company. Still though, in all fairness most of it was simply from Colorado, Despite the fact that the trip from Cheyenne to Boulder was the shortest one so far, it was the one he literally just finished.

    The first thing John thought when they entered Boulder was how boring it looked, and that thought hadn't changed a bit. He was simply planning on getting drunk in the nearest bar, at least enjoy himself one way or another, but that idea went down shit creek the moment he realised the gem-chems caravan company he travelled with paid him with nothing but just that: chems. It wasn't unheard of that caravaneers often paid their guards with supplies or guns, but always in addition to caps. Happy trails gave him a .45 pistol and 300 caps, Hollow swords gave him a pair of spiked knuckles and 200caps, Gem-chems gave him five doses of Med-X, five doses of buffout, eight doses of jet, three doses of hydra and two doses of mentats. Sold at market value they would just cover his expenses. This was by far the worst deal he got caught in, he'd have to find either a pack of junkies or a desperate doctor to sell these supplies to in order to make a profit. That, or find another caravan company to hook up with and asked to be paid partially in advance.

    The young caravan guard put his boots back on and got to his feet, even after cleaning them out it still felt as though he was walking the wastes barefooted. As he walked down the main street he noticed just how dull this whole place felt, no one seemed to really care about anything and it all seemed hollow and token. Well, everything save for the junkie tripping out in the centre of the street, at least she seemed to be somewhat enjoying herself. John walked over to her and gave her a slight kick. "Hey, how's your stash doing?"​
  3. Assorted goods including foodstuffs and weaponry lined rickety, twice bolted shelves and wobbly folding tables. Two shovels, a slightly bent rake and a broken rifle stock were leaned up against a corner of the small, cramped store and behind a cluttered counter stood an older fellow whose joints creaked more than the rusty hinges of his front door. A younger lad, maybe fifteen, swept the floors while one somewhere inbetween the two stood at the side of the counter closer to the door, one hand on the counter while the other kept a firm grip on a thick plasticky duffel.

    "One-twenty", the eldest man offered, dislodging his wrinkled fingers from his salt-and-pepper beard, "Caps, goods or labor? Boyd's gettin' lazy, you'd be doin' me a favor if y' put 'em to work." The young blonde looked up at the old man, brows furrowed. He waved him off, rather than waste his breath. The man at the other side of the counter, clad in light-weight and green-tinted plate shook his head, "Don't think so, old man. Unless you're hiding a pretty daughter somewheres, I'll take food and water."

    The old shopkeeper, though thruthfully unamused, gave a low chuckle in response to the smirking mercenary. Murderer more like. Sure, most of the bodies Ashley had left rotting in the dirt over the past two years he'd lived in Boulder deserved their fate; Rapists, slavers, other murderers, folks who liked to do horrible things to decent people.. But there was no denying he took pleasure in the act itself moreso than the prospect of cleaning up the surrounding area. In all honesty, he was probably about a hair away from fitting in with the raiders outside of town.

    "None of that dirty shit", the scar-riddled merc said as the shop-keeper fetched a few bottles of water and unlabeled cans. He grunted in response, putting back one bottle of brownish water he'd thought to sneak into the mix. "While I'm here, got any twelve guage shells?", Ash asked, digging a few bottlecaps out of a pouch tied to his waist, "I'm startin' to run low." The old man whistled and waved a hand toward what could be assumed to be his grandson, signalling to him. He'd lean his broom against a wall and hurry off to a back room, returning with two shells. Not much, but it'd have to do.

    Ash paid for the paltry sum of ammunition and added it to a pouch opposite the one he kept his caps in, then headed out of the shop. After a quick look around, he pressed his back against the outside wall of the shop and slid to the ground, dropping his bag on the ground beside him and retrieving one of the cans and bottles of water he'd purchased. He stabbed a hunting knife into the can a few times and pried it open, Corn. He liked corn. Nothing going on, he thought as he dug out a few yellow morsels and stuffed them into his mouth, same shit as always.
  4. "My stash is shit, bro."

    Aly had tried to sound snarky, and rude but to came out a bit happy and a little condescending. Whatever. After her words her the brunettes head drooped between her knees. She'd came to Boulder nearly completely bald -save her mohawk- but now she had a short fuzz covering her scalp. Her Mohawk hung over the left side of her face and had become uneven and a bit dirty. Her head rose up again and she looked at the man who had addressed her.

    "I bet you're gonna offer me some good shit shit though, ain't ya'?" This time her tone was right on the mark. Snarky and rude. Also sarcastic.

    Now here head lowered, but it didn't drop. She was looking across the way, where she spied a fella, sitting down Eatting... some yellow shit. How she was now, she couldn't tell. She could see his scars though, and they made her grimace.

    "Look at that ugly mother fucker."


    Boulder was a city surrounded on all sides by mountains. Only way through was from Denver, which was baracaded now and then the north highway, which held more security then any other part of the city. The highway was collapsed and the entrance was actually through a gateat the end of a tunnel at the lowest point of the highways crater. No one got in, unless they were safe. Passed a psych exam, body cavity search and a lie detector test. It was pretty effective. It was also decent baracade, mad from rubble, concrete a.d asphalt. Grenades, or missile could break it down, but it could take most gun fire.

    The Rocky Raiders were infamous in Boulder, and everywhere else in Colorado. Even Caeser's Legion left most of Colorado because of these psychopathes. Their calling card was batting grenades at people, or things... anything really. And now here they were... top of the wrecked highway- a small army looking down at the gate while holding a grenade in one hand and holding a bat over his shoulder with the other. With no words exchanged, he tossed the grenade to the raider to the right of him, who caught it in a pitchers glove. The second raider then threw his arm, and the grenade back at the first. The first swung, and the sound of the bat cracking the grenade echoed through Boulder like a threat from the heavens. The explosive slammed against the gay and began to fall, before it could hit the ground though, it vanished in a blaze that tore apart the air around it. It ripped apart everything and that made the crack before hand sound like a pebble in a pond. The gate was damaged, but still standing.

    But that was alright. Because the blast had blown a hole in the side wall, evident where a guard was now writhing as he longed for his right arm, shoulder and leg which had been lost in the blast.

    The Raider grinned and pointed the end of his bat towards the center of Boulder.

    They were coming in.

    (Post was written on mobile, will fix any mistakes later.)
    #4 Azuremoon, Jun 4, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 4, 2015
  5. Bottles clanging, wheels whining. With every bump the caravan hit, the woman bounced. Her legs hung over the tailgate of the wagon. She found this to be the most comfortable position, though she was still very much uncomfortable.
    It beated walking. Barely. Penny reminded herself as she pulled a wooden splinter from her arm.
    Suddenly the brahmin halted to a stop, nearly sending the hoity woman flying forward off the wagon.

    fraid’ this is as far as I can take you, ma’m.” The coach turned to meet Penny with a gap toothed smile.
    She patted the creases from her gown, dismounting from back the of the caravan. “Of course.” She shook his hand with a twisted smile. His palms were clammy-- disgustingly dirty. Penny held back the urge to immediately pull away.
    He let go, much to Penny’s own relief. She wiped her hand on her blouse.
    Hope to see you gain’ soon.” -And with that, the caravan took off down the street.

    Pulling out a cigarette, the woman took a moment to inspect her surroundings, three people in particular catching her eye. She flicked her lighter once. it sparked but there was no flame. She gave it three more flicks before deeming the lighter useless. She gave a small scowl.
    Penny walked until she stood in the presence of a ghastly looking stranger eating from a can.
    Excuse me.” Her gaze fell onto him.“Have you got a light?―
    Penny was cut short, the floor seemed to rattle underneath her feet as the sound of explosives broke the quiet atmosphere. She flinched, dropping the cigarette she was holding and bringing a hand to her ear. Face draining of color, Penny turned to the source of the disturbance.

    (Repost-- sorry for not seeing your post Azuremoon)
    • Thank Thank x 1
  6. "I got Med-X, Jet, Hydra, mentats or buffout. Very good quality and from my personal stash, they're twenty-five caps each and I've got enough to build a party big enough to put a couple of people out of their misery." John reached into one of the pouches on his belt and took out a shot of med-X as an example, he didn't know what she was on, nor did he know what her party favor of choice was, but more than most like Med-X for a good party. "So, what's your poison? And don't even bother asking for a sample, I don't do free shit."
  7. [​IMG]

    “Please state your name.”

    “Asclepius Stockman.”

    The official conducting the lie detector test looked up from his console with a furrowed brow.

    “Yeah, I know.” Clep’s dismissive tone told the operator this wasn’t the first time the man’s name had caused confusion. “Just call me Clep.”

    The test continued.

    Clep droned out answers to a variety of questions about his past and his person, thinking little more about his answers than what was bare minimum to ensure a “truth” registration on the pre-war test.

    He longed to be elsewhere. Anywhere else. As Boulder was essentially surrounded by chaos and danger on all sides — at least as far as the state borders — immigration wasn’t exactly on the uptick, so the administration of the entry test wasn’t a particularly regal affair. Dust was heavy in the testing room and centuries of grime and grit yellowed what windows remained intact in the half crumbled highrise. As such, a bile like yellow hue tinted the room, and the hanging, dominant scent in the air seemed custom made to accompany the color.

    “Please state your purpose in Boulder.” The operator’s question temporarily shook Clep free of his thoughts.

    “I was hired to treat a sick person.”

    That was true. The complexity of the who and how and why was conveniently missing, but the ‘treat a sick person’ part was factual.

    Had he gone more in depth, Clep might explain how a three day bender in New Vegas might hinder one’s poker talents. Perhaps he would explain that betting several thousand caps more than one owns is a poor idea, though perhaps not as poor as fleeing the city without even attempting to pay off the criminal run casino where one bet said caps. And, finally, Clep might discuss the pros and cons of — after being apprehended in Wyoming by the NCR — accepting a deal from the state’s top rated NCR officer which involved traveling to Boulder to treat his sick but estranged daughter for some rare illness. Pro: won’t die, NCR pays off gambling debts. Con: everything else.

    This was his last test. Once he finished and the no-doubt unnecessarily long processing period for his results had passed, he would be allowed to leave the processing center — oh, how he would miss his inch thick mattress pad he’d been sleeping on — and begin his search for the NCR commander’s daughter.

    “Alright sir, thank you for your cooperation. Please return to your room. One of the city officials will find you whe—” A distant explosion muted the tired eyed test administrator. The official cautiously stepped towards one of the room’s grime covered windows. Behind him, Clep looked on curiously.

    “Not sure what that was, but it sounded… unlikely to be pleasant.” Clep started, trying to read the test administrator’s face. “Any chance — you know, just in case there’s a problem — you guys can get me out of this equipment?”

    The administrator turned quickly and removed the lie detector tools from Clep’s person. Where before the city official seemed distant due to boredom, Clep noted his distance now likely was birthed by concern.

    Clep stood from his chair, grabbing his black duster and scratched up aviator sunglasses from a nearby rotting table. He slowly slid into his jacket, watching with some growing concern as the test administrator scrambled to collect his equipment and pack it away. When the last piece was secured, the administrator shoo-ed Clep out of the room and into the hall.

    “Please return to your room. I would advise staying indoors tonight.” The administrator said, his voice bouncing between polite professionalism and ominous concern. With that, the small man hurried away from Clep towards the building’s stairwell.

    Something was off.

    Clep didn’t like it when things were off — save an opponent’s aim or partner’s clothes — so he hurried to his room. While the Boulder officials had taken his revolver, knife, and rifle, he still had equipment which could prove useful if a situation turned rotten.
  8. A quick glance was about all Ash had time to give to the pretty young thing who'd approached him. The explosion sounded and the ground shook, causing the surprised mercenary to cut a finger on the rim of the can he ate from. He grumbled and poured the rest of its contents into his mouth, then tossed the can aside rose to his feet. "Might wanna find some place safe and keep your head down, toots", he advised between chewing, furrowed brows contradicting a grin, "Cold bodies ain't as much fun."

    His shotgun was unslung and held at the ready, appearing as weathered as its operator if not moreso. Ashley swallowed down the rest of his meal and began to approach the breach in Boulder's wall, pumping his weapon. His eyes set on the pointing raider, his grin stretching as he awaited the following charge.
  9. The last Aly saw of the man was covered by a brahmin drawn caravan, and then it was out of her mind. Then she remembered where she was, and that someone was offering her some vice.

    Her head seemed... Smokey. Things came and fadded with every topic. That was the mentats - they were ment to calm, almost dumb down. The buffout countered that. It was meant to keep her conscious. Alert and sharp, well, as sharp as a shoe thanks to the mentats.

    She remembered the guy trying to peddle her drugs, and all she caught was 'don't.' 'Free' and 'shit'.

    "'Course not. I wouldn't it if it was. It'd be some nasty shit you probably jerked' it in."

    She pushed her back against the wall and straightened her legs straight together. As she stood she took a moment, and then began to laugh a shrill, high-pitched laugh. She was laughing because she thought she was wearing a skirt, and made an effort to stand... politely. Unneeded. She'd forgot she'd been wearing jeans.

    "Whatever..." she said, after finishing her bout of laughter before pulling on a well-kept burlap sack on her hip, detaching it from her belt and regaining eye contact.

    "I got 150 caps in here. Maybe 52 or 3. I want as much psycho as you can gi-"

    She was cut short by the blast, but her speech was all that noticed the blast at first, a second after she flinched and turned her body. More then a but flustered,

    "What in the fuck!?"

    She watched as the ugly bastard the was hidden behind the caravan walked towards an army of charging Raiders. Rocky Raider.

    They were storming Boulder.
  10. When presented with the choices of ‘fight or flight’ Penny was more always than likely to flee.
    As far as possible.
    Really fast.
    To Penny, it wasn’t an act of cowardice more than it was an act of rationality and common sense, (though there was no hiding the fact that Penny was indeed a coward). The scar-ridden crass stranger was doing the exact opposite of what Penny considered to be ‘common sense’ and ‘rational’. In fact, it was very much what the woman considered to be illogical, stupid. (But it wasn’t an act of bravery. No, it was just insane.)

    Squinting, Penny could make out the militia of figures swarming into Boulder through a breach in the once protective wall. Armed, hostile figures. Raiders? Raiders had gotten into Boulder? She had a hard time processing everything that she was now witnessing.

    It dawned upon Penny that running would do nothing. It was as if someone had led a pack of wolves in a pen of sheep. Though, standing around with a dumbfounded expression would accomplish nothing either. She took two small steps back.

    Drawing a laser pistol from the holster on her thigh and loading a clip with trembling hands, Penny looked only to find the 'Rocky' raiders even closer than they had been before. She wouldn't be able to run, no. -But she could hide. Making a full turn on her heels and sprinting. Penny skid across the concrete and took shelter between two buildings, near some crates. From here she had a clear view of the two strangers across the road, --who might as well have been as shocked as she was.
  11. Commotion was an understatement considering what was happening and while it was certainly anything but a good situation for the people of Boulder to be in, all John could think was how much caps it's going to cost in order to fight. Ammo isn't cheap after. With a big sigh and a face that was clearly unamused he uttered "Oh, come on. I fucking hate this place even more now."
    The Med-x disappeared back in his pouch and he took his service rifle from his shoulder and held it at the ready. He wasn't really planning on rushing headfirst into battle like some people around, but he certainly wasn't going to be caught off guard if he could help it. "Sorry, high-flyer, I guess our business is for another time." After which he moved off the streets and took a defensive position near some crates outside a store. They better not come this way, he thought, this entire trip has already cost me too much.
    With a quick glance around he wasn't the only one with the same plan, though the blonde broad in the corner of his eye seemed to be more interested in hiding rather than finding a superior position to defend from.
    #11 caligari, Jun 7, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 7, 2015
  12. Noah had just finished the report for his courier job when he was distracted by a commotion from outside the courier building. He walked out from behind the counter and took a look out the window to see the tell tale signs of a raid. "Bats...grenades...that stupid emblem...The Rocky Raiders. Shit." Being a courier was hard enough with the terrain and the frigged weather of the Colorado nights, but the raiders made so you had to be careful how you moved down the mountain. They would rather smash your arms and legs and shovel a grenade into your mouth for sport than "negotiate" for your goods. "Should have left sooner." Noah grabbed his jacket, and his hunting rifle and left out the back door of the courier office.

    As expected, screams and explosions were heard all around him as he prepared himself for a hold out "They couldn't have waited till I left." He mutter to himself as he started to run for cover. His hope was if he could go from cover to cover unseen, he could slip out the front gate without the raiders even knowing he was there. It wasn't a very solid plan, but it was the best one that he could come up with on such short notice. First he would have to get through the trade area and the caravans as all the stalls and wagons would help hide him as he crossed the street. His first stall was already occupied by some high strung, droopy mohawk girl who seem more interested in getting shot rather than keeping her well being safe. He whistled at the moron hoping to get her to snap her back to reality.
  13. Warren watched the grenades fly down over the rubble of the highway and the hill - down on the city of Boulder. He watched glassy-eyed and unmoved by the destruction. The poor lads and their poor wives, the rabble that lived between them and the merchants and business owners - they didn't stand a chance. He didn't know any of them and frankly didn't care. Certainly it was a disgusting past time for his Raider captors, but such was life in this day and age. He reasoned some of those below would live today, though. For whatever reason, they'd decided to play nice for a time. This rather sunny disposition led him to his current state: bound in rope and chain. Perhaps it would have been better to be dead in a bush somewhere in the wastes.

    Something slammed hard into his backside, nearly causing him to fall flat on his face into the dust and concrete. "Got yer friends down there, eh? We'll see to it they have a real good time," a nasty voice cackled in his ear. It sounded as dirty as its owner smelled. Warren straightened back up, down on his knees and yet bearing an unhindered expression. The people down there weren't his friends, but Raiders seemed to think there was only them and everyone else, and everyone else were friends with one another.

    He did not correct the idiot holding the nailed club.

    They'd come across him in the night. Warren wasn't a wasteland fool. He hadn't started a fire, he hadn't slept in the open, he hadn't slept in another creature's den, and yet here he was. The discovery of his sleeping body had been purely accidental on the Raider's part. Their man lost his life for nearly pissing on him in the underbrush. The Raider hadn't known what was coming, but surprised and bedraggled as the old man was, he stood no chance against a whole band of them. Perhaps killing one of their own was the only reason he still lived. They were going to have a lot of fun soon, they kept saying. Sometimes they liked the squealers and other times they wanted a man to pretend he could withstand their brutality.

    On to Boulder they went. What he witnessed now was no more or less than what he expected when he discovered their destination. For the poor souls below, he hoped the quickest death would come as the Raiders descended into the city.
  14. “What do you mean I’m not cleared to exit the processing center? Why does that matter, raiders are trying to kill everyone two blocks away!” Clep was indignant. The fools at the Boulder Immigration Center were slaves to protocol even as the city was torn apart around them.

    “Sir, we understand your concerns but the city of Boulder has a very capable defense force. The safest place for you to be is confined to your room until the situation has been resolved.” The middle aged woman working the desk of the dilapidated processing center did her best to remain professional, but her face and nervous twitch told Clep all he needed to know.

    “You idiots are going to get me killed!” Clep yelled, turning away to return to his room.

    He could have simply shot his way out of the building. There were only two guards at the door of the processing center and he’d have the drop on them. He could even release a concentrated cloud of Cazador poison from one of his vials. But, on the off chance Boulder’s defense team did route the invaders, that would put him in a difficult negotiating position.

    Plus, if he did escape the guards, where would he go? The only way in and out of Boulder that didn’t require mountaineering gear and two weeks of provisions was currently blocked by raiders. Not to mention leaving now meant breaking the promise to the NCR commander, effectively putting himself on the blacklist of two of the most powerful factions west of the Mississippi.

    After two flights of stairs, Clep found his room and pushed through the rusting metal door. All of the “guest” rooms in the building had, long ago, been painted a dull baby blue, though years of neglect had left the paint dried and cracking in thin webs across the walls.

    The screaming and gunfire outside was getting closer. The window in his room was very small, letting in just enough light to show off the quarter’s disrepair, but the walls did nothing to dampen the sound. Clep pressed his face against to the window, but the clouded glass betrayed nothing but the blurred blue sky above Boulder.

    Clep’s brahmin hide travelling bag was lying on his bed. He packed light and traveled simple. Being a doctor generally allowed him to barter his services in exchange for whatever survival supplies he needed on the road.

    Tossing the bag over his shoulder, Clep then reached under his “bed” — a paper-thin plastic mattress — and pulled out his gunbelt. Securing the belt around his waist, Clep pulled out his .357 revolver and checked to ensure the weapon was loaded. Lucky for him, the person who checked him in was not the same as the person who came to his room to check for weapons he had on his person, so the simple hiding spot kept his protection close. Between their lack of security and their lack of medicinal knowledge — Clep had convinced the screeners that his case of vials was full of medicine, and not medicine and poisons — the doctor was not reassured he would remain safe.

    Almost out of the room, Clep came to a jolting halt.

    “Shit. Booze.” He said, realizing he’d also hidden a half-bottle of whiskey under the bed.

    The doctor slipped back into the room and went to his knees, reaching far under the bed and feeling around for the bottle’s neck. After a bit of padding, his fingers found a dried cork. He yanked the bottle out from its resting place.

    “Ok, now we’re ready for —”

    An explosion — a very close explosion — shook the building, knocking Clep back on his haunches. The screaming he’d heard before was much more intense, as it was now coming from the ground floor of the immigration building.

    “Holy shi—”

    Before he could finish, a thunderous crack sounded below him. This was not the sonic shattering boom of a weapon discharge — this was the cracking of steel and cement.

    The wall opposite Clep suddenly cracked apart, falling backward as two huge chunks of cement onto whatever unfortunate souls were on the street below. Fresh air filled the room and sunlight spilled in, momentarily blinding Clep. When his eyes adjusted, Clep was met with the beautiful — and terrifying — view of the Boulder skyline, with fresh billows of smoke streaming from the streets below.

    With the support of the walls gone, the floor where Clep was seated cracked at an angle. His bed and the room’s small metal container slowly slid and fell through the now gaping hole in the side of the building.

    Lucky for Clep, the angle of the floor was not so much that he began to slide, though he wasn’t certain the weakened cement would hold him. He turned to his knees, slowly, and began crawling towards the door. All he needed to do was reach the hall…


    The support gave, the low end of the floor falling further, this time at such a severe angle that Clep could do nothing but claw impotently at the tile under him as he slid towards the opening.

    As he tumbled towards the edge, one of his bag’s straps caught an exposed piece of rebar, leaving him dangling outside the building. The events had transpired so quickly that he hadn’t had time to scream. He looked down, now fully realizing the thirty foot drop that awaited him should his bag rip.

    Then he screamed.

    That lasted for only a moment, as the moment he screamed the horrifying sound of fabric separating from fabric struck him silent. The bag was ripping.

    He began reaching — with as little frantic swinging as possible — for the rebar above him. If he could reach the metal stakes, he could pull himself back into the building. Or at least back onto the building.

    First a finger brushed the ribbed metal. Almost. Another reach, and a few more fingers brushed the metal. Once more and Clep had a full hand around the rebar.

    “Ok...Ok…” Clep said to himself, grabbing the rebar with his second hand. Now, with both arms gripping the metal above his head, he shoved his boots against the outer face of the building, trying to walk himself up to where he could pull himself back inside.

    While prewar buildings had endured surprisingly well, they were still very, very old. Clep was reminded of this as the rebar he held onto tore through the building’s thin cement facade, swinging him in a narrow arc that slammed him into the building’s face. As the doctor came to a hard stop against the processing center, the rebar snapped.

    Clep fell for what, in his mind, felt like minutes. In reality, he was in the air for only a moment before he crashed into the immigration building’s cement entrance awning.

    What small amount of air was left in his lungs after slamming into the side of the building was knocked from him on the second impact. After a moment of lying on his back, his vision began to unblur and he sucked in a huge breath of air.

    Then the awning broke.

    The third fall, though much shorter, ended with the doctor smacking his head on a broken piece of concrete. Now, unconscious and splayed on the ground, Clep began the first good sleep he’d had since New Vegas.
  15. Bullets whizzed past John's ear and needless to say he found it less than amusing. The moment he realised that the armed militia of Boulder wasn't up for the task of defending their precious shithole, he began firing upon the invading raiders. He always was better than most at using a rifle, though never the best in all fairness. Still, he picked his shots carefully, aiming at nothing but chest and head. Better still, he specifically aimed for the ones ready to throw or bat a grenade at some place or another, he found it quite amusing to see a foe's comrades scramble away from one of their own grenades.

    But the fact remained that John was low on funds and ammo and wasn't shooting as often as he should have, some raiders came too close and despite his best efforts a frag grenade exploded a little bit too close for comfort. The crates in front of him took the shrapnel well enough, but the blast wave sent him flying back several feet.

    His ears rang and both dazed and confused he did the best to get back on his feet. He looked around at the chaos, the battle,... the memories. The young caravan guard began to see things that weren't there, confuse some actions for others. Perhaps it were the similarities between this battle and a previous one, perhaps it was a simple defensive reflex his mind forced his body in, or perhaps he just fucking lost it, but John leapt back into the fray.

    Moving up with his rifle, he moved from cover to cover giving it all he had. Round after round was shot from his weapon until it was all spent. Even still he pulled the trigger again and again and again. When he finally realised he wasn't even shooting it was already too late to reload for two raiders with bats were out for his head.

    The first swing was horizontally aimed for his head, John ducked and dodged the entire thing. With a simple step forward he was close enough to the second raider ro swing upward and bash him over the chin with the butt of his gun. A loud crack was heard as the entire lower jaw was unhinged.

    While one was taken out the second had already recovered from his initial failure to break open John's skull, by once again trying to break a few bones. Too slow to dodge, John held up his rifle to block the strike which sent the gun flying down main street. In the time it took the raider to recover, John pulled out his .45 pistol and shot him once in the chest and once in the head, before turning around and doing the same thing to the raider with the broken jaw.

    Despite his best efforts against the assaulting raiders, John's head was somewhere else entirely so it wasn't hard for his foes to blindsight him. Two raiders quickly tackled him during a moment of carelessness and held him down while a third walked up to him with a baseball bat covered in blood.
    "Someone who fights like that must have a psycho stash around here somewhere." He said while looking down at John.
    John, in turn, took merely a second to retort "Someone who looks like you must've crawled out of his momma's ass!" His sentence was barely finished or he got the back end of the bat against his skull blacking him out completely.
  16. Aly had been fascinated and taken a back by it all. All the destruction. How the quiet and rather boring city of Boulder was now a war-zone. A war-zone that was now being filled with screams and the thunder clap of explosions. A sudden, sharp whistle brought her back to the world only to watch, in slow motion, as a grenade slapped against a wall one building from her.

    Still fogged over by the buffout, the steps she took backwards in reaction were slow and had to be carefully thought out. Fortunately, when the 'nade went off she'd been just far enough that she wasn't consumed by the blaze or bludgeoned to death by shrapnel. Though, not close enough to be killed by the shrapnel, she still took quite the beating. A chunk of cement dislocated her right shoulder -- smaller bits hit her head. It hurt, but it wasn't enough to even give a concussion. What hurt was the rebar in the chunk that dislocated her shoulder and pierced her. It knocked her flat, and the chunk kept flying, ripping the rebar from the half a second home it had made inside her shoulder before smashing into the ground, close enough to her skull that she felt the debris trickle around her.

    That was when she realized she'd taken the full brunt of the shockwave. Between the pain in her shoulder, and the ringing in her ears, she found herself sobering up rather quickly.

    Surprisingly, her first thought was 'great'. She knew what happened when people were incapacitated, instead of killed, by the Rocky Raiders. She'd been on the other side of this. any one who survived this would be taken to Grand Junction, or Junktown as they called it.

    Her vision, between the drugs, pain and smoke, was foggy at best. That didn't hide the silhouette of three Raiders coming together over her. Maybe they recognized her. It'd only been a couple week since she left, after all. This had to been the raiding party she'd been apart of before she left for a more... well, sane life. Coherent thought was beginning to hit her as the chems in her body were being replaced (or aided) by adrenaline.

    'Get up.'

    She told herself as her back began to lift off the ground. The whining in her ears was fading, and she heard the screams, gunfire and explosions return. About a block away she heard what sounded like a building crumble. Or at least some of it. Finally, her back was erect, and she was moving her knees to move into a stance where she could actually move. As soon as she was on her feet she immediately left them by diving backwards and to her right. She hit the ground, taking most of her weight with her shoulder. The one that was out of socket. The result shot through every bit of remaining buffout and adrenaline in her body and she was forced to bit her tongue to not cry out.

    Rolling onto her back to relieve her pained, and visibly battered shoulder, she scooted herself backwards and into an alley and out of mainstreet. A lot of fuckin' good that was. Why didn't she carry guns? A bat? A fuckin' hairpin!? Boulder immigration said, given her 'history' she wasn't allowed to have such things. Yeah, even a hairpin. Not that she'd want one for any reason outside of occasionally poking someone. They were going to be the death of her. She would kill, screw or cater anyone in the entire Heartland right now for some Med-X or a 10mm pistol.

    Voices broke through her angry thoughts, and she almost wished she hadn't backed away from that grenade. She didn't know what they'd do if they found a deserter. There had never been any stories, and that wasn't exactly a comforting thought. Aly found herself sweating, though the air was cool and crisp the drugs, fear and anxiety was stronger, and she felt like she was in the Mojave. Her reaction was to scoot back more, and she did, until she banged into a dumpster. A look over her shoulder confirmed that this alley was a deadend. A penthouse suite for the stinky dumpster.

    A whine escaped her and she scrambled to her knees and hid beside it. Finding her thin and rather frail limbs able to squeeze between the receptacle and the wall. Now she waited. She shut her eyes and listened. The gun fire she heard must've been the Boulder security. The Raiders where all about surprises and explosives. They carried shotguns, and what she heard was automatic. Then she heard something that made her blood curdle. Flames accompanied by the smell of gas and the hiss of a propellent. A flamethrower. HE was here. This was her team.

    Among the Raiders, different Raider parties had... celebrities that all reported to their 'king' back in Junktown. Aly didn't know how many Raiding parties there were but she knew the celebrity of her party. They called him 'The fire in right field'. Goddamn baseball. She knew him as Hank, and he made other Raiders look sane.

    Suddenly a man broke through the smoke of mainstreet, finding refuge in the same alley Aly had. This made her squirm and move further back. The man looked around the alley for a moment and then mutter some profanities. That was when the two locked eyes and he saw her. He cocked his head and took a step towards her -- again Aly squirmed backwards -- but before he could say a thing a bath of flames shot from the smoke and covered the man in hell. Here Aly had been, thinking it had been hot before. The Alley way lite up and the poor man slammed into the dumpster with panic and presumably a decent amount of pain.

    The man dove into the dumpster, seeking refuge from the flames as he screamed in agony, but his sanctuary was actually a coffin. The Fire in Right Field broke the haze of smoke, carrying his flamethrower in both hands and unleashed hell onto the metal prison. Aly knew where this was going and felt the left side her face burn a bit from the hot metal. The man in trash can was the last thing on her mind now. Her sore legs moved, and she once again leaped from where she was, this time landing on her left shoulder and landing right beside a psychopath with a flamethrower.

    Hank seemed as startled to see someone jump out from behind the trashcan as Aly had been when she heard the flamethrower. Aly laid on her sides, hands-up and facing the man knowing full well they usually killed those who surrendered and weren't just found unconscious. However, she knew he'd recognized her. And he did. He recogiznized her instantly, and Aly recognized he was not very happy.

    The man's face was grotesque. He had a tattoo on his chin that mad it look like he always had blood dripping from his mouth, and that mouth was snarling at her. The lesser of two evils, in Aly's opinion, instead of dousing her in a nice, hot, batch of hell he lifted a foot and he dropped it on her with full force. Any air in her lungs left as the boot, which was the same length as the width her torso, crushed her ribs. She didn't know how many. She crueled up, lifting her knees to her chest and holding her torso in pain before she felt a handful of her mohawk move in his hand and suddenly, and painfully, she was on her feet.

    "So this is where you ran to hide!" the man screamed in her face. Had she not been in an overwhelming amount of pain, she'd more then likely have commented on his breath. "Are these your people now, whore!? After you left our hospitality!? After we took you in!?."

    Aly shook her head frantically in response but not before something even more frightening happened. He released her and his flamethrower, which hung around his shoulder by a belt and grabbed what looked like two half of a steel hoop from his belt, and slammed half around her neck before slamming the backside of it shut. A 'slave' collar.

    "Follow me." he spoke in a authoritative voice. To Aly's fear, his tone made it sounded like he owned her. "Fall behind and... well, you know."

    That was what horrified her the most. She did know. So she limped after him without a word like a beaten puppy.

    When they left the alley, the smoke had cleared and Hank set his eyes on one Raider, one Aly didn't really recognize, ran up to Hank holding a shotgun and a smug expression.

    "We've got lots of new toys for home. We found someone New Vegas has a bounty out on outside the im-im..." The raider stuttered, and Hank finished, "Immigration?".

    The raider nodded and Hank returned the nod before addressing the Raiders, while plenty of survivors were clearly around and frightened. "Rockies! Unless they're wearing a Boulder Security uniform, collect the rest. Corpses can't build Junk City." With that... the Raiders began 'collecting'.

    Hank - The Fire in right field. (open)
    #16 Azuremoon, Jun 8, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 8, 2015
  17. Noah just looked as his whistle went unnoticed by the woman who was just standing there awestruck at the madness and explosions. Was she bonked out of her mind? What a time to get high on the wasteland's chemical cocktails. Noah has half temped to pull the junkie into the venders stall that he was hiding under, thou doing that would go against his plan about staying out of sight. "Screw this" he muttered under his breath and went back to his original plan of keeping himself hidden. When he jumped to the next vender stall, A grenade that landed close by detonated, not only sending Noah's ears ringing but sending a bit of shrapnel shooting through the cheap metal of the vending stall. Noah was fortunate that most of the shrapnel missed him, but one fairly large piece shot through the stand and into his right arm just under his shoulder "Aggh Fuck!" He yet out a yell that was only muffled by the oxygen mask he was wearing. Of course the pain was sharp and intense like a bullet, but Noah had to grit and bear it for now. He could pull it out after he escaped Boulder.

    A few more jumps and few lost drops of blood later, Noah had gotten to the other side of the venders area. Now the next part of the plan involved using the inside of the buildings as cover and take care of any Rockies that he would come across. Besides the bit about the shrapnel, his plan went out with a hitch. He made a break for a near by door and swung it wide open, only to find a very unique looking bandit on the other side. This Rocky was a tall and lanky in build, wearing the typical raider makeshift armor of leather and tires, but the stand out feature was the large helmet that covered the entirety of his head. He kinda looked like a catcher in a baseball game. After the initial shock, Noah lifted his rifle up to try and shoot the Rockies' Catcher, but the sharp pain in his arm kept affected Noah's aim and the first shot from Noah's hunting rifle ended going high over the catchers left shoulder. In retaliation, the catcher grabbed the rifle and after a brief struggle he ripped the rifle out of Noah's hands."Let me show you how to use a gun!" he said through a very spotty synthesized voice. The Catcher hit Noah with the butt of the gun right where the bridge of the nose would be on the mask and knocked Noah to the floor. "HAH! Fucking dumbshit!" he quipped and tossed the rifle away as if it was junk and walked menacingly over Noah's half conscious body. Noah's view was hazy and he was certain he could taste blood. He wanted to move or fight back, but his head was spinning so much right now..."Ugh...fuck my life." Noah groaned and looked out as this Rocky started pulling out what looked like a large rod. "Funny you should say that friend. Cause your life is about to get a lot worse Hahah....Ah!" And with final premonition, the last thing that Noah saw was a boot being brought down on his head.

    A moment later, the catcher turned the corner with his first catch of the hunt being dragged by their bound hands between the snare of a makeshift snare pole. The catcher just cackled as he saw the destruction that the crew was bringing on Boulder. Sure raids on a certain charm to them, but their was no place more beautiful or harmonious than his "bullpen" back at camp. Oh the new techniques he had in mind for the victims of Boulder. Maybe he could try to see if he can find a way to kill a man with some Hydra? But thoughts of fun and unique tortures were interrupted when through the fire and smoke he saw Hank with a captured quarry of his own, but it was no ordinary quarry, no this one was someone that Hank, Catcher, and most of the other Rockies knew very well."Hah! So its a small world after all huh Hank? Who would have thought we would find the old chem slut here in Boulder?"

    The Catcher (open)
    #17 PyroJack, Jun 8, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 9, 2015
  18. Penny held a hand over her mouth in an effort to muffle her breathing, whilst her other hand remained on her holster, itching to draw and shoot. They've been playing a game of 'cat and mouse' for awhile now. Penny watched his feet move from under the table, resisting the urge to flinch with every step he took.

    "Won't you give up al-already?" His words were rushed and cluttered together, barely intelligible.
    The Jet junkie was appropriately named 'Twitch', because, well, he twitched. A lot. It was hard to know if it was some sort of tic disorder or the just the effect Jet had on him.

    Twitch adjusted the goggles that were already slipping off his head. Around his waist belt he had rope, a flask, and what she assumed was a pouch full of grenades. Penny aimed with a shaky hand. She fired two shots, one of which burned through his ankle. He cursed loudly, kicking his foot off the floor.

    Penny took the chance, pulling herself from under the dining table and making a break for the doorway. But, she wasn’t fast enough.
    Twitch tossed a frag towards Penny. It bounced across the floor with a disheartening tick-tick-tick before detonating.

    The blast sent her back, hitting the ground hard enough to have the air knocked out of her. Penny moved into a fetal position, wincing and gasping. Her ears rang and through the debris and dust she could make-out the silhouette of the raider standing above her. She made a feeble attempt to clamber away; only to be pulled up by her hair. The pain didn’t register immediately.
    A corner of his mouth twitched. "Gotcha', you f-fucking rat."
    Penny found herself unable to form words. She responded with a pitiful strangled noise.
    Twitch // Benchwarmer (open)

    #18 Astrologian, Jun 9, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 9, 2015
  19. It only took the raiders forty-five minutes to break in and take the city. An entire city, created by the ambitions of a city of Vault Dwellers taken - no - destroyed by roaming neanderthals that we're more savage then cavemen. They'd captured over a hundred people and were well-prepared to transport all of them. Once the prisoners were taken out of the city gates, it was clear that they weren't your typical raiders. Huge, fully-working trucks with the logo I-STOW on the side lined the interstate outside the city. Most people outside of the west coast had never even seen a running vehicle before - let alone a fleet of them.

    From there they were equip with something very similar to a bomb-collar. It was a ankle bracelet that was connected to your typical C4. The celebrity among the Raiders, Hank, along with 'The Catcher' and Twitch all explained to their captives, in... dumb-ed down terms, that these bracelets were wireless-ly connected to each other, and when far enough apart... boom. They were explicit about explaining that the blasts wouldn't kill them. Just blow there legs off, and let the Raiders catch them and then... well, they explained it wouldn't be nice.

    Once the prisoners were all stowed up in the nuclear fuel powered trucks, they were locked in before waiting about an hour. In silence. With fellow prisoners/ strangers before finally setting off.

    These days, the ole' interstate wasn't seeing too much traffic, so the raiders traveled fast and haphazardly. The only benefit was how fast they made it to the other side of the state. The downside was the unsettling anxiety every time each truck fell behind the rest. What if it got too far? Would an entire truck loss their legs? Would the collective explosion ignite the nuclear fuel in the truck and leave them a big hole in the interstate? It was possible the Raiders hadn't thought about it. It was also possible, and much more frightening, that they had thought about it. Given the tech the raiders had been showing off... between the trucks and the ankle bracelets... it was a bit suspicious and not the M.O. of your typical raiders.

    About three and a half hours, some areas feeling heavily irradiated even through the truck, after they left the trucks finally slowed to a halt. The sounds of doors opening filled the air and were followed by the psychopathic chatter of the murderous misfits outside. Then, they were finally let out - well, taken out is more apt.

    Pre-War Grand Junction (open)

    The Raiders might have seemed a bit civilized from the technology they'd seemed to have shown, but the city threw them right back into the 'completely fucking insane' category. Barbwire had been strewn across the streets, from rooftop to rooftop, and on it... were corpses. Some were tied to the underside of the barbwire, but most were stocked on top of the barbwire. The stacks were so thick at some points it blotted out the sky. Some of the corpses were burnt, others were dismembered and some were whole and strewn about. The road was stained with blood, and there was a stench that hit each person in the face as the doors opened. The sight forced a collective weep and panic from a good eighty percent of the captives.

    There was a large building before them with the words, "A-lon The-re" and, on the roof a man could be seen moving about doing... something.

    After an hour the prisoners had been taken into the "A-lon The-re" and take down to a lower level that seemed to serve as a prison. First sign of evidence of this was that was that it wasn't empty. Only half of the residents within were alive though, and the ones that were watched in silence as the remains of Boulder were brought in. The prisoners were jammed into cells that held about fifteen people, when they comfortably held about eight. They were jammed in like sardines, save the last cell - which was easily the dirtiest - it had nine people in it. There was one woman inside. A hoidy-toidy looking lass in a dress, two prisoners who hadn't come from Boulder - an older man with a full beard and a younger kid, and a couple men. One of which was unconscious*.


    Allyseus hadn't gone with the rest of the captives down to the cells in the basement. She'd been taken to the attic. As she remembered, this theater was Hank's jurisdiction of Junk Town, of course this was where they had been taken. She'd actually never been here before, but she had the general idea of what they were in for. Once she'd been taken up stairs, everything became a haze. A wonderful haze, in her opinion. They say it as some kind of punishment, but to her, it was free chems. At first, it had been free drugs anyway. Sometime after she blacked out it had become dangerous, and somewhere in her subconscious she was sure they were going to make her overdoes and hang her by her ankle outside as an example.

    Once the possibility of her dying was apparent they took her back down. Aly had always enjoyed chems, but... it seemed she wasn't as big a fan when she couldn't stop when she wanted to. She was thrown in the last occupied cell that was a bit more empty then the rest, but once inside she didn't move or respond to anyone else, conscious or otherwise. Her eyes were glazed over and her face was dirty in part from burns from a Jet-pipe and fluids from her nose - a tell tale sign she was more than likely going to OD. After she'd joined the rest of the prisoners the Raiders, save the four that patrolled the cells corridors and the one at the end of the hallway that stood guard they... more-or-less left them alone. As time passed, and chatter ensued, it sounded like that wouldn't be the case come morning. They were in the second most dangerous city in Colorado after all.

    *= this is Lvl1337N00b's character, put in for whenever he returns, if he does.

    Pre-War Avalon Theater (open)
  20. When John eventually awoke in the truck he was amazed at first at the fact these halfwits had motorised vehicles, but that amazement quickly vanished, perhaps faster than with most, due to the fact he'd already been in one before. Instead of marvelling at pre-war engineering, John tried his best to keep his eyes and ears out landmarks, but after an hour he gave up seeing as it was pointless at that point.

    Once in town John had to admit he'd never seen anything like it, he had seen fiends do insane things, he had seen the legion do horrible things, but this... this was a whole different kind of crazy. It was only due to the fact he'd seen horrific things before tat he was able to keep his last meal down, but only barely. Needless to say he was happy to be moved off the streets, at least until he saw where he was moved to.

    The smell in the basement was worse than the smell outside, he was sure several of the bodies down there had been lying there to rot for days, if not weeks. Still though he was glad he got into the cell with least amount of guests. Once left more or less alone, he decided to see what the damage was overal. His guns were gone, as were his spiked knuckles and combat knife. Sadly they also found the switchblade he hid in his boot, but they didn't find the straight razor duct taped to his back, though that wouldn't do much good when push came to shove. Still though, better than nothing. All his chems were gone, of course, as well as his caps and ncr dollars. They left him his papers though, which was a load of his mind since those scraps of paper in his back pocket were some of his most valuable possessions. And lastly, in his vest... there was a pack of bubblegum.

    "Fantastic" he mumbled to himself before turning to the ankle bracelets. Lovely jewellery to be sure, but John wasn't really in the mood for a fashion statement. Carefully and calculated John began to examine the anklet from every angle he could, but these designs were extremely foreign to him; the regular collar bombs had an spring release beneath the central explosive case that could easily be activated by those with the knowhow, but these anklets... nothing.

    Frustrated with the entire situation, he began scanning the cell and the people inside; The druggy he already met, but this time she seemed to have gotten her hands on a different dealer. The high society looking broad might've been the one cowering in an alley during the struggle and the unconscious bloke was the brave fool who ran into battle headfirst. The rest were unknown to him.
    "This hotel fucking sucks." He exclaimed with very unimpressive sarcastic wit.
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