- Location
- Buenos Aires
I think it has potential but you should ignore them learning English and having tech from the start and just have them be cavemen style hunters gathers that developed normally untill they get an influx of Human stuff.
Fallout Idea and Recommendation Thread: Fanfiction. Fanfiction Never Changes.
- Thread starter robopanda
- Start date
Fallout/Defiance
For them a new home, paradise etc. Off course the natives are of no consequences. Unfortunately their scout information was woefully out off date. Arriving right before the great war. The Volton refugee fleet was immediately fire upon. As the madness that consume the planet below encompass even them.
Now force to land and survive. Man and alien now must survive this new and even deadly land. For war, war never changes.
For them a new home, paradise etc. Off course the natives are of no consequences. Unfortunately their scout information was woefully out off date. Arriving right before the great war. The Volton refugee fleet was immediately fire upon. As the madness that consume the planet below encompass even them.
Now force to land and survive. Man and alien now must survive this new and even deadly land. For war, war never changes.
Human resources will become a finite resource. Though, it reminds me of that fic where after protagonist's findings about mutes' sterility problem the Master goes 'huh'. A few generations later humanity broken into this weird caste system where there are scientist priests Childrens with mandatory 'holy mandate' on having as many children as possible and soldiers slash workers mutes, made from everyone lower of a certain level of intelligence or indoctrination, all under a rule of immortal Master. Needles to say, it was a weird ride
Last edited:
- Location
- Who even cares?
Interesting. I was thinking that, upon finding out about the reproduction issue, the Master figures out cloning so that he'll have an endless supply of 100% untainted humans to convert.
Optionally, he might run long-term experiments into splicing FEV sequences directly into the human DNA so that the virus is produced naturally by human cells like mitochondria.
Optionally, he might run long-term experiments into splicing FEV sequences directly into the human DNA so that the virus is produced naturally by human cells like mitochondria.
daedalus725
Kell of Kells, godking of Planet X
- Location
- Daedalus crater, The moon
I love that idea
- Location
- the frozen part of Hell
The first thing I thought when I woke up was that the AC had finally started working after my room being 70 degrees for a week. The second thing was that this is not my bed.
Too hard and not enough blankets.
I opened my eyes to be greeted by darkness. Not blind dark, just dark.
There wasn't much I could tell from where I lay but I turned my head on a swivel anyway trying to parse anything from the gloom.
I could see several lumps and hear breathing so I knew that I was not alone but with the lack of movement I could safely assume they were sleeping.
Towards my feet there was a slit of light, some kind of opening.
I pushed myself up on my knees, which I noticed were covered in some kind of heavy armor, and began to crawl carefully watching where I was moving as to not disturb the other sleepers.
Just before I reached the exit the walls began to shake and I heard the wind scrape against them.
A tent then. I was in a tent.
Pushing the flap aside I crawled into the dim light of the sun. At the moment I was not sure if it was rising or setting but I was sure something was very wrong.
Whoever I was with had camped on a small hill in a forest.
Looking out I could see a massive cityscape.
It was ruined. Utterly. Skyscrapers had collapsed upon each other and buildings that stood at odd angles had been stripped down to their frames.
I had a terrible thought.
Pushing it aside I decided to take stock of myself. I had on a thin shirt under what looked to be a very old and bloodstained flack vest.
Olive drab canvas pants and some armored leggings of the same color were strapped to my legs.
I also had a machete on my hip.
Drawing the blade I figured if I was where I thought I was the blade might be necessary.
I was pleasantly surprised to find the thing fairly sharp and rust free. Unfortunately, I did not know enough about blades to know if it was truly a good weapon but I figured I could use the thing in a pinch so I slid the blade back home and drew the gun on my other hip.
Growing up in the US of A, I was more comfortable with with the revolver. The .44 snub was not about to win any beauty contests but the cylinder spun and the bullets looked pretty good.
Satisfied that at least in theory I could defend myself I put the gun back in its holster.
I looked up just as a man was approaching me. He was tall and armored with what looked like steel plates tied together over his vitals. In his hands was a vicious looking pump action shotgun with a long bladed bayonet on the end.
The man looked at me and shouted, "You, boy!"
I looked behind me before I turned back to him and pointed at myself.
"Yeah, you idiot! Wake up the others! There is a new Overboss in Nuka World, if we hurry we can be the first to offer her tribute!"
Welp that settles it. I am in Fallout.
I hope CBBE is turned on.
========
Part 2
========
Turns out tribute means slaves and guns.
Oh yeah, I woke up in the body of a mercenary, gunrunner, and slaver. Won't mom be proud.
Although, I have to say I much prefer to be the one with a gun on my hip than the one with an explosive collar around my neck.
The slaves themselves looked like a motley crew. Of the twenty or so captives most were still in the clothes they were taken in, ripped canvas pants and shirts with a few jackets made from animal leather and fur.
All of them were downcast. They avoided eye contact and bore more than a few bruises, and scrapes. None of them were well fed.
Then again none of the guards were either.
Speaking of the guards, I found out I wasn't exactly a slaver. No, see whoever was in the body before me did not just go out and enslave random people, instead he just took caps in order to help escort the newly captured slaves from the inland settlements to the trade hub of Nuka-World.
See? Huge difference.
Having helped to pack up camp this morning I found that unlike in the game raiders and mercenaries do not simply walk around with guns hoping to catch what they need to eat.
No I have a backpack and, thankfully, a rifle that was next to my bedroll.
The canvas pack was filled with food, a large tarp, some nice long rope, what looked to be a half decent medical kit with some stimpacks, and a bed roll that was strapped to the underside. Also ammo. So much ammo.
Without counting there was about five hundred rounds of just 5.56 for the R91 assault rifle in my hands.
There was another thing to be happy about. Even though we were headed to Nuka-World we were not limited to Fallout 4 weaponry.
It would have been very unfortunate to be left with Fo4's water cooled assault rifle. Instead I have the lovely G3 analog.
Moving to shift the rifle on its strap my gaze swept over the caravan.
Our little procession was composed of three groups.
First was Baxter Crane, with whom I am employed, he is a well known slave and arms merchant who ran between Nuka-World and the Pitt picking up slaves one way and taking guns and bullets back. Currently, we were bringing some slaves that were picked up south of Nuka-World to the trade hub as well as several bramen loaded down with crates of 7.62.
Then there was Dom Rud, he was a doctor traveling to the Commonwealth where apparently his daughter had gotten set up pretty well and wanted to bring her family around.
Lastly, were the ghouls. Six of them scraped enough money together to pay for protection while they fled from the DC area. Turns out the eastern chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel was a not a nice bunch under Arthur Maxson.
All three of these groups had their own security that had melded into one for the journey.
The ghouls had a squad of eleven of their own kind hoping that they wouldn't be bribed into selling their own to the Brotherhood.
Rud's daughter hired a pair couriers to bring her father to the Commonwealth. See thing about mailmen in Fallout is that they have to cross the wasteland quickly and often on their own. These scary motherfuckers could ghost past you and have to give you a reminder that they slit your throat. Already they scouted and helped wipe out two raider encampments that would have been an issue for us had we not caught them by surprise.
Then there was us. The meat. Twenty-four human mercenary thugs armed with everything from shotguns and rifles to mechetties and even a flamethrower for the occasion.
This mishmash of mercenaries, killers, and delivery boys met up in a tavern the night before leaving the Pitt and worked out how security for our little trip would function.
We guarded the slaves and watched the perimeter while the ghouls led the bramans that carried our supplies and kept their own in line. The mailmen acted as scouts.
So far our arrangement had worked out quite well. We were going to lose the ghouls in a day or two when they split off at Albany but rumor has it that from the east bank of the Hudson river Route 90 is being patrolled by at least one of Nuka-World's gangs.
Honestly, I was dreading the arrival at that perverted themepark. It was like a specter on the horizon.
At the moment all I can do is follow the group I am with as leaving would be certain death wandering the wastes alone but once there I was going to have to make a choice. Stay on with the mercenary slavers for the trip back to the Pitt? Head to the Commonwealth? Find a third way?
The real problem is that there is no fresh information from the north. I am fairly sure that this new Overboss is the Nora according to Mr. Crane as he likes to be called but what kind of Sole Survivor takes over the gangs rather than crushing them?
There is also so little information on the condition of the Commonwealth.
Word is the Prydwen was seen flying back to DC but the Brotherhood could well have left a force at Diamond City. Or the Minutemen might have rallied, or the Institute might have turned the whole place into test subjects, or the Railroad might have gutted the leadership of everyone. Hell, maybe the Sole Survivor just murdered everyone and left the place lifeless.
Beyond that there are names and places being thrown around that I have never even heard of. The Ronto Confederacy, the Apple, Broken Banks, and Lanta. I had no idea where these places were or who inhabited them.
Fact is I don't know. All I can do is wait at least until we hit the City of Albany.
---
Built on old ruins and the polluted Hudson river, the City of Albany was impressive. It did not look like the ramshackle construction that is ubiquitous in Fallout games.
Instead it looked as though dozens of buildings were torn down and reused as materials to put up the walls and repair the structures they surrounded. Outside the wall every building taller than the thirty foot parapet or was within a hundred yards of the base was demolished and several large plots were marked out for travelers that arrived after sundown when the gates closed for the night.
Atop the large walls armed and uniformed guards patrolled and watched our approach.
Unfortunately, we arrived an hour or so late to get inside but Mr. Crane along with the mailmen and the doctor were able to bribe their way in so they could sleep on real beds rather than spend another night on the hard ground outside the wall under spotlights and machinegun nests.
For about an hour after he left we cursed our boss for leaving us here but soon enough two barrels of beer were lowered over the side for our consumption.
And consume we did.
The next morning the caravan finally got move the inside the town.
At sun up the gates opened and for the first hour or so farmers and armed soldiers filtered out dispersing to the various fields to tend the crops and provide protection. Eventually a pair of men in blue greatcoats came down to confirm we were the Crane Caravan and led us inside.
The ghouls left looking for their own lodging as soon as they were past the gate while the Albany Bluecoats, as I later learned, brought the rest of us thugs and slaves to a guarded warehouse district.
There we had to wait for a few hours while the guards verified the caravan's manafest.
After dropping off the merchandise the professionalism I had been so surprised to see on the road began to slip.
We began joking and laughing a few men even stopped to grab a couple of beers but soon enough we reached the place Mr. Crane rented out for us to stay for the next few days in town.
It was also where he paid us.
The City of Albany accepted three types of currency. Brotherhood script, Ronto coins, or the universal bottle cap.
Mr. Crane, whose primary consumers were Nuka-World and the Pitt, dealt in caps exclusively. From behind a beat up wooden desk with stacks of the stuff, a ledger, and his bayoneted shotgun leaning against the side he called out names and handed off pouches clanking with caps.
After the money was distributed the tall man stood and spoke in his deep scratchy voice.
"You'll find a small bonus in your pay for picking up those slaves at Lock Haven I know we don't usually bring collars north." There was a small cheer for the extra cash before he continued. "Now we have had a quiet journey so far only a few fights but we are headed to Nuka-World and I am not so sure I like the sound of this new Overboss. I want everyone to be on alert when we cross to the eastern bank of the Hudson. So party yourselves out." Another enthusiastic cheer and Mr. Crane got a smile of his own before he finished. "The Caravan leaves in three days we meet here 5 am. Sharp. Until then your time is your own."
With three hundred caps in my pocket I decided to ditch the others and explore the town myself.
The first thing that jumped to my attention was how clean it was.
There were no burnt out cars in the street or random skellingtons on benches.
Then I saw something that shocked me.
Walking past a general store I glanced through the window but couldn't see too much as the glass was blurry.
The door was already open before realisation slammed into me.
The glass. It was blurry, imperfect.
It was not pre-war glass.
Someone out there saw a need to produce glass sheets and had begun to do so cheaply enough for a general store to install it on street level.
I need to seriously reevaluate how advanced the economy here is.
---
Deciding that the best place to evaluate economic conditions was the bar, I stopped by the bunkhouse and picked up a pair of fellow guards to go drinking with.
Butch is on the shorter side only around 5'5 but the bastard is built like a truck with a square face and greasy black hair. He claims to be from some town south of the Pitt and carries a serrated machete that he calls Maggie.
Ann is a green eyed blond and the first person I hit it off with on the trail. We shared a shift on the night rotation and an interest of the world in general. She was where I learned of many places not mentioned in the games like the city of Apple and the Ronto Confederacy.
She came south working as a caravan guard from the Erie Stretch, a number of fishing and trading villages that help defend each other.
Butch figured he was 23, Anna said she was 19 or 20.
Back home these two would have been with me in college. Here Butch has two bullet wounds and Anna sports a long scar on her neck where someone tried to cut her throat open as well as two missing toes from a gunshot.
The body I inhabit is not much different from my previous one. While I look just as old and dashingly handsome as I did in my previous life at 5'10 and thin with decent enough muscles from physical labor there were some differences like the long scar on my upper left arm and two bullet wounds to the abdomen.
According to the memories that were included with the new decorations the scar came from tangling with a shorter man than myself at a bar when he pulled a knife and the gunshot wounds from a raider on a previous trip to the Pitt.
The three of us ended up on a street lined with bars, casinos, and whorehouses all of which were filled with travelers and caravaners just like us going about getting drunk and laid for the few short days they could trust in the walls and Bluecoats that patrolled the streets to keep them safe before returning to the dangers of the wastes.
The bar we ended up in was one detailed in my memories. The owner was a partner of Mr. Crane's and was likely where he had gotten the beer from last night.
They also gave all of Crane's employees discounts. Slaver and murder he might be but Baxter Crane was good to his employees.
Inside was warm, loud, and smelly but the bar was stocked and no one was fighting so it looked good enough for me.
Behind the long counter that ran across the back of the place a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla that must have come all the way from the Mojave that reinforced my ideas of just how far the trade routes must stretch across the continent.
Idly, I wondered if anyone had sailed to Europe or Asia after the war.
I rapped on the counter and got six beers for myself and my fellow compatriots then turned around to find them securing a table for the three of us.
While I slid into a chair and began distributing the beers Butch opened with some intellectually stimulation conversation.
"You goin whoring tonight, Ann?"
Taking a pull she replied, "Fuck yeah, might stop by the fight pit first though."
"Well forget it then, Jack, you got plans?"
Taking a sip from my, admittedly not bad, beer I shook my head.
"Not really. Maybe drift around a bit, keep an eye out for some new gear. Looking to keep it quiet for a night."
Butch nodded. "Do you mind holding onto some cash for me? I don't wanna have some whore grab all my shit before I even fucked her."
I nodded giving my assent.
After our beers I walked off with both Butch and Ann's extra cash to find someone to tell me about the world while they stumbled off to the Ruby Den with just enough money to get a pair of whores and a drink.
Too hard and not enough blankets.
I opened my eyes to be greeted by darkness. Not blind dark, just dark.
There wasn't much I could tell from where I lay but I turned my head on a swivel anyway trying to parse anything from the gloom.
I could see several lumps and hear breathing so I knew that I was not alone but with the lack of movement I could safely assume they were sleeping.
Towards my feet there was a slit of light, some kind of opening.
I pushed myself up on my knees, which I noticed were covered in some kind of heavy armor, and began to crawl carefully watching where I was moving as to not disturb the other sleepers.
Just before I reached the exit the walls began to shake and I heard the wind scrape against them.
A tent then. I was in a tent.
Pushing the flap aside I crawled into the dim light of the sun. At the moment I was not sure if it was rising or setting but I was sure something was very wrong.
Whoever I was with had camped on a small hill in a forest.
Looking out I could see a massive cityscape.
It was ruined. Utterly. Skyscrapers had collapsed upon each other and buildings that stood at odd angles had been stripped down to their frames.
I had a terrible thought.
Pushing it aside I decided to take stock of myself. I had on a thin shirt under what looked to be a very old and bloodstained flack vest.
Olive drab canvas pants and some armored leggings of the same color were strapped to my legs.
I also had a machete on my hip.
Drawing the blade I figured if I was where I thought I was the blade might be necessary.
I was pleasantly surprised to find the thing fairly sharp and rust free. Unfortunately, I did not know enough about blades to know if it was truly a good weapon but I figured I could use the thing in a pinch so I slid the blade back home and drew the gun on my other hip.
Growing up in the US of A, I was more comfortable with with the revolver. The .44 snub was not about to win any beauty contests but the cylinder spun and the bullets looked pretty good.
Satisfied that at least in theory I could defend myself I put the gun back in its holster.
I looked up just as a man was approaching me. He was tall and armored with what looked like steel plates tied together over his vitals. In his hands was a vicious looking pump action shotgun with a long bladed bayonet on the end.
The man looked at me and shouted, "You, boy!"
I looked behind me before I turned back to him and pointed at myself.
"Yeah, you idiot! Wake up the others! There is a new Overboss in Nuka World, if we hurry we can be the first to offer her tribute!"
Welp that settles it. I am in Fallout.
I hope CBBE is turned on.
========
Part 2
========
Turns out tribute means slaves and guns.
Oh yeah, I woke up in the body of a mercenary, gunrunner, and slaver. Won't mom be proud.
Although, I have to say I much prefer to be the one with a gun on my hip than the one with an explosive collar around my neck.
The slaves themselves looked like a motley crew. Of the twenty or so captives most were still in the clothes they were taken in, ripped canvas pants and shirts with a few jackets made from animal leather and fur.
All of them were downcast. They avoided eye contact and bore more than a few bruises, and scrapes. None of them were well fed.
Then again none of the guards were either.
Speaking of the guards, I found out I wasn't exactly a slaver. No, see whoever was in the body before me did not just go out and enslave random people, instead he just took caps in order to help escort the newly captured slaves from the inland settlements to the trade hub of Nuka-World.
See? Huge difference.
Having helped to pack up camp this morning I found that unlike in the game raiders and mercenaries do not simply walk around with guns hoping to catch what they need to eat.
No I have a backpack and, thankfully, a rifle that was next to my bedroll.
The canvas pack was filled with food, a large tarp, some nice long rope, what looked to be a half decent medical kit with some stimpacks, and a bed roll that was strapped to the underside. Also ammo. So much ammo.
Without counting there was about five hundred rounds of just 5.56 for the R91 assault rifle in my hands.
There was another thing to be happy about. Even though we were headed to Nuka-World we were not limited to Fallout 4 weaponry.
It would have been very unfortunate to be left with Fo4's water cooled assault rifle. Instead I have the lovely G3 analog.
Moving to shift the rifle on its strap my gaze swept over the caravan.
Our little procession was composed of three groups.
First was Baxter Crane, with whom I am employed, he is a well known slave and arms merchant who ran between Nuka-World and the Pitt picking up slaves one way and taking guns and bullets back. Currently, we were bringing some slaves that were picked up south of Nuka-World to the trade hub as well as several bramen loaded down with crates of 7.62.
Then there was Dom Rud, he was a doctor traveling to the Commonwealth where apparently his daughter had gotten set up pretty well and wanted to bring her family around.
Lastly, were the ghouls. Six of them scraped enough money together to pay for protection while they fled from the DC area. Turns out the eastern chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel was a not a nice bunch under Arthur Maxson.
All three of these groups had their own security that had melded into one for the journey.
The ghouls had a squad of eleven of their own kind hoping that they wouldn't be bribed into selling their own to the Brotherhood.
Rud's daughter hired a pair couriers to bring her father to the Commonwealth. See thing about mailmen in Fallout is that they have to cross the wasteland quickly and often on their own. These scary motherfuckers could ghost past you and have to give you a reminder that they slit your throat. Already they scouted and helped wipe out two raider encampments that would have been an issue for us had we not caught them by surprise.
Then there was us. The meat. Twenty-four human mercenary thugs armed with everything from shotguns and rifles to mechetties and even a flamethrower for the occasion.
This mishmash of mercenaries, killers, and delivery boys met up in a tavern the night before leaving the Pitt and worked out how security for our little trip would function.
We guarded the slaves and watched the perimeter while the ghouls led the bramans that carried our supplies and kept their own in line. The mailmen acted as scouts.
So far our arrangement had worked out quite well. We were going to lose the ghouls in a day or two when they split off at Albany but rumor has it that from the east bank of the Hudson river Route 90 is being patrolled by at least one of Nuka-World's gangs.
Honestly, I was dreading the arrival at that perverted themepark. It was like a specter on the horizon.
At the moment all I can do is follow the group I am with as leaving would be certain death wandering the wastes alone but once there I was going to have to make a choice. Stay on with the mercenary slavers for the trip back to the Pitt? Head to the Commonwealth? Find a third way?
The real problem is that there is no fresh information from the north. I am fairly sure that this new Overboss is the Nora according to Mr. Crane as he likes to be called but what kind of Sole Survivor takes over the gangs rather than crushing them?
There is also so little information on the condition of the Commonwealth.
Word is the Prydwen was seen flying back to DC but the Brotherhood could well have left a force at Diamond City. Or the Minutemen might have rallied, or the Institute might have turned the whole place into test subjects, or the Railroad might have gutted the leadership of everyone. Hell, maybe the Sole Survivor just murdered everyone and left the place lifeless.
Beyond that there are names and places being thrown around that I have never even heard of. The Ronto Confederacy, the Apple, Broken Banks, and Lanta. I had no idea where these places were or who inhabited them.
Fact is I don't know. All I can do is wait at least until we hit the City of Albany.
---
Built on old ruins and the polluted Hudson river, the City of Albany was impressive. It did not look like the ramshackle construction that is ubiquitous in Fallout games.
Instead it looked as though dozens of buildings were torn down and reused as materials to put up the walls and repair the structures they surrounded. Outside the wall every building taller than the thirty foot parapet or was within a hundred yards of the base was demolished and several large plots were marked out for travelers that arrived after sundown when the gates closed for the night.
Atop the large walls armed and uniformed guards patrolled and watched our approach.
Unfortunately, we arrived an hour or so late to get inside but Mr. Crane along with the mailmen and the doctor were able to bribe their way in so they could sleep on real beds rather than spend another night on the hard ground outside the wall under spotlights and machinegun nests.
For about an hour after he left we cursed our boss for leaving us here but soon enough two barrels of beer were lowered over the side for our consumption.
And consume we did.
The next morning the caravan finally got move the inside the town.
At sun up the gates opened and for the first hour or so farmers and armed soldiers filtered out dispersing to the various fields to tend the crops and provide protection. Eventually a pair of men in blue greatcoats came down to confirm we were the Crane Caravan and led us inside.
The ghouls left looking for their own lodging as soon as they were past the gate while the Albany Bluecoats, as I later learned, brought the rest of us thugs and slaves to a guarded warehouse district.
There we had to wait for a few hours while the guards verified the caravan's manafest.
After dropping off the merchandise the professionalism I had been so surprised to see on the road began to slip.
We began joking and laughing a few men even stopped to grab a couple of beers but soon enough we reached the place Mr. Crane rented out for us to stay for the next few days in town.
It was also where he paid us.
The City of Albany accepted three types of currency. Brotherhood script, Ronto coins, or the universal bottle cap.
Mr. Crane, whose primary consumers were Nuka-World and the Pitt, dealt in caps exclusively. From behind a beat up wooden desk with stacks of the stuff, a ledger, and his bayoneted shotgun leaning against the side he called out names and handed off pouches clanking with caps.
After the money was distributed the tall man stood and spoke in his deep scratchy voice.
"You'll find a small bonus in your pay for picking up those slaves at Lock Haven I know we don't usually bring collars north." There was a small cheer for the extra cash before he continued. "Now we have had a quiet journey so far only a few fights but we are headed to Nuka-World and I am not so sure I like the sound of this new Overboss. I want everyone to be on alert when we cross to the eastern bank of the Hudson. So party yourselves out." Another enthusiastic cheer and Mr. Crane got a smile of his own before he finished. "The Caravan leaves in three days we meet here 5 am. Sharp. Until then your time is your own."
With three hundred caps in my pocket I decided to ditch the others and explore the town myself.
The first thing that jumped to my attention was how clean it was.
There were no burnt out cars in the street or random skellingtons on benches.
Then I saw something that shocked me.
Walking past a general store I glanced through the window but couldn't see too much as the glass was blurry.
The door was already open before realisation slammed into me.
The glass. It was blurry, imperfect.
It was not pre-war glass.
Someone out there saw a need to produce glass sheets and had begun to do so cheaply enough for a general store to install it on street level.
I need to seriously reevaluate how advanced the economy here is.
---
Deciding that the best place to evaluate economic conditions was the bar, I stopped by the bunkhouse and picked up a pair of fellow guards to go drinking with.
Butch is on the shorter side only around 5'5 but the bastard is built like a truck with a square face and greasy black hair. He claims to be from some town south of the Pitt and carries a serrated machete that he calls Maggie.
Ann is a green eyed blond and the first person I hit it off with on the trail. We shared a shift on the night rotation and an interest of the world in general. She was where I learned of many places not mentioned in the games like the city of Apple and the Ronto Confederacy.
She came south working as a caravan guard from the Erie Stretch, a number of fishing and trading villages that help defend each other.
Butch figured he was 23, Anna said she was 19 or 20.
Back home these two would have been with me in college. Here Butch has two bullet wounds and Anna sports a long scar on her neck where someone tried to cut her throat open as well as two missing toes from a gunshot.
The body I inhabit is not much different from my previous one. While I look just as old and dashingly handsome as I did in my previous life at 5'10 and thin with decent enough muscles from physical labor there were some differences like the long scar on my upper left arm and two bullet wounds to the abdomen.
According to the memories that were included with the new decorations the scar came from tangling with a shorter man than myself at a bar when he pulled a knife and the gunshot wounds from a raider on a previous trip to the Pitt.
The three of us ended up on a street lined with bars, casinos, and whorehouses all of which were filled with travelers and caravaners just like us going about getting drunk and laid for the few short days they could trust in the walls and Bluecoats that patrolled the streets to keep them safe before returning to the dangers of the wastes.
The bar we ended up in was one detailed in my memories. The owner was a partner of Mr. Crane's and was likely where he had gotten the beer from last night.
They also gave all of Crane's employees discounts. Slaver and murder he might be but Baxter Crane was good to his employees.
Inside was warm, loud, and smelly but the bar was stocked and no one was fighting so it looked good enough for me.
Behind the long counter that ran across the back of the place a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla that must have come all the way from the Mojave that reinforced my ideas of just how far the trade routes must stretch across the continent.
Idly, I wondered if anyone had sailed to Europe or Asia after the war.
I rapped on the counter and got six beers for myself and my fellow compatriots then turned around to find them securing a table for the three of us.
While I slid into a chair and began distributing the beers Butch opened with some intellectually stimulation conversation.
"You goin whoring tonight, Ann?"
Taking a pull she replied, "Fuck yeah, might stop by the fight pit first though."
"Well forget it then, Jack, you got plans?"
Taking a sip from my, admittedly not bad, beer I shook my head.
"Not really. Maybe drift around a bit, keep an eye out for some new gear. Looking to keep it quiet for a night."
Butch nodded. "Do you mind holding onto some cash for me? I don't wanna have some whore grab all my shit before I even fucked her."
I nodded giving my assent.
After our beers I walked off with both Butch and Ann's extra cash to find someone to tell me about the world while they stumbled off to the Ruby Den with just enough money to get a pair of whores and a drink.
- Pronouns
- He
Quest Reward
"No, seriously, Moria," I moaned, sagging back in my chair. "I'm stuffed. If I eat any more…" I shook my head back and forth, patting my stomach.
"You sure?" Moria asked from the other side of the table. "There's still plenty left!"
Yeah, there was. There really, really was. I could not begin to imagine the favors she had called in or the caps she had spent to get this much food on the table. And some of it was damn good food, too. Iguana bits with some kind of herb or spice on them, really blew the Pre-War preserved food out of the water.
But my stomach could only hold so much and I had reached that limit a while ago. I couldn't even find it in myself to finish off the Nuka-Cola she had served up to drink.
"If you insist, then you're insisting," Moria said with a nod before standing up and coming around the table to sit on my lap. I spent a moment debating if I should kiss her or if she was going to kiss me before I realized that she was wiggling around on my lap to pull a notebook out of her pocket. "I was thinking that after dinner, we could spend some time doing one of my favorite activities!"
I remained silent, figuring I'd get an answer soon enough. And sure enough, Moria flipped through the notebook while producing a pen. She smiled at me and leaned back, grabbing my wrist and putting the pen in it.
"There's lots of ways to put the Wasteland back together," she said. "Something good but something new, you know? I've got lots of ideas for that," boy, could I believe that, "but not even a genius like me can think of everything. So, assistant, let me know what you're thinking of so that we can make things better for everyone!"
She beamed up at me, her eyes sparkling. I felt a blush on my cheeks and hell, could I turn her down after that? It would take a heart of stone to do something like that.
Also, it would take a brain of light to come up with some proper ideas right now. I was feeling pretty distracted as she shifted around on top of me, trying to get comfortable. A whole lot of ideas were coming to mind but they weren't ones I wanted to write down in front of Moria. Do with Moria, sure, but there was a difference there.
"And, um, do you have anything else planned for the evening?" I asked as I slowly started to write down nothing much.
"Just a few other things," Moria said sweetly as she stared up at me and made my heart beat faster and faster.
And how was I supposed to interpret that? Nothing came to mind, which was really a problem when I needed to finish this sentence. And then we could… do something or other.
I was pretty sure Moria had some ideas about that and I had some of my own.