Fallout: 2290

[Pat]

January 1st, 2290



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[Pat]

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Four coursers slid and dropped down from the rubble below the Watcher pod after securing the perimeter to their objective. As he progressed further into the sterile war room past the rows upon rows of synths grafted to their reclamation chairs the Director made the mistake of glancing into one unit's empty marble eyes. Internal surveillance recordings often caught agents confiding in their families at home that the new breed of synths were even more lifeless than their mechanical android counterparts. In the end it simply took stripping away what humanity their creations had for the scientists to finally sympathize with their creations. If he knew that back then, he bitterly reflected, performing a dissection of a conscious synth on that meeting table immediately after Shaun passed away might have averted all of this senseless cruelty. "Dr. Secord." He called, approaching the woman who babysat the petulant Dr. Ayo for years. He had promoted her to division head in the continued absence of Dr. Zimmerman to end interdivision feuds and to properly utilize courser units like the precision scalpel in the night that they always were meant to be. Her predecessor's reassignment alone must've halved the daily workload she dealt with. "I trust everything is going smoothly thus far?" Nathaniel asked pleasantly.

"As we speak androids are overseeing the teleportation of the gold vault contents you want seized of the West Point Bullion Depository, the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, and the Philadelphia Mint to the Institute." Alana replied. "We're almost ready to deploy operatives to Fort Knox once Dr. Scara over in Advanced Systems informs us the reactor can handle the surges in power consumption our multiple long range relays will cause."

"And like that we come to the need for my visit today. My instructions were abundantly clear; complete the mission as quickly as possible. There will be no more delays. Our fusion cores and piezonucleic generators will pick up the slack. If the Brotherhood of Steel could detect routine relays to the surface, anyone monitoring radio transmissions will pick up and in time triangulate the true origin of this interference. The clock is ticking."

"Understood, Director." She nodded, understanding the gravity of her mistake now. She turned from him to give the order to the teleporter technicians who began relaying units to the United States Bullion Depository. Nathaniel could excuse her this once. After all, it's been years since any organization has posed a threat to the Institute. Scientists couldn't be expected to know war. But a soldier like him, he knew how fickle peace can be.

"They're breaching!" An intelligence analyst excitedly declared a few short minutes into the excursion. The force dispatched to Fort Knox had eyebots capable of emitting sonic pulses that loosened sediment. A useful tool Nathaniel picked up from a bank robber. Reaching the outer wall of what must be the basement, a shaped charge made quick work of the only thing between the Institute and America's most dearly precious heirloom. Or so everyone thought. When the smoke cleared, the supersoldiers and robots dispatched to secure the vast wealth said to be contained within Fort Knox were left with absolutely nothing but a stunningly empty room.

"There's an escape tunnel located in the lower level that only opens when the vault door is locked shut." Nathaniel stated blankly, staring at the screen before him. "Have the coursers search the vault from top to bottom for any signs of entry, and then have them go through the escape tunnel up to the main building of the facility where they will investigate where the gold reserves have been moved to." Wherever the contents of Fort Knox were relocated, he contemplated as Alana began barking orders, this had just became interesting.

 

[Murdergurl]

BGM ▷ ​

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• Setting
• The Gang
• Nomi

• 
  
  • January 1st, 2290 AD. Early Evening
  • East-Southeast of Dallas, Texas, Westbound on Route 20
  • Tags: Open
  • Warnings: Cursing, Derogatory Language
• 
  
  ​
  
  The last rays of a setting sun glared a ruddy orange as the angry orb drifted down under the horizon line. Down the Interstate 20, a short line of oxidized metal contraptions chugged their way down the broken, asphalt trail. The rusty steel plank that served as a sunshade was drawn low to shield the eyes of the lead driver. It was an abomination of mechanical ability, scrapped and patched together in Frankenstein-ian fashion over the years by the mechanically adept members of the Slitter Gang. Mostly, this knowledge was observed and learned from a Mr. Handy robot that had been salvaged from a garage several years ago. The robot insisted on being called "Mr. Greasy". To the automaton's chagrin, most of the raiders just called it a myriad of derogatory curses and names.
  
  A tangle of chains and cables were pulled taut behind the cantankerous, pre-war vehicles. They were shackled together, the stronger of the cars tugging along the weaker engines. Treads replaced tires when mangled strips of rubber were no longer sustainable for wheels. When the prospective bulk of abandoned cars were seen, they were cannibalized for any parts not obviously useless. At the rear of the chain-gang of vehicles, a large bus had been converted into a veritable parts warehouse. Here, anything that might feasibly be a replacement part was stored. Surrounding the string of transports was a large gaggle of raiders. Not forty in number, the nomads traveled West in search of new pickings and new victims. Their procession was a slow but tenacious walk. Their number clad in jury-rigged armor bristling with knobs, and spikes, and jagged edges meant to tear flesh as much as to defend from blows. Thudding amongst them in ominous power-armor were the Group Leaders. Their rank was made obvious by their coveted equipment, equally patchwork and sinister. Their respective cadre gathered around the individual leaders in unorganized clusters as the entirety of the gang trod onward. Absent from the procession was any semblance to a universal leader. No obvious mantle, no guarded transport. Nothing. For at this point and time, the Slitter Gang was without a head.
  
  They would continue on for a time, stopping when they found ample shelter to accommodate their number. When this refuge manifested, it was as the ruins of what had once been a train station. Several train cars were frozen on the tracks, axles seized with rust. The windows to the station itself were largely absent, the glass having been broken decades or even centuries ago. But the whole of the region had provided walls and roofs to give temporary solace from the elements, and the raider gang was glad of it. With practiced familiarity, the cars were unfettered from one another, and their respective drivers parked them in a manner that provided a barricade from the most obvious points of potential danger. The rest of the raiders broke up into familiar groups. Most spread out to claim the area and any potential materials they could scavenge off of it. Others who were either too lazy or too tired, instead made their way to claim the best sleeping spots. Mr. Greasy was tucked away where he could be watched over. Despite how long he had remained in the raiders' company, the floating, multi-armed robot was still guarded like a prisoner. He was afterall, the gang's lifeline to repairing and reconstructing their method of travel.
  
• 
  
  
  ​
  "Get over there!", a gruff voice insisted.
  
  One of the Group Leaders had taken a contingent of his rabble and decided they would explore the train yard. He was busy directing them on which cars to inspect, his clap-trap power-armor whirring and clanking as his steel wrapped hand pointed this way and that. Nomi was in this party, and was currently being ordered to climb up the railing of one of the cars. Handlebars were welded onto the side of the train car, a large and cylindrical tank with a lidded hatch on its top surface. The group leader, whom everyone simply knew as "Bones", spurred Nomi to take a look inside.
  
  "Fuck my luck...", Nomi grumbled, as she lifted herself up the ferrous rungs. The metal was still warm from the stored heat of the day, and her thin and nimble fingers glided over the sharp edged of a broken handle. She skipped it over, the young raider hefting herself awkwardly over the gap. Clamoring over the rounded edge of the train tank, Nomi balanced herself precariously as she made her way to the hatch. Below, the pallid faced female could see the rest of the group. Bone's party wove in and out of the various train cars, some of them already digging at piles of refuse or prying at locked containers. Nomi approached the open hatch. A polished edge signaled that the portal was not only recently used, but that it was used often. At this realization, Nomi's heart quickened. There could be someone inside. She raised her grubby hand up high, signaling to Bones that there might be a problem.
  
  At the sight of the young raider's hand hoisted into the air, Bones called out to the rest of the party. "Pull back! Hands on arms!"
  
  The group bumbled into attention, a dozen or so of the scavengers wearily making their way back to the center of the train yard. Some had their weapons in hand, others merely stood ready to draw them out. All eyes went up to Nomi as she inched her way toward the hatch. As she reached forward with one hand, the other went to her hip where a .45 revolver was tucked into her belt. Gripping the edge of the hatch, the small female attempted to heft it upwards. But the iron cover was heavy, and Nomi quickly discerned that she would need both hands to lift it open. Hesitantly, she moved her gun hand from it's grip on the cloth wrapped handle. Then grabbing the round of the hatch with both hands she pulled it up. It was uncomfortably hot, the inside of the tank acting like an oven and trapping the heat of the day. The furnaced air wafted up and stung Nomi's face and she backed away from the open hole. She doubted anything was alive down there in that heat.
  
  "Well?!", Bones called out impatiently.
  
  Nomi merely shook her head, her shoulders relaxing as she turned away from the hatch. At this, a couple of the other raiders grumbled their irritation.
  
  "Jumpy c.unt... "
  
  
  "Ugh... false alarm."​
  
  
  "Can we get this shit over with, already?"​
  
  Bones himself turned away. The Group Leader understood the necessity of caution, but still found himself to be annoyed with Nomi's actions in his tired state. Meanwhile, the raven-haired raider dipped her shaggy mop of a head down into the heated portal of the car. It was stiflingly hot, and pitch black. The fleeting light of dusk did little to illuminate the hollow. Her verdant eyes darted around quickly, and summarily found little of interest. At least, nothing worth diving into the oven to investigate. Just as quickly as she had explored the train car's contents, Nomi plucked herself right back out. As she moved back to the rungs to descend the worthless car, a flash of movement at the far end of the yard caught the girl's attention. She froze, debating on whether to call out to Bones again. The party was already vexed at her for the false alarm, and she didn't want to cry out again if it was nothing. But a second blur in the same direction confirmed her dismay. there was definitely something else here in the train yard with them.
  
  "Bones!", Nomi yelled, flailing her arms in alarm from atop the train car.
  
  She could see the irritation in the stance of the power armor as Bones' encased form turned to glower at her. She could feel his stare through the glowing visor of the heavy suit.
  
  "What?! What the fuck is it now, Nomi!", his voice was angered.
  
  North! Look North!", the small raider cried. Her white painted face was distended in distress.
  
  Bones shifted quickly, realizing that this was not another precautious act on the part of the frightened grunt. Others of the party had turned to notice Nomi's outcry and they also heeded her warning shouts. As the group scanned the northerly end of the complex, it soon became clear as to what had caught Nomi's attention. One by one, a large group of feral ghouls emerged from between the oxidized train cars and other debris. There must have been over twenty of them, growling and hissing at the fear-struck scavengers. As the ghouls gathered in mass, a faint glow could be seen in the twilight hour. Amongst their number one ghoul in particular gave off a bright luminescence, a Glowing One. Then, as though waiting for a cue, he shrieked a braying call that pierced through the tense silence. All at once the feral ghouls broke into a mad dash toward the raiders.
  
  "Fuck!", Nomi shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping to bring the other members of the gang to their aid. "Ferals! Ferals!"
  
  Shots and screams rang out as the Slitter Gang clashed with the large pack of necrotic post-humans.
  
  
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☢ - S L I T T E R - G A N G - I N F O - ☢​

☢ - N O M I - I N F O - ☢​