|This Fallout of mine - A Fallout-S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Story, now on GSC as well
| 13:42:32 21 June 2014
On forum: 05/12/2014
Message edited by:
This Fallout of Mine - A Fallout-S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Story, now on GSC as well|
The name is Hazy, AKA Shidentora. I am a translator, interpreter, languages teacher and also a Post-Nuclear Genre writer.
I would like to present here my work that I already started publishing on the Fallout Nexus Site. It had been observed by quite a number of people.
Only thing unusual to some of you is the setting - the FO3 Capital Wasteland, where all of the sudden the Zone appeared, coming to offer Her hand, fingers glittering with artifact rings, in the combat against the Doom of the Main protagonist's time. Gently accepting it, he follows the Zonushka into his destiny, maybe never to come back home to DC...
So, STALKER, if you care to read a complicated plot STALKER-FALLOUT Mixture full of action, love beyond grave, tension, blood, despair, sorrow, radioactivity, martial arts, combat expertise, magic, tactics, etc, etc,
then This Fallout of Mine is here, for... - YOU.
The work needs a few paragraph changes, so while I do that, maybe you would like to write something about this idea. Could be helpful, and always like to hear new ideas.
| 18:59:29 23 June 2014
On forum: 05/12/2014
BANZAI, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.S. Corrections done. Enjoy the first episode |
„This Fallout of Mine“
Mark Morgan, Brian Fargo, Chriss Avelone and other giants without whom Fallout as such (also by the means ot the the Wasteland video game, the sequel of which so many of us await so impatiently!) and thus this work as well, wouldn’t be possible;
Martial arts of our world, as the life without them would be a real quagmire of despair;
Bethesda - for FO3, IMO the best video game so far (March ’13) and for the DLCs;
Interplay - for Fallout Tactics: BoS, the transition between FO2 and FO3;
Black Isle Studios – for Fallout and Fallout 2;
GSC Game world – for S.T.A.L.K.E.R.s;
Freddy_Farnsworth, Purr4Me and Black Rampage– for their invaluable Fallout 3 friendship;
RicerHK – for the beautiful Brisa Almodovar mod, without which I don’t play the game;
Mouse0270 - for the Desert – Harsher Wasteland mod, without which I don’t play the game (without the desert, that is);
Rainman and Gumych – for FO2 Oblivion Lost Mod;
Me – for writing this and altering the stuff a bit, as this one roughly (said – roughly) follows the FO3 MQ...
Freddy_Farnsworth, Purr4Me, Shubbingurath, Black Rampage, AskFor and all my other Fallout friends, as well as to all good natured ppl I ever met.
In memory of:
My Father, the best friend, teacher and companion I could ever have.
Also, in memory of:
All the fallen women, children and men of Earth that the wars on this troubled world claimed for their own. May we never forget you.
I do hope, not in memory of:
The Human Kind’s Common Sense.
Sergeant Hazy will be continued, don’t worry
This work is meant to provide for fun, enjoyment, inspiration and whatever you please to find in it – for you.
WHOA! If you see that I have missed to give you credit for any of your property I have used here, please write to me at once a PM containing an exact copy-paste of the problem with explanation and I’ma fix that ASAP.
NB: Only to whom it does concern: I really hate, hate and hate having to write this, but I gotta... As all my other works, this work is copyrighted. And also, y’see, soooo sad is the stone-cold fact that there are so few of us left today, who give our very best trying to find some goddamned time to write something straight from our hearts and with as few errors as possible – for you to read. So, please, respect what we do and dontcha steal from us. Remember – what goes around, comes around. And... God forgives – I don’t. Once again, for the sake of understanding, this passus is meant ONLY for those, to whom it does concern, i.e. to those who steal others’ works of pen. Period, Amen.
And now, please, dear Reader, have your favorite snack, or drink, play Fallout soundtrack, or whatever you like, read and enjoy.
End of „Foreword“
„This Fallout of Mine“
„Only the dead have seen the end of war“
„The war doesn’t decide who’s right – only who’s left“
These sayings were on my mind very often, even long, long time before I became one of the Vault 101 armorer-repairmen and martial arts instructors (the ppl had to persuade the Iron Butt Overseer fer his sayso fer this for a looong time ). The infamous G.O.A.T. was right about my occupation in both cases. No wonder - my dad had bestowed upon me all his knowledge of martial arts, medicine and repair skill, but I always liked tinkering with all kind of guns much more than medicine and all the yuckery that goes with it. Not that I don’t know medicine – I do, just like my old man, Colonel Vaultdweller Senior. Everyone down here does, at least to some extent – otherwise we would never make it back to the Vault from our scout missions. Because, after it opened some months ago, in Vault 101 someone sometimes comes - mostly traders, peddlers and scavengers to trade or hopefully trade stuff for medical and other services, most of the scout people return and someone seldom leaves – simply because the vault residents are too much used to button pressing. Most of ’em not even knowing how the day and night look like, let alone lighting a fire without frying their ass... But, on the other hand, what would you expect from the ppl who were born, live and stay under a rock?
Ever since Butch tried to take my sweetroll at my 10th birthday party and got an uppercut instead, the people understood that I didn’t like watching Toshiro Mifune, Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee movies just for the sake of watching. Of course, I didn’t exactly copycat them, because our fighting styles differ, but sought instead the messages and thoughts of their Budo (Japanese for Martial Arts as such). Never told that to anyone ’cept Brissy. So I’ve beaten out the rep for myself that day, and the name to go with it – they started calling me The Lone Fighter Dweller. Because I frequently wander the vault alone and never ask for help if I can help it myself, am a martial artist fighter and because of my family name – Vaultdweller. My old man explained once to the 5 year old boy, that our family name comes from our ancestor - the legendary fearsome Vault Dweller, who destroyed the Master in the West once upon the time and not so long ago. After my 10th birthday, he gave me his photo (somehow!) molded into clear plastic for protection and every time I look at it, his stone-like facial expression and his deadly icy eyes give me creeps. But only untill I again see the warmth and friendliness in their depth.
„Yes, son, only we can see those. Only we. Once, when you meet him, you should remember that... Again.“
And as for the Colonel... Well, the ol’ US Army ain’t around now, I s’pose, but he did tell me this story as many times, as I cared to hear – which was always...
Our great great grandfather was a Medical Corps Colonel and a very good friend with someone called Colonel Hazy Senior, the Commander of some ultra-elite kickass unit... Something Berrets is how they were called. Were, because all of them got KIA on an extrememly important, but kamikaze, mission. For three full days, our great great grandpa wept on his friend’s grave – they were like brothers... Then, he went to his car, took his guitar and sat again by that lone grave, on a cliff above the Atlantic. Wiping away his tears, he opened his cigar box, lit one and started playing. All the favorite songs of his deceased friend, followed by their drinking songs, and in the end, he played for his friend the „He was a good S.T.A.L.K.E.R.“ An unconsciously said „Da svidanya, daragoy priyatel moy...“ (the third musketeer, an extremely gifted repairman and an ex S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Boris, taught him Russian, many russian songs, guitar playing, all he knew about the Repair skill and about the Russian weapons, as well as all he knew about the creepy place called The Zone he was born at and his countrymen, the S.T.A.L.K.E.R.s). One last salute and about-face, and he went away from there, only to return one day to stay forever... He ordered his son to burry him next to his friend and so, one day, giving him last instructions what to do and testing all his knowledge for the last time, he in the end asked him: „What is the secret of Budo?“
„Mhm... And the secret of Medicine?“
„Good... Very, very good... I have taught you well. You will need both soon enough, son... Now pack the stuff I gave you, pack all you care about and go to the Vault 101 construction site next Monday. Don’t forget to tell the Foreman I sent you, OK?“
Then he asked him to bring him another coffee and when he did, he found his father sitting there as usual, his eyes on a Journal of the DC Internal Medicine on the desk in front of him. But this time, he didn’t take the coffee...
His son wasn’t a Colonel. He wasn’t even a military man, but a doctor, a Budo sensei and a repairman. However, out of remembrance and respect to his dad, the ppl started calling him Colonel, so there you go... A few years later, the Mommy Earth wept horridly under the nuclear fire some of her children, now KOS outcasts, played with and lost the control over, the cogwheel-like giant vault door rumbled into position, slammed shut and... And here I am...
But there’s maybe no help to some people, is there. Just before the G.O.A.T., Butch (again) and his Tunnelsnakes (yea, right, run-to-momma-badass) were molesting my love, Brisa. Comming behind the corner like a tsunami, I kicked the crap out of all the three of them with my hand made nunchaku and was about to start jumping on Butch’s buckethead, when officer Gomez appeared and unwillingly asked me to stop, which I unwillingly did, but kicked Butch once more.
Later, as Brisa insisted, we announced ourselves to the DeLorias and, when they aggreed, payed them a home visit. Then, she presented to Butch her katana, telling him that its blade will be the last thing he’ll see if he dares screwing around with her ever again. He mumbled something about guns, but then, with a speed of a totally pissed-off girl who fracking means it, she pulled out the Persuador 10 Mili AF I lovingly hand made for her, and seconds later, as she reloaded the gun amidst the gunsmoke, terrified Butch turned around and saw the JHP slugs splattered on the steel wall behind him – all 12 pieces, roughly following the shape of his noggin! His face went pale-greenish with fear and he gave our noses a hefty reason to make us both get-da-hell-otta-there. Brisa, however, turned once again at the doorstep to tell him: „Next time, so help me God, I’ll empty ALL my mags in you and then will SLICE YOU FRACKIN’ APART! Got that, crapbutt?“
Of course, the Overseer didn’t have any remark on her acting whatsoever. Quite on the contrary, he sentenced Butch to a fat year of toilet cleaning, trash incinerating and other pleasant jobs. And in addition, as a bonus, every working day after his shift (and after he bathes himself!), he was to spend another half-shift doing what I tell him. It was to be what Brisa says, but Ellen knelt before the Overseer and wept to him to change his mind, if he is a human. He did, with his usual disgruntled „well, all right...“
Oh, boy, the pranks I made for Butch back then, muhehehe. I will remember one particular prank for as long as I live, bwahahaha. Butch entered the generator room that day, only to set off a tripwire, wich in turn set in motion a powerful spring with a so sweet KOOOIIINNNGGG followed by a SWOOOSH of a heavy rag (used for generator cleaning) launched from the top of it! For this purpose, I dipped the rag into the finest selection of used smelly machine oil, mixed with loving care with a stinky meat and fish platter I made and minced with my gasmask on, used kitchen oil some fish was fried in, shoe polish agent, etc., etc. I told the dorkhead to put on his protective goggles as „we’ll be working with dangerous chemicals,“ as my „slave“ needed his eyes unplastered with the... hm... stuff and he did that. The rag hit him straight in his yak, as I calculated for his height and so on, he swore like that drunkard from this Rivet City place I heard about and a moment later I heard a „OMG... URP... OMG!!! YYYYYAAAAAAAARRRRFFFF!!! SPLAAAAT!“ Gawd, did he stink up da place, like a gutted skunk...
Brisa and I had to run to our quarters, giggling along the way, and we ROFLed there for quite a while...
Y’see, children, in Vault 101, when two people love each other, you DON’T even think to try to sabotage their love – or else... Ask Butch...
Ah, good old 101... Clean, 1st class medicine... An Overseer that needs urgent replacement... That was our 101. Yea... Was...
*Yawn* „What time is it, Brissy?“
She loked at her pip-boy: „Past midnight, my love. Is that the same gun you were tinkering with yesterday?“
„Yea, come see...“
She approached, the scent of her body rising my PE to 10 instantly! Her hot lips found the back of my neck and a second later, my earlobe. I exhaled, almost dropping the gun. „Carefu...“ *cough* „Carefully, my love. It’s the Vault Dweller’s HolyGun!“ I wishpered.
„Oh...“ She made one step away, only to glue to me again.“THAT gun ??!“ she wishpered.
„Yup. I just finished it... See... *cla-clack* I’ve modded its barrel sleeve to hold a 9x19 mili, 10 mili, .45 ACP, or .44 barrel w/accessories and its grip...“ *shhhh-trac* as I loaded a 10 mili mag of APIX (Armor-Piercing-Incendiary-Xplosive) ammo for out-of-Vault use, as you verdict the roaches with the surplus ammo, right? „...to hold any of these calibers mag. That’s 24 rounds for 9 and 10 mili and 12 rounds for .44 or .45 ACP. The Holygun now fires single or tripple. Cool, huh?“ I said, lovingly looking down at the beautiful and fairly heavy, dimly glittering, ever-verdict-ready gun metal color Colt 6520, a few times older than the two of us combined.
„I needed a reference, however, so I made 2 identical guns before I deeply bowed to the Holygun and started working on it, 2 weeks ago. My Dad has one and the other one... *reaching for a field drab canvas military pouch on the workbench* is yours *handing the pouch over*, baby.“
*YANK! SMOOOOOCH! KISSSETE-KISS! KISS!*
“But I’m as dirty as a pig...“
She wouldn’t listen... Hm...
At 2AM, tired but lustfull as always, we took a shower smoocho together and crawled in our bed. As a 20 years old and so loving couple, we had our own apartment. Our gear was ready for the tomorrow’s scout mission to the Southwest. We were to go to check out this military base (?) at SW that our scouts discovered a day’s walk from V101 and to check out the tall structure on the horizon far W-SW beyound a ridge on the top of which our scout patrol set foot for the first time a week ago. Gotto be this Tencent or TenWhateverCurrency Tower that Lucky Harith and Crow told me about a month ago. Good guys... Traded with them à half a dozen of fully repaired, polished and military grade oil oiled, myself modded 10 mili auto handguns and 10 mm Drum SMGs, 1,000 APIX 10 mm rounds and 10 galons of finest military grade gun oil for a real treasure of: one .308 converted Urban Sniper „Medvyod“ Dragunov SVU SD EC AF (yea, I know a-real-kickass), two Benelli Boxmag Shotguns with 20 mags, one USAS-12 (how RARE) with 10 drum mags, à 300 Volt-It EMP, RipAss Flechette and Ashes2Ashes Napalm shells and 30 BleachedSkull Acid Grenades (oh, man ). Plus, bought from them (so-frackin-rare!!) three full „Desert Tiger“ desert camo energo-resist Stealth Commando armors for 10,586 caps (yea, ALL my caps ) and 5 worn-out surplus V101 Security Armors i „borrowed“ from the Overseer. Invited the guys in V101. Spent 5 full hours talking with them and Brisa at our quarters about the outside world over many Ice Cold Nukas, cigars and a 50 pounds freshly hunted baby Mirelurk roasted in its own shell, yum. Arranged for them and their crews antirad shower. Arranged for all of them full 10 days’ rest in the safety of the guest quarters, guarded by the best of my Budo students and Gomez’s squad, all (somehow) Amen-ed by the always grumpy IronButt Overseer. Watched with them their holotapes about the Wastes (Gawd, how... wastelandish a place). Exchanged virtually all the info we could ever care to share with each others... Got next 3 months discount... Info on a hidden stash up NE... Cool...
After carefully looking me in the eye, Lucky Harith asked me for a private conversation. Then, he shared with me...
News of campfires and some absolutely weird lights seen in the night at a place far up NE and some „totally outlandish“ guitar music heard from there. Some ppl sworn that they heard... Russian? Couldn’t approach the place, they all say, as if some kind of forcefield prevented them. However, the most disturbing was the news about some new unknown deadly monsters that appeared in the NE Wastes, on par with the local fauna, or even more dangerous...
Oh, boy... Oh... Boy...
I thought that this is just another tell-tale, as Harith had a bit too much of Roentgen Rum then, but hearing once Crow whistling his own version of Podmoskovskie Vecherya („This? Oh, it’s the outlandish music from the NE. I like it.“), an old Russian song that I always loved humming to my Brissy in private, I realized that maybe, after all, I’ll have to set my Russian in motion one day. If the Stalkers are really here, they’d certainly be a force to reckon with... Best as friends... All ’cept the Monolith. Or Bandits. But the Zone monsters... and... and ANOMALIES! God help us all...
Y’see, I’m a very friendly and hospitable helping person and I can only let out a teardrop for having to beat up someone like Butch... that’s not and once again I say – not the default way any martial art was ever meant to be used. Nevah... But... Sigh... Although every single real martial art is meant to teach you how to prosper in good health, it is also meant for you to teach a Butch some manners...
„I have this weird feeling that we gotto add to our gear all we could need... I... I am not sure why, but I... I think we might be not comming back... Weird...“
„ That’s been taken care of. I got that settled... Your stuff and mine. Be ready to cartoon yaself inside your armour and with your bacpack on first thing in the morning.“
We fell asleep, 10fold EMP trap on our door, our shotguns leant against the wall, locked and loaded, sidearms under our pillows... Dad has my Dragunov. As an expert in Russian weaponry, he offered to improve it – but how? To install a coffee-maker on it? Y’know, sometimes I really just don’t get my ol’ man... Sounds familiar..?
I rocketed out of my bed with salto backwards over Brisa the instant the alarm sounded. She rolled out in a yoko-kaiten (rollover sideways) a second later, her big and firm breasts all-powerfully jiggling as always, but the dark red shiny smooth areolas and big dark red juicy nipples on her tanned breasts were not for me to take gentle care of right now, un-frackin-fortunately. The alarm was sounded – because of Dad. I knew that, even before we donned our armors, helmets and backpacks, disarmed and stowed the EMP trap and took battle positions at either side of the door and opened it with a WZZZT. As we cross-inspected the corridor with our hand mirrors, I saw Amata sprinting our way as fast as she only could, her face grimaced with fear.
A look at Brisa. Her nod. In a tiger leap, I gently stopped Amata in mid sprint and covered her mouth with my armored glove from behind her head.
„SHHHH, damn you!“ I uncovered her mouth.
„Up yours, Fighter!“ she hissy-wishpered. „Ya gotto getda frack otta here, both of ya! The Colonel is AWOL! Killed two security guys with some mean black gun I nevah saw before! They killed Jonas and are comming for you!“
„Oh, boy, that’s all I needed.“ I grunted. „Brissy, let’s rocket otta here!“
„Yea, Love. I know my uncle. If he stops liking someone...“
„As if I dunno that psycho cretin... Through the Maintenance, fast!“
„No!“ said Amata. „The 2nd Platoon is set there! With pistols! They’re ordered to KOS you. Both.“
I patted my USAS-12. “ARE they, huh?“ *a meeeean verdict glare* „Tell ya wut. We go thru da Atrium and ya scram to yer place and „play an English girl“.“
„Y’know, the „I’m not from around here, what’s the weather like?“ stuff.“
„YO, Brissy-Kissy! We’re otta here, my life!“
As silently as the metal floor permitted, I sprinted towards the Atrium. Amata started weeping as she staggered towards her place. Brisa kissed her bubye, replaced her helmet and swooshed after me, both pistols in her hands, cross-holstered Benellis on her back...
*TROMP, TROMP, TROMP!*...
Male runsteps! Behind the corner!
As I was sprinting, I just sled into prone pose, holding my USAS-12 aimed at the corner, sliding across the floor as a giant piece of soap. And then...
„!?“ I rolled over and got up, aiming at his chest, despite his hands-up pose. Noone’s my friend now... ’Cept Brissy and Amata. „WUT?“
„M... my mom... Roaches appeared otta nowhere and are... Eating her!“
We burst into the apartment, where Ellen was crying painfully in her room, calling for Butch to help her. My armored palm’s „Whoa“ towards Butch, I whammed in her door with my armor-pauldroned shoulder and helmet, Miyamoto Musashi style, and burst into the room. Ellen was on the floor, roaches biting her. I had the bayonet on my USAS-12, but I’d never risk hurting her, so I took care of the frackers with a few mighty kicks. *Hshinnk* as I drew my Battle Wakizashi and finished the frackers off, gutting them for their meat in seconds.
Terrified Butch watched the entire scene, jaw agape. „T... Thanks...“
„Nuthin.“ I returned the fairly heavy blade in its back holster and trushed a Stimpak onto his chest.
ake care of yer mom, Butch.“ I slapped my hand on his shoulder. “Frens after all?“
He clasped my right hand as strong as he could, shaking it.“Two moons from now, fren, at da Great Salt Water. I’ll be waiting there fer you, Fighter... Some day... You’re the leader...“
„Huh? Naah, just a man who enjoys life and survival as best as he can, and recommends you the same...“
„Hey, here... Take my Tunnel Snake gear.“
„Hold it, man. I have my gear all right. YOU are a TS and YOU should wear one. Now help yer mom, ya buckethead!“
„Dontcha call me like that, ya psycho-slicer-dicer!“
„ See you at the Ocean.“ Stowing the roaches meat, I ran out, not waiting fer his answer. I had my loving pounding heart to save...
„There he is! FIRE!!!“ a SOWh (a sunnuma... well, y’know...) yelled.
I prone-slid accross the corridor intersection and dissapeared behind the corner, BLAM! BLA-BLAM! and Peew! Pyoow! of their ricocheting bullets only a few feet behind me. It’s 10 mili pistols all right.
OMG! Fight against my neighbours, colleagues, the people I joked and dined with together...
NO, MADAFRAKKA-HELL-NO! These ppl are now dead... Living dead firing at me...
„I am trained for this! I am ready for this! I-will-gut-those-madafrackers! NOW! For Brissy! For Dad!For the Wastes! BANZAAI!“ roared my soul from within.
As the first one emerged from behind the corner (Gawd, what a jackass), a Chinese frag mine clanked on the floor behind him! A CHING-CHONG (Chinese for „ya screwed“?) and a BWANG followed by the splattering sound of bodyparts caking to the walls and ceiling, the distinctive smell of blood. I prone-peeked from behind the filing cabinet. What was left of one of them was trying to aim its 10 mili at me, hand trembling. Tsk, tsk, tsk... A HISSSSHHHKK as my poisoned shuriken swooshed at it, a TCHONK as it hit its eye and brain behind it killing it, a BLAM as its index finger’s final cramp made it squeeze the triger one last time and a YYYOOOOWWW as the bulled hit the cabinet, ricocheting into a Nuka machine nearby, which conked it out with a SFRA-ZZZTT, yarfing out a lotta cans.
„On da house... Thanx, mac.“ I grinned and quickly took as many cans as I could fit in my remaining pockets, ran to the bloody mess I made and quickly looted the bodies for ammo, caps, food and meds. Took pistols, too. Don’t care about battons. Dowanna shove one up someone’s... Hm...
Brisa ran up from the Caffeteria, where she found a dead woman, and covered her mouth with her hands with a URP...
„Get used to this.“ The Vault Dweller’s voice echoed through me and she collected herself.
My girl! I smiled. But how do we bring up kids outside of a vault..? And even if we do... What THE HELL for? And to goddamded where, for frack’s sake? Into the hell-world out there? Mebbe I just ferget the whole kids thing... Yea, that’s the way... So be it... Amen... Snnnffff...
„HUH?!? Ya, ya, let’s go...“
Comming to the Atrium, we heard a couple talking. „Wait here.“ I signalled her and went onwards to see WTH’s up... Two V101 people were there, arguing about approaching the entrance block. In the end, he went and the security killed him! Then her brain conked it out, obviously, and she went screeching and one of their bullets hit her straight between her breast!! She rolled back her eyes, gaaasped and thudded on the floor... ’Twas a thud that only a dead body makes...
Ya madafrackin SOWhs ... As a tiger, I approached the collumn behind which I saw the shadow of one of the two SOWh’s guarding the corridor. It was dark in my part of the atrium, as one of the Einsteins hit a light there. Thanks, dumbass... And bu-bye... This is for her... I crawled into prone-ready, prone-rolled as a snake and a BABABABANG of my USAS-12 left kinda bloody particles fog instead of them two. On purpose...
This gun is one mean CQB madafrakka, buddy, y’know? A full-auto shotgun with modded (guess by who, heheheh) 50 RDS drum, this one will dissect anyone, roast anything alive, or volt those wearing a Power Armor. No, ’ts not a magic. Plus the one on the gun, I had on me 8 more drums loaded alternately with all the three kinds of ammo.
I was ready for them... even if in T-51b. Because, when escaping from the Vault 101, you better ready yaself for all the nine circles of Hell... Or put yaself otta da misery...
Truth, the rounds in a drum do rattle a bit and that’s probably a reason why the WW2 GIs didn’t use too much drum mags with their Tommyguns, although a 50 or a 100 rounds (yea, baby) mag would make fer a helluva minced meat, as the ’30s Chicago Gangsta boys showed clear enough. But that goes for metal rounds like the .45 ones... And the shotgun shells are made of plastic... But even with metal rounds, not swinging the gun too much, keeping it in at approx. 45 degrees at the ready stance would probably do... And relaxing one’s hands and arms too... I wonder if the WW2 Soviet Red Army guys wielding their PPSh40s knew this? Never saw a box mag on that gun...
As I looted the bodies, I heard Brisa yarfing her guts out behind me. Oh, well... She’ll get used to this... And so will I... God knows what’s awaiting us out there... Making her guzzle two nukas not to choke on her own vomit, I helped her up, gave her a hot kiss (I love her, right?), held her tightly for a moment and we went on...
„Frackit! The door’s jammed shut. It’ll take a Godzilla to open it. And we ain’t got no blastcharges.“ I grunted after we looted what’s left of the two SOWhs.
„The Iron Butt’s ofice. The tunnel there.“ Brissy was lookin’ at me.
„Yea, just lead the way to there, and I’ma take care of the rest.“
„Wouldn’t let you go first. Gawd, how am I gonna live if you die, Brissy..?“ *teardrops*
She answered, crying silently... „How the Fracking Hell am I ever gonna live if something happens to you..?“ Her big almond eyes were now two lakes of fear... Fear of a woman for her man...
„I swear...“ *gulp* „I swear to God, if you die, I’ll go to join you. No life without you, Fighter.“
„Onaji nan dayo... (Hell, same here, too).“ We embraced each other for a moment, kissing out each other’s tears. „C’mon... *kiss* There’s the smiling Hell awaiting us right out there, arms wiiide open...“
Hearing the Andy’s flamethrower behind the next corner, I looked at my handmirror only to see him roasting some roaches and Gomez beating them with his baton. Running with my gun at the ready up to them, I saw Gomez smile at me, and joined the party with my bayonetted gun and stuff. Katana glittering in the dim light of the corridor, Brissy came too and we all had a bit of slicy-dicy-roasty-toasty time. I briefly grunted at Andy to toast those it didn’t, kicking them towards him and adding my own to the stuff. Gomez understood the plan and gave Brissy the big yumcha chocolate he stashed for his younger kid’s tomorrow’s 10th birthday. I went to the Dad’s office nearby and there, behind the Revelation Quote, I found in the safe a 1,000 caps, a picture of Dad with a raven haired beauty (my mom..?), 100 .50 AE rounds and... and a Desert Eagle SC EC AF NV! With a chest holster! Oh, yea... I quickly put my backpack down, strapped the gun to my chest, caught a sackfull of roaches meat that Gomez tossed to me, stuffed it in the backpack, looted everything I saw to be usefull to Brissy and me, stuffed that too, slung the pack back on. And... And the bottle of Artefaktnaya Vodka, which I stuffed under my chest armor. I quickly aggreed with Gomez on a special frequency for us to comm on and Brissy and me flew onward...
The way to the Overseer’s office led past the security grunts office w/ prison cell. Strangely, noone was there to stop us. But wait... A faint woman’s cry? Amata! Heard from the Security office! Like an avalanche, we shattered the door with our simultaneous double (with both heels) jumping sidekick. A SOWh was beating poor Amata and the Bastard was watching! His own kid! A look at Brissy. She shhhhkked her katana blade right under the Butt’s throat, cornering him and forcing him to stay put. As she did that, I evaded with an ihen-no-kamae a diagonal baton swing and kick-disjointed both SOWh’s knees, thumb-jabbed in his eyes, rammed his baton right down his throat and, as he was choking on the floor, i grabbed a turpentine from a desk there, splashed it over him, loaded and fired a napalm round at him. As he was aaaaarrggghhhh-ing, I came to the Iron Butt.
„Listen, ya deathclaw’s stinkhole. If ya shitfinger Amata once again, I’ma give you 3 times worse hell that I gave to that frackhead.“
„Ya surrender, or what, ya frackin’ ugly brat?“
„OH, ya sunumma DIRTY PIG!!!“ In half a second, he got this... An armored lunge palm strike straight on his yak! A helmet-butt straight on his yak! A jumping ushirogeri (non-killer variant-this time) - straight on his yak!
„Said, I’ma give you 3 times worse hell that I gave to that frackhead. And this is fer trying to kill me and my girl.“
„Fighter – NO!“ Amata screeched, but I already whacked him with the pointed handle of my wakizashi straight on his temple in a veeery special way.
„He ain’t gonna cure his head-shattering headache for a month.“ I explained Amata. „Come with us...“ I said in a reassuringly pleasant voice, my right hand outstreched towards her.
„I can’t...“ she wept, looking at her out-cold old man on the floor while wiping the tears from her badly bruised face. „As his only daughter, I’ll become an Overseer once and, if you guys ever come back, I’ll welcome you with my arms wide open, I swear to God.“
I nodded. „But know, Amata, if I had such a father as you do, or if my old man ever becomes like this, I’ma... *gulp* Kill... Him...“
„I love my dad...“
„And I love mine, otherwise I wouldn’t go out there to seek for him, as I do. But no parent evah treats their kid as an enemy, or they make themselves a madafrackin’ enemy.“ *growling as the Vault Dweller thundered through me again* „And now, I’ma kill all the security, as their puny training’s not a frackin’ match fer me, and will bring a normal, human order to this Vault, whether you like it, or not, even if I had to eat yer dad’s brain straight in front of you, and hipnotize you to under-frackin-stand what an Overseer IS supposed to do, gotit?!?!? Ya supposed to make yer folks lovingly happy, as Brissy and me make each other, understood?!?!? Ya had years to make a use of our example, but if ya dowanna – FRACK-YOU-ALL!!! Now ya’ll see how it is to lose yer best doctor, yer best armorer, yer best Budoka and the only V101’s three ppl that understood the essence of survival. And I don’t give a flyin’ frack if ya all kick da bucket if ya sucha cretinoid idiots!!! The spirit of Vault Dweller is now going away from you. SAYO-FRACKIN’-NARA!!!“
The BOONNG of my armored fist on the steel table squeaked it into a V shape, a long crack across. Amata wept, heart rended, cuddled herself in a corner and wept, wept and wept.
I approached her, shotgun at the ready. Slung the weapon. Knelt by her. Held her head. Gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek. „Remember how you made your oath to let us inside, if we come back... Your ol’man is guilty for this, cuz he’s sucha cretenoid gorilla, as he is. Yea, he... HE thrown this Vault into chaos. HE made us go, and my dad also. If something happens to us out there, ’ts gonna be HIS fault. It’s not yours – you are not him. But, if you do become like him, Amata Almodovar, I swear to God, I’ma burn you at a stake like a Dark Age witch! Instead, fulfill this mission I give you now, OK?“
„Do as the Vault Dweller instructed you via the two of us... Just dontcha kick the bucket, OK? Do you need any more xplanation now?“
She shook her head.
„OK. Now we go through the tunnel... TO the maintenance. The security force is there. All of them. There they’ll die. By my hand. All of them. Only Gomez will live to lead the new force – my students. Here...“ I gave her a neatly folded piece of paper.
“Huh? I... It’s in Japanese?!?“
„Give that to the students leader, Kaminarimoto-san. That’s my orders to him to listen to you. He’ll be a very good advisor, y’know. And as fer yer old man, treat him as you please... Miss Overseer.“
„Here...“ I gave her another paper. „This is ya dad’s resignation to your advantage. Yea, his genuine own signature. On a blank paper meant to be used as a written order, but...“ *giggle* „I stole this blank signed paper from him and...“
She nodded slowly.
„He’d have half of the Vault draconicly punished, if not killed. So I whacked that out of his head. Literally. Y’see, the wakizashi blow was directed so, as to... ermmm... y’know... reset his noggin a bit.“
„Well, sorta. So, there you go. I helped you become what you’re supposed to be, but the SOWhs wouldn’t evah listen to you while the IronButt lives, so they’ll have to die.“
„I’d nevah kill my dad... I can’t...“
„That’s what you think. If he tried to kill you, or to destroy the Vault, WUT would you do?“
“I’d have to... *sob* kill him“
„Yup. OK now, take care...“ Salute, about face and away you go, Fighter, the Overseeress’ s Nummero Uno faithful warrior, to kill and survive, Brissy right behind you, watching your back half-turned away from you, as Stalkers do on patrol...
„WHY do you kill a Raider, or a Talon Merc, etc., eh...? Why do you kill an attacking psycho-wastrel that doesn’t care ’bout ’emselves, let alone others like you? HUH?!? WHY?! Cuz they can’t be frackin reasoned with, that’s why. Only a dead such a human is a good such a human. Thrust me, I know. Period. That’s why the relations out here in the Wastes are like the Yin-Yang, Fighter. Either ya talk, or ya kill. Do so and live. Don’t, and... y’see that skeleton right over there?“
Lucky Harith is absolutely right about that... Only a hallucinogened chimpanzee’d say that he ain’t.
At the overseer’s quarters, we found Jonas’s body and on it – Dad’s instruction on the Flamer Pistol stash (oh, HELL yeyea) and on Lucky Harith’s whereabouts. In the quarters, in a „Tomcat’s Claw“ (that’s Cat Paw 4 girls) I found my own picture with a heart drawn on it with a lipstick, a lipstick kiss mark over my face.
„Amata...“ grunted Brisa in a low growl.
„But this is from you, righto?“
„WUT? Yeyeyea... It is... But leave it there, she had nuff stress in a day... Erm, in a month... Although I’d... mgrummblete-grumble her lil butt, #%&!!!“
YANK! „C’mon, damnit.“ In the office itself, we found a 200 rds box of APIX 10mm ammo, some interesting data in the computer Brissy hacked into – relayed to Amata, pronto. Also, we found quite a number of Cat’s Paws there (well, now, as if the old goat can’t rendez-vous a grandma from the Vault. Or is he a complete bludgeon when about women..?), which Brisa stowed giggling – as out there in the wastes, a man without a woman might trade quite something fer one of these, m-hmm.
As the overseer’s desk WZZZZTed upwards, revealing the corridor, I WZZZZTed it back in place.
Brisa gave me a puzzled face.
„Yer Benellis... Gimme ’em.“
She gave me the guns.
A few click-clacks and I returned the gun to her.
„Oh, BOY...“ she wishpered, understanding very well what I gave her. A Lucky Harith’s specialty.
ClackEmOn gadget, joining two guns side-by-side, like a double barrel shotgun, grips merged into one, triggers joined into one mechanism for alternate barrel single/auto firing (auto firing both barrels simultaneously would make for a helluva pellets collision and you probably couldn’t hit an elefant in the ass that way... Well, you couldn’t hit one anyway, as there ain’t no more elefants around today, bwahahahahah). A Twinnie-Benellie. Truth, you aim with one gun, but the barrels are aligned and it’s a CQB, so WTF (what’s the fuss)? It’s twice as heavy, you have to load both mags, doubling the reload time, but you also have a double number of rounds in it.
Plus, all the external (box and drum) mags on the guns me and Brissy use have transparent rear only. Transparent SIDES? Fer what? Fer an enemy to see how many rounds I have left?
No, we don’t have a deathwish...
„You can disconnect ’em anytime...“
„NO. They’re not 2 heavy, my love.“
„Brissy, ya ain’t gotta drag that flak around only cuz I made it fer ya.“
The desk WZZTTed up again and we went in the tunnel, their death in our eyes...
| 12:16:14 12 May 2016
On forum: 05/12/2014
INTO THE WASTELAND|
The Overseer’s tunnel was narrow, so Brisa was sneaking behind me. The L-shaped tunnel led to an empty room. A dead end? No door, or anything. I looked at Brisa. She pointed at a switch on one of the walls.
„The Vault entrance door room is on the other side.“ she whispered. „This is the secret door to the windowed control alcove there.“
„Right. They won’t be xpecting an attack from here. Ya ready?“
We put on our gas masks. As she pressed the switch and immediately went into prone-ready, I crouched behind her holding two sickly greenish colour BleachedSkull acid grenades, knuckles touching each others as I held the safety pins with my index fingers.
The secret door wzzzted down!
I stood up for a brief moment to peer through the thick plexiglass window, only to crouch back. There were 7 SOWhs there gathered in a circle a few yards from the alcove door, smoking silently, their 10 mili in their other hand. Whatta fat, perfect target!
Pulling out both safety pins, I threw both grenades so, as to bounce off the alcove door frame and towards the SOWhs. A WTF?!? followed by two Doomsday-like (ain’t it already happened?) SSGOUASSSHHH!! and inhuman, horrible shrieks!! The immerciful hiss of the acid concluded the acidassacre. I rolled forward once to take a new pose at the alcove door, my love Brissy right behind me.
Boy, these are sum powerful grenades, that’s fer damn sure. All that was left of our enemies was 7 bright white, ragged skeletons in a greenish puddle, which was eating the floor now. All their inventory was – dissolved, melted, gone...
No time to admire the success, hombre. Voices and stompsteps behind the maintenance storage area door! I prepared another three grenades. The door opened and the first SOWh appeared. From her prone-ready, Brisa fired a short burst from her TwinnieBenellie, dotting him with hardened steel buchshot holes! The hits threw him backwards, blod splattering everything around him, and he slammed into another frackface behind him. I threw the grenades in quick succession. All the three doom projectiles went through the open door and three more SSGOUASSSHHH!! echoed, one after another, followed by the hair-rising sounds of melting enemies and their desperate shrieks.
I went towards the door, shotgun at the ready, followed by Brissy. A quick handmirror inspection of the room revealed no enemies – just their ragged skeletons (about 10) in the hissing acid puddle and the greenish haze. I wanted to enter, but a HISSS as the sole of my boot touched the floor made me quickly rise my foot and move away from the mess.
„The puddle’s gonna keep back anyone who comes after us. Let’s get da frack otta here!“ I mumble-shouted at Brisa. She nodded and we went to the exit, carefully evading the other puddle. Once at the exit, I loaded and fired a napalm round at the nearer acid puddle and, with a loud HHWWAAAAAAAAMMMPPP!!, it went on fire, and the other one right after it!
We walked to the cave entrance door. Still on high alert, we carefuly opened it. After making sure that it’s all clear, we left the door open for the smoke to clear and took off our gas masks. Stowing those, we went out into the Wastes - into the sand ’n rocks desert under the bright blue sky. And as for the Vault, noone’s gonna come otta there in the next 10-20 minutes...
We both lit cigars and, holding our hands, went down the path to the road and downhill. Once in Springvale, we went to the Silver’s house, the only inhabited – and still standing - place there.
We knocked on the door.
„Whozzat?!“ Silver’s voice asked, followed by CLA-CLACK of her pump shotgun.
„Fighter here! Am with my gal. Can we come in, please?“
„Fighter? The Vault Bruce Lee?“ she said aloud, both surprised and happy.
„Yea, it’s me.“
„Come in, come in.“ She opened the door. „Ya always welcome here, Fighter. And you too, Brisa.“
„Sit at the table,“ she said, as she closed and locked the door. „Now, what will it be? Rotgut, or Booze?“
„I’ll have a strong coffee, if you have some.“ said Brisa „I... I dont feel so good.“ Putting her backpack on the floor, she leaned her Twinnie against the wall and simply slumped on her chair. Her face was pale.
„Oh, so there was some fight, huh?“ Silver said, observing Brisa’s post-combat shock. “Ya’ll get used to that already.“ She went to Brisa, kissed her on the top of the head, brushing her blonde locks against Brisa’s raven hair, and went to the stove. „Ya coffee ’s gonna be ready soon. In the meantime, have something strong with us. Ya’ll see... It’ll help ya..“
I pulled out my Artefaktnaya. „This cool?“ I grinned, smoldering cigar clenched with my teeth.
„R U frackin’ kiddin’ me? That perfecto cool, hahaha.“ She brought three glasses of different shapes and colors and sat down while I poured the Vodka.
„To... To staying normal and in one piece.“ Silver rose her glass.
„To staying normal and in one piece.“ we both replied, clanking our glasses with her. We all bottomed up, gave it a few coughs and I poured another round to all.
„Whooh, that’s some good fuel, Fighter...“ She took the bottle to have a better look at it. „Wait, wuzzat writin’? Russian?“
„Artefaktnaya. Straight from the Motherland.“
„What, they are trading up there already? NE of Old Olney? Ya heard, right?“
„Yep. Am pretty sure that’s where we’re gonna go. But this ain’t no trade stuff. It belonged to my great great grandpa.“
„And you just share that kind of drink with me? Man, am flattered.“
„2day’s a big day, Silver. We’re otta the Vault...“
„Hmm. R u?“
We told her the whole story, and why we are packed and why we are packing like this.
„So yer Dad wasn’t kiddin’. He was passin’ by. Said ya gonna come. Ya supposed to meet Lucky Harrith in Megaton. But havin’ in mind that he stays there for another week, we could go there 2morrow, Fighter. Not 2day. We’re already almost half-drunk, and Lucas ain’t liking drunken newcommers. All right?“
We both nodded.
„And also, wandering the wastes drunk is a very stupid idea. I gotto go shoppin’ to Megaton, so let’s go 2morrow, all of us. So, I’ll share with you some Pork and Beans I have and my last bread. And after we drink that Thunderovka of yours, I’ll fuel you up with what I have.“
„Ya so sweet, Silver.“ said Brisa with her cute smile.
Silver sisterly smiled back at her. „Ya man’s a real man, Brisa. You watch his back, all right? And u, Bruce Lee, ya gotta very cute gal. Ya look after her real good, got it?“
„Uh-huh...“ I opened my pack. „Here, we’ll give you some freshly roasted Radroach meat...“
„Hmmm, thanks.“ *kniff, kniff* „It smells of flamer..? OK...“
We all giggled...
„So, ya too heard ’bout the NE stuff?“ asked Brisa.
„Oh, yeah, some pretty scary news, and some pretty interestin’ ones as well.“ Silver leaned forward, serious-faced, and went on slowly in a low, serious voice. „Old Olney is a combat zone now. Sum guys in an unknown type of heavily armored olive drab uniforms w/gasmasks and armed with Russian weapons reportedly gutted sum Deathclaws there a month ago.“ She grabbed the bottle, took a good swing, put it back on the table and went on in her normal voice. „But they had... HIC... regular AKs. How did they do that? They dont attack neutral or friendly humans, however. They don’t talk, nor trade, they just go about their business, scanning the immediate area very skillfuly.“
„Hmm. Odd. Even for S.T.A.L.K.E.R.S.“ I drew on my cigar.
„S.T.A.L.K.E.R.S? Whatever... They can come here, but no one can or knows how to get there, and very few ppl are willing to try. NE is a very dangerous place...“
„It always was...“ said Brisa, her complexion now normal again, cheeks red with drink.
„And also, I heard ppl talkin’ ’bout some strange mutie encounters there as well. Supposedly, there was a human-like dwarf clad in a dark hooded cloak wandering the Old Olney outskirts, also ’bouta month ago.“
„A Burer...“ I said, worried.
„A whateverurer... So this... creature... A Deathclaw attacked it and it telekinesised it and slammed it into a wall as many times, as it took to bring that wall down, and then it went on slammin’ it into the concrete ground for at least 5 mins like a yo-yo, only to kill it and send it flying 100 yds into the sky. As it slammed back, another one rushed to its aid, but the caricature telekineticized... Ah, frack, it launched an enormous concrete slab at it, which landed on it with a very loud thump and its blood and innards came out from under it. YUCK!“
„Whaddafrack wuz that?“ Brisa asked in a non believing voice.
„A Burer.“ I explained. „A Zone monster that can move things and ppl using telekinesis, but it can manipulate only what or who it sees. I think that the warriors u mentioned were looking for it, or something such. I’d say that they want to protect our world from their monsters...“
„A... Zone? What..?“ Silver was curious.
„Heard about the Chernobil disaster in 1985? Well, they established the Exclusion Zone around the NPP and Pripyat back then, but 2day it’s... A whole different story.“
„Ah, I see... So it came here? How’s that possible?“
„Nothing is impossible in the Zone.“ I frowned. „And, as it looks, nothing is impossible for the Zone...“
| » » |
All short dates are in Month-Day-Year format.