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Guest
Guest
He wanders through the endless wastes with just as much courage as when he left NCR many days ago.
He is rather lusty for blood though, killing molerats and rad scorpions just doesn't give that same insane kick as blowing a hole in a living, breathing, completely innocent person and watching the blood leak out, so soft, so warm, so beautiful. Blood, the essence of death. Mmmmm...
His dreams are partially fulfilled when he hears something he hasn't heard in days: A human voice.
He immediately feels the urge to draw his SMG, and so he does. With gun in hand and heart full of tension, he crawls up a small hill and peeks over the edge.
It's a small caravan, with six guards and three pack brahmin. The guards are armed with fairly weak weaponry, mostly shotguns, although a few have automatic rifles.
They seem to be transporting generic trade goods like tools, rope and the like.
They haven't noticed him. He wonders if he should just shoot them from where he is hiding, but realizes that for maximum enjoyment he has to make something out of it.
He holsters his gun, stands up and walks towards the caravan. The caravaners immediately get on guard and point their guns at him.
"Friend or foe?" a caravaner asks.
"Friend." he replies, giggling inside him.
"What do you want?" The caravaner seems much more relaxed now, the poor fellow not knowing what is soon to happen to him.
"Do you want me to give you something?" the wanderer says.
"Uh, well that depends on WHAT you want to give me. You are a little moron, aren't you?"
The caravaner laughs scornfully and is accompanied by his friends.
"I wouldn't laugh of myself if I were you."
"Oh?" The caravan leader laughs even more. "I never laugh of myself, me neither. I'm not laughing at myself right now, if that's what you think." The whole caravan bursts into laughter.
He is feeling anger, but also extreme pleasure in that his anger will soon be released. He pulls out his CMP12f. He plans on sparing the leader for last. That idiot will soon enough know what a sneer can result in in the wastes.
The caravaners are so engulfed in their laughter that they don't even notice him unsafing his SMG and replacing the AP/JHP clip with a fully-AP one which he carries in his belt. Only when he points the SMG at the leftmost caravaner do they start to recover from the wild laughter.
"Hey, he's gonna shoot!" the caravaner yells. They start fumbling for their weapons, but too late. A stream of titanium-tipped 6.14mm death has already exploded from the muzzle.
The whole battle takes only a split second.
The caravaners have considerately enough formed a close line, so he has no problem mowing them down. in a quick swing the caravaners have a total of 24 small tunnels straight through their bodies.
They collapse on the ground in a neat order, like dominos. Most are dead before they hit the ground.
He notices that the leader is already dead, not alive like he wanted. Oh, well. He got carried away. He killed them all, and that's what matters. Or did he? No. They are still moving, or maybe that's just death cramps.
He walks up to them to make sure. He doesn't want to waste six bullets, so he pulls out his Ripper.
This is gonna be bloody, and he loves it. With a grin, he grabs tightly around the grip, and the hellish blade whizzes to life.
He slowly moves the knife closer and closer to a caravaner's throat, until it makes contact. The head is turned around by the immense force. A trail of blood shoots out ten feet as the serrations make short process of the man's soft skin.
He doesn't want to cut straight through, because if the caravaner is still alive he wants him to suffer a bit more. Whatever little blood is left in the man after the gunshots is quickly pumped out through the gaping chasm in the throat.
He moves from body to body, repeating the same process, until he is finished and the ground has turned completely crimson.
The brahmin, who have stood still and grazed through the whole encounter, are put out by two shots by his CMP right between their eyes. Just for good measure.
He searches the whole place but finds no useful items or ammo. Maybe he shouldn't have stolen so rare weapons, maybe he'll never find ammo for it. Ah, never mind. If he runs out, he can always find a new weapon.
And with that, he continues walking northwards.
He is rather lusty for blood though, killing molerats and rad scorpions just doesn't give that same insane kick as blowing a hole in a living, breathing, completely innocent person and watching the blood leak out, so soft, so warm, so beautiful. Blood, the essence of death. Mmmmm...
His dreams are partially fulfilled when he hears something he hasn't heard in days: A human voice.
He immediately feels the urge to draw his SMG, and so he does. With gun in hand and heart full of tension, he crawls up a small hill and peeks over the edge.
It's a small caravan, with six guards and three pack brahmin. The guards are armed with fairly weak weaponry, mostly shotguns, although a few have automatic rifles.
They seem to be transporting generic trade goods like tools, rope and the like.
They haven't noticed him. He wonders if he should just shoot them from where he is hiding, but realizes that for maximum enjoyment he has to make something out of it.
He holsters his gun, stands up and walks towards the caravan. The caravaners immediately get on guard and point their guns at him.
"Friend or foe?" a caravaner asks.
"Friend." he replies, giggling inside him.
"What do you want?" The caravaner seems much more relaxed now, the poor fellow not knowing what is soon to happen to him.
"Do you want me to give you something?" the wanderer says.
"Uh, well that depends on WHAT you want to give me. You are a little moron, aren't you?"
The caravaner laughs scornfully and is accompanied by his friends.
"I wouldn't laugh of myself if I were you."
"Oh?" The caravan leader laughs even more. "I never laugh of myself, me neither. I'm not laughing at myself right now, if that's what you think." The whole caravan bursts into laughter.
He is feeling anger, but also extreme pleasure in that his anger will soon be released. He pulls out his CMP12f. He plans on sparing the leader for last. That idiot will soon enough know what a sneer can result in in the wastes.
The caravaners are so engulfed in their laughter that they don't even notice him unsafing his SMG and replacing the AP/JHP clip with a fully-AP one which he carries in his belt. Only when he points the SMG at the leftmost caravaner do they start to recover from the wild laughter.
"Hey, he's gonna shoot!" the caravaner yells. They start fumbling for their weapons, but too late. A stream of titanium-tipped 6.14mm death has already exploded from the muzzle.
The whole battle takes only a split second.
The caravaners have considerately enough formed a close line, so he has no problem mowing them down. in a quick swing the caravaners have a total of 24 small tunnels straight through their bodies.
They collapse on the ground in a neat order, like dominos. Most are dead before they hit the ground.
He notices that the leader is already dead, not alive like he wanted. Oh, well. He got carried away. He killed them all, and that's what matters. Or did he? No. They are still moving, or maybe that's just death cramps.
He walks up to them to make sure. He doesn't want to waste six bullets, so he pulls out his Ripper.
This is gonna be bloody, and he loves it. With a grin, he grabs tightly around the grip, and the hellish blade whizzes to life.
He slowly moves the knife closer and closer to a caravaner's throat, until it makes contact. The head is turned around by the immense force. A trail of blood shoots out ten feet as the serrations make short process of the man's soft skin.
He doesn't want to cut straight through, because if the caravaner is still alive he wants him to suffer a bit more. Whatever little blood is left in the man after the gunshots is quickly pumped out through the gaping chasm in the throat.
He moves from body to body, repeating the same process, until he is finished and the ground has turned completely crimson.
The brahmin, who have stood still and grazed through the whole encounter, are put out by two shots by his CMP right between their eyes. Just for good measure.
He searches the whole place but finds no useful items or ammo. Maybe he shouldn't have stolen so rare weapons, maybe he'll never find ammo for it. Ah, never mind. If he runs out, he can always find a new weapon.
And with that, he continues walking northwards.