Fallout: The World At Large

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Ben_Kain

First time out of the vault
Michigan. The largest freshwater source in the United States, the Great Lakes. This is were the battle for the Wasteland begins. This is were your struggle begins.

But let me tell you a little about your home.
Because of its strategic location, freshwater sources, and anthrax production Michigan was an ideal location for a direct nuclear strike. While Vault-tech constructed two vaults in the area (one near Lansing, the capitol of the state, one near Ann Arbor) neither have been opened or located. The survivors of the Great War are therefore descended from either the Michigan Militia or the Rats who kept tabs on nearby fallout shelters before the war.

The Militia is the driving force in Michigan currently. They want nothing to do with the up and coming NCR they have heard whispers of, or with sharing their clean water with the rest of the world. They do however provide food and water to their members, causing a large uproar with the other deciding faction in this part of the world...

The Rats. Survivalists and gun-nuts who fled to secure personal or local fallout shelters as soon as the sirens blared. The disfranchised and thieves of Michigan. With the Militia controlling most of the water, the Rats find it hard to make their way. Most of the swamps and other water sources being irradiated or saturated with antrax, the Rat's main goal is liberation of the Great Lakes for their own uses and that of the entire wasteland. They believe that there is enough fresh water in the lakes to restore the country to it former glory. The theory is about to be tested....

Other factions you ask? What about them? Michigan is pretty far from the coast were most of the shit is going down...

Enclave: Of course the government (or whats left of it) has a hand in this huge water supply. They mostly stay out of the way though, as The Militia is on their payroll.

Brotherhood Of Steel: Those armor toting inbreds? Yeah they patrol for prewar tech here to, but they are few and far between. With the BOS - NCR conflict going on though, their actions have been halted of late.

NCR: Rumors stir, even in this corner of the world. The NCR is up and coming, willing to annex just about anything. The Rats say they are rebuilding society, that our water and manpower should be devoted to them. The Militia disagree.

What are the dangers? Of course a new local brings new dangers.
Key among them is the anthrax virus. When the bombs dropped, all of the anthrax being stored for testing was released into the atmosphere and most water sources. Only the Lakes were unaffected. Now, most of the anthrax has dispersed but we still get viral storms when the winds blow just right.

So were is there to be in Michigan you ask? I guess I can tell you the places I know of...

Vaults 313 and 312: Vault 313? I heard it was near or even in Lansing. Other than that I have no idea. As for 312, all I know is that its near what used to be Ann Arbor. Its called Haven now, but whatever. If you were to find them, you would be one of the richest men in the wastes.

Haven: I guess when the bombs dropped all the bleeding hearts had to gather in one place. So they chose Ann Arbor. I see why, as it used to be known for its art and drugs. Drugs are all its known for now. This is the place to be if your a Rat looking for a little work as its said to be their main base. If selling Psycho or liberating a water source is your thing, this is the place to be.

Lansing: Mostly just ruins now. The Militia keep up a presence here, as do the BOS. Their are a few smaller encampments, but nothing of note.

Detroit: Right by a major Great Lake, Detroit is the perfect place for the Militia to take hold. This is their main base. I don't know much about it, but it is big and they are planting a large number of crops and hogging all the water.

Other places: The Militia keeps the borders and lakes pretty tightly locked down. There is a fifteen foot tall electric fence surrounding all of the lakes. The source of electricity is unknown at this time. Sometimes an angry Canadian nationalist will march across the border, looking to pay their annexers back a little, but they are often promptly shot....

Halfway across the world The Chosen One has done his deeds, and the Brotherhood - NCR conflict is reaching a head. This conflict may be won or lost based on you.

So why are you asking?

(If you wan't to play PM or Post a character and tell me your faction. Then just jump in!)
 
Two men strolled along a fifteen foot fence that formed a border that separated the lake from the ruins of the city. The bombed out skyscrapers were destroyed beyond repair while some new buildings were wedged in between them. Those buildings were also fenced off and one section even had a tarp thrown over the fence to stop prying eyes. A giant pipe lead from the compound to the water.
One man pulled out a strange looking cigarette and a box of matches. Striking the match he lit the cigarette and took a deep inhale before coughing up the smoke. He threw it to the ground and killed it with the heel of his boot. “F***ing shit was stronger than they should be. Sometimes they’re too strong and other times they’re too weak. We really need to get this under order.”
“Yeah, I know that Randy but you can complain to the General if you want. Whatever you do leave me out of it.”
“Grow up Tim, you really need to stop worrying so much, he isn’t going to kill a soldier for complaining.”
“Well then, I don’t see you yelling at him for not making the tobacco right. At least he was smart and realised that money in the drug trade was good.”
“All I’m saying is we aren’t growing potatoes or other stuff, just tobacco and marijuana,” Randy said. He looked at his cracked watch. “Come on, our shift is over, I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Hey Randy, what’s a potato?”
 
Benedict backhanded the mouth-breather next to him.
"Shut the hell up. Were keeping this covert."
The stalwart fence rose before the ragged band of men hiding in a blown out car. Angry looking men paced back and forth along the fence's perimeter, each carrying a large automatic weapon.
Benedict glanced around at his five ragged squad mates and sighed in exasperation. Calling them a band of men would be an overstatement as they were all between sixteen and twenty years old. Their clothes were worn and barely protected them from the elements. Except for Benedict, who had a damaged .32 Pistol, the Rats carried only improvised melee weapons.

Benedict sighed. This was going to be a difficult water raid...
 
Having changed into normal clothes with consisted of just a pair of old pre-war jeans and a black shirt, Randy walked down the disfigured streets. Being part of the militia it was required he wore a bullet proof vest with the militias logo on it. He still carried his weapon but he felt no real need to since anyone caught assaulting a soldier would be silenced but still he carried it.
He and Tim walked into old style bar, fit with cowboy paintings and bullet holes in the walls. As the light extended into the bar and everyone looked up at the new comers. The roar of them was deafening as they all shouted Highway from there drunken mouths. Randy ignored them and walked to the bartender. “Two beers Mick.” He splashed a couple of bottle caps on the counter and turned to the two men who had approached him.
“This man...This man is a hero. The greatesh hero that ever lived. Killed twenty heavily armed Canadian bastards who tried to enter our country on the abandoned highways. And I’ll be damned if you forget his name.” They quickly left before Randy could tell them to piss off and turned to the poured glass of beer in front of him. Tim leant over and whispered, “I thought it was five Canadians, and the best weapon they had on them was a tiny pistol?”
Randy took a sip out of his drink, “It was.”
 
Marshall crept quietly outside the fence, along with his boys. In silence he watched the patrol come and go, many times over. Their pattern remained the same.

He laid hunched over in the burnt out vehical shell, takin' fourth a new 9mm from his cargo pockets. It was rusty. But it was new to him. He passed his now unnecessary shiv along the line, to someone who would find it handy.

"Gimme the signal boss", Marshall whispered as his eyes stuck to the guardsman. He cocked it flamboyantly. Nobody but Benedict had a piece, Marshall was moving up on the hierarchy. He grinneded among that thought.
 
A siren escaped from the compound and worked its way to the bar on the other side of the pub. Randy and Tim stiffened their backs. They worked their way through the last of the drinks before running out of the pub and down the streets. A series of yells came from the pub with Highway being most prominent.
The metal base was spread before Randy and Tim. They ran past the sentry guards and into the living quarters. Quickly changing into their mud stained army clothes they lined up in the courtyard. The other soldiers were already there with the exception of a few late people. A large man stepped onto the raised platform and yelled into the speaker phone. “MEN! We have a few issues here. First of all I know there has been a few issues with the crops we are growing but I reassure you, we will continue growing the two selected plants primarily.”
“Secondly, we have encountered some radio transmissions in Lansing. The Brotherhood is planning on bringing in some reinforcements. Not the wusses they have there now. We shall be sending squadrons 13 to 16 to provide support for these incoming bastards.”
“Lastly, the Rats have been quiet for some time now and we fear a full scale assault. All patrols shall be doubled and leave outside of this compound is prohibited unless it’s ordered. When those stinking filthy nutters attack, we shall be here. Ready to slaughter them. Got that soldiers?”
A shout came from every soldiers lips, “Yes sir!”
 
Lights were visible on the highway, five sets of two, one set lower than the other four. As they approached their destination, a radio transmission was sent, "We heard you needed some help."
A transmission came back, "Welcome to Lansing, glad to hear from you."

Their was one Abrams tank, and four Humvees. Each vehicle had the insignia of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel on them, and on the top of each Humvee was a minigun. The door of the bunker opened and the vehicles slowly rolled inside.

The door of a Humvee opened first, 5 soldiers stepping out, each in power armor. One stood out, with a cape mounted on the left shoulder of his suit. A scribe walked to the one with the cape, "Paladin Davis, thank you so much for coming to our aid."
Davis reached up, pulling his helmet off then let it hang by the myraid of wires that let the helmet interface with the suit, "We must help our brothers, as you would do yourself."
 
The forty soldiers walked through the dimming light and into a brick building. It looked empty from the outside but inside it was the third largest Militia base in Detroit. The soldiers walked to the elevator and the sergeant out the front pushed in a button and the metal doors opened to reveal a fairly large elevator. Half the men got in it and pushed the button for the basement. The doors closed and opened again to reveal a well lit room.
Randy walked with the rest of the squadron to the centre and worked their way through the rows of tables and soldiers positioned at the base. Finding none of his comrades he knew on a personal level, Randy sat down at a chair and lit a cigarette. It tasted better than others he had had so far.
The sergeant among their group talked to the generals inside the basement.
By the time his cigarette was burnt out, the sergeant had gathered all the information he needed. The man stood on a nearby table and shouted into the large basement, “MEN! We are moving out. The bastards have been spotted a couple miles west of here. I want squads 13, 14 and all men in this base to march along the road and to open fire when I command. Squads 15 and 16, I want you to go through the underground sewers and flank them from the south. Understand?”
The room echoed, “Yes sir.”
Randy didn’t join in, he hated going through the old sewer ways.
 
"We don't exactly know what they're planning, but we do know they're going to attack soon."
Nixon crossed his arms, "Well, when they do, we're ready. And we might have a trick or two up our sleeves."
A small smirk crossed Nixon's lips as he spoke. He looked back at the vehicles then back to the scribe.
 
The soldier above Randy pushed the lid on the manhole aside and climbed out. Randy followed and ran over to the building that would serve as their viewing platform. It was chosen only because its stairs were still intact. He followed up the stairs and got off on the tenth floor. He found an opening at an old window sill and set himself up there.
The plan was for the Militia to use a rocket launcher on the base walls. The Brotherhood would file out from here and would fall dead before they could even tell. Randy was simply here to provide a flanking position if anything went wrong.
A sound came from the men on the ground and a light sped towards the base. The resulting explosion tore a hole in the wall and Randy waited for the Brotherhood to file out.
 
The ground shook, Nixon crouched to prevent falling. He looked around, then ran to an intercom, "I need every soldier with power armour at the garage ASAP!"
Nixon ran to one of the Humvees, popping open the trunk, as did four other paladins from the Midwest. Each produce a gattling laser and the tank turned, beginning to roll out of the garage door. The humvees followed suit, a paladin climbing in each one to man the minigun mounted to the top.
As the tank exited the bunker, the turret turned toward the direction of the blast, the gunner looking through the viewfinder, "Enemy in sight, standby for fire."
The tank stopped as the turret moved slightly. There was a mighty blast, several militia soliders flying through the air. The tank then continued. As soon as the Humvees could, their miniguns opened fire as the four paladins ran past. The turned toward the militia and opened fire with their gattling lasers, the secondary machine gun from the tank firing as another shell was reloaded.
 
He had expected to see a slaughter but not of his comrades. Randy yelled at no one, “THIS IS NOT MENT TO HAPPEN!”
A gun shot came from an upstairs soldier and many followed suit. Randy put his scope to his eye and looked at the carnage. He found a humvee and shot at the driver’s window. It shattered and disappeared revealing an armoured man driving. Randy watched through his scope as a barrage of bullets came down up the man helmet. One bullet making his eye hole nothing more than a bloody stain on the metal.
The humvee sped forward and crashed into a burnt out car. Randy shot a bullet at the soldier on the minigun on the back. He missed his mark but the soldier didn’t. The nearby bricks splintered as bullets upon bullets hit them. The stopped finally and Randy looked back at the truck to see a soldier collapsed over the gun.
He took aim at a mans Gatling gun and fired.
 
The tank turret slowly moved again, aiming to the tenth floor of the building from which the additional fire was coming from. The tank rocked, and smoke began to come from where the shell had hit. The supports of the tenth floor failed, the rest of the building coming down onto the ninth, then another failure, all the way until the building was nothing more than a pile of rubble. The rest of the soldiers continued firing at the remaining militia, the tank recentering it's sights on the infantry.
 
The tanks barrel aimed at the building, almost directly at his window. Randy had ran out of the way before he even heard the sound. He slid to the back of the building as the roof above where he had just been collapsed with a shower of blood. The blast had destroyed the walls on the level and pieces of the roof fell. Randy closed his eyes and put his hands over his head. He stayed like that until he saw nothing but blackness.
 
Benedict watched the tanks movements from his hidden position. He knew of the Brotherhood of Steel, knew they were for liberating water for the rest of the wasteland. What he didn't know was if they were willing to help him.

His men lay dead a click away, gunned down without remorse by those Militia bastards. Benedict himself was lucky as hell to be alive.

A tank shell rocked a nearby building, sending rubble even to as far as Benedict's hidden position. He needed to get the hell back to Ann Arbor and fast...
 
The next morning...

The hole in the wall had been hastily repaired with concrete and pieces of the destroyed building. Nixon sat in the mess hall. Two loses, that's all. He heard a voice behind him, "He's awake."

Nixon walked into the room. The room was small, containing one light, a table, and a pair of chairs, Randy sat in one of the chairs, tied to it. Nixon closed the door behind him and sat down, his breath hissing through his helmet. "Tell me everything about your militia."
 
The light hurt Randy’s eyes. The metal clad man in front of him looked at him through the metal helmet. Randy tried to get some spit into his mouth but all he could get was blood. The Militia had trained soldiers for hostage situations. Randy spoke flatly, “Yeah, I’ll tell you something about them. They’ll fucking blow you up.”
 
"The only thing you're doing by not talking is delaying the end of you and your pathetic militia. You have no idea what we're planning, and believe me, it's much worse that what happened yesterday. So, going to tell me what I want to know, or am I going to have to take more drastic measures?"
 
“You think your Brotherhood is so strong, they are nothing. The men you have here are weak and pathetic. I’d like to see you try and get even into Detroit without getting your face blown off.”
 
"You know. You're lucky. I'm about to show you something that people rarely see..."
Nixon pulled off his helmet and let it hang. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, "Last chance, or else you're going to have a very bad day."
 
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