You blink three times as your mini-gun spins down, thin trails of smoke rising from the huge barrel. Metal casings ejected from your gun lay strewn about you in a complete circle, indicating that you stood here for a good amount of time spraying hot lead in all directions. The carnage around you was massive, and the blood on your armor hid the metallic green color almost completely. You noticed a combat knife was slammed into the meat of your left thigh. "Bet that hurt when it happened." You say to yourself. Wincing, you remove the knife and toss it to the ground, doing your best to stop the bleeding with the Medkit in your pack. Inspecting your own knife, you see it has chunks of hair and flesh jammed up on the hilt. Looks like your mini-gun wasn't the only thing that saw some action tonight. You never did like New Reno too much, what with all the pimps, whores and pushers, but you sure didn't hate it! What the hell could have caused you to unload like this? In a nearby alley you hear screaming? more like shrieking. The kind someone does when they discover they no longer have a leg or an arm. Oh God. It sounded like a woman. You know she is screaming in pain because of you?
Your head hurt. It always did after the black outs.
Scanning the bodies in the hollow moonlight, most of them looked like simple city folk. "Way to go, tough guy. You showed them." You mutter sarcastically to yourself. Shouldering your gigantic weapon, you turn to find a place to rest and think about what may have happened.
That's when you spotted trouble.
Five dead bodies that yelled at you like a Mother DeathClaw protecting her youngins: Gang family members. Quickly running to the bodies, you search them for anything that may give you clues as to what family they were associated with. "This can't be good." You thought. Gang members didn't take it lightly when their members got all shot up, go figure. Were they just caught in another one of your mad rages? Were you in dealings with them and flipped out? Had they attacked you? Damn these black outs! They kept taking more and more of your memory! A place to rest would be perfect for you right now. You had to think. You needed to think. You could skip town all together, but that was no good? you had to figure out what happened? and what was going to happen?
I ejected the empty drum and loaded full one in the Vindicator. I'd hoped that what ever happened in the last few moments, it wouldn't be repeated but I wanted to be ready just in case. Scanning the carnage, it seemed like there was a fine red mist in the night air.
Ignoring the screams coming from the alley for the moment, I quickly moved to the fallen gang members. My boots pressed the spend cartridges in the dirt street as I moved over the downed bodies. A quick search produced the standard gang fare; a few assault rifles and laser pistols, all of which looked worn and well used. Even the lone Magnum was covered in nicks and deep scratches. The small arms would bring some quick cash at the next stop.
I pulled a bandana off one and wiped the gore from my face and armor as best I could before tossing the revolver into my rug sack along with the laser pistols. As I padded down the dead gang members, my eye caught the trail of blood headed away. I wanted to track down who ever, or what ever, escaped. I wanted answers, but something drew me to the woman's screams. I brought my weapon to bear, just in case it was trap, and headed down into the alley toward the screaming.
The alley was filled with rusted and burned out prewar objects. None of the twisted objects resembled anything useful or identifiable. Human refuse piled up and over the remnants of yesteryear as I moved deeper into the alley. At the very back of the alley, I was confronted with the rusted hulk of a pre-war car. In the dim moonlight I couldn't' see who was screaming, but it appeared to be coming from the driver's area.
I put my foot on the front bumper. The screaming immediately died down and became soft whimpers. Continuing my climb, I stood on the front hood and peered down into the car. A lone woman clutched the remains of a young child. At least a dozen bullet holes peppered the child's back, and half the head seemed missing. Blood covered them both.
"You okay?" I asked. "You hurt?"
The woman mumbled something incoherent.
"Where you hit?"
"No, just Johnny!" This time I made out what she was saying. "Oh, Johnny!"
"Did you see what happened? What started the fight?"
She just sobbed and clutched what used to be Johnny. I reached down to pull her from the car, but thought better of it. Answers would just have to wait. The person who escaped could be bringing more trouble. I left the woman and climbed back down off the car. There was nothing I could do to help her or Johnny. I had other things to do. Important things.
I made my way back down the alley. I decided against following the blood trail. Last thing I needed was more trouble with some gang. I only hoped I could get to the bar and back without another blackout.
I picked up my pace and trotted past several ramshackle buildings made from scrap metal and other scavenged materials. Most appeared empty, but in some, dark shadows moved away as I approached. On more than one occasion heard the sound of a machine gun bolt being pulled back, but who ever it was thought better about opening fire.
After a few blocks, a crooked neon sign glowed HOT L Windsor in a bright blue light. The warped, gray, plywood door sat crooked in its frame and looked like it might fall off at any moment. The light from the sign flickered as I pulled open the door and stepped in side. Of the dozen or so people inside, only a few dirty faces turned in my direction. A faded red generator thrummed in a corner powering grimy, bare bulbs. The room had a sickly orange glow.
Walking across the wood floor, I moved up to the bar and stood next to a man in dusty green leather jacket.
Chewing on the stub of a cigar, the fat greasy man behind the counter asked, "Watcha need sport?"
"Whiskey"
He pulled a shot glass out from under the table and placed in front of me.
I put down a gold coin. "The whole bottle"
He picked up the coin, and bit down on the edge. Satisfied my coin was the real deal, he placed a dark brown bottle on the counter. What little remained of the label was faded beyond recognition.
I popped cork and poured of the contents into the glass. Amber liquid sloshed out.
I turned to the man standing and smiled, "Have a drink on me, friend." I slid the shot glass in his direction.
The man in the jacket rubbed his face and looked at the barkeep, who simply shrugged.
"Umm, thanks . . . Friend," he said and tossed the contents into his mouth.
When he set the glass back down on the counter, I asked, "Good stuff?"
He raised a brushy eyebrow, and said. "Yeah, real good. 'Bout another?" He slurred his "r".
I poured him another shot and watched has he quickly drank it down. Satisfied that my purchase was genuine, I put the stopper back in to place and grabbed the bottle. As I turned and started to walk back toward the door, the barkeep asked "Aint'cha gonna drink it?"
I ignored him and continued toward the door. I stepped into the moonlight. A scruffy, gray and black dog ran down the street, but otherwise there was no one about. The night was mine. I opened my sack and positioned the bottle in an inside pocket. Making sure the cork was in nice and tight, I shouldered the worn leather pack and made my way down the street. To avoid any possible gang patrols resulting from my earlier encounter, I went several blocks over before resuming my journey out of town.
As I neared the edge of the city, the moon lit up several figures moving in my direction. My ears picked up the unmistakable sound of someone in powered armor. The servos wheezed in and out as heavy footfalls advanced toward me. I ducked behind the only cover I could see in my immediate vicinity, a low brick wall, the remains of some pre-war building.
"And, then he ran out of the alley and headed toward the Hot L. Honest. I saw him," one of the voices said.
"You'd better be right, Jimbo. 'cause if this be a joke, I'm gonna break you."
"No, Snaps. I'd never lie to you."
"Least not while I got this shit on, right."
Doing my best not to be noticed, I stole a glance over the wall. Two gang men, in the same type combat armor I wore, flanked someone in powered armor battlesuit. The last person was dressed as the gang members I wasted earlier. The powered armored gang member carried a M60 in one hand, while the others, all sported assault rifles. With only my Vindicator, I was out numbered and out gunned. There was no way I'd win if they started a firefight. I might out run three of them, but not the powered armor, not unless its energy cells ran down. I was stuck. My only hope was that they might not see me behind the wall in the darkness. I ducked back behind the wall and hoped they'd move away, down some street. The voices grew louder as they approached.
I blinked. Just as before, thin trails of smoke rose from the slowly spinning barrel of the mini gun. The bodies of the gang members lay in the street, including the one in powered armor. Spent ammo casings littered the ground behind the wall, as did an ejected drum. My head ached. Stars flashed before my eyes. Another blackout. Another memory loss.
I tried to stand up, but my left arm failed to respond. I made another attempt, nothing. I let go of the minigun and felt around. There was a hole in my armor just below my neck but nothing seemed to ooze out. The shell must be blocking the wound. I needed to get my armor off to check further.
With some difficulty, I slung the mini gun over right shoulder and carried the rug sack in my good hand. Taking a glance around, I moved to the downed gang members. Bullets had removed most of the face of the gang member in powered armor. Stupid fool forgot to close the facemask.
Bullet holes blanketed the torso of each of the others. The one lightly armored gang member was laid face down several yards down the street. Entry holes covered his back. At least this time there were no innocent civilian casualties.
I resisted the urge to strip the powered armor off the gang member. It would be a great asset, but I didn't want to spend any more time in New Reno than I had to. Leaving the dead gang members in the street, I headed toward the edge of town.
I moved into the three walled remains of a building. A ray of unobstructed moonlight illuminated several wood crates. I sat down, reached into to my rug sack, and pulled out the dented and worn med-kit. Setting it on the crate next to me, I started to unbuckle my armor. I tried to pry open several of the metal buckles but every one was welded shut. When did that happen, and why? It must have happened during one the blackouts. They only felt like several minutes. One must have been a very long time for something
I pulled out my combat knife from its sheath and, with some twisting, cut the webbed straps holding the armor on. I pulled the combat armor over my head and wriggled my right arm free.
Now that I had the armor off, I focused my attention on my chest. Blood oozed and dripped down from a dark opening about the side of my fist just below the collarbone on my left side. Positioning myself so I could see better, I leaned down and peered inside. Instead of ripped and torn muscles, blood covered pushrods moved and whined.
I was stunned. Something was very wrong! Using the rug sack, I wiped the blood way from the opening and pushed my hand what should have been a sucking chest wound. My fingertips brushed several exposed wires and my left arm jerked at my side.
"What the?" I said, quickly pulling my hand out. I stared at the blood on my fingertips. My hand started to shake. I stuck my finger in the knife wound from early fight, and pulled yet more wires.
"Oh, no. This can't be. This just isn't real. It can't be. It just can't. No. No. No. "
* * *
Two men in long white coats walked up to the slumped over figure. One bent over, peered into the face, while the other open the rug sack, and pulled out the bottle of whiskey.
"I told you that shutting down the social interaction program when the combat persona comes online wouldn't solve anything."
The other man pulled the stopper out of the bottle and took a drink.
"Ahh, success. Mission completed?"
"Bob!" the first man said. "Stop sampling the local swill and pay attention. The Brotherhood isn't going to be very happy. We need to overcome this problem. "
"So?"
"What do you mean, so?"
"So, they don't get their 'toy'.
We told them it wasn't going to work. Things like this just can't be built anymore, much less re-engineered." Bob took another pull from the bottle. "Come' on Sam, We're lucky that we can get this prewar pile of junk moving."
"It is not a pile of junk. This 'toy', as you put it, is the height of human social automatons. One of the greatest pre-war achievements."
"It was designed to be damn butler. You and the Brotherhood want to make into some type of war-bot. Give me break, Sam, no matter how many tests like this one are run, the unit still shuts down. This is what, the tenth failure? Every time the new persona realizes it's a robot, it shuts down.
Sam sighed. "Lets take it back to the lab, and reformat its matrix again. I want to explore every option before we have tell Brotherhood that we can't make it work."
Bob popped open the back and played with the control panel. "I'm loading the hardwired persona protocols."
The head snapped up. "Greetings, I am Synthoid Butler, Oscar. How may I be of service?"
Sam picked up the chest armor, and the rug sack. "Follow me."
"Yes Sir." Oscar stood up, "Sir it appears that this unit is damaged."
Bob tossed the empty whisky bottle in the corner. "Tell me something I don't know."
http://www.itsuckstobejoe.com/Jdn/writing/fallout1.html
Your head hurt. It always did after the black outs.
Scanning the bodies in the hollow moonlight, most of them looked like simple city folk. "Way to go, tough guy. You showed them." You mutter sarcastically to yourself. Shouldering your gigantic weapon, you turn to find a place to rest and think about what may have happened.
That's when you spotted trouble.
Five dead bodies that yelled at you like a Mother DeathClaw protecting her youngins: Gang family members. Quickly running to the bodies, you search them for anything that may give you clues as to what family they were associated with. "This can't be good." You thought. Gang members didn't take it lightly when their members got all shot up, go figure. Were they just caught in another one of your mad rages? Were you in dealings with them and flipped out? Had they attacked you? Damn these black outs! They kept taking more and more of your memory! A place to rest would be perfect for you right now. You had to think. You needed to think. You could skip town all together, but that was no good? you had to figure out what happened? and what was going to happen?
I ejected the empty drum and loaded full one in the Vindicator. I'd hoped that what ever happened in the last few moments, it wouldn't be repeated but I wanted to be ready just in case. Scanning the carnage, it seemed like there was a fine red mist in the night air.
Ignoring the screams coming from the alley for the moment, I quickly moved to the fallen gang members. My boots pressed the spend cartridges in the dirt street as I moved over the downed bodies. A quick search produced the standard gang fare; a few assault rifles and laser pistols, all of which looked worn and well used. Even the lone Magnum was covered in nicks and deep scratches. The small arms would bring some quick cash at the next stop.
I pulled a bandana off one and wiped the gore from my face and armor as best I could before tossing the revolver into my rug sack along with the laser pistols. As I padded down the dead gang members, my eye caught the trail of blood headed away. I wanted to track down who ever, or what ever, escaped. I wanted answers, but something drew me to the woman's screams. I brought my weapon to bear, just in case it was trap, and headed down into the alley toward the screaming.
The alley was filled with rusted and burned out prewar objects. None of the twisted objects resembled anything useful or identifiable. Human refuse piled up and over the remnants of yesteryear as I moved deeper into the alley. At the very back of the alley, I was confronted with the rusted hulk of a pre-war car. In the dim moonlight I couldn't' see who was screaming, but it appeared to be coming from the driver's area.
I put my foot on the front bumper. The screaming immediately died down and became soft whimpers. Continuing my climb, I stood on the front hood and peered down into the car. A lone woman clutched the remains of a young child. At least a dozen bullet holes peppered the child's back, and half the head seemed missing. Blood covered them both.
"You okay?" I asked. "You hurt?"
The woman mumbled something incoherent.
"Where you hit?"
"No, just Johnny!" This time I made out what she was saying. "Oh, Johnny!"
"Did you see what happened? What started the fight?"
She just sobbed and clutched what used to be Johnny. I reached down to pull her from the car, but thought better of it. Answers would just have to wait. The person who escaped could be bringing more trouble. I left the woman and climbed back down off the car. There was nothing I could do to help her or Johnny. I had other things to do. Important things.
I made my way back down the alley. I decided against following the blood trail. Last thing I needed was more trouble with some gang. I only hoped I could get to the bar and back without another blackout.
I picked up my pace and trotted past several ramshackle buildings made from scrap metal and other scavenged materials. Most appeared empty, but in some, dark shadows moved away as I approached. On more than one occasion heard the sound of a machine gun bolt being pulled back, but who ever it was thought better about opening fire.
After a few blocks, a crooked neon sign glowed HOT L Windsor in a bright blue light. The warped, gray, plywood door sat crooked in its frame and looked like it might fall off at any moment. The light from the sign flickered as I pulled open the door and stepped in side. Of the dozen or so people inside, only a few dirty faces turned in my direction. A faded red generator thrummed in a corner powering grimy, bare bulbs. The room had a sickly orange glow.
Walking across the wood floor, I moved up to the bar and stood next to a man in dusty green leather jacket.
Chewing on the stub of a cigar, the fat greasy man behind the counter asked, "Watcha need sport?"
"Whiskey"
He pulled a shot glass out from under the table and placed in front of me.
I put down a gold coin. "The whole bottle"
He picked up the coin, and bit down on the edge. Satisfied my coin was the real deal, he placed a dark brown bottle on the counter. What little remained of the label was faded beyond recognition.
I popped cork and poured of the contents into the glass. Amber liquid sloshed out.
I turned to the man standing and smiled, "Have a drink on me, friend." I slid the shot glass in his direction.
The man in the jacket rubbed his face and looked at the barkeep, who simply shrugged.
"Umm, thanks . . . Friend," he said and tossed the contents into his mouth.
When he set the glass back down on the counter, I asked, "Good stuff?"
He raised a brushy eyebrow, and said. "Yeah, real good. 'Bout another?" He slurred his "r".
I poured him another shot and watched has he quickly drank it down. Satisfied that my purchase was genuine, I put the stopper back in to place and grabbed the bottle. As I turned and started to walk back toward the door, the barkeep asked "Aint'cha gonna drink it?"
I ignored him and continued toward the door. I stepped into the moonlight. A scruffy, gray and black dog ran down the street, but otherwise there was no one about. The night was mine. I opened my sack and positioned the bottle in an inside pocket. Making sure the cork was in nice and tight, I shouldered the worn leather pack and made my way down the street. To avoid any possible gang patrols resulting from my earlier encounter, I went several blocks over before resuming my journey out of town.
As I neared the edge of the city, the moon lit up several figures moving in my direction. My ears picked up the unmistakable sound of someone in powered armor. The servos wheezed in and out as heavy footfalls advanced toward me. I ducked behind the only cover I could see in my immediate vicinity, a low brick wall, the remains of some pre-war building.
"And, then he ran out of the alley and headed toward the Hot L. Honest. I saw him," one of the voices said.
"You'd better be right, Jimbo. 'cause if this be a joke, I'm gonna break you."
"No, Snaps. I'd never lie to you."
"Least not while I got this shit on, right."
Doing my best not to be noticed, I stole a glance over the wall. Two gang men, in the same type combat armor I wore, flanked someone in powered armor battlesuit. The last person was dressed as the gang members I wasted earlier. The powered armored gang member carried a M60 in one hand, while the others, all sported assault rifles. With only my Vindicator, I was out numbered and out gunned. There was no way I'd win if they started a firefight. I might out run three of them, but not the powered armor, not unless its energy cells ran down. I was stuck. My only hope was that they might not see me behind the wall in the darkness. I ducked back behind the wall and hoped they'd move away, down some street. The voices grew louder as they approached.
I blinked. Just as before, thin trails of smoke rose from the slowly spinning barrel of the mini gun. The bodies of the gang members lay in the street, including the one in powered armor. Spent ammo casings littered the ground behind the wall, as did an ejected drum. My head ached. Stars flashed before my eyes. Another blackout. Another memory loss.
I tried to stand up, but my left arm failed to respond. I made another attempt, nothing. I let go of the minigun and felt around. There was a hole in my armor just below my neck but nothing seemed to ooze out. The shell must be blocking the wound. I needed to get my armor off to check further.
With some difficulty, I slung the mini gun over right shoulder and carried the rug sack in my good hand. Taking a glance around, I moved to the downed gang members. Bullets had removed most of the face of the gang member in powered armor. Stupid fool forgot to close the facemask.
Bullet holes blanketed the torso of each of the others. The one lightly armored gang member was laid face down several yards down the street. Entry holes covered his back. At least this time there were no innocent civilian casualties.
I resisted the urge to strip the powered armor off the gang member. It would be a great asset, but I didn't want to spend any more time in New Reno than I had to. Leaving the dead gang members in the street, I headed toward the edge of town.
I moved into the three walled remains of a building. A ray of unobstructed moonlight illuminated several wood crates. I sat down, reached into to my rug sack, and pulled out the dented and worn med-kit. Setting it on the crate next to me, I started to unbuckle my armor. I tried to pry open several of the metal buckles but every one was welded shut. When did that happen, and why? It must have happened during one the blackouts. They only felt like several minutes. One must have been a very long time for something
I pulled out my combat knife from its sheath and, with some twisting, cut the webbed straps holding the armor on. I pulled the combat armor over my head and wriggled my right arm free.
Now that I had the armor off, I focused my attention on my chest. Blood oozed and dripped down from a dark opening about the side of my fist just below the collarbone on my left side. Positioning myself so I could see better, I leaned down and peered inside. Instead of ripped and torn muscles, blood covered pushrods moved and whined.
I was stunned. Something was very wrong! Using the rug sack, I wiped the blood way from the opening and pushed my hand what should have been a sucking chest wound. My fingertips brushed several exposed wires and my left arm jerked at my side.
"What the?" I said, quickly pulling my hand out. I stared at the blood on my fingertips. My hand started to shake. I stuck my finger in the knife wound from early fight, and pulled yet more wires.
"Oh, no. This can't be. This just isn't real. It can't be. It just can't. No. No. No. "
* * *
Two men in long white coats walked up to the slumped over figure. One bent over, peered into the face, while the other open the rug sack, and pulled out the bottle of whiskey.
"I told you that shutting down the social interaction program when the combat persona comes online wouldn't solve anything."
The other man pulled the stopper out of the bottle and took a drink.
"Ahh, success. Mission completed?"
"Bob!" the first man said. "Stop sampling the local swill and pay attention. The Brotherhood isn't going to be very happy. We need to overcome this problem. "
"So?"
"What do you mean, so?"
"So, they don't get their 'toy'.
We told them it wasn't going to work. Things like this just can't be built anymore, much less re-engineered." Bob took another pull from the bottle. "Come' on Sam, We're lucky that we can get this prewar pile of junk moving."
"It is not a pile of junk. This 'toy', as you put it, is the height of human social automatons. One of the greatest pre-war achievements."
"It was designed to be damn butler. You and the Brotherhood want to make into some type of war-bot. Give me break, Sam, no matter how many tests like this one are run, the unit still shuts down. This is what, the tenth failure? Every time the new persona realizes it's a robot, it shuts down.
Sam sighed. "Lets take it back to the lab, and reformat its matrix again. I want to explore every option before we have tell Brotherhood that we can't make it work."
Bob popped open the back and played with the control panel. "I'm loading the hardwired persona protocols."
The head snapped up. "Greetings, I am Synthoid Butler, Oscar. How may I be of service?"
Sam picked up the chest armor, and the rug sack. "Follow me."
"Yes Sir." Oscar stood up, "Sir it appears that this unit is damaged."
Bob tossed the empty whisky bottle in the corner. "Tell me something I don't know."
http://www.itsuckstobejoe.com/Jdn/writing/fallout1.html
