DoughboyJones
It Wandered In From the Wastes
In light of that fact, please don't savage it too badly.
He had a bolt action .308 rifle, the name of which had faded into obscurity long before he owned it. It didn't really matter what it was called though, it shot straight and had brought him much quarry in the years it was in his employ. That DID matter.
He sat indian style on a berm just outside the skeletal remains of an ancient city, its name had also faded into obscurity. Rifle at his shoulder, he slowly scanned the outskirts of the ruins through its scope. Nothing. It was totally devoid of life. At least that's what the eerie silence would suggest. But he knew better. Did he ever...... They were in there, but he wasn't stupid enough to go in looking.
His partner, Jack, sat on the same berm some odd 500 feet to the south of him. The fact that no shots were fired was a clear indication that he did not see their prey either. 'Prey', he thought, 'Yeah right. These things are just as much, if not more a hunter, as us'. He carried in addition to his rifle a .44 magnum revolver, a 1911 Colt .45 and a combat knife. The pistols were pretty light for a deathclaw, and he prayed to God that it didn't come down to using that knife.
It was another 3 hours of similar fruitless searches before anything happened. It was almost sundown and some faint movement began to manifest itself. It was a hulking shape prowling about, stopping periodically to make some striking motions on the ground. "Hunting rats" he thought to himself. It was time to put the shoe on the other foot.
He shouldered his rifle and placed the crosshairs on the beasts head. Careful not to ruin this very delicate shot, he waited. The front of a deathclaws skull might as well be armor plating, but like any other animal, the back of it has a thin spot. It's a little harder to find since a deathclaw doesn't have ears, but it's there. It was also his only chance to shoot this monster and survive the encounter. He breathed deeply and held the crosshairs steady.
The beast stood in place, hunched over the rat it was messily devouring. It was almost a perfect shot. If only...
Suddenly, its head darted towards a pile of rubble. Perhaps it found a more inviting pig rat, but he didn't care. It just cooked its own goose.
The rifle recoiled a tad more heavily than usual. He made sure to use a heavy bullet for this quarry. The deathclaws head snapped below its shoulders and the rest of its body immediately followed suit. He sat there and waited, watching it through his scope. It didn't move.
Jack shuffled his way to his partner, his vast accumulation of gear clunking as he stepped.
"Psst! You been watchin' 'im for ten minutes, he's gotta be dead."
"Most likely"
"WELL?"
"Well what?"
"You want me to run down there and get the head so we can get outta here?"
"Not just yet, something don't seem right."
"Look, I dunno about you, but I'm really tired of being here. This place gives me the creeps. If it's still alive you KNOW I can handle it."
Indeed he could. The Pancor Jackhammer full of slugs alone was enough to work over even an unhurt deathclaw. Not to mention the pair of .50 caliber Desert Eagles and that 14 mil pistol he managed to inconspicuously carry on his belt. "Alright, go get it. I'll cover you. Just watch out, there might be more."
Jack scurried down the berm to retreive the prize. Leveling the Jackhammer at it, he slowly approached the (hopefully) corpse of the monstrous creature. It didn't appear to be breathing. He leaned the Pancor against the body and brandished his huge knife. Quickly, he set to severing the head.
He was almost through the neck vertebrae when he heard the growl. His blood ran cold.
Slowly turning around revealed two more of the monstrosities, neither of them looking pleased to see him there. They approached him with long, lumbering strides, growling and snorting as they came.
Jack, suffice to say, was not in such a good way. He knew if he moved to get the jackhammer they'd pounce. And he knew he wasn't a quick enough draw to get the Eagles out in time.
A shot rang out and one of the Deathclaws was knocked to the ground, stunned. The other turned its head to see what had happened and this was Jack's chance. He quickly grabbed the Pancor and fired it from the hip, emptying ten slugs into the beasts chest in half as many seconds. That was the end of him.
The other still lay there, the .308 round might've knocked it out, but it definitely wasn't dead. Not about to take a chance relaoding the jackhammer, Jack drew the Desert Eagle that hung on his right hip. Standing over the helpless deathclaw he cocked the hammer and aimed at the head.
Before he could it regained conciousness and took a swipe across his midsection. Jack managed to put three rounds into it before he collapsed to his knees and fell forward.
"How bad'd he getcha?" a familiar voice inquired.
"Feels like only thing keepin' my guts in is my armor", he replied in a voice that was getting progressively more gurgly.
"You know I'm not one to mince words, Jack. That's exactly the case and you're bleeding all over. I suspect you're gonna die."
"Ah, hell. I'd say we were both living on borrowed time as it were", he coughed a couple of times.
"I'd say the reapers' had it out for us since that job on the Khans"
"Heh, I'll remember that 'til the day I die"
"You're sick."
"Heh, it was funny though", he began coughing uncontrollably, hacking up blood. Soon thereafter the coughing stopped and he exhaled one last wheeze. This unsavory demise of the only friend he had left was unsettling to say the least.
Three days later a man strode into town, a spear with three deathclaw heads impaled on it over his shoulder. He marched straight into the mayors house and smirked. "I know we agreed on 5,000 caps for the head of the deathclaw that was killing the brahmin, but as you can see the job turned out to be a bit more difficult that previously anticipated...." He pulled a Desert Eagle smeared with dried blood out from under is dusty coat and trained it on the city official, "but I'm sure we can work something out....."
He had a bolt action .308 rifle, the name of which had faded into obscurity long before he owned it. It didn't really matter what it was called though, it shot straight and had brought him much quarry in the years it was in his employ. That DID matter.
He sat indian style on a berm just outside the skeletal remains of an ancient city, its name had also faded into obscurity. Rifle at his shoulder, he slowly scanned the outskirts of the ruins through its scope. Nothing. It was totally devoid of life. At least that's what the eerie silence would suggest. But he knew better. Did he ever...... They were in there, but he wasn't stupid enough to go in looking.
His partner, Jack, sat on the same berm some odd 500 feet to the south of him. The fact that no shots were fired was a clear indication that he did not see their prey either. 'Prey', he thought, 'Yeah right. These things are just as much, if not more a hunter, as us'. He carried in addition to his rifle a .44 magnum revolver, a 1911 Colt .45 and a combat knife. The pistols were pretty light for a deathclaw, and he prayed to God that it didn't come down to using that knife.
It was another 3 hours of similar fruitless searches before anything happened. It was almost sundown and some faint movement began to manifest itself. It was a hulking shape prowling about, stopping periodically to make some striking motions on the ground. "Hunting rats" he thought to himself. It was time to put the shoe on the other foot.
He shouldered his rifle and placed the crosshairs on the beasts head. Careful not to ruin this very delicate shot, he waited. The front of a deathclaws skull might as well be armor plating, but like any other animal, the back of it has a thin spot. It's a little harder to find since a deathclaw doesn't have ears, but it's there. It was also his only chance to shoot this monster and survive the encounter. He breathed deeply and held the crosshairs steady.
The beast stood in place, hunched over the rat it was messily devouring. It was almost a perfect shot. If only...
Suddenly, its head darted towards a pile of rubble. Perhaps it found a more inviting pig rat, but he didn't care. It just cooked its own goose.
The rifle recoiled a tad more heavily than usual. He made sure to use a heavy bullet for this quarry. The deathclaws head snapped below its shoulders and the rest of its body immediately followed suit. He sat there and waited, watching it through his scope. It didn't move.
Jack shuffled his way to his partner, his vast accumulation of gear clunking as he stepped.
"Psst! You been watchin' 'im for ten minutes, he's gotta be dead."
"Most likely"
"WELL?"
"Well what?"
"You want me to run down there and get the head so we can get outta here?"
"Not just yet, something don't seem right."
"Look, I dunno about you, but I'm really tired of being here. This place gives me the creeps. If it's still alive you KNOW I can handle it."
Indeed he could. The Pancor Jackhammer full of slugs alone was enough to work over even an unhurt deathclaw. Not to mention the pair of .50 caliber Desert Eagles and that 14 mil pistol he managed to inconspicuously carry on his belt. "Alright, go get it. I'll cover you. Just watch out, there might be more."
Jack scurried down the berm to retreive the prize. Leveling the Jackhammer at it, he slowly approached the (hopefully) corpse of the monstrous creature. It didn't appear to be breathing. He leaned the Pancor against the body and brandished his huge knife. Quickly, he set to severing the head.
He was almost through the neck vertebrae when he heard the growl. His blood ran cold.
Slowly turning around revealed two more of the monstrosities, neither of them looking pleased to see him there. They approached him with long, lumbering strides, growling and snorting as they came.
Jack, suffice to say, was not in such a good way. He knew if he moved to get the jackhammer they'd pounce. And he knew he wasn't a quick enough draw to get the Eagles out in time.
A shot rang out and one of the Deathclaws was knocked to the ground, stunned. The other turned its head to see what had happened and this was Jack's chance. He quickly grabbed the Pancor and fired it from the hip, emptying ten slugs into the beasts chest in half as many seconds. That was the end of him.
The other still lay there, the .308 round might've knocked it out, but it definitely wasn't dead. Not about to take a chance relaoding the jackhammer, Jack drew the Desert Eagle that hung on his right hip. Standing over the helpless deathclaw he cocked the hammer and aimed at the head.
Before he could it regained conciousness and took a swipe across his midsection. Jack managed to put three rounds into it before he collapsed to his knees and fell forward.
"How bad'd he getcha?" a familiar voice inquired.
"Feels like only thing keepin' my guts in is my armor", he replied in a voice that was getting progressively more gurgly.
"You know I'm not one to mince words, Jack. That's exactly the case and you're bleeding all over. I suspect you're gonna die."
"Ah, hell. I'd say we were both living on borrowed time as it were", he coughed a couple of times.
"I'd say the reapers' had it out for us since that job on the Khans"
"Heh, I'll remember that 'til the day I die"
"You're sick."
"Heh, it was funny though", he began coughing uncontrollably, hacking up blood. Soon thereafter the coughing stopped and he exhaled one last wheeze. This unsavory demise of the only friend he had left was unsettling to say the least.
Three days later a man strode into town, a spear with three deathclaw heads impaled on it over his shoulder. He marched straight into the mayors house and smirked. "I know we agreed on 5,000 caps for the head of the deathclaw that was killing the brahmin, but as you can see the job turned out to be a bit more difficult that previously anticipated...." He pulled a Desert Eagle smeared with dried blood out from under is dusty coat and trained it on the city official, "but I'm sure we can work something out....."
