The Walk of Life. (Fallout Rp IC.)

[RainTheifAustin]

Daniel strode across the slightly green ground, seedlings of grass were spritzed across the ground and pools of irradiation coated the trail next to the creek. He was a mere couple Miles from the Butte Settlement. There he planned to stock up on supplies and move on. His moots were muddy, and his body weary. He sat a moment and looked up at the dead remnants of the Montana Evergreens. His breath slow, his heart pace fast, and his eyes droopy. The air was calm, and the birds flew over head, no song birds, but predators, vultures lurked, waiting for him to drop. He smiled at their sight, their eagerness for a meal. He lied back a moment and closed his eyes, slowly drifting away, not to sleep, but a starved, dehydrated state.

[EliteCommander]

Victor walked through the halls of the bunker, of Project Phoenix, following one of his fellow researchers, a Human woman named Jane, to the east wing of the labs. He was a ghoul, and compared to some of the other ghouls in the project, he was a relatively recent conversion, having only been turned about ninety years prior. Still, his dedication to the project was strong, and his experience invaluable.

“Here we are, Victor, the latest group of subjects have nearly finished their development. Only two of the subjects failed, the other fifteen should be perfectly viable and ready for testing in a few days.” Jane said after they stopped in front of the line of glass tanks. Each vat was filled with a blue, bubbling liquid which suspended a rather large, genetically modified gecko. All of them were larger than regular geckos with noticeably different body structure.

“Excellent, are there any anomalies or concerns I should be aware of?” Victor asked.

Jane looked down through her notes for a moment. “Nothing that should affect our experiments. All of the geckos are expressing the desired traits from the ghoul DNA. Our initial tests show that they should react to radiation in the same manner, and their cellular regenerative systems are nearly identical. Strangely, they do not express the same phenotypes as ghouls. We expected that they would have many of the same physical traits, like decaying flesh or decreased muscle mass, but none of the subjects are expressing any of these traits. If anything, they have even greater muscle density. We will need to perform more tests to determine why.”

“You may do that, but it is not a priority. These geckos will serve as adequate analogues for ghouls just as they are. How much genetic variability is there in this group? The last batch was useful, but they were all clones of one another.” Victor responded.

“There is quite a bit of variation, actually. There is enough genetic difference that we could breed them without needing to worry about inbreeding, if we need to. We have noticed a few unexpected traits manifest themselves, though. As you can see they are all quite a bit larger than your standard gecko, and their body structures have been altered as well, more…Human, almost.” Jane explained as she approached one specific tank. “Then, there is this one. He is an outlier among them.”

“He is certainly a big one, isn’t he?” Victor commented.

Jane chuckled. “Indeed, but that’s not the only way he is different. All of the geckos have a brain size to body weight ratio much greater than that of standard geckos, and most animals in general. The ratio on this one is much higher than theirs.”

Victor looked over to Jane curiously. “How high?”

“Off-the-charts high.” She responded.

“I see.”

-- Five Days Later --

Victor looked over the stacks of notes scattered across his desk one last time as he finished entering the last of the relevant data into his computer. They were just about to start their first true experiments on the geckos, so he needed to make sure everything was in place. Once he was finished, he let out a sigh, then reached over to his holodisk and pressed the button to record.

Lead Researcher Victor Richardson, Project Phoenix, Gecko experiment logs, day one. We have hit a standstill on our ghoul experiments. Two feral ghouls died in our last experiments, so we have suspended all tests on live ghouls. Instead, we have decided to use lab-grown geckos modified with ghoul DNA. We have noticed an increase in potential intelligence for these geckos, but they still should not be any more than mere animals. We are preparing five of the geckos to receive their first imprints. The machine should connect directly to their brains and imprint them with the knowledge from a template, an adult gecko, in this case. We have also made sure to provide two templates, one for the males and another for the females. I have high hopes for this experiment, we have improved the process considerably since the last attempt with the cloned geckos. If we ever hope to rehabilitate feral ghouls, this machine will be invaluable. If we ever manage to repair the minds of the ferals, they will not immediately regain their old memories. We will need to re-teach them how to survive. This machine could cut that process down from years to days, or even hours.

---------------

Lead Researcher Victor Richardson, Project Phoenix, Gecko experiment logs, day seven. The results are everything we hoped for, though at first it did not seem to work. When we first placed them in their enclosure, they wandered around like infants, doing little more than moving from place to place and eating food that was offered directly to them, but after about three days, they started to become more active, moving and hunting like true adults. Their social structure has formed itself to be identical to everything we would expect from a family of geckos. It appears as if it takes time for the imprints to take hold in their minds, but once they understand the information, they can apply it just as if they had learned it through conventional means. Our experiments with the imprinting machine will now focus on how to speed up the process. The information we imprinted onto the geckos is nothing compared to massive amount of data we will need to imprint into the minds of rehabilitated ghouls, so it will likely take more than a few days the ghouls to process the information.

----------------

Lead Researcher Victor Richardson, Project Phoenix, Gecko experiment logs, day twenty-five. Our gecko experiments are producing real and useful results. We have managed to reduce the amounts of time required for imprints to take effect by injecting the subjects with a series of drugs, but we still believe we can fine tune the process further. We have also managed to grow a few groups of geckos with decayed brains similar to feral ghouls. We hope to use them to find a way to reverse the decay process. Since they are significantly harder to work with, however, we will be still grow most of our test subjects with unmodified brains.

(Pause of several seconds)

And, on a slightly…unrelated note, I have discovered something unusual about one of the geckos, who I have taken to calling Rex…unofficially. Gecko packs do not have alphas, but this one seems to be far superior to all the rest in pretty much every way. He is bigger, stronger, faster, and, most importantly, smarter. All of them are superior to normal geckos in intelligence, but this one takes it to a whole new level. Since they are well fed, all of the geckos are rather playful, and Rex is constantly outsmarting them. We often hide their food in some way to keep their minds stimulated, and Rex has been the one to find it every single time, without fail. If it were not for the fact that they share food amongst the pack, the rest of them would have starved. Whenever I have the time, I think I am going to see exactly how intelligent Rex is, just as a sort of side project. It shouldn’t interfere with our primary projects as it has been taking our salvage teams longer to find the necessary resources for our experiments as of late. (sigh) I’ve had plenty of free time.

----------------

Lead Researcher Victor Richardson, Project Phoenix, Gecko experiment logs, day forty. There has not been much progress with the imprinting machine. We cannot seem to get the geckos to process the information any faster than we already have, though Jane suggested an idea to me about an hour ago that has promise. We will need to wait until the salvage teams return to test it, however. Fortunately, our tests on decaying brains have yielded better results. So far, we have managed to bring the cognitive ability of decayed subject up by twenty percent. We still have a long way to go before we can fully rehabilitate a decayed mind, but it is a start.

As far as my personal project goes, I have been greatly surprised by Rex’s intellectual ability. I’ve been testing him with puzzles and, so far, he has solved every one. Most recently, I gave him the mirror test, and just as I suspected, he recognized himself as an individual. I’ve compared his results to pre-war tests conducted on animals, and he has scored better than even the most intelligent primates, and even bottlenose dolphins. He is also quite…enjoyable to be around. I’ve never had a pet before, but I can see why people like them. He is quite energetic and playful, and I do believe that he has his own distinct personality. I…had an idea, something I want to try on him. I think his brain is advanced enough to take in the information we intend to imprint upon ghouls. I am going to create template for the imprinting machine using my own mind and try to apply the information as his. I will attempt to remove my own personal memories so that only my skills and experiences transfer over, though I doubt it will be perfect. It will be a good test for refining our templates down to basic information, rather than the entire collected memories of an individual. I highly doubt Rex will be able to understand most of the imprint, after all, he isn’t human, but I look forward to seeing what information he gets out of the imprint. Perhaps I will be able to teach him to do tricks.

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Lead Researcher Victor Richardson, Project Phoenix, Gecko experiment logs, day one hundred. Gecko experiments have been progressing smoothly, but Rex…I cannot do this to Rex anymore. He is far more intelligent than I could have imagined. He is close to, if not on par with human intelligence. So far, I have kept him in the general experiments with the rest of the geckos, but I am taking him out right now. I am just thankful that he hasn’t been hurt, I don’t need that on my conscious. He has been becoming more and more…human ever since I imprinted him with my experiences. The things I have seen him do…there is just no way he is a simple animal. I was in the room with him trying to teach him…something trivial, I don’t even remember now, and he spoke to me. I knew that he could mimic words like a parrot or deathclaw, after all, I taught him to do it with a few words, but he started saying things, full sentences, that I never taught him. He was speaking to me in a way that made sense, he knew what he was saying. I have no idea how we created something like him, but I am going to make sure we do not create another. The entire reason we are testing on geckos is so we do not harm ghouls, but what use is that if the beings we create think just like us? We are going to take extra precautions to ensure that all future subjects are kept at an animal level of intelligence.

As for Rex, well, I’m taking him out of this place. He is not going to be a test subject. Salvage teams have started to bring in resources more quickly, so I don’t have time to give him the attention he deserves, but Jane has been working with the ghouls over at the West bunker for a few weeks now and she said that she would be able to take care of him and help teach him everything he will need to know. I’ll visit when I can, but I don’t know how often that will be. I’m lucky that one of the salvage teams returned today with more ghouls, because I was able to load him onto a truck headed for the West bunker about half an hour ago. Poor thing, he didn’t like being put in that box; he looked so afraid. Hopefully, Jane will be able to explain everything to him once he arrives.

(Deep sigh, followed by several moments of silence) He called me “father.”

[MR WIKI]

Garret was sitting on a rock, overlooking the vast landscape of the wasteland. It was a beautiful thing really. Seeing the wind picking up the desert sand, like a vulture carrying a small shrew. Or watching clouds move slowly around the wasteland, giving shade from the mighty burning sun in the sky. It's heat burns like an arrow stuck in flesh. It's rays causing a drop of sweat to roll down the side of his cheek. Garret didn't care. The wasteland is full of dangers and he wishes that he found that out sooner than later. He inhaled another cloud of smoke from his cigarette. The pain in his lungs is almost oblivious to him. His years of living on the road has hardened him. He has created a shell around him that only he can break. He continued to smoke the cigarette and stare out at the horizon.

He heard screams of terror coming from behind him. Garret pinged the cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it with his boot, making sure that it has been put out. He turned around to see a ransacked campsite, filled with signs of struggling and death. The tents were all but tipped over and ripped. The chests were upside-down, with their contents spilled all over the wasteland's ground. Clothes, tins of food, water bottles and miscellaneous items were just spread out like a spilled drink. Dead bodies were also spread around the camp. Each with a gunshot in their head and a couple of empty needles around them. It was clear to Garret that these people were raiders and junkies. In the middle of all this was a raider, alive, who is tied to a table. The raider was screaming violently for help, as he was covered in alcohol. This whole mess was known to Garret because he was the one who caused it.

Garret walked up to the Raider slowly, making each footstep known. His duster coat and desperado cowboy hat made him a force that would chill down the spines of many. His 44. Magnum was a weapon that he was talented with and it lies on his holster by his waist. He reached into his left pocket as he pulled out a small grey matchbox with worn out lettering on it. The Raider saw this and screamed even louder to the tip of his limit but it was too no avail. They were in the wasteland, miles from the nearest settlement. The raider stopped screaming and looked at Garret with great fear in his eyes.

"What are you doing!? Why are you doing this!?" Asked the Raider.

Garret pulled out a small whisky bottle from his right pocket and pulled the cap off. He then took a drink of the old bottle and looked at the raider. "A few days ago, you found a man's camp in the in the middle of the desert. You and your little friends here..." He then waved his finger at the dead maggot infested bodies to prove his point. "...decided to raid the camp. You stole a small pile of weapons, some money and some supplies. The owner of the camp was probably away doing some business close by, so you decided to scram out of there like the rats you are."

The Raider looked confused and terrified at Garret. "How-how-how do you know this!?"

"I know because, that owner was me." Responded Garret. He then took another chug of his drink. "Now what I want to know is: Where are my guns."

"Those guns! We so-so-sold them to a couple of gun merchants. They stripped them down for parts and sold them indivi-vi-vidually. Your guns are gone mister." Replied the Raider.

Garret was very unhappy by this. He has already retrieved back his food and water supplies from this camp but those guns were the main reason that he has managed to survive the dangers of the wasteland for the past 20 years. He took a massive gulp of the drink and ended up finishing it whole. He threw the empty bottle away and walked up to the Raider.

"Oh really. You did that. Well, that's a fucking shame."

The Raider stopped struggling a little and looked at the cold killer. "Yeah-yeah, can I go now? Please!?"

Garret walked back to his original spot and pulled out a match. "How about..." He then struck the match against the small rough surface at the side of the matchbox, causing a small flaming ember to ignite. "...no."

He threw the match on the ground near the Raider causing a chain effect of flames to happen. The flames were burning brightly on the Raider, causing him to scream in agony and pain. His face melted with blotchy red marks and hints of bone showing. Garret stared at this with intent. He hated raiders and Caesars legion with a burning hatred and passion. They sicken him. They pillage, rape and kill all around. Raiders do it for drug money, while Caesars legion do it for power. He wishes that the Raider was a Caesars legion mercenary. At least they put up a bit more fight. Garret grabbed his stuff and left the camp. The smoke coming from the camp stands out like a black snake in the middle of a patch of green grass. He walked down the small wasteland hill and onto the road, armed with only a revolver. Garret knew with certainty that he'll find another rifle and shotgun. For a post apocalyptic world, guns were quite common. He pulled out a golden pocket-watch from the inside pocket of his coat. He looked at the time on it as it read 3:15. Garret's watch has been that time for years. All ways has been, all ways will be. The watch is a symbol for Garret. A symbol from the past that drives Garret towards retribution unto others.

It is his fuel. His hope. His pain.

[EliteCommander]

Rex was afraid. The metal crate he was in only let in a small amount of light through small openings near the top, and there was barely enough room for him to lay down. He could hear a lot of activity around him, voices of people he knew to be ghouls and humans, but they were not saying anything that could help him understand what was going on. There were also the mindless screams and grunts of the ghouls known as “ferals,“ and from the sound of them, they were very close to his crate. Rex’s knowledge of the language burned into his mind had improved considerably over the past month, though he had only recently figured out how to give it voice. There were still a few things the others said that he did not understand, but for the most part, he knew what their words meant.

Although he had learned a lot in the few short months that he had been alive, Rex was still confused by the majority of the information the machine had given him. There was just so much of it that he could not make sense of it all, but he was starting to learn how to grow his understanding. The more he saw, practiced, and experienced, the more the information started to make sense to him. A few weeks after he started paying attention to the words his “father”, Victor, had been saying, he started to remember, in a manner of speaking, words that he had never heard before. The words he learned had little meaning to him until he saw or experienced what they were referring to, but once he experienced it, however, he learned very quickly. For instance, before he was forced into the box, he caught a glimpse of a machine called a truck, though he was still trying to figure out what its purpose was. From what he could remember, trucks had something to do with movement, so it made sense that he was going to be moved somewhere.

Just as Rex was starting to piece together what was going on, there was a loud noise and the truck beneath him started to shake. He jumped up in surprise and hit his head on the top of the crate, then immediately fell back down, unconscious.

When Rex finally awoke, he could tell that he was moving. It was still dark in his crate and he still could not see outside, but he could feel the movements of the truck beneath him. He tried to make himself comfortable, but the constant bumps made that nearly impossible. He had never been in a situation like this before, and while he usually loved experiencing new things, all he wanted at the moment was to go home.

After a few minutes, Rex started hearing muffled voices coming from one side of his crate, so he pushed his ear up against the side and tried to make out what they were saying.

“…isn’t good. I think that’s an NCR patrol up ahead.” One voice, which sounded human, said.

"NCR, all the way up here? How is that even possible?” The other asked.

“I told you, man, they’ve been expanding their borders. They’re going to be in for a big surprise once they run into the-” The voice said before suddenly stopping. Rex felt the truck slow to a complete stop, then heard footsteps surrounding the truck outside. From the conversation he overheard, Rex guessed that they were “NCRs,” whatever that was.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” One of the voices asked.

This time, a new voice responded. “That depends on you. May I ask how you got this truck?”

“I’m a mercenary working for some wealthy group, sir. I don’t know how they got it, I just follow orders.”

There were a few moments of silence before the soldier responded. “I see, so what kind of cargo are you carrying?”

“Live animals.”

“And why are you moving these animals?” The soldier asked, his tone showing that he was becoming impatient.

“Look, sir, I don’t know, I’m just doing what I was paid to do. These guys want us to take them from one place they own to another, they’re not hurting anyone. Can we go now? I don’t want these creatures becoming any more restless.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The soldier said with mild annoyance. “We just have to check your cargo for a moment to make sure you’re not carrying anything that-”

Suddenly, Rex felt a large, painful electrical shock pulse through his body, followed by pained screams from both the people outside and the feral ghouls in the other cages beside him. “EMP! It’s the Brotherhood!” One of the voices outside shouted. After a moment, one side of Rex’s crate suddenly opened, which nearly blinded him with the rapid influx of light. He heard loud noises and screaming all around him, and for a moment, he could do nothing but cower in his crate in fear.

“The EMP knocked out the electronic locks, the ghouls are free!” Someone shouted, and sure enough, Rex could see and hear a number of ferals jumping off the truck. He would have remained in the safety of his crate, but one of the ghouls happened to look into his crate and take notice of the fearful gecko within. After the ghoul jumped up onto the truck and started moving toward him, Rex’s instincts took hold and he bolted out of the crate in a quadrupedal sprint, knocking the ghoul clean off its feet in the process.

Once outside, Rex’s eyes darted around in a frenzy as he tried to figure out where to go. To his right were the NCR soldiers, with explosions of light and sound coming from the objects in their hands. To his left, he could see strange beams of red light coming from the trees, though he could not see what was creating them. Knowing that he could not stay where he was, Rex ran straight off into the forest away from everything as fast as he could. He didn’t know if anything was following him, but he also didn’t care. All that was on his mind at the moment was getting away from the danger, so he ran until he could no longer hear the fight behind him, then kept running until his legs could carry him no farther.

Rex collapsed to the ground from exhaustion. After a few moments, he turned himself over to his back and looked up at the sky, breathing heavily and panting. Once he had calmed down enough, Rex tried to process what he had just with through, though with little success. Everything had happened so fast that there was little time for him to understand it. Some of the words he heard, such as “NCR” or “Brotherhood” seemed somewhat familiar, but he knew nothing beyond that.

After his heart rate settled down to a mostly normal level, Rex sat up and started to take in his surroundings. It was a forest; he had seem images of similar places in his mind, but he had never really known what it would be like to be in one. There were so many sounds and scents that those images just could not convey. It would have been beautiful were it not for one thing: Rex was hopelessly lost. As exciting as it was to be in such a new place, he wanted nothing more than to return home and see his father again. He missed Victor and was willing to give up his chance at new experiences to be back home again, but he was terribly disoriented with absolutely no hint of which direction to go. Rex slowly looked around the intimidatingly large forest and let out a slight whine, fearing that he would never be able to see his home again.

[TunaticTyler]

The eerie, quiet ambiance of a destroyed office echoed in the ears of a masked female. She wore a faded, Pre-War grey hoodie and tight blue pants, fitted out with a standard gas mask that was issued to civilians before The Great War. Around her lay nothing but destroyed Protections, terminals, and the flickering of a dying light source. Holding a metal baseball bat in hand, the imitating scavenger quietly dragged her bat against the ground slowly. It's horrific sound of metal rubbing against concrete echoed in the fallen establishment. Continuing to walk a little, the female (known to few as Amanda) used this to see if she could bait out any gun-welding, manically, absolutely batshit insane druggies. Or, you know, the polite term for them known as "Raiders".

Putting a hand in her left pocket, her N99 rattled as she waited to hear the slurred speech of a drunk or the crazed ravings of some idiot that was higher than the moon. Sadly, in some twisted way, her answers were met with once again pure silence. Assuming the building was empty, she began to hop over the welcoming counters of the office and loot some supplies that were mainly untouched. Medical supplies, a few rounds for her N99, and even a Pre-War bottle of whiskey. Smiling under her mask, the survivalist threw her backpack on the ground as she knelt down.

Stuffing the supplies, a faint sound echoed to her left. The darken hallways before her seem to emit this sound that was very...odd. It wasn't the crackling of radio, or the monotone voice of a robot. No, it was more of a growl, a very distinct and possible frightening growl to some individuals. Dropping some of the supplies, the woman toke out her baseball bat, wanting this to be quiet just in case this place actually held someone residing in it. Waiting, the young adult frowned heavily as her whole body tensed. Her heart raced, readying for whatever lurked in the darkness before her.

The growls grew in intensity, and the survivor instantly knew that it was form of a canine most likely. That didn't scare her, it's the fact that Raiders often used dogs to lead charges against the innocent. Making sure her N99 was ready as well, she grabbed her backpack as slowly began to make her way towards the entrance. Just as Amanda was about to reach the door, the growls at grown to a complete climax as she looked into the darkness before her.

A small, Pre-War toy car rolled down towards her with one of Vault-Tec's mascots smiling brightly at her. Naturally, it stopped when it reached a depression in the concrete, and the female stood there with a complete loss of words. Falling onto the ground, she held her throbbing head, the growls completely vanishing as she ripped the mask off her face.

"Grrrraghhh!!!" she whined in a cry, flailing as a sudden headache hit her. Her fingers ran through her brunette hair, her body kicking wildly as she was having another one of her "episodes". Every since the accident, her mind was playing games with her and the fresh burns on the right side of her face and hands still coursed in her body. Only a small speck of her right cheek's skin had fallen off, no bigger than a fingernail. The same applies towards the hands, which have all but mostly recovered.

A fear resided in her of what might possible become of her. But, that thought was ridiculous, only strong amounts of radiation can turn someone into a...freak like that. Crying faintly, Amanda threw on her gas mask and stormed out of the office.

It wasn't the Raiders, it wasn't the Protections or mechanical abominations, it wasn't even the Deathclaws or anything else that she feared anymore.

It was her own mind that she feared.

[SilverDawn]

A lone man ran through the city. His hands burnt from many fires. His face was stained with a white paint that had red detailing. His breath was heavy. In his hand, he held a bottle of a cheap alcohol. It had a rag on the top. A cheap incendiary bomb. The layman's term for one of these were a Molotov Cocktail.

A woman stood alone in the road, holding a silenced sniper rifle. She had let the man get a head start. She then kneeled down, holding the sniper in a firing position. The sniper's scope aligned above the man as the woman spoke one word:

"Bang."

A near silent thump rose as the bullet traveled towards the man. The round hit right under the back if the knee. The man doubled over in pain as his leg was nearly obliterated by the shot. The woman walked towards the man as he nearly cried. He tried to run away, but he couldn't. The Molotov, which had rolled away, was lightly stepped on by a foot. It was grasped by slender, and gloved hands. The woman spoke more.

"Do unto others, as you do to yourself."

Her voice rang as she began to pour the booze over him. The man could only plea, and so he did so. A pitiful attempt. The woman took out a lighter from a duffel-bag and lit the cloth on fire. She promptly dropped the cloth onto the man. What would happen next was expected. Hollowed screams filled the air as he burned. The woman didn't care. She just unloaded the clip and placed a bullet from the duffel-bag into the clip. She then loaded the gun and placed it beside her. She took out a bottle of beer and promptly began to drink it. The man writhed around in pain until he was stopped by the blood loss, and the burnt organs.

[RainTheifAustin]

A man in a checkered suit stood over Daniel, he had his hands clasped together behind his back, his red and white suit and odd sight in the hazy, and oddly bright colored forest. Daniel awoke slowly to hear the mans voice, which seemed to come from a face full of hair. The man was dark, and tall, quite skinny, but with a chiseled build. His face rugged, an odd pair, the rugged man, with a gentleman's suit. His voice was deep, yet mystically soothing.

"Hallowed sun and salty breeze be cast upon those with weary knees. Distraught you be, upon the beach of a thousand tears. Your life no more or less then the one of the man at your side. It is time to wake up Daniel. Wake up... Wake up!"

Daniel jerked his upper body forward as the man standing over him jumped back with a 9 mm Beretta pointed at his face. The man was clothed in multiple random layers, he sported a hunting vest, over top a long sleeve shirt, which was covered in several scarves, and he wore a pair of jeans, patched with random fabrics. His hands were covered by a pair of riding gloves that worn to the point of falling apart. The man's eyes were bloodshot and he was shaky all over, blood covered the man's chest. Daniel had assessed him rather quickly, but the shaking and the blood and the eyes were off-putting. Daniel couldn't smell drugs, but he also couldn't smell human flesh. Daniel knew he was either a drug addict or a cannibal, but which one was a mystery.

The man began to speak with a jittery, almost scared voice. He took a step forward and pressed the gun to Daniel's head and then backed it off again. "G-Get up! Open your belt pouches and-d g-give me all your caps!" The man stepped back, but opened his legs a bit and leaned his upper body forward, this allowed him a sturdier position, but made it awkward to move if he needed to react quickly.

Daniel did as commanded. His dehydrated and starved body shaking, hardly able to support his body. He groaned as he placed his left hand on his stomach as pain shot throughout his body, his right hand on the hilt of his right blade. Daniel turned while pilfering through his belt. "I don't have any, what is your fix though, you don't have the teeth of a Jet Head, you'a Pyscho'naut?" Daniel asked with a grunt in pain as he closed the pouches.

The man, now slightly annoyed took the gun and pistol whipped Daniel across the mouth, the man obviously hadn't realized the numbers or the style of the armor Daniel wore, but even if he did, Daniel doubted this would affect the withdrawal fueled druggy. Daniel fell a moment after the whip, his body had been shutting down and the pain hadn't registered right off the bat. Daniel keeled over, catching himself with his knees and his left hand, his right hand now wrapped around the hilt of his right sword. He groaned in pain and mustered up a small amount of energy and pulled the sword forth quickly, but not very far, the pummel of the sword landed upon the man's genitals and let out a agonizing growl as he dropped the gun, and dropped back onto the ground, he pulled his knees up over his chest, and he cupped his manhood in his hands, but this lasted only a moment as Daniel picked up the handgun and fired it into the chest of the man three times. The gun was left with no ammo and Daniel simply laid it by the body. He took a moment to gather himself and drag his body the creek. The water was quit irradiated, but by this point he had no choice. He cupped his hands inside the green water and pulled small pools to his mouth, sipping it in slowly, and almost not at all, his hands would instinctively start to gap open as he brought it to his mouth, causing him to only get small portions, of the already small pools he was bringing to his lips. He spent nearly ten minutes drinking, barely getting enough to calm his stomach for only a moment. He began to proceed west again towards the Butte Settlement. He would only hope he could make it before the Vultures overhead would get to claim his body.

[EliteCommander]

After a while of sitting and doing nothing, Rex eventually decided to get up and start walking. He had no idea which way to go, but it was better than just sitting around doing nothing. He picked a random direction and just started walking, hoping that he would be lucky enough to find his way back home. As he was walking, he started looking around and really taking in his surroundings. It was a place that was entirely foreign to him, something he had never seen before, and yet something about it just seemed right. It was like some instinct deep down inside of him wanted to be there, though that was not nearly enough to overcome his own desire to go back home. Everything he knew was in that bunker, as Victor had called it.

Rex wandered for hours on end, never changing his direction; he hoped to be able to catch some familiar scent that would lead him back home, but unfortunately, he had no such luck. He encountered plenty of new and exciting sights and smells that normally would have put him in a blissful daze. He saw plants that he had never seen in his mind, and he even caught glimpses of a few animals before they ran off into the wilderness. For some reason, it seemed as if they were afraid of him.

Despite these distractions, Rex never lost sight of his goal. He maintained his vigil for anything that could lead him back home, though after most of a day had passed, his exhaustion started getting the better of him. He had not eaten all day, something he was certainly not used to. Combined with the hours of walking, Rex’s hunger started overwhelming him. He desperately wanted to find some source of food, so he finally diverged from his course to follow scents that could lead him to a meal.

After wandering for about another half hour, Rex caught the sweet scent of meat in the air, though for some reason, it seemed to be burning. Regardless, he decided to follow it to its source. Once he drew close enough, he heard human voices, something that lifted his spirit. He knew humans were smart, so it was possible that they could help him find his home. Not realizing the danger, Rex gladly walked straight into their camp.

Looking around the camp, Rex saw three people, one male and two female, all of whom were wearing clothing consisting of mismatched cloth and worn pieces of metal. There was meat hanging over a fire and several objects scattered across the camp similar to the ones the NCR soldiers were using. Now that he was looking at them more closely, he was starting to recognize what they were. The word for them was “guns,” and from what he could recall, they could be used to hurt people.

Before Rex could do or say anything, the three people took notice of him, with the male standing up and grabbing one of the guns. “Would you look at that, stupid animal came right into our camp.” The male commented.

“Look at it, it’s not even afraid.” One of the others said.

“Good.” The male said before suddenly striking Rex in the head with the end of his rifle, knocking him off of his feet. “It will be easier to kill.”

Rex was surprised, confused, and more than anything, in pain. His head was throbbing from the impact, and when he attempted to stand back up, he was kicked in the head again by the human. He didn’t know what he had done wrong to deserve this; he had never been beaten before. For a moment, he almost shot up to run away, but a glance at the man’s gun caused him to stop. Guns could be used to hurt people at a distance, and, for whatever reason, Rex felt that being hurt by the gun would be worse than what the human was doing to him now. The man kept kicking him in the head and stomach, causing him to bleed from his nose and mouth. He let out a pained yelp every time he was struck, but that only made the man smile even more.

After a long, agonizing minute, the man stopped when one of the females in the camp yelled at him. “Could you hurry up and kill the thing already? I’m hungry, and that thing has a lot of meat.”

While the man was turned away, Rex looked around for some way to escape, but spotted a small, handheld gun sitting on a nearby tree stump. He knew guns could be used to hurt people, so it made sense that he could use one himself to make the humans stop hurting him. He reached over and grabbed the handgun, paying attention to how the human male was holding his rifle. He had never even seen a gun before that day, so he had absolutely no clue how to use it, but there was something in his mind that seemed to be guiding him. Something in that imprinting machine had given him the knowledge of what these things were and how to use them, and in such a stressful situation, something within him was bringing out the knowledge as if it were an instinct.

The handgun was designed for hands much smaller than his own, but Rex was able to grip it decently enough. He brought himself to his feet, then pressed the handgun to the man’s head just as he turned around. Rex pulled the trigger, the only obvious moving part on the gun, which caused the man’s head to essentially explode, much to Rex’s delight. He hadn’t expected the gun to kick back in his hand when he used it, but he was more than strong enough to keep his grip. Knowing that the other two intended to kill him as well, Rex pointed the gun at the head of the nearest human, who was only a few feet away.

“What the-?” She started to say before he pulled the weapon’s trigger again, hitting her in the head and killing her immediately. By this time, the last human had jumped up from the log she was sitting on and was rushing toward a gun propped up against a tree. Rex fired at her twice, but the shots seemed to only hit the ground behind her. Apparently, it was much more difficult to kill something with a gun if it was moving. Fortunately, the third shot hit her side, causing her to collapse to the ground and scream out in pain. Rex was surprised that it did not kill her like it did the other two, so he decided to pull the trigger several more times to see if she would die. He continued firing until the gun returned nothing but a click every time he pulled the trigger. The woman’s lifeless body laid on the ground, bleeding from the many shots he had put into her. Rex looked over her corpse curiously, making sure she was dead, then simply sat down and started to look over the handgun, trying to figure out what he had done to break it.

[MR WIKI]

The forest around Garret blow whispers of wind around each other. As if they were talking, conspiring even. The old gunslinger has been walking through thick lands of forest for a while now. His old body begging for a rest. Garret didn't care though. His body has hardened like concrete, he could walk through lava if he wanted too. The trees around were vast and many, darkening the way out, forcing Garret to make a path for himself. He was cutting bushes, branches and small trees with great force. He was using an old ax he found in a cabin miles before but unfortunately it was starting to look worn out. He'll eventually have to abandon it. Garret didn't care though. To him, everything has a due date. Everything eventually dies. You either have a use in this world or you crawl up and die. Garret has a saying for this:

Get a purpose or die trying.

He lives by this like it was one of natures law. It is a dark and cruel rule but so is the world. Garret didn't care what people say about it. The people that have objected to it though, didn't live to see 30.

Garret reached the end of his long and destructive path to reach the end of the forest. In front of him was an extremely worn out old road. It led left, right or forward. One of these directions led to Montana. Garret had good reason to why he wanted to get to Montana. It was one of the few states in western America to not be controlled by either the NCR or the Brotherhood of Steel. He did not like either of them. He believes that they are as bad as each other. They take lands for power and force people there to pay a form of tax or give up certain weaponry. Garret believes that the world is a wasteland. There is no room for a governmental power.

He believes that they are pussies for thinking that justice can be brought peacefully. Garret disagrees with this quite greatly. Retribution should swift, painful and with a big iron.

Garret sees a sign down the road that led forward. It was a very worn out sign. It was blue, shaped like a distorted rectangle and had large red lettering on it that was too far away to read. Garret took out a cigarette and lit it. He then started walking down the road, smoking at the same time. He looks at the box of cigarettes in his pocket. They were getting lighter and had only a few left in them. This irritated him greatly.

"Well that's fucking great." Uttered Garret to himself, sarcastically.

He finally got to seeing distance of the sign. Garret was now standing near it. He stopped as he gave a little condescending chuckle as to what was written on it.

Welcome to Montana!

It was in giant red lettering, with mountains in a circle, right in the middle of it. He smoked a last blow of his cigarette and pinged it on the hard, worn out road. He looked at the small burning ember of it. He sees the murdering Raiders, the pillaging thieves and the disgusting rapists on that small glowing flame. These pieces of scum are here in Montana and Garret was going to hunt them down. One by one. He then lifts his large boot up and stamps on the cigarette, rubbing it against the ground to make sure. Those pieces of scum were the cigarette.

A storm is coming. Garret is coming.

[TunaticTyler]

Amanda stormed out of the decaying office, stopping as she looked around in slight awe. A small, urban station if you will from the Pre-War days greeted her eyes. Buildings that held a impressive height were nothing more than crumbled behemoths of concrete and steel. The roads before her were crumbling, moss and vegetation growing faintly in the cracks of it. Cars, trucks, and other automobiles was thrown in random locations, some of which smashed into the buildings themselves. It was clear the bombs fell this small city got the worse of it, and was nothing more than just a few buildings you could actually enter in and scavenge from.

Pulling out her N99, she looked back at the office and trembled heavily. The thought of stacking up on some more bottle caps and ammo teased her, but the masked woman didn't want to have to endure...that again. Breathing in a eerie, unsettling tone through her gas mask, the survivor began to descend down a minor staircase.

Looking left and right as she merged onto the road, she froze and crouched near a car as the screams of a burning man echoed in her eardrums. She winced under her mask, and was more than glad she couldn't smell burning flesh due to the gas mask. Pondering if it was Raiders that had done such a dastardly deed, the agile female continued to walk down the road as she peeked around a corner.

The sight disturbed her, to say the least. Even throughout her adventures in the Wastelands, it was still frightening to see such sights.

A female, very tall and physically impressive stood practically armed to the teeth it appeared. Beside her on the ground was the remains of a scorched and mutilated body, the skin gone and the flesh blacken. Reminding her of the time her own skin was burned, but not in the same fashion, the hooded young adult crouched near cars that had a somewhat wall for her to sneak by. Holding her N99 close, a thought of killing the woman echoed in Amanda's mind.

It wasn't something she wanted to do, but if she had too, she would. Continuing to try and sneak past the drinking sniper, the brunette swore as her right foot got caught on a piece of scrap metal that had detached from one of the Pre-War cars. Falling on her stomach, her eyes widen as she made a faint gasping noise through her mask.

Knowing that it was a fairly loud sound, she scrambled up to her feet and began to run away behind the turned over cars. Faint glimpses of the hooded female could be seen as she dashed around the corner from where she came, beginning to look behind her.

"Shitshitshitshitshit..." she murmured in fear, hiding behind a concrete pillar that held up what was a supermarket.

Now it was time to play the waiting game, better than the "Let's try and kill each other" game in her own opinion.