Welcome to Vault... </error/> -

System Alert: </Containment Failure/> <Accessing> - <Leak found> <Cooler Malfunction> <Nuclear core exposed> <Foreign object Identified> -
SYSTEM FAILURE ...
EVACUATE!
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Greetings and Welcome to our Fallout RP. This story will entail the travels of a group of PCs inside a part of the western wasteland, within the limits of the Mojave Wasteland in the year 2323. Here the PCs will be exposed to the scenerio in which a Vault, commandeered by the NCR, was targeted and destroyed under small limitations of tactical use and resulted in a massive explosion and radiation expersion. Now, within the wasteland as a whole, the outskirts of the blast radius has become a ground zero for freshly created Ghouls, whilst the radiation spike and zone as a whole has become a festering ground for all manner of previously seen and newly seen irradiated monsters, animals, and entities.
The goal of this RP is different than most, rather then having a major end-game baddy and his plot line full of minion fighting and plot deciphering, we will be fighting to survive and save settlers, travelers, caravans, and any and all respectable people fighting off this new swarm of wastelandic creations. They will choose to either fight alongside, or without the help of a decade old Church of Slayers, built loosely around Pre-War Deist and Combat-Paladin/Preist ideas.

War Never Changes, are you ready for the frontlines?

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Prompt courtesy of ManoftheNorth.


1. No godmodding. Don’t have your character jump straight into a pit of radiation or charge an armed Supermutant barehanded and expect them to turn out fit as a fiddle. Any PC death will be discussed and only allowed to happen if A. The PC was definitely, definitely going to die or B. The PC agreed to the death OOC.

2. No auto-hitting, except in the case of minions. Killing a gecko or two automatically is just fine and well within your PC’s capabilities, but wailing on a PC or an enemy that would not be so easy to take out without said PC’s or the mod’s permission is forbidden. If you’re not sure, ask.

3. Sex is to either fade to black or be taken to a PM thread. No exceptions.

4. Try to stay on track. If you want your character to suddenly have a huge meltdown for utterly unknown/minimal reasons and force everyone else to backtrack because of it, that’s an automatic shutdown. Your character can be unstable, definitely, but be prepared for the consequences if you decide to act upon that in a way that would only bog down the plot for everyone else.

5. Know your lore. Try to avoid any kind of inconsistency with the lore of Fallout and your character's actions, background or knowledge. Just ask if you don't know too much, but certain petty inconsistencies won't be too much of an issue.

6. At least one or two good paragraphs per post, please. Give plenty of room for PCs to react and respond as they see fit.

If you want to reserve a particular character type (I.E. a melee fighter, a classic revolver-wielding cowboy, etc.), say so when you join up. Do not post in the IC if your CS is not approved.



(Character image here, if you’d like to have one.)

(Name goes here.)

Age: (At least 18)

Gender:

Specialty/Archetype: (Think of what your character would put on their resume, if they had one.)

Appearance/Gear: (Anything you’d like to add that is not in the picture/in case you do not have a picture. Scars, tattoos, clothing/armor, weapons, physique, etc.)

Personality: (Give us a good, in-depth idea of what we should expect from your character.)

History: (At least a solid paragraph.)

Other: (Affiliations, current occupation, etc.)

Dr. Jordan Palmer

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Specialty/Archetype: She is most useful for field medicine and scientific insight/hacking, and is a skillful handler of her plasma rifle.

Appearance/Gear: She wears a light ensemble of leather armor and a filthy, filthy white cloak that looks like it was once a lab coat. She wears a doctor’s mask and a pair of goggles about her neck, bringing them up to protect her face in the event of a sandstorm. If one were to pull up her sleeves, they’d find a myriad of puncture scars indicative of heavy chem use. Unless moving, high, or focused on pursuits that take all of her concentration, she shakes very slightly. Prideful of her plasma rifle, she cleans, mods and cares for it religiously, the shiny parts especially shiny, the glowy parts particularly glowy. Her belt is weighed down heavily with recycled ammunition, medical supplies, junk useful for crafting and tools, and clunks about as she runs or walks. She has a palm-sized, cracked LED looped on a string that she wears as a necklace. She is of average height, angularly-shaped, lanky and built with lean, quick muscle. She is only strong enough to swing around her rifle, and doesn't take very well to being struck or shot.

Personality: Friendly and loyal, Jordan is very often willing to help those she considers an ally. Her friends are kept close, as precious as jewels, and she will often protect them in any way she can, be it from injury, disease or thugs. Her skill in unplanned medical procedures is unprecedented, almost preferring to work under intense pressure, too easily distracted otherwise. Flirting is a favorable pastime, from robots to Nightkin, average humans just a little too plain for her tastes. Her thirst for discovery stretches a little beyond human decency in darker times, occasionally dipping into cruel territory with how she will manipulate her subjects into entering her experiments, such as omitting the truth of a test to avoid ”muddying up” the results. One of the few times she refuses to use people as test subjects is in the case of prostitutes. In her eyes, they must be protected and treated well above many others, and holds a sympathetic, albeit reckless, view of them. She is just as quick to misuse her knowledge of medicine to split a few chems with one as she is to help eliminate a particularly abusive client for them. She gets very sensitive around robots, becoming more reserved and logically-minded in their presence, whether they speak to her or not. When presented with alcohol, she will drink far, far too much, drone on about scientific papers she’d written, find the nearest ghoul and sleep with them, and then proceed to pass out for a few long hours. Her opinion of the Followers of the Apocalypse is quoted as “A bunch of nice dudes with their hearts in the right place. A little uptight, though."

History: Jordan was born in Freeside as the second child of a repairman, tasked from the time she could run to scout out derelict buildings in the neighborhood for whatever could be found. She grew up alternating between beating away Radroaches with iron poles over a pile of scrap metal to watching her father turn her hard-earned salvage into things people could use to survive and live. Her older sister, Maya, hired then as a guard for the Followers of the Apocalypse’s fort in Freeside, saw her potential and brought her along during her guard shifts to read the books at the Fort and help run messages between the Kings and the Followers. By the time Jordan was 10, she had an extensive knowledge of medicine and science, hungering constantly for more. The Followers encouraged her education, her father showed her as much as he could, and her sister often took her into the alley by their home to practice shooting. Inspired, she began to collect and save the spare parts of various broken-down robots in wreckages, over the span of several years patching together the empty shell of a scrap-heap robot she could only dream of bringing to life.
Then, when Jordan was 17, disaster struck. Her father’s shop was attacked in the night by a band of thugs, and Maya, in fighting back to protect her family, was beaten horrifically and shot. Only Jordan’s medical knowledge kept Maya from death long enough for a Follower doctor to arrive and bring her to the base. It took weeks for Maya to recover, phasing in and out of consciousness, her body mangled and broken. Jordan had to face the reality of her losing her sister, and in that time, became horrifically depressed. She threw her robot-shell in the alley, spent all day in the ruins of the more desolate places of Freeside, and came home dragging behind herself dead animals for rogue dissection, if only to distract herself from the anxiety and regret. Her books and experiments could only hold her for so long, tragically, and to the sorrow of her father, she turned to buying cheap chems on her cut of the shop’s earnings. Maya was alive, but paralyzed and unable to guard for the Followers anymore. She got by with helping their father around the shop, but the loss of income damaged the family’s livelihood. Jordan abandoned her deeper pursuits and took Maya’s place in guarding the base, the clean-cut work giving her some comfort. She bought herself a plasma rifle from Silver Rush, repaired and optimized it over the course of a year with the help of her greying father, and eventually eased away from chems. She found her robot buried under piles of garbage and dragged it back into her room. Nights spent staring at it as it watched, silently, back gave her some peace, but also an itch to see it move, live. She cut away half of her earnings to save up for scraps of circuitry, wiring up her creation with the reverence that a lover would hold for their partner. She spoke to her robot, thrilled every time she managed to make it lift its arm, turn on its head LED, walk. At 24, she had finally finished it. The first time her robot looked at her, truly looked at her, she fell in love. She swore chems off for good, as she’d promised to her robot, whom she’d dubbed Zia.
Zia was a close companion to Jordan, following her around on her guard duties or when she’d occasionally be allowed to perform surgery or administer medicine to those who could not make it to the base. Eventually, the Followers grew used to Zia’s presence, answering its questions and collecting little wigs and hats for it to wear, a bit of comedic relief in the stressed lives of the doctors and scholars. Jordan, a desire to explore the world beyond New Vegas festering now that she had Zia, eventually requested to do some courier work for the Followers, succeeding and finally leaving Freeside with the blessing of her family. She traveled far and wide, delivering humanitarian aid as a fully-fledged doctor for the Followers. But the Wastelands were harsh and unforgiving. During a bout of delivering Stimpaks to a camp of refugees fleeing the Legion’s expansion, she and Zia were attacked by Legion scouts. Zia had only been given a plasma pistol welded to its frame as any kind of defense, and Jordan was captured and watched as the love of her life was dismantled and ripped apart for scrap. Jordan herself was raped in a nearby Legion encampment, her supplies stolen and her gear taken, readied for a life of slavery were it not for NCR raiding the camp just in time, saving her and a group of prostitutes whom had been tricked into being captured. The women remained close to Jordan while they all stayed in an NCR refugee camp, caring for her while she mourned Zia and sympathizing with her feelings of being used after being assaulted as she had been. Eventually, she gathered up the nerve to leave the camp on her own, now broken, lonely and gripping her rifle like it was her lifeline. Abandoning the Followers philosophy of pacifism, she shot and vaporized any lone Legion scout, gang member or thug she came across indiscriminately as she made her way back through the Mojave. She made it to Freeside, came home, and sobbed into her sister’s arms for hours. When she was finished, she went to the base of the Followers, stole as many confiscated chems as she could and squatted in a dilapidated building for days, phasing in and out of a thousand different highs, heart only kept beating, sometimes, by a well-placed Stimpak injection. The Followers found her a week later, a waste of a human being, and brought her in, at first treating her with care, giving her Fixer and food.
One night, however, aching over a lack of Fixer, she snuck again into the Follower’s supplies and stole as much as she could manage, again disappearing, alternating between a loathsome hunger for chems and a remorseful swallowing of Fixer. The Followers, now furious, cut any ties with her, forcibly took back their chems and whatever Fixer was left, and abandoned her to drift for a year, saying they would only take her back if she swore off chems and made herself an honest woman again. Sobered just enough by their ultimatum, she gathered her weapons, armor and gear, and, with Zia’s LED about her neck, went off to go find herself again. She made a point of helping people for only what she needed, slipping and relapsing into chem abuse whenever she’d fail in saving someone or keeping a band of refugees safe from raiders.

Other: No one is actually sure if she deserves the title of “Doctor” or not. Formerly a Follower of the Apocalypse, now a freelancer whom works for (rarely) chems, places to sleep, food and salvage. Her opinion of the Slayers is unflattering at best, seeing their purge of all of the odd creatures to arise from the radiation spike as a horrifying waste of potential study. She helps the refugees when she can, but much prefers to take samples of the irradiated beings than kill them outright.

Allen

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Specialty/Archetype: Allen is a Melee Survivalist and Hunter. He is an expert of the wasteland and what it bears. He could also be classified as a Beastmaster due to a Mutation he has, but none knows of it except himself. He wields melee weapons in both agile and heavy manners. That coupled with survival knowledge and grand hunting instincts makes him one of the best Slayers.

Appearance/Gear: Allen is a stout man, who stands at six feet tall, with a muscular and athletic build. He is of a good build compared to the common waster, but one who trains and fights as he does grows into a build such as his, and thus he is a product of nothing more then will to fight. His armor is a mixture of armor and old Brotherhood of Steel Scribe robes. He wears the base of the armor beneath the robes, leaving the plating on his legs and his torso, but removing the shoulder pad and placing it over the mantle of the Robes to give an anchor point for the whole set. His armor is both for faction identification, and combat style. The robes offer little protection to weaponry, but they offer an environmental protection through functionality and design. Brotherhood robes and non-power armor designs are made with lead infused materials to dilute radiation, this effect is minimal, but it can work out in some situations. The mere functionality of the robes also offers protection from dirt, dust, and wind much like a duster as well as offering protection from flame and sparks, because it can quickly be jerked off the armor and tossed aside. All in all, his armor is adequate, but it certainly isn't power armor. His weaponry at this moment consist of a simple Fire Axe, and nothing more.

Mutations: Allen has one major mutation and two minor mutations, which are mostly hidden to his own mind, The major mutation is commonly known as BeastMaster's Mind, which was coined by the only tribe known to use it. It is a mutation that allows Allen to almost Mentally connect with smaller beasts and read their mind. Now, whether it literally links the mind, or just effects the mind to allow Allen to "think" like an animal and communicate through body language is unknown entirely. The minor mutations are known as Night Eye, and Barkskin, which are both minor mutations effecting the eyes and skin, with a self-explanatory set of names. Night Eye is a mutation that gives the bearer eyes which are able to react much like a Feline's and pick up the faintest hint of light at night to allow Night Vision. Barkskin is the self-explanatory reference of which indicates the bearer of the mutation has harder skin, nearly strong as Bark on hardwood trees.

Personality: Allen holds himself with respect, and a good nature. He tries to hold his tongue for things of the lesser nature then good, as this world is not one of grand morality for all. Though, the world around him seems corrupt in so many ways, he and his fellow Slayers seem to make an impact on those they help, and are able to influence the denizens they meet, which brings joy to his heart and mind. He fights and speak valiantly, whenever the call for the justice or righteous nature is sounded, though he has a secret of his own, a dark calling, one of unknown proportions and consequences. His very body runs with the will to fight for what is right, but it also flows with an unnatural will force, a sensation that fills his mind, and something that envelopes his body.

History: Allen was born just eight years before the cataclysmic event that occurred in the southern part of the Mojave Wasteland. At the time of the event his family and himself, which consisted of his mother, his father, and himself, were traveling through the wastes and happened upon the sight of the blast. The massive cloud rose into the air and a thundering quake roared through the sky and earth alike. The flash of the event blinded people for great distances, including the family, and when the dust settled hours later the family were in shock. They knew nothing of the event and what to expect of it, for all they new another war for Atom only know's what could be brewing. They fled the area and found the nearest settlement, that of which also saw the explosion and it's awful allure. They spent weeks in the town, afraid, confused, and in awe of what had happened, they had become town folks over these weeks, and this is where Allen knew what he would do, for after only a month, the town became a battlefield. The town had to fend off the earliest droves of Ghouls, dozens of the feral abominations at once, and it wasn't until a few months of fighting off the beasts that the droves finally settled, but the wastes were still filled with masses of roaming ghouls. No one knew why, no one knew how, but Allen knew when... He vowed from that time, from the very moment the mushroom cloud peaked the sky, that he would end this despair.

After a few short years, when the boy was merely a teenager, Allen forced himself to learn day in and day out. He was use to being around the town all of the time, but now he forced his way out and into the outskirts of town, where he tempted death. He would lure and kill lone Feral Ghouls outside of the town. He would build pitfalls, or make other traps and kill them. He spent months doing this, before on a special day strangers rode into town in a caravan. A trader picked up some friends, or so it had seemed. They were men in robes and armor, the robes resembled Brotherhood Scribe robes to an unnatural extant and they all bore weapons openly, though they carried smiles rather then hostility with the townsfolk. It made Allen and many of the residents question the arrival of these men, and then the men revealed themselves so openly in a town gathering. They spoke of themselves as "Slayers" men who worked for a small church to eliminate and help denizens of the wastes' settlements. They had come to help the town, though some time short of when they truly could have used the help. They had lost so many lives in those months, and in the years to come they dwindled further. Their help was much appreciated by the town though, as they offered repair and building services to support the towns structural needs as well as patrols and sweeps across the nearby terrain to remove as many of the directly present threats. Their presence, the mere aspect of their ideal, drew Allen's attention in a way greater then anything or anyone before them. His ideal, even as a kid, was something of pure-born maturity to the knowledge of the modern world and it's grand problems. He watched them, followed them, studied them, and even acted like them as best he could, and for several years he managed to act just enough like them to catch their attention of him.

A few years down the road, when the lad became a man, the Slayers began to recruit people with potential and the will to do what needed to be done in many cases. Allen was on the roster, he has spent a few years training in the off time with one of the Rookie Slayers, and learning how to fight, trap, and survive the many dangers within the wastes. This young man became a well-trained, Rookie and was inducted into the Slayers per request of Allen himself. They are not the type to force people to join, they only take in those who offer aid, with potential to train of course, and allow the sense of justice and honor to show who will fight and who will stay home. This was Allen's transition, he went from a boy with anger-fueled hatred for the wastes, to a man who fought with a valiant sense of protection for those who live in this corrupted world.

This became Allen's song, a constant beat to march along the chords of what must be done to protect the settlements of the modern world. He became a Slayer, and more importantly he became a Paladin...

Other: Allen has a Coyote Companion who is named Clementine. She has been for his side several years now, and will always be there until the day they day.

Dylan Hargrave

Age: 36

Gender: Male

Specialty/Archetype: Combat Sniper and Out-of-Combat Ranged Weapon Tinkerer and Manufacturer. He knows how to make all types of guns and ammunition. Because of this, he has minor knowledge in electronics. He also knows how to handle himself in a scuffle, but it's not his specialty.

Appearance/Gear: Short Black hair, sunken grey eyes. He has a gritty dark tan. Seems to have a permanent 5 o'clock shadow for a beard. 5'10", 200 pounds of lean muscle. No visible scars (but what looks like a trio of deathclaw claw scars on his back running from his left shoulder to his right hip). Walks with a slight limp, favoring his left leg, unnoticeable when running. Wears dark grey combat fatigues that are slightly tattered, well-worn combat boots with a hidden boot knife, a black nylon belt that has 4 magazines for his pistol, and a bandolier of .50 caliber hand-spun ballistic shells over his shoulder (which runs the same direction as his scar). He has an energy pistol on his right hip and a ballistic .50 caliber rifle slung onto his shoulder. Likes to chew on stuff, like a cigar or a toothpick.

Personality: Honest to a fault. Never ask him his opinion unless you want the honest truth. He will occasionally lie, but it's extremely rare. His honesty has gotten him into trouble, which is why he currently has no woman in his life. When he signs on to do a job, he will complete it to the best of his ability, and he will follow his job to the letter, not necessarily the intent unless that's clear as well. He is extremely interested in anything that shoots, from ballistic to energy, plasma, explosive, and beyond. If he finds a new weapon, he will attempt to tinker with it, take it apart, learn how it works, and put it back together again.....This usually works out alright, but not all the time.

History: Dylan is not sure where he came from, just that he woke up 8 years ago in one of Freeside's many alleys. He knew nothing of his past or who he was, just that he was cold and hungry. He wandered for a bit and got jumped by a couple of locals, which ended badly for them. He apparently knew some form of martial arts, which his body took him through the motions and removed the locals of their lives and their belongings. This began his long journey into rediscovering who he was.
Over the next few years, his mind began opening up and remembering things, like his name, some images of learning how to fight in an underground facility with bright lights, learning how to shoot the tails off of radscorpions with various weapons, and generally how to survive. These images led his urge to learn how weapons worked and how to alter and manufacture them. His expertise was used by Mick in Mick & Ralph's for a few years. Eventually, Dylan got tired of working for someone, so he decided to quit working for Mick and strike it out on his own. Working for Mick did give Dylan a chance to create himself a few weapons, which he still has to this day, which he's used to make himself some caps.
Recently, he has taken to removing Raiders and rad-beasties for the fun of it. If he gets paid, that'd be cool, but scavenging things off of the raiders and selling the bits and pieces of radscorpion and radroaches pays enough for him to live comfortably. He scours the market every chance he gets for the hopes of a new weapon that he can take apart and figure out.

Other: No current affiliations. He occasionally works freelance for Mick when there's repairs or a weapon commissioned to be made. Other than that, he shoots raiders and rad-beasties for fun and profit. He will take some jobs as they present themselves, but due to his private work against the raiders, he doesn't have to take every job that comes across his path.

How's the CS coming, MotN?

It is coming along good. I got swamped with some work the other day, but last night and this morning have been productive. I am nearly done, I am just also waiting on that crowd of people who showed interest to make some Character Sheets as well. Haha.

Awesome. Take your time.

Ok, so I am fed up, shall we go ahead with us three only? Or try to spam the Interest Check with non-stop awareness posts, bumps, and inspiring words?

I say we can continue with us three and see if that accrues interest. Get your CS finished and I'll get up first post.

Of course, I have minimal work left to do on, just been swamped in family matters, with my dog having Cancer and everything.

Sorry to hear about your dog....Best of wishes. Any chance of removing it? The cancer, not the dog :)

Sorry guys, I thought this thread died. I'll get my CS finished soon.

Unfortunately... No. As of a few hours ago, my beloved Boxer was put down. The Cancer had been so aggressive that it wasn't even visible or detectable, and then all of a sudden exploded through his system. It was too far gone to be removed, and there was no other option then to put him to rest.

My condolences to your family for your loss. It was a hard decision, but the right one for your Boxer.

Boxers are very sweet. :( I'm sure he's running around with my lab somewhere upstairs.

BTW, Robeatics, I tossed you a PM about my CS. Just any 'ol answer would do :)

You can just as much ask me anything too. I am still here, and I am still very knowledgeable. Yes, I have taken a day or two off from writing to cope with the issue, but I am back and I am finishing up my CS right now. It should be done within a few hours. I like to make sure I have everything pin-point in my CS details to make sure I don't corrupt or break lore points or mechanics. .

I'd be interested in this, but I have questions.

My character's strength would involve his science/mechanical skills, meaning he is able to repair, modify, and break down electronics such as power armor or energy weapons. He's very knowledgeable in that area. He has an array of self-made gadgets that help him in his missions, and he could scavenge, repair, and create various gadgets for the party to use throughout the course of the RP. Here are some things I was thinking he could have:

SMART Helmet - He has constructed his own helmet made of specific components from Power Armor. The helmet can zoom in/out, highlight potential threats (by way of heat signatures), work cooperatively with his SMART Darts to track targets, and can scan radiation/health levels. He can manually write descriptions of places that his helmet will bring back up at later times to provide details of that area, including potential allies/enemies that he has heard about (it's like a journal he can bring up, but he has to manually write that stuff down). All of these things are possible by buttons on the side of the helmet.
SMART Scope - The SMART Scope works cooperatively with the helmet. It is an electronic component that simply assists with his aim. It has an electronic zoom as well.
Repulsor Boots - Using a similar technology that energy weapons use, these boots can emit a powerful thrust that can send the character several feet into the air. It can help him reach higher elevations, evade attacks, confuse the enemy, etc. It does NOT allow for extended flight and is really only for quick thrusts. If he overloads them they may break but he can use the thrusts for longer, almost as if he was hovering; he'd have to repair them later. He uses energy cells to recharge them, much like energy weapons/
Wrist Gauntlets: Wristblades - Pair of blades on his right wrist gauntlet that extend for melee combat.
Wrist Gauntlets: Whipcord - Device that fires out a durable cord that can latch onto certain surfaces. Can bind his enemies, or be used to swing across gaps, among other things. It is very durable and can be manually detached on his wrist.
Wrist Gauntlets: SMART Darts - On his left gauntlet is a mini-gun-like device that fires out tracker darts. The enemies will obviously pull them out, but it releases a special type of fluid into their system that the SMART Helmet is able to track for several miles. Even though it won't stick into metal, if some of the fluid manages to stay on the metal it can track metallic surfaces. Over time the helmet starts to pick up so many of the signatures that he has to change the composition of the fluid and reset the helmet.

Without these gadgets he's just a normal person, and since he's always had the help of his gadgets he's very ineffective without them. His main weapon is a sniper rifle that is equipped with the SMART Scope and a pair of revolvers.

Hmm. Interesting, but it might be a little too away from the feeling of Fallout with the whipchord and such. I'm a little iffy, what do you think MotN?

Ok, I am going to be honest and straightforward... You tried to make Boba Fett in Fallout. Now, I don't want this to come off rude, because I can understand WHY you would want to do this, people have their very favorite archetypes and such, but the gadgetry in this character is pushing the envelope in too many areas. I shall address them with lore and facts, right now. ^^

"SMART" technology- Smart technology as you are calling it is really the big item on the menu to deal with today. A lot of the concepts you have with your Helmet and Scope, and Whipcord are interesting, but in essence are not of the Fallout design. The most advanced technology in the Fallout Universe is Enclave and Vault-Tec power armor. MK ii and Tesla armor don't have some of the advanced features you are wanting. The only instance in which a suit of Power Armor has "SMART" capabilities(as we are calling them for the moment) is the Prototype Medic Power Armor. This is a suit of Prototype T-51 B Power armor with the US Army Colors and a special system inside. It has a robotic voice and the ability to inject it's wearer with Med-X as long as the wearer supplies the injectors of the suit. It's voice mechanic isn't an AI and follows simply rallying words and inspirational battle cries when ever the wearer takes damage. So, over all the "SMART" capabilities of the items is a bit too much of a stretch outside the Fallout Universe.

That seconds for the Repulsor Boots, which are an even larger leap outside the safety of the Fallout Universe. Overall my friend, I can give you some advice..

If you want a "SMART" scope, just have binoculars in your pack, they can be zoomed in as well. Your melee gauntlets aren't too far fetched for the universe, just make them with Fallout's design on Bladed Gauntlets and you will be fine. As for the rest of it, I wouldn't recommend using those items in Fallout Rps who try to keep the feel, design, and lore in tact.