The Radiation Roost, a bar taking up the largest building in town with four floors and a lot of space it has played house to every event possible. Currently the wastelands favorite radio personality Three Dog was using the fourth floor and some scavenged equipment to run his radio show. As he turned on his mike and shuffled around a few notes he prepared for his new segment.

Down below in the bar all the radio's were quickly tuned in to Galaxy News Radio as Three Dog was due to give another report any moment. Most of the bar went pretty quiet as the volume was turned up, the news was on and they'd find out more about the raids on Enclave. When a voice that could never been forgotten cut in the song having ended. "Because one dog ain't enough, and two is too low, it's me, Three Dog! How you kids handling post-apocalyptia today? Got some interesting news from up North today, seems our Defender of the Wastes hit the Enclave yet again. This Vault kid took out six Brahmin load down with Enclave supplies, the soldier escort abandoned the supplies, after all that he then gave all the supplies to a New Charlotte caravan asking that they give out to those in need."

Three Dog laughed then paused a few moments people looking between each other, as a man in armored vault 35 jumpsuit slipped into the bar taking a seat by the radio he set his bag down as Three Dog continued. "So children here's the real question, just who the fuck is this guy? I mean he rides in guns down the Enclave and vanishes, hell at least the Lone Wanderer would stop by to fix my toaster now and again. Anyway moving on to the South..." Three Dog's voice fell into the background as people turned back to the there conversations or drinks.

Most failed to take notice of the assault rifle totting man in the vault jumpsuit, the bartender even smiled. He knew the guy, rolled into town every couple weeks to trade alcohol for ammo and caps. As Davis, the bartender cleaned a glass he walked over and spoke softly the commotion of the bar hiding most of there speech. "You were on the radio again Jack, you ever gonna go upstairs and give Three Dog an interview?" He chuckled passing him a Nuka cola from the fridge. "On the house for sticking it to those bastards."

Jack smirked and popped the cap on the edge of the counter taking a long drink, ignoring the radiation it was cold and sweet he'd take some Rad-away later. "I'll do an interview when some one sits down and explains to who that Lone Wanderer character is and why I'm like him."

Davis chuckled at vault born man. "You really don't know? He was a unicorn that fixed toasters as he traveled around the waste land on the back of his talking death claw."

Jack burst out with laughter, it had been weeks since he'd relaxed back at base. "Davis you best be shitting me, because if the wasteland some how produced that I'm finding another vault to crawl into."

Davis smiled as he got himself out a Nuka Cola. "To you, Jack Cobalt defender of the Wastes."

Jack raised his drink in toast as well. "To this damn wasteland and it's monsters, human or otherwise." He said as they both knocked back there cola's.

Three Dogs news report finished with the slogan. "Don't feed the yao guai, that is all." Davis went back to fetching drinks for the crowds as Jack went over and took a seat at a table, he got out his laser rifle and began to tinker as the colonel Bogey march played Jack whistled along. Three Dog having collected new music since his departure from D.C. a few wastelanders watched as he worked on his laser rifle happy whistling.

Riding on through the heat of the afternoon, a quartet of haggard individuals passed through South of the Border's northmost gate, a Brahmin wagon covered with a thick cloth tarp rolled into the town's main bazaar. Waiting for the wagon was an empty spot amongst the many stalls-- a spot that always remained empty just for this wagon's triweekly visit. With heavily-practiced ease, the lead Brahmin maneuvered into the empty spot, and promptly sat down. It grunted satisfactorily as a rugged, bearded man emerged from the wagon's cloth exterior, and glanced around.

The bearded man reached inside the wagon, and pulled out an old wooden sign, with "LERK JER KY 20 CAPS/ oZ" crudely painted on it. Looking quite satisfied with himself, the bearded man hammered the sign into the ground behind the wagon, and sat down on the wagon's edge. At long last, Hawkeye Joe's Famous Mirelurk Meatwagon had arrived!

"Awright," said Hawkeye Joe, peering around the market for potential customers, "you boys g'wan an' find yerselves a way t' pass time. Ain't hard-- whole town's a tourist trap! Jus' tell me if yer gunna stay, I ain't tellin' yer momma you got lost in South!"

From the wagon came three more strapping men and a hog. The first two were a pair of good old boys, named Muggsley and Puggface. Muggsley was the altogether more intelligent of the two, and enjoyed farming and hunting Mirelurks. Puggface was the altogether more attractive of the two, and enjoyed hunting Mirelurks and farming. Following them soon after was Albus Secundus, a friendly enough fellow from out West, who enjoyed fixing clothes and hunting Mirelurks. Following him was his pet "wild" sow, Heather. Heather enjoyed eating corn, scrap cloth, and Mirelurk meat. The four of them, together with the bearded fellow out back, formed Hawkeye Joe's Famous Mirelurk Meat Company. Curiously enough, not one of them was named Hawkeye Joe.

While Muggsley and Puggface ambled over to the Radiation Roost, a notorious bar for tourists who didn't know the first thing about a decent meal and a strong drink, Albus and Heather stalked further into the sea of market stalls. Albus knew where he was going, and snuck through several alleys to get there.

In the welcoming shade of an alley behind Terry's Gunne Shop, Albus patiently knocked upon a cleverly-hidden sheetmetal door. At the sound of his knocking, a grisly-looking doorman peered through at Albus with an appraising glare. Shortly after, that same doorman peeled the door away, and nodded grimly as Albus passed through.

A dark, armored man on a stage towards the back of the room, face on one side by a crowd of onlookers, nodded as Albus came in through the doorway. When Albus found a place amongst the crowd, the man spoke up.

"I'm glad you all have come here today. As you know, there has been some rumors amongst the wastes of a number of armed and heavily-armored individuals roaming around, killing people. Even stranger, it appears that there is a man--a Vault Dweller--killing some but actively assisting others in their actions. Unless anyone has any issues they'd like to bring up before we start... let the South of the Border Political Forum begin!"

"Alright, I'm starting the generator. Stay away from the outlets for a second, merchant, this is going to get loud."

Samuel had promised to fix the shop's backup generator for one simple reason: He had an idea for a new weapon and needed fission batteries. The thing is, the shopkeeper's safe was electronically locked, and something was up with the generator he couldn't quite understand. Well, he must have been blind, because the inside had been filthy- like someone had been using it to store food that went moldy since before the War. With all the dirt and rust inside, it was a miracle it hadn't exploded. It had taken several boxes of Abraxo and a toilet brush to do so, but the innards were sparkling as best they could after this long. Reconnecting the wires and returning the switches to their operational state, he lowered his goggles and shut up the generator. With a soft whirr, it came to life, and the lights of the store flickered on. Business concluded, he got the fission batteries and a few parts for his creation- a large metal tube, a motor and belt from a vacuum cleaner, the spherical body of an eyebot, a few yards of copper wire, an aluminum baseball bat, and a throwing spear.

"Alright... this should just about cover it."

He made his way to the crafting bench where his noble steed Lambray stood guard. One of the finest horses the Knights had bought from the Carolinas, the horse was worthy of his name. He began the process of cobbling the items together.

Zhang sat in the armored cart as Guanyin the Brahman pulled down the dirt road. It was a fairly simple construct, two sets of old world wheels taken from a truck, connected with two axels held to the underside of a deep wooden cart with a canopy over it, surrounded with iron plates by some iron fittings and a harness Brahman to pull it.

"In time of difficulties, we must not lose sight of our achievements." Zhang quoted from the Glorious Chairman Mao as he fanned himself with his map. Chairman Shen had decided that Zhang would be the chosen one of all the people of the People's Republic of Hongmin to spread the glorious revolution for the good of the people. He reached for his copy of the Little Red Book and resume quoting of the hero of the common people, "Once all struggle is grasped, miracles are possible."

As the cart rounded a turn, he leaned back and picked up his gun, an unique version of the venerable Chinese Assault Rifle, the Red Orchestra Concerto. He busied himself by inspecting it as someone pulled up besides him.

"'ello son, were ye headin'?" the traveller looked a sif he's been down some rough roads. Not exactly young by any stretch of the imagination. His face was wrinkler than that of Old Fueng and his whiskers were in dire need of a trim.

"Hello comrade." Zhang saluted the man as he passed, "I am on my way south to spread the teachings of the revolution and to assist the common people. How are you doing today comrade?"

"Just fine if I do say so myself. And what "revolution" are ye tryin' to spread?" the old man took out a bottle of water, revealing a mouth of dirty yellow teeth for a second.

"The revolution of the people!" Zhang proclaimed, "The Glorious Communist Revolution that will liberate the proletariat masses!"

The man tilted his head and looked at him funny, "Pole lead what?"

"Proletariats! The common people, the masses, those workers oppressed by capitalism in this wasteland caused by the endless greed of pre-war capitalist industrialists who look after their own wealth at the expense of the people!"

Zhang spent the next hour telling the teachings of Chairman Mao and the glory of the revolution to the old man, listening with a mix of interest and confusion over some of the words Zhang used. He thought "bourgeoisie" was a type of weapon. Their conversation/learning session went on until they arrived in a fork in the road which the old man waved good bye and headed off with a Communist propoganda poster that Zhang had given him from the statch. Zhang himself continued until he reached a town called "South of the Border". It seemed like a good a place to stop as any. Throwing bits of food from his bag to stragners and beggers, he smiled as he saw their faces light up, although his glared at some of the shiftier merchants so much to the point he nearly ran someone over.

"Sorry comrade!" Zhang stopped his cart and jumped off and reached a hand to help the person he had knocked down, "Do you need any help?"

Dr. Mathias Johnson had been absentmindedly wandering the town called South of the Border with his dog Max, looking for a place to set up his medical station. He noted that far more than a few people were in need of help only he could offer, so he felt this was as good a town as any to get started. He just hoped he'd finally been able to out-run his reputation, seeing as how the last time it caught up with him, three people were shot, and a small shack exploded, he was due for a good day in a town.

Suddenly, a large Brahman-drawn cart nearly ran him over, knocking him to the ground with a small thud. Max rushed over to make sure he was okay, and after reassuring the dog he was fine, he looked up to see a man of presumed Chinese descent offering to help him up, saying "Sorry comrade! Do you need any help?". Mathias took the man's hand and hoisted himself up, then brushed the dust off himself, saying "Why, thank you my friend. I appreciate the help." He looked over the man's cart briefly, noting the apparent Communist propaganda stowed aboard it. "Well, based on the contents of your cart, you seem to be out to help more than just me. I take it you were raised in a hold-over communist society lasting from before the Pre-war era?" Mathias reached a hand down to pet Max as he spoke, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him in order to show vivid attention and interest.

Three Dog's Channel came through the old, beat up radio with spotty quality at best, despite the fact that the DJ was only two floors above the room that the radio was playing in. A sliver of light slipped through the ratty curtains, barely enough to illuminate the room. The Radiation Roost had some nice rooms available on the floor above the bar, this was definitely not one of them. Kitten sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped one of her eyes before reaching a shaking hand for her Jet Inhaler. She placed the mouthpiece between her lips and took a long pull, holding the chemical fumes in her lungs until the shaking started to go away, only then did she release the breath she'd been holding, falling back onto the bed as a feeling of happy euphoria swept her away.

Across the room a man was just finishing buttoning up his shirt and stopped a moment to look down at the girl, zoned out on the bed. He shook his head and turned towards the door, dropping a handful of bottle caps on the rickety end table next to it as he left, heading downstairs for a drink before he went back to whatever job he had in town. Kitten laid still for ten whole minute before finally dragging herself to her feet, her head still swimming nicely, and got dressed, collecting her things and the caps by the door before heading down to the bar. She had a moment of ill temper when she noticed that the last pull on her Jet had emptied the Inhaler, meaning she'd need to replace the chem vial before her next hit.

She ran her fingers through her messy hair as she stepped into the bar, greeted by a few unfriendly glares from some of the patrons as she passed them on her way to the bar. She certainly had a negative reputation in this town. Fortunately the the pistol at her hip and the switchblade in her boot tended to discourage any of the locals from doing anything more than tolerating her. She reached the bar and dropped onto a stool next to a whistling man sipping on a Nuka Cola. As the barman, Davis threw a frown at her, she smiled back at him. "Can I get a vodka?" She asked. "You got caps this time?" He responded, with just a bit of hostility. Kitten, either unbothered by the hostility or just not noticing it, responded by dropping a few of the caps she'd just earned onto the bar top, resting her chin on her hand as Davis collected the caps and went to get her drink.

Jack finished his work and looked up, he saw a women sitting beside him a young women. She looked tired and worn out and the stench of chemicals on her, a chem user. He sighed and placed the laser rifle on his back, he'd heard about the drugs in the wasteland, learned how to make most of them to. His skills in science had allowed him to produce most of what he needed. This girl looked like he'd been doing them a long time, he heard some docs could flush the system and clean you out completely even remove the dependency, for enough caps. The other route was fixer dose's, that stuff was more expensive than the habit.

Sighing he looked at her, then check his caps, had about 800 on him. Mostly thanks to raiders he'd been taking out and the work he did around town, he was a weapons tech after all. Even rigged up some grenade out of Nuka cola for the town to use against the raiders. He looked over at Davis. "Add carton of fixer tablets, I'll buy." He looked over at the women and her gear, she'd be good fighter if he helped get the right weapons. "Consider it down payment miss, I'm looking for mercs, I believe you fit the bill quite nicely." He said as Davis returned her caps and Jack payed for the drink and tablets. "Names Jack Cobalt, Three Dog calls me the defender of the wastes. Former vault dweller and the man whose going to end the Enclave."

Deep within the basement of the very shop Samuel was working in, Albus Secundus and a crowd of onlookers bustled around one another.

The armored man looked around the crowd, waiting for someone to start the forum off. The room was tense with quiet anticipation.

Finally, someone spoke up. An old woman's grackle-squawk voice echoed across the room. It was the widow Carmody, who held a farmstead on the outskirts of town.

"I says we talk about the boy from the Vault! That littl'un's been causing nuthin' but trouble since he crawled outta that hole!"

There was an uneasy murmuring. Seeing that nobody understood what she was saying, Carmody continued.

"That damn idjit goes round, shootin' ev'ryone so much as look at 'im funny! Ghouls, mutants, animals, raiders, them armored folks... all of 'em! An' guess what happens when them nasty little buggers get flushed outta their holes? They come wand'rin' round, lookin' fer a new home an' som'un to rob! That dern kid's been kickin' hornet nests an' leavin' us t'get stung!"

There was a dull murmur of agreement. Ever since the Vault Dweller had come around and bought a gun, attacks had stepped up tremendously. The boy had given them some training and weaponry, but it was little consolation compared to the fact that the town guards were fighting for their lives nearly every day.

Another voice spoke up. It was Peppy, the owner of a local restaurant and a member of the official South of the Border merchant's council.

"That Vault Kid's been killing the economy! Sure, he's good business-- always buying loads of stuff and always coming with high quality equipment, but we can't sell any of it! What'm I supposed to do with a fully-repaired plasma rifle?! That damn boy's gonna rob us outta house and home with his damn toys!"

The murmurs of agreement grew in volume. The Vault Dweller always bought up all of Terry's high-caliber ammo, leaving nothing for the hunters! All that was left was surplus ammo and 10mm rounds!

"There's been big thugs in power armor sneaking around, calling themselves the 'Brotherhood of Steel' saying that they're friends with that Vault Dweller! They say they're friendly, but that's exactly what the Enclave said before people started disappearing! How can we know if they're any better than the flippin' Enclave? All we've got is their word and the word of that DJ what came round a year ago! He could be a plant, comin' round to make us love these Brotherhood boys, right up until they break out the slave collars and shackles! And that Vault Dweller is right cozy with them!"

However little the townsfolk knew of the Brotherhood of Steel, they did know four things: they were armed, they were dangerous, they wore power armor just like the Enclave, and there were only a few of them scattered across the wastes. Were they scouts for a greater force? What were their motives?
The murmurs had grown into a loud roar of approval. The rumor mill was working overtime, and soon one couldn't tell the difference between actual fact and base superstition.

"I told my most trustworthy friend about my secret stash of caps, and one day later my stash was empty and the Vault Dweller had a fancy new gun!"

"I saw the Vault Dweller just standin' around outside Terry's when it was closed! When I came back around five hours later, he was still there!"

"I heard the Vault Dweller can turn back time!"

"I heard the Vault Dweller shot Farmer Kinny's dog after it got loose!"

"I saw the Vault Dweller inject himself with five Stimpacks at once, and he didn't drop dead!"

"That Vault Dweller's gonna get us all killed!"

"Yeah!"

"That Jack Cobalt boy's a menace!"

"Yeah!"

The political forum cheered in unison, the sound of their shouting ringing far up into the shop itself. In just a few minutes, the session would end, and everyone would return to their business. However, would they be changed by this day? Would they see the Vault Dweller in a different light? Only time would tell.

"There is no such thing as a communist 'hold over' friend," Zhang laughed, "Communism will never fail to stand against those who oppress the common people!"

Zhang stood tall and proud as he said that, eraning a few sideways looks from on-looker which eh didn't care about. He had to spread the revolution and this might be a good way to introduce it in his zealous mind. Returning to a more normal pose, he tied up his Brahman and check some locks on his cart, he was always willing to share with anyone but that didn't mean he wanted to give greedy, self-serving thieves easy access to the "goods of the masses". The posters where free for the taking though as were copies of the Little Red Book.

"Yes my friend, I do come from a town with pre-War roots. It is called Hongmin, very beautiful and everyone there is very nice. Let's talk more about this in that place over there hmm?" Zhang pointed at what looked like to be a bar or a tavern, a general meeting place given it the fact that not much else could have the neon letters "Radiation Roost" on it, dangling by power lines and old cables and expect business. He also just wanted a drink since his alcohol reserves where out after he gave it to some militia who were fighting off raiders and need some liquid courage. Zhang already made up in his mind that even if the man didn't want to go, he'd personally drag him there to at least be social with the masses. The thought also reminded him of something important he had to do.

"I almost forgot, greetings, I am Zhang Sitrung of the People's Republic of Hongmin." he stuck out his hand for the man to shake, "Tell me what is your comrade."

Patrick peeked his head over the fence, poorly made with pieces of rotting wood and chunks of scrap metal hammered into it. The fence swayed slightly under the weight of his hands, but thankfully held up the weight. His sharp green eyes quickly passed over the Raider base, looking for enemies and a way in. Two raiders were patrolling the front of the compound, their spiked armor was protruding from the boiled brahmin hide in such a way that it made it difficult to miss them.

“Lotsa people awake,” Achilles murmured from where he stood next to Patrick. He had to bend his knees and hunch over to avoid being seen over the edge of the crude fence that marked the edge of the camp. “I don’t like that.” He pointed at the patrol, and then at a gap between two of the low, crumbling buildings.
“Not much light there. Probably nobody nearby. Wait for patrol to pass, then make a run?”

Patrick nodded his head and pointed to a nearby building. "I saw some raiders go in there and come out with a couple new guns, so it must be an armory. They looked like they used a key though." Patrick frowned slightly. "Not sure where they found that." He reached down to one of his vest pockets pulling out a bobby pin and screwdriver. "Watch my back while I bust down the door." Patrick gave a cocky grin to Achilles.

“Right. Careful,” Achilles nodded as they ducked down and waited for the patrol to pass. Listening in on their inane chatter as they passed, Patrick learned of several varieties of Psycho and ways to take it. As soon as the had rounded the route, Patrick rushed off, silent as a cat, to the armory building. The door was strong and sturdy but the lock was only average quality. Patrick set to his task relying on Achilles to keep him safe. It took him almost no time at all to get the door open. A quick look inside showed no guards inside.

While Patrick was being sneaky, Achilles wandered the edge of the fence. Stealth was not his strong suite, and he waited until Patrick called “Clear!” to hop the fence. He took a look both ways and noted the patrol. They were on the opposite side of the camp, even his heavy stride would likely be inaudible at this distance. He climbed over, and walked as quietly as he could without sacrificing speed, keeping a hand on the revolver at his hip. He passed through the dark alley between the buildings, ready to make a beeline for the makeshift armory.

When he emerged into the moonlight, he heard a gasp from very close to his right. There was a young member of the tribe, probably Patrick’s age. He was unarmed, probably not a member of the patrol team, and didn’t seem to know what to do finding an intruder in their midst.

Achilles’ hands lashed out, as quick as when he drew his gun. He had one hand around the kid’s neck, and the other clamped over his mouth. The boy made a choking noise, and put his hands up to struggle, but he was weak and quickly went limp from the lack of blood to his brain. Achilles let him drop to the ground and turned to continue on his way, but he realized how much of a tip off the boy’s unconscious form would be to the patrol team. He turned back and grabbed him off the ground, and slung him roughly over his shoulder.

While Achilles did whatever he was doing, Patrick searched the room for less obvious treasures. There were several pieces of scrap metal around the room and Patrick scooped it up. 'Always useful to have.' To his delight, he found a container of Wonderglue mostly full, some duct tape, a fission battery, and even a copy he hadn't read of La Fantoma!
"Are you ready?” He looked back but didn’t see Achilles in the room with him. He frowned looked outside, seeing Achilles holding an unconscious or dead raider on his shoulder. “Oh man, are you okay? Do we need to run?”

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Achilles brushed past Patrick into the makeshift armory, and put the boy down as the door swung close. “Went down quiet, we can finish the job.”

“Alright.” Patrick glanced nervously at the young Raider, but retrieved the large canvas sack he had brought to carry the weapons out.

“Bullets first,” Achilles instructed, as he began rummaging through containers and shelves, “If we can’t carry all the guns, at least they’ll have nothing to shoot with ‘em.”

“Right. Got it. Bullets first.” Patrick sorted through the boxes running a quick inventory and started to gently place fistfuls of loose bullets into the bags. “How do we feel about dynamite?” He pulled out a bundle of long fuse dynamite to go along with his statement.

Achilles shrugged, not turning to look at him as he continued sweeping boxes and loose bullets into the bag. “Actually,” he looked over his shoulder at the bundle Patrick had. “Idea. Keep loading the guns, give me that.”

He took the bundle of dynamite and started adjusting the fuses. He cut all but one of them short, and twisted them all together, then twisted the cut off pieces end to end until they reached the combined fuse, making a length about three feet long. He put it on the ground in the middle of the shack.

“Whatever we don’t take, stack with that. The fuse should give us time to scram.”

Patrick grinned again. “This is going to be awesome.” He emptied out all the bullets he could find and started depositing guns into the bag. They were all of poor quality and fairly common, but Patrick reasoned every gun the townsfolk had was another gun the Raiders didn’t. “Bag’s full!”

“Good,” Achilles tossed one more handgun in after the last, and then started grabbing guns by the armful and tossing them into a pile on top of the bundle of dynamite. After the guns went any other junk that they had decided to store in the armory. He was working in a groove when Patrick interrupted him with an issue of morals.

“Achilles, what do we do with him?” Patrick gestured at the unconscious young Raider on the ground.

Achilles turned to look at the splayed figure and grunted. “Forgot about ‘im. Guess it ain’t right to leave him to burn.”

Patrick smiled and nodded approvingly, “Yes boss! Get the guns, I got him.” Patrick slung him over shoulder as well, trembling slightly under the weight.

Achilles looked at him and smiled. “Trade?” he held the significantly lighter gun bag out to his young protege.

“Trade.” Patrick let out a sigh of relief and handed the kid over. “Get running, I’ll be faster so I’ll light the fuse.” He pulled a lighter out from one of his many pockets, grasping the gun bag with his other hand.

“Good deal,” Achilles said, shifting the dead weight of the young raider on his shoulder, “Do it.”

He pushed the door open and stepped outside, nearly running into the two raiders who were walking their patrol. There was no knocking these two out, Achilles drew and fired twice, hitting both in the center of mass and sending them down with screams of pain. “Now we need to run,” he called back into the little shed. He shoved the revolver, still smoking, back into his holster and started running for the fence.

Patrick lit the fuse, the tiny spark starting its path to destruction. “Running now!” He sprinted forward, passing Achilles up, and tossed the gun bag over the fence, climbing up quickly. He turned around and reached a hand down as Achilles caught up. They grasped hands and Patrick heaved him over.

By now there were shouts from the camp, mostly confusion and questions. Achilles and Patrick had yet to be spotted, but it sounded like they had found the bleeding raiders. Achilles wondered vaguely as they ran if they would survive the wounds. They were a good thirty yards from the fence already when the dynamite went up.

The next day

“You would think the Sheriff would be more appreciative is all I’m saying. We turned in a bag full of guns, bring him a criminal, even blow up a Raider camp and we didn’t even get a bent bottle cap for it.” Patrick pushed open the door of the Radiation Roost. “Hey barman! Can I get a Nuka-Cola?”

Achilles shrugged as he ordered a glass of whatever brown liquor they had. It didn’t taste quite like whiskey, but it didn’t taste that unlike it either. “We’ll live, maybe someone’ll pick up our tab out of thanks.”

Kitten turned to regard the man as Davis returned with her drink and the carton of Fixer. The name Jack Cobalt was familiar and it took her dulled mind an extra few seconds to to make the connection with his reputation. Three Dog was always talking about him. 'Wait he just said that, didn't he...' She picked up the glass and drained it in a single mouthful before picking up the carton of addiction pills and reading the box.

"You wanna hire me as a merc?" She asked a little doubtfully. Usually people hired Kitten because they had no choice, not because they actually wanted to. "Well as long as you have caps I'll do whatever you want me to..." She turned the box over and started reading the back. "...I'm Kitten." She mumbled as she focused on the words. Apparently the pills were for people who wanted to detox and get over additions quickly, good for helping people stop using Chems. Only Kitten didn't want to stop. When she stopped the memories started coming back. She suppressed a sudden shudder and reflexively reached for one of the Med-X syringes on her belt but stopped herself. Even she realized that mixing Chems was a bad idea, not to mention that she had to make them last until she could visit the local dealer.

She turned and handed the box of pills to Jack, giving him a weak smile. "I appreciate your concern, but it's better for everyone if you just leave it alone..." Really it was just better for her. "I'll still work for you, though."

Jack sighed looking the girl over. "I need someone who can fight and follow orders, fixer holds off the addiction. Takes about a week of use to help you get over it. Point is I don't mind the drugs just use them when you need them rather for a high. Fixer will also let you travel with me, help spread out hits.""I got the caps Kitten, be ready. Were going after that big stuff." He said ominously turning to greet the two new men having a seat beside them.

Jack smiled looked them both over quickly, they were ones alright. He'd told the sheriff about a stash of guns some raiders had found, The sheriff decided to find someone to deal with it. "Davis put there drinks on my tab." Davis sighed handing both men there drinks.

The bartender sighed."You realize that on your tab I owe you money right?"

Jack smiled. "Yep." He turned to both the men with a smile. "I'm guy Three Dog keeps calling the vault dweller, I was the one who reported the raider armory. You two find anything good? I'm a weapons tech, be willing to fix it up for free." He told them as Davis brought there drinks over.

(To be read in the voice of J.K. Simmons)
"Well, how're yall doin' out there? This is Jimmany Christmas from Carolina Panther Radio. I know you all like how that hack from DC has managed to get his signal all the way down here, but trust me, he doesn't know what's going on down here. Well, Today, the Enclave have stepped up their patrols and have been taking buildings left right and center. But trust me, Mr Gallows of the Panther Empire has assured everyone that the Enclave will never gain access to the Bank of America fortress. Power Armoured thugs are no match for the Gladiators of the Empire... Plus, we have a LOT of Missile Launchers, try to get past that, hahaha, you're funeral. You know what, I dare you. Those helmets are kinda cool and I could use one on my desk. Alright, time for a song, Ol' Blue Eyes may have been dead for almost 300 years, but he still brings a tear to the eyes of many. If I had things my way, we'd all be sipping Nuka Cola's on a beach with not a Mirelurk in sight... But, looks like Frankie's gonna have it his."

The three walked along the dusty road towards New Charlotte, Katty, Fluffy and Grunk. Grunk held Fluffy in his arms and stroked his head, the rat squeaked. But, suddenly rolled and writhed until he wriggled out of the large green arms. It then sniffed the ground, before running towards a ruined gas-station. "Nigel, Fluffy smells something!" Grunk called to Katty, the two followed after him and pushed into the station. All that was there was a few Radroaches and a load of empty bottles, as well as a streak of blood along the floor. Fluffy sat, eating a dead Radroach, Katty approached him and stroked his head "Good boy." she said, then drew her pistol and shot another Radroach. She then walked over to the ruined cash register and opened it. A few rolls of pre-war money. Not much, but some traders collected them. She then looked behind her at the shelf and saw a few packets of cigarettes. Another luxury that would sell well. She pocketted them.

"Found anything, Grunk?" she called. There was a familiar pop and hiss that indicated that Grunk had found a Nuka Cola. "How many?"

"1... 2... umm..."

"3, sweety." she replied. "Remember numbers." She sighed, she knew that his impaired mental abilities were thanks to her experiments on him, but she was determined to stop him from going feral, like the yellow ones up north, or those of the Master from back on the East Coast that she had heard of.

"3... 4... 5... 5, there's 5." he called. She followed the blood trail from the entrance to the corpse of the man that Grunk was scavanging off of.

"Poor bastard." she mumbled. "He's not been here too long, Rigger has set in, but he's not decomposing... But the Roaches have started eating him..." She grabbed a bottle of Nuka-Cola and held it to her head. "Warm..." she grumbled, before opening it and taking a few sips. She then snapped her fingers so that Fluffy would come to her, she scratched him behind the ear "Good boy." she then opened another bottle and put the opening in his mouth, pouring it down his throat, he drank all he could, but with a lack of lips, unfortunately, most of it went all over the floor. He still seemed to purr with delight, though. "Alright, let's get going. Whoever killed this guy could be close."

"Alright, Nigel." replied Grunk, as they went outside. Katty looked at the gas pumps and then grabbed a rusted canister that lent against the wall before walking to the pump and putting the nozzel into the canister. She pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.

"Well..." she said, looking up at Grunk "It was worth a try. I can only imagine how much actual coolant fluid would have gone for at market." She got up and stretched, before the continued to walk down the road.

Achilles lifted a glass to the vault dweller, but shook his head. "Was all good old fashioned powder guns. Sheriff's got a guy can fix them. And I can keep my own in true. Well..." he reached into his jacket and pulled a little fully automatic pistol from a shoulder holster. "Got this 'chine pistol won't repeat. I can keep the action smooth on my lever and my 'volver, but I'm no good with repeaters." He put it down on the bar top, but when Jack reached for it, he put his hand over to block him. Achilles gave him an uncharacteristically shrewd look.

"You just like fixing things, or there's something 'sides caps you want from me?"

@Earnest Evans

The room in which the South of the Border Political Forum was being held had turned into a loud, shouty cacophony of opinions, and certainly not a reasoned and well-thought-out one. This was very fitting of the American populace, Government had analysed. From his record, they always tended to get all hysterical and irrational when something beyond their immediate knowledge as provided by the half-assed news media confronted them.

Government was parked in a corner towards the back of the room, having been dragged along with his latest owner, a local Security guard who everyone called 'Stubby Shotgun'. He was, ironically, a very tall African-American man with long hair, a big black beard and a preference for dual Sawn-Off Shotguns, so his name was only half ironic, Gov. had deduced. So far both he and the guard had remained quiet throughout the crowd's shouting, but it seemed like the residents of the town were itching to go at this Vault Dweller character with torches and pitchforks, as hysterical citizens are apt to do.

Gov. analysed the situation. He needed to leave town, that was for sure. The longer he stuck around redneck country, the more time was given for the Impostors that call themselves the 'Enclave' to overthrow the country's democratically-elected leaders! But evidently the superstitious locals wouldn't take kindly to robots wandering around on their own, which was why Gov. was relieved his latest captor-turned-owner was a bit more reasonable than most, though still stubborn to accept his authority. However, the situation might change if the locals were preoccupied with this Vault Dweller...

Gov. reached an internal concensus. He raised one of his metallic claws into the air and raised the volume on his crackly voice simulator, ready to rile up the crowd even more.

"I have heard rumours..." The cylindrical robot began, his voice reminiscent of a certain fast-talking miniature car salesman off the TV, "...That this 'Vault Dweller' individual has the ability to reprogram security robots by sneaking up on them and somehow magically turning them to his side, instantaneously, with no-one noticing! Not even the robot! As an official representative of the United States Federal Government who happens to be a Robot, I say this is unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable! He could infiltrate the highest echelons of power and devastate the country even more than it already has been! He's probably a Communist! Would you want him running this country? I don't think so!"

As Gov. finished his speech, he analysed the reaction of the crowd. Unfortunately it didn't appear to have the intended effect at first, since everyone seemed to have gone silent and were now looking at him, confused.

"See?!" One of the locals, a woman, spoke up, her hysteria quite evident; thank God. "Even machines are afraid o' that there menace! What's the world comin' to when-"

"Wait jus' a minute!" A man interrupted her. "What was that about Federer Gub'mint?"

"Well, you see-" Gov. began to explain himself, his pre-programmed priorities taking over his artificial sense of judgement yet again. The locals would have to agree with him if they knew his authority! But then again, a lot of them were apparently idiots, so it was a long shot.

But before he could even start his usual explanations, Stubby Shotgun spoke up for the first time that day.

"Don't listen to the tin can. It's delusional. Still 'aven't figured out how to fix the damn thing." He said, rather nonchalantly, waving his hand. "Anyone in this room wants to have a go, be mah guest."

The rest of the room began murmuring to each other, first calmly with mentions of 'rampaging machines', but then soon enough someone evidently got them back on topic and they started screaming about the 'Vault Dweller' again. Everything was going according to plan...

-----------
Ten Minutes Later...
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After Gov.'s bold assertion of his artificial intelligence, Stubby Shotgun decided to keep him even closer than usual once the Forum was over. He and Gov. had left the mass of screaming citizens early so Stubby could go and have a drink at the local bar, the so-called 'Radiation Roost'.

As they got close, Gov. analysed the area around him, and he couldn't help but record a rather suspicious-looking individual of Asian descent on the road, on a cart pulled by a Mutated animal. A Chinese fellow, from the looks of things. From his tone of voice and cart full of red, quite possibly a dirty Communist. It was a shame Gov. didn't see this fellow before, or maybe he brought him up to the angry mob. May as well set them against a target who actually deserved an angry mob set against them.

"Aghh..." He heard Stubby grunt to himself in annoyance. Turning his head a full 360 degrees around, Gov. saw why: a neon sign outside the bar reading 'No Robots Allowed'.

"Looks like you're gonna 'ave to stay put, Gub'mint." Stubby addressed him in that weird accent, tapping his finger against his chassis. "Y'all see any trouble, call me at once."

"Very well." Gov. replied, having no intention to abandon such a dangerous-looking fellow when he was still in action, in the middle of a crowded street, too.

"...But I am only assisting you out of a moral obligation to ensure the safety of American citizens. Not because you have any actual authority over me." Gov. continued, his artificial intelligence not really knowing what 'tact' means. Again, good thing Stubby was a calm man.

"Whatever... damn stupid machines..." Stubby mumbled to himself, this clearly not the first time he had to deal with Gov.'s mechanical honesty, as he entered the Radiation Roost, leaving the Robot standing guard by the door.

Jack reached for the gun. “I might not be the biggest fan of bullet based weapons but I fix most any problem with them. I prefer laser weapons mostly for the fact you can make them into bombs on short notice.” He bit his tongue however when the man questioned his motives.

Jack pulled his hand back from the gun and sighed. “I’m looking for a few decent folks for a certain job, mercs as well.” He looked back at Kitten, the bar was emptying out with caravans arriving in town plenty of wanderers heading out to trade and do business. “My vault got hit by the Enclave, we were a science based vault. Doctors, scientists, weapons techs, and botanists and out of the five hundred their about fifteen of us were in security.”

Davis passed the vault dweller a drink and spoke up. “I was up north when I found him and his little village. Him and about thirty others set up behind fancy turrets. They got science labs, and even got a G.E.C.K. going growing plants and trees. Town guards have this new power armor and kitted up with laser and plasma weapons. Place set me up with all their booze and chems and promised more if I helped Jack find people to help him fight Enclave.” He smiled at the four before him cleaning glasses. “Reason I’m telling you is because you need someone besides Jack to tell you, so you know it ain’t bull shit.”

Jack sighed and nodded. “I’m willing to share the tech and supplies we’ve got, Enclave’s got most of my vaults population is locked up and are using them to try and create our tech. You help me and I’ll give you a cut of what you want from our tech or chems.” He looked back at Kitten, no doubt she heard the conversation and was now even more interested. “I’d have gone to Brotherhood of Steel first but they're gone, Enclave wiped them out looted their armor and weapons.”

Jack sighed and stood up. “I’m actually here because the Enclave haven’t arrived here yet... Any day now their going to march in and take over, conscript those between sixteen and twenty-five carting them off for brainwashing training then they’ll do the same to the next town. With our techs they're able to produce plasma weapons and Enclave power armor even faster. If they aren’t stopped here you're all going to end up working for or being killed by them.”

Samuel surveyed his work with a proud nod. The Eyebot's metallic shell, the long plastic tube, the copper brushes at either end of the fanbelt driven by a vacuum motor powered by fission batteries. The mechanics of the device would allow it to build up large amounts of static electricity. A fine Van De Graff generator if he ever saw one. Then, of course, the web of wires trailing from the Eyebot's shell to the baseball bat, and the switch welded to its side. This, obviously, would allow him to turn the device on or off. He held the new weapon aloft, gazing skyward.

"I dub this instrument of justice... The Most Holy Bludgeon of Chattanooga, Prototype 1."

Now the design just needed field testing. Thankfully, nearby there seemed to be some sort of forum. A fine fixture of cultures such as this, where the commoners would come together to voice their concerns! He knocked on the door.

"Greetings, knaves! Wilst you are meeting, I presume to ask if you hast a quest that requires the aid of the Knights Cluecloch? I wish to serve as a sword to strike against the enemies of the Wastelanders!"

The forum disbanded on a high note. Just before the rising ire of the crowd reached a boiling point, the organizer calmed everyone down and focused on other avenues of discussion.

In the end, the forum came to several conclusions. Raider attacks have skyrocketed, though they appeared to be traveling in smaller patrols. The ammo and medical suppliers are suffering from an extreme lack of supply, but are doing much better business. Local wildlife are turning up dead in droves-- someone's been shooting them with lasers and didn't bother to drag them back to town. Towns under Enclave control experienced marked increases in productivity and quality of living, but people often "disappeared" by the dozen and visitors were driven away by gunfire. There was a community a good ways away, apparently made up of vault dwellers, that appeared well-defended but only offered their technology for exorbitant prices, if at all.

As the assorted people of the crowd disassembled and began making their way back home, they came back changed. Most of them, the big movers and shakers of the community, now realized what dangers the Vault Dweller posed, and how his actions, though altruistic, caused severe damage to the surrounding community. However, they wouldn't be so foolish as to attack him in the streets. After all, he routinely butchered dozens of raiders and petty criminals... what would he do to people who dared to bring up their concerns with him?

Albus Secundus was one of the last council members out. He wasn't vital to the community, but he held an unusual charisma. He was so good with using fancy Latin words, and he seemed to know so much about history and society!

As Albus left the basement they were staying in, he came upon Samuel Carter, eagerly ploying his sword-arm for justice. Albus, not being one to discourage a prime opportunity, caught Samuel's attention.

"If you are looking for a... quest, I may need your help. There is a man around town who is actively riling up the local wildlife and raiders, in his attempts to eliminate them. From what I've heard, he seems to have good intentions, but his actions are endangering the community. I've heard he's even shooting at Enclave patrols and hiding out here-- actively inviting the obliteration of this community! I need your help to talk to this Vault Dweller, and hopefully put some sense into him. If he doesn't relent, I fear we'll be forced to put him down. Now, what we need to do is find him."

A strapping young man, the son of a well-known farmer, tapped Albus on the shoulder.
"If you're looking for the Vault Dweller, you'll probably find him at the Radiation Roost. I think he's got friends there, so if things actually do get violent, you'll need to be ready for a fight."

Albus gave the young man a worried look.
"I don't want to kill the boy. I just want to talk to him. Convince him that this course of action will do nothing but end in innocent lives lost."
He turned to look at Samuel.
"We've got our location. Let's get moving before the Vault Dweller makes another move and invites further hell into the wasteland."

Patrick looked over the Vault Dweller. Despite the rumors he had heard, he didn't look like he was able to breathe fire. He kept a close gaze on his mouth just in case, though he appreciated the drink. Achilles, of course, kept his cool and went straight for the heart of the matter. Patrick gave a little half-smile, it was a game they had played before. He listen closely, with some trepidation. Now it was his turn.

"We want 1/8 of the Vault goods upon completion of the job, in addition we want 2nd and 3rd pick of the goods. You can take first or give it to someone else, but no matter what Achilles gets second pick and I get third. We know a couple communities that could really use it." Patrick took in a deep breath using his scavengers instincts to get the get the best deal. "Any medical costs are either to be covered by yourself or a member of your team if you have a doctor."

"That is the price to hire us. Now let's talk about what you get in return." Patrick gave a crooked, cocky grin. "We are the best. Achilles here has been fighting on the side of justice most of his life and he is getting pretty up there in years. How many aging mercs have you heard of? You need a scout who isnt gonna alert the Enclave in the first 10 seconds, I'm your man. I can get past any guard and any door you want. You also get our loyalty, you pay us we work for you, no other offers will be accepted, so long as you don't turn out to be a psycho addled madman in disguise. We can cover the cost of bullets- we just got a nice refresher."

"Whether or not this succeeds, we will require 150 caps apiece as a security deposit. Job gets completed you get it back." Patrick considered for a moment. "100 each if you can actually breathe fire."

Patrick raises his hand. "Deal?"

Joseph had been standing outside the weapons shop for hours, giving the sign that said. "Out for a forum." The occasional evil had but at the moment he was distracted by the thick grouping of holotags in his hands. Twelve out of sixteen, four are missing and he needed the help to get them back in the name of the brotherhood, he had collected all the intel he could carry from the outpost but nothing was making sense to him he was warrior not a scribe. He put the tags away when he heard someone approaching it was the owner of the store who looked him up and down. "We ain't got nothing for you." He said, "Are you sure, i got a ton of ammo i need to trade for energy cells, and charge packs." Joseph said flatly. The shop keeper looked him up and down. "I don't have any of those anymore, some vault dweller came and bought em. But i suppose i can trade you what little caps i have for the-" "Vault dweller you say, where can i find him?" "I reckon he's still at the radiation roost." In a moment of scrambling he took out the assorted ammo mostly 5.56's and 5mmms and gave them to the shop keeper asking nothing in return and ran off without another word.

He ran through the town, not caring about who he bumped into or knocked over and slammed into the inn nearly knocking down the door. With a critical eye he scanned the room, ignoring the people who threw him looks over their shoulders. Eventually his eyes settled on the vault dweller, and he approached. "I've been looking for you, me and you need to talk." He said, looking down at the man if he tried anything he could grab his pistol but he doubted that it would resort to violence.