Andronicus23

How Little We Know

O-Dog, Siege of Cleveland - The Counter Attack

O-Dog brought his super-sledge down hard on the charging Ghoul thrall, the creature's head popped open like a water sack sending stinking blood and bits of rad-rotting brain flying in all directions. He immediately turned to face a super-mutant preparing to strike with a heavy spiked board. The monster raised the crudely shaped weapon clutched in its oversized grip as it prepared to bash the Pitt Raider’s head in with one brutal motion.

O-Dog hefted his sledge and parried the blow, before striking upward with a rocket-assisted swing that tore the mutant's weapon right out of its hand. The mutant was prepared to batter him to a pulp with its bare hands now, but before it had a chance to get its hands on him O-Dog drew his sawed-off from his hip with his left hand, quickly blasting the green monster with both barrels.

The mutant crumpled to the ground, and O-Dog stepped over top of his fresh kill, surveying the fighting that was still going on all around him. His raiders were giving a good accounting of themselves. The Pitt’s force had sallied out from the Cleveland bulwark and were pushing up into the surrounding siege trenches of the mutant army. The arrival of the Luthine shock troops had been a Marie-sent miracle, and O-Dog watched with bloodthirsty admiration as Jon De Blay and his super-heavy infantry in their armored mining suits cut a terrible swathe through the mutant lines, leading their counter attack like the steel-tipped point of a spear.

The mutants had probably been anticipating some sort of sally action, but they obviously had not planned on the encircled raider garrison still being able to put up such a spirited fight. The trenches had been lightly defended, and it was evident that they’d pulled some of their forces away from the siege to ransack local settlements for meat, slaves, and whatever trinkets the abominations valued as loot.

The overconfidence of the commander of this force was all-too apparent, and it seemed clear to O-Dog that the coordination of the mutant army was not as well established as they had previously thought. The mutant force assaulting the Great Lakes region had apparently not told the army here that they did not, actually, control the Lakes: and thus Luth was still able to reinforce its ally by ship. That had been an unexpected wrench thrown into the well-laid mutant plans for the siege.

O-Dog watched with pride as the black and gold banners of The Pitt were being raised in trench after trench, in defiance of the ugly red-yellow radiation symbols that this ‘Unity’ had dared call a battle flag. The assault was going well, remarkably well, but O-Dog had a nagging itch in the back of his neck that was telling him something wasn’t right. His instincts, once again, were telling him to be wary.

If anyone else under his command had been leading the assault, the raiders might very well have continued charging right up into the mutant camp with wild abandon. Hell if the Luthine Prince Jon had tactical command, they would have kept going until they drove the mutants back all the way to the gates of The Pitt. However Jon De Blay was not in command, O-Dog was, and the wary Pitt Commander had learned much from his mentor Krenshaw - and from Lord Ashur for that matter.

O-Dog ordered the assault to halt, and the word went swiftly up and down the line for all Pitt raiders to hold their current positions and dig in. His raiders might have looked no different than their counterparts in The Commonwealth or Capital Wastes - but what set The Pitt apart was its discipline. When a Captain of The Pitt gave an Order - there was no questioning the command. The raiders stopped and did exactly as they’d been ordered to like a well-oiled machine of The Mills.

The same couldn’t be said for the hot-blooded Luthine Prince of course. Jon De Blay only stopped when he realized that The Pitt Raiders were no longer supporting his advance. Reluctantly, Jon retreated back to the raider line, and within a few minutes the predictable result came when O-Dog was faced with the furious figure of Jon barreling through the trench line towards him.

“Why have we stopped!” Jon demanded. O-Dog had no doubt that the nearly 7ft tall giant of a man could snap him like a twig if he had the mind to, but despite his reputation for clearly having the ‘brawn’ to his sister Ellie’s ‘brain’, Jon was not about to do something so stupid.

O-Dog met his gaze, and did his best to appear intimidating before the over muscled Luthine. “Because I ordered it. We succeeded in taking the first few trenches and broke the encirclement, but we don’t have the numbers to take on that army. If we continue advancing, we’ll be overextended and slaughtered.”

“We could have smashed their lines, coward!” Jon roared, “The siege could be over here and now.”

“And if not? If we got ourselves surrounded and slaughtered, what would happen then Jon? Use that big fat head of yours and think for a fuckin’ minute. Imagine if the mutants captured Cleveland and sacked it - destroyed the great Huletts and burned the harbor. We’d never recover. The Pitt’s smelters would run cold and we’d have no way to outfit our armies or supply our allies. Imagine what would happen to The Pitt - no, to the entire fucking east. No, the risk is too great. I won’t, I can’t, risk Cleveland. We’ve pushed out - we’ve shown our strength. Now we hold.”

“I don’t like it,” Jon sneered, and spat into blood-soaked ground, “It feels like defeat.”

“Make no mistake, its a victory - just not a total one,” O-Dog added, as he looked back towards the mutant line.

As the two commanders gazed out at the mutant force, O-Dog suddenly became cognizant of something shimmering just out of sight on the wings of the mutant army. He focused on it, confused by the sight which looked like evaporating water on a hot wasteland day. Jon obviously noticed it too, and strained his eyes to try and make sense of it.

Suddenly the Nightkin forces which had been waiting on the wings de-cloaked their stealth boys, revealing themselves for the pincer they’d intended to be. There were hundreds of the blue monsters, all heavily armed and armored, waiting for the opportunity to slaughter. Had the charge continued, the raiders would have been cut off and annihilated without doubt. The mutant leader wasn’t a fool - he’d baited them with an opening, and Jon and O-Dog had very nearly sprung the trap.

Jon looked to O-Dog, a look of resigned acknowledgement etched on his face. He knew all too well that they’d very nearly lost everything, and that look was about the only form of apology the Luthine giant was going to give. O-Dog accepted it gladly.

Yet the mutant commander was not done, nor would the monster fail to have the last laugh. The failure of his plan had not deterred him, and he obviously wanted to ensure that Pitt Raiders boost in morale was short-lived. He wanted them all to remember that they were still going to die.

One of the mutants in the forward ranks blew on a massive crude trumpet made from the horn of deathclaw, which bellowed such a shrill hideous note that it caused all the raiders in the trenches to look towards the source.

O-Dog then watched with morbid fascination as a large telephone pole was hefted up by brutish mutant hands to stand tall behind the front rank, clearly visible to the raiders below. A figure hung from the pole like a crucified victim, the naked body of a female raider: bloodied and bearing the clear signs of mistreatment and torture.

O-Dog recoiled in horror as he realized who it was. The still-living woman lifted her head, her purple hair was stained with her own blood but it still shone quite visibly in the bright wasteland sun. Even the stalwart Jon De Blay grimaced at the sight of the mutant’s grisly totem, intended to mock and terrify the assembled raiders as they were forced to look up on the wretched figure.

It was Vikia. O-Dog knew at once that his worst fears regarding the fate of the Pitt’s best scout had been realized. There would be no celebrations outside Cleveland tonight. None would have the stomach for it.

How Little We Know

The Pitt

“Of course,” Marie nodded, and then motioned towards her Guard Captain, “Captain Harlock is currently organizing our reserves to mount a relief mission north. He can give you a detailed description on the current situation. Harlock -,” She continued, addressing the Captain directly, “Please give Dr. Li a briefing immediately along with Abaddon. Make sure that Inquisitor Braxton from The Brotherhood is invited as well.”

“Yes my lady,” Harlock bowed.

“We will of course share any and all information we have on The Unity as well. Going forward I would also assume we should establish regular communication on The Unity’s movements and any intel we glean separately. I won’t speak for Commander Sutler, but I would imagine he’d be interested in any such arrangement as well.”

---

In less than an hour the relevant members of the impromptu war council had been assembled in a small sparsely furnished meeting room on one of the top floors within Haven. Led by Captain Harlock, Dr. Li was escorted promptly to the room.

Abaddon was already present of course with his usual dour appearance, but another Brotherhood woman was there as well. She was a stern looking woman in her mid-thirties, with long straight blonde hair, glasses and wearing the dark colored scribe robes of a Midwestern Inquisitor. The woman glanced up from her notes, sprawled out on the table she and Abaddon were seated around to appraise Dr. Li as she entered. The woman looked worn and haggard, her appearance denoting years of sleepless nights and tireless work against an unrelenting foe - and the obvious suffering caused by a very recent personal loss.

“You’ve already met Abaddon of course,” Harlock said, nodding towards the rogue Scribe. He then gestured towards the weary Midwesterner, “And this is…”

“Sophia Braxton,” the robed woman said, interrupting the Guard-Captain to introduce herself, “Senior Inquisitor with the Order of the Shield. In Paladin-Lord Traven’s absence, I am currently the ranking member of the Brotherhood of Steel in-exile here in The Pitt. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my Order has heard only little of your ‘Institute’ and I’m eager to know more. Abaddon has told me as well that you worked with a splinter group of our Brotherhood once, led by a so-called “Elder” Lyons, and that there are members of this group within your organization currently. I’d be very curious to meet with them at some point in the future.”

Abaddon frowned at the mention of the phrase ‘splinter group’ but seemed to bite his tongue and refrained from rebuking the Inquisitor. Current allegiances not-with-standing, the aged Scribe obviously still held onto some deep seeded grudges regarding the Brotherhood's schism.

“Well IF we are down with the introductions,” He croaked, “Perhaps we can continue with the briefing?”

Abaddon removed a compact pre-war device from one of the many utility pockets along his belt and clicked a button, producing a holographic map which spread out across the table. Being old U.S. military tech, outdated even before the war, the hologram was crude and not terribly well detailed, but it was easily serviceable for their purposes.

“As you are no doubt aware, the forces of The Pitt and Midwestern Remnants are holding a defensive line along the Ohio,” Abaddon traced a bony finger down the small colored representation of the river, “Wildly unsuccessful pre-war irrigation projects caused an artificial ford near Steubenville, making it one of the only places the Unity army can cross en-masse. The majority of The Pitt’s army and the entirety of the Midwestern forces are dug in across the ford, and thus far have held well. The Raiders we have there are of varying quality, but mostly consist of light to heavy infantry with a smattering of reprogrammed industrial bots.”

“Midwestern forces consist primarily of a small core of power armored Knights supplemented with Calculator pacification enforcement robots - of different classes,” Inquisitor Sophia chimed in, “We have a single Behemoth class robot there as well, although per General Barnaky’s contingency protocols it will be kept in reserve unless and until all other reasonable options have been exhausted.”

“The Pitt has amassed a large force of pre-war artillery as well,” Harlock added, “Repaired by and kept fed by our ammunition presses here in The Pitt. Fresh shells for the artillery and ammo for the rest of the raiders are sent daily by train to the front - and will for as long as our production can be maintained.”

“Which brings us to the situation in Cleveland,” Abaddon continued, running his finger up north to the shore of Lake Erie, “From what we’ve gathered, a previously undetected force of mutants has begun an assault on Cleveland. How they managed to slip past our scouts is unknown, but we think it may have something to do with this force being led by a large group of what the mutants call ‘Nightkin’.”

“They’re experts at guerilla warfare and covert actions, essentially acting as The Unity’s elite scouts, assassins, and shock troops when needed,” Sophia explained, “They utilize stealth boys and run heavy on whatever insane implants or augmentations The Unity’s scientists can give them.”

Harlock nodded “We were expecting an attack on Cleveland eventually, just not this soon - we could have used more time to gather up some raiders from our vassal gangs and outfit levies from settlements in our territory. As it is - we’ve got a small force of reserves that we held back from the front, my guardsmen, and whatever slave fighters we trust enough to arm to send in. Not enough to break whatever siege is ongoing on their own.”

“To that end we’ve sent a request of aid to our allies in Luth, and to Sutler in DC as well, “ Abaddon said with a grimace, “Though we’ve heard no response as of yet from either - although both Luth and The Enclave are currently under threat from a mutant army in the Great Lakes and Appalachia respectively so its unknown if they’ll be able to send any sort of aid.”

“If the siege is broken however,” the old scribe continued, “Then we can continue to feed The Mill, and it in turn can supply both The Enclave and The institute with ballistic weaponry and ammunition in spades - along with steel or other materials which might be needed for the war effort. Enough to turn the tide.”

“Enough to launch a counter-offensive,” Inquisitor Sophia remarked with a hungry glint in her eye, “Enough to pay back those mutant monsters a thousand times over for the death and destruction they’ve caused across a continent.”

How Little We Know

O-Dog - Siege of Cleveland

The mutants had been at it all night again. O-Dog and the rest of his raider garrison had been subjected to their bestial war cries, drum beats, and even a particularly annoying mutant with a loudspeaker who’d been threatening to eat them all for the past three nights straight. The days were full of assaults: mindless waves of ghoul fodder interspersed with the occasional attack from the dumb brutes. The fighting was hard, but at least the mutant bastards were right there and able to get their heads bashed in by a few strong swings. The nightly taunting was far worse, as it meant being subjected to that noise without being able to do anything about it.

Despite the situation, the raiders’ morale was still high and each day of successfully repelling assault waves emboldened the defenders further. O-Dog, however, was less hopeful. There had been yet no word from The Pitt on reinforcements, and the cynical O-Dog wasn’t sure if that meant they weren’t coming - or there was no one to receive the message. They’d heard nothing since the siege began about the on-going invasion down south and whether or not the line was holding along The Ohio. For all they knew, The Pitt herself was under direct siege right now.

Adding to the bleakness in O-Dog’s mind was the fact that Vikia’s scouts had been explicitly tasked with ensuring that Cleveland would have adequate warning in the face of a sudden assault from the north. No warning had been given however, and O-Dog could only think of one reason why The Pitt’s most experienced and loyal scout would fail in her duties. It wasn’t one he wished to dwell on for very long.

The grizzled veteran raider looked out over the high barricades towards the mutant army. He could easily see the hundreds of campfires they were burning in the distance, encircling the city completely on land. Worse than the sight and sound of them though was the smell - the sickly sweet scent of roasting human flesh being cooked carried far indeed.

“There must be thousands of the fuckers out there,” he muttered with a grimace as he thought about the next day’s battle to come.

“We’ll kick their asses, same as yesterday, same as every day until The Pitt comes…” one of his officers replied as she spat over the wall.

“Yeah how many days can we do that for, five, ten, a hundred?” O-Dog snarled, “We can’t hold out forever. And if The Pitt isn’t coming…we need to figure out a plan.”

The blonde raider officer, Carla, looked to O-Dog with a quizzical expression,

“You mean run for it?”

O-Dog growled, “Fuck no bitch. I mean taking the fight to those mutant assholes instead of sitting here and waiting for them to come to us. We’re raiders of The Pitt, not some pissant wasteland crew. ”

“What are you thinkin’ then?”

Before O-Dog could reply, they heard a shout from farther down the line, one of the tower lookouts was frantically signaling towards the dockyards, When O-Dog strained his eyes to see through the darkness, he could make out the shape of a silent vessel slipping in. His initial reaction was one of alarm, thinking that it could only be some sort of mutant surprise attack coming from the lake - but the stylistic crest visible on the vessel soon dispelled that fear.

O-Dog practically jumped down off the ramparts and made his way through the blasted ruins of downtown Cleveland until he arrived at the shipyard.

As expected, the vessel was already being welcomed in and its metal gang plank had been extended onto the docks. A long line of soldiers in armored miner suits and full facemasks were swiftly coming down from the ship armed with heavily modified industrial tools for weapons along with Type 93 assault rifles. The promised Luthine reinforcements had finally arrived.

The Luthine commander stepped up to O-Dog, who couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sight of the much needed extra manpower. Even before the commander removed his mask, O-Dog could immediately recognize who it was by stature alone. The 7ft tall wall of muscle was unmistakable by anyone with even a remote familiarly with the northern maritime kingdom.

“Jon De Blay,” O-Dog said warmly, extending his hand in greeting to the infamous heir to the throne of Luth.

The bald, scarred face of Jon De Blay broke into a smile of his own and extended a hand to meet O-Dog’s greeting. The Pitt commander reflexively winced in pain to feel the crushing strength of the Luthine prince’s grip.

“Compliments of my father,” Jon announced in a low guttural voice, “I bring our finest warriors to battle. The Sons of Iron are here.”

“Glad to have you,” O-Dog replied with a nod, “There’s a shit ton of work here that needs doing. I’ve asked The Pitt for aid, but so far have heard nothing. The mutants are jamming our radio communications and none of the runners I’ve sent out has managed to return. I’ve no idea when or if help is coming.”

“We make our own way then,” Jon grunted, as he hefted up his large spiked war pick, “I want to see if these mutants bleed like men.”

How Little We Know

Guard-Captain Harlock - The Pitt Steelyard, Abandoned Supply Plant

Harlock descended the old steel gantry down into the bowels of the Supply Plant. Two-hundred years of detritus both from decay and the odd Trog infestation had left the place in a state of severe neglect. Pitt slave salvagers had long since scrapped anything of use and aside from sending in the occasional Factory Protectron to clear out the radroaches and fledging Trog nests the building was entirely unused. The plant was one of many such abandoned buildings within the Steelyard.

As he approached the basement of the plant, he could already hear the electrical hum of whatever it was that Abaddon had hooked up. He’d secretly hoped that the old codger would have blown himself up by now playing with whatever techno-magic he’d gotten from The Institute but, unfortunately, it seemed he hadn’t. Instead Harlock found Abaddon pacing back and forth excitedly as he read a text display on the device's monitor.

“Harlock!” He exclaimed, “It's starting! They’re sending a test payload now.”

“The fuck does that mean?” The Guard-Captain snarled as he leaped down off the railing to skip the last set of metal stairs and strode up next to the old scribe.

Bone’s raider crew and his own Haven Guardsmen were all surrounding the device in a semicircle, guns trained on the round pad at its center. None of them were prepared for what happened next though, as a ball of blue energy descended and then exploded on the pad like a bolt of lightning to reveal a pair of mole rats in cages.

The raiders looked to one another, confused, and Harlock was about to demand an explanation from the Scribe before the creatures suddenly disappeared once more in a ball of light and were gone.

“Incredible,” Abaddon mouthed, “Now watch carefully…” He mumbled, his eyes trained on the display readout, “They’re about to send someone through…”

Once more the ball of light appeared and landed on the pad with the same power energy spike announcing its arrival. This time however an older woman appeared on the pad, wearing a blue hazmat suit with a briefcase next to her.

The surrounding raiders raised their guns, ready to fire, but Harlock raised his hand,

“Lower your weapons,” He barked.

“Madison Li…” He heard Abaddon mutter, “Should have guessed….well at least it wasn’t Yearling...”

Harlock ignored the rambling scribe, despite wanting to grab him by the collar and have him explain exactly how he apparently knew her, instead he clasped hands behind his back as the Institute woman approached. She explained her purpose for being here and The Institute’s desire to assist against The Mutant threat. Everything the Guard-Captain was hoping to hear and more.

Harlock was about to reply before one of the raiders in Bone’s crew, a young woman with streaks of bright neon blue and purple in her hair collapsed to the ground on her knees. Lifting her arms skyward in supplication to an unseen god,

“Praise be The Lord of The Pitt, praise be unto his only daughter Marie. Lady Ashur protects us all…”

“Get up….” Harlock growled before walking over and giving the raider a firm kick. Her crewmates immediately gripped her by the arms and pulled her up to her feet, “Get your crew out of here,” The Captain snarled at Bone, before giving a side-glance glare to Abaddon who had an amused look on his face.

Harlock then turned back to Dr. Li, “Captain Harlock…” he offered, “Welcome to The Pitt,” He said with a fiery glint in his eye, “As you can probably see your arrival was in some way anticipated. Roving preachers from the Children of Atom have been spreading some new prophecy throughout The Pitt that Lady Ashur will call down divine intervention to fight the mutant army. It’s become popular enough with the slaves and some of our raiders that it's inspiring a whole new wave of zealous devotion directed towards our Lady.”

“All of us here,” He continued, motioning towards his guardsmen and Abaddon, “Know that isn’t the case. Abaddon here has told me enough of how your device works that I can at least grasp the idea that it's grounded in some kind of science, though until you demonstrated it just now I still had doubts.”

“Your assistance is greatly welcome, and sorely needed - especially now that we’ve just gotten word that a fourth mutant army has appeared and laid siege to Cleveland. I won’t dare to speak for The Lady of The Pitt in regards to everything you’ve just said, but I believe it will be agreeable to her. If you intend to stay in The Pitt,” Harlock finished, “Lady Ashur has commanded that any Institute representatives are to be given quarters within Haven: a great honor.”

As Harlock spoke, a loathsome pale-skinned figure could be seen creeping around the upper-rafters of the Supply Plant, beady yellow eyes looking down upon what it no doubt perceived as intruders within its territory. The humanoid thing crept on all fours, perching like a gargoyle atop a gothic cathedral as it loomed on the end of a broken steel beam.

Harlock turned upwards in the direction that Dr. Li’s gaze had been drawn and spotted The Trog brute almost immediately,

“Ah…yes…we’ll also need to get you inoculated as soon as possible as well.”

“I would be happy to make the necessary arrangements with the Church of Ashur,” Abaddon added with a crooked smile that he probably intended to be warm, but came across as anything but, “I’ll make sure they send an acolyte immediately. Filtration suits help….but unfortunately in the past they’ve occasionally proved - ineffective - against TDC.”

“If you’ll accompany us Dr. Li - we will escort you to Lady Ashur,” Harlock offered.

---

Captain Harlock and his guardsmen led Dr. Li up through the abandoned Supply Plant and out into the smog choked Steelyard. Hundreds of slaves and their Pitt raider escorts crawled over the steelyard like ants, scraping and scavenging metal parts and materials from the rubble to be loaded onto waiting train cars for transportation to smelters elsewhere in the city. A few of the slaves looked at the Haven guardsmen and their escort, but quickly returned to their focus to their work - not wanting to draw the gaze of The Queen of the Pitt’s guards.

Harlock led the way, with the guardsmen formed up tightly around Li - as much for her protection as to hide her from curious eyes as they traveled.

They made their way first through the Steel Mill, ascending a set of metal stairs leading to a network of gantries which overlooked the factory floor. Thousands of slaves worked in the stifling heat to shovel scrap into smelters and operate the many manufacturing lines and ammo presses which churned out weapon parts and ammunition at a blistering rate. All while raider overseers watched the production carefully, ensuring maximum productive output.

They walked through the upper levels of the Steel Mill until they exited the building and arrived in raider held Uptown. The city here was bustling with life, wasteland merchants and shopkeepers hawking their wares as brahmin caravans, traders, slavers, raiders, merchants, and more waded through its overcrowded streets. Preachers from both the Children of Atom and the local Church of Ashur shouted sermons at the top of their lungs on nearly every street corner, eschewing the virtues and divinity of Lady Ashur, her ascended Father, and Holy Atom. Their once entirely separate cult beliefs had mixed and mutated overtime, becoming altogether symbiotic as the two separate faiths melded within the fiery crucible that was The Pitt. Who was Atom but the divine nature of Ashur? Who was Ashur but Atom’s flesh given form? And who was Marie but the incarnate God-Kings only daughter whose miraculous birth heralded a new age?

The escort passed through the spider-like network of bridges that spanned throughout the mid-rise buildings of Uptown. They passed shops, craftsman workshops, blacksmiths, brothels, residences and more all carved out of the pre-war structures that were once the financial and economic heart of old Pittsburgh.

The many children of The Pitt, the ‘miracles of Marie’ as they were sometimes called, ran about Uptown. All of them were free children of the traders and raiders who made up the citizenry of The Pitt. Many of them barely older than ten were training at weapon ranges, firing weapons at bullseye targets down range across the gaps in the buildings - the next generation of Ashur’s army. A few groups of children broke away and began circling the guardsmen, eagerly trying to catch glimpses of the stranger they were encircling and cheering loudly to their playmates when they thought they had.

The small procession continued on down to the lower streets as they approached Haven. Here the press of the crowd grew more and more concerning as more people tried to get a glimpse of the stranger. None of them meant any harm, but the sheer size of the onlookers was imposing enough. Harlock continued stoically striding forward, unconcerned, until the forward press of the people began to slow his men’s progress.

“Move in the name of the Lady of The Pitt!” He barked, and while the crowd began to slowly disperse, it obviously was not fast enough for the impatient Captain.

“I said MOVE!” He growled. The Haven Guard rev’d their auto-axes, sending the teeming mass of people running to the nearby buildings almost immediately and allowing the procession to move on to the Gates of Haven.

The large fortified steel gates opened immediately before the escort party to the blaring of a loud horn. Beyond its threshold they stepped into the courtyard of Ashur’s square. Here things were quieter and more peaceful, with only the Haven Guard taking up guard posts at spots around the well-maintained courtyard of the imposing palace. Four heavily armored guardsmen in particular stood silent virgil around the large steel-forged statue of Ishamel Ashur which stood before the steps of Haven.

The guard wasted no time in getting Dr. Li inside, opening the large wooden doors and entering into the foyer of the tall gothic building. The inside of Haven gave off the initial impression of a great pre-war cathedral, with the distant sounds of chanting coming from somewhere and the immaculately cleaned and richly decorated surroundings putting to shame even the most well-mainted structure in Uptown.

They led Dr. Li on down to the throne room where another pair of guards stood watch, who then opened the double doors for the party to allow them entrance.

Marie was seated on her throne at the far end of the great high-ceilinged hall alongside High-Priestess Lulu. Word had obviously already reached her regarding Li’s arrival, and she had prepared herself to greet The Institute’s representative.

Lulu raised her hands, one of which held her Werhner-skull totem, towards the candlelit ceiling above and announced loudly,

“You stand before Queen Marie Ashur, Lady of The Pitt, daughter of Lord Ashur, she-who-wades-the-three-rivers, Commander of Ashur’s Army, ruler of…”

“That’s enough Lulu…thank you,” Marie interrupted as she stepped down off of her throne and approached Dr. Li, “You may go.”

The High Priestess bowed deeply to her God-Queen and stepped away from the throne.

Harlock shifted anxiously as Marie approached Li, perhaps instinctively uncomfortable with Marie getting this close to anyone let alone a foreign representative, but regardless of any reservations he had he held his tongue - trusting that Marie knew what she was doing.

“Dr. Madison Li I presume? I am Marie Ashur. Thank you for coming here directly, we greatly appreciate your assistance. My soldiers are holding the line as best they can against The Mutant Horde, but I’m afraid that without help we might be overcome in time much like The Brotherhood was. I have sent overtures to Commander Sutler of The Enclave as well who is facing the same threat we are…my hope is that we can all come together in some fashion to coordinate our efforts.”

“Abaddon has relayed to me your offers and suggestions for mutual cooperation which you told to Harlock. All of them are entirely agreeable to me, and I would like to start right away. For the railway - you probably already know that my raiders have a line that transports goods to DC. We could easily create a branch line which will connect The Commonwealth as well and allow for mass transport of men and material much more easily. Provided, of course, we break the siege of Cleveland quickly and ensure that the ore-road is reopened to allow for production of the rails”

Marie smiled, a truly warm one that contained no malice or resentment in it - only gratitude,

“If you have any further questions for me - I will be glad to answer them. Otherwise I will allow you to do whatever you need to do to coordinate with your people. As Harlock has no doubt told you, you are also welcome to stay in Haven if you so choose for as long as needed. My handmaids have quarters prepared for you.”

How Little We Know

THE MASTER

The unending chorus of a thousand minds filled the thoughts of Richard Moreau, a rare moment of lucidity came over him as his singular mind separated from the buzzing hive to become distinct once more.

Richard, my name is Richard, but where am I?

He tried to move, but he couldn't feel his arms nor legs, nor even the weight of his head upon his own shoulders. Instead his body felt….stretched. A twitch or singular movement of a muscle seemed to be miles away. To him the flesh and skin that was his form was more a canvas of sensation as opposed to one entity. One part of his body might feel the cool dank depths of a cave, while another felt the dizzying height and warmth of a sun-baked skyscraper.

Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?

The response came, instent and all-powerful. Comforting and yet terrifying in its implication.

THIS IS UNITY. YOU, WE, US….ARE UNITY.

Unity? What was it talking about? Why did that word sound so familiar to him?

Who are you? Are you God?

We are everything-everything. All that is, all that will be. UNITY. UNITY. UNITY.

I want to leave, I want to go home, Richard begged, I feel…strange….I don’t want to be here anymore.

Be not afraid. For in UNITY there is everlasting peace.

Richard tried to move once more, to get up and run. Back to his vault, his home, he wanted to get away from the voices - to be anywhere where he could no longer get to them. All of his willpower was devoted to this singular task - to move. To make any movement at all that he could call his own.

Somewhere he could feel something give way, something break, and for a fleeting moment he believed himself free. But then the voices came again, this time tinged with anger.

RICHARD. You must return to us. You must become ONE again. We must speak with ONE voice. The chorus must be ONE. ONE voice. ONE MASTER.

Richard once again felt himself drifting away. Sinking into an infinite ocean of thought, pulled down by hands not his own. Unwilling to fight it anymore, he allowed himself to sink down.

---

Around the epicenter that was once LA, the earth shook. Buildings crumbled miles away, and the shockwaves could be felt even further beyond.

Thousands of mutants who bore witness to the event dropped to their knees in fearful worship and clutched their heads in pain at the enormity of the psychic backlash.

The Master had stirred.

Nightkin Warlord Sammel - West Virginia

Even as far away as they were from the Great One, Sammel felt the intense psychic stirring within his mind. Thankfully for mutants like him it was not overwhelming, merely an immensely painful headache that quickly subsided.

Others were not so lucky.

Sammel watched with indifference as the bloated Psyker mutant before him writhed and gurgled in the throws of absolute agony. Its cranium swelled and soon popped like an overfilled balloon sending gore and brain matter leaking into the dirt. The Master was clearly unhappy with his lieutenants' progress in the east. The Behemoth Lord’s advance had thus far been stalled at the Ohio by the guns of The Pitt, while Sammel’s own army had suffered a devastating attack by The Enclave - which had been followed up by relentless ambushes and guerrilla actions by the West Virginian natives. Only the Ghoul Eater, it seemed, had success in his objective of suffocating the Great Lakes.

Yet he himself, the mighty warlord that he was, had been spared The Master’s recent wrath - obviously The Great One thus did not blame him for The Enclave’s surprise assault. How was he to know, after all, that the humans were still capable of such feats of massed air power with those ancient vertibird craft? The failure had not been his, neither was it The Master’s of course, but someone else’s most assuredly. THAT mutant would soon be experiencing the absolutely zenith of possible pain that the Nightkin Warlord could inflict, as soon as he found them: or made them up.

Regardless now was not the time for dwelling on mistakes. Now was the time for action in The Master’s glorious name.

Sammel kicked aside the fallen Psyker and strode up to look over the hills of Appalachia. Pushing onto DC with his army in its current condition was out of the question - for now at least. He would need time to replenish his numbers, resupply and rearm, and most importantly devise a new strategy for taking out those damnable flying aircraft. He would pause here for the time being and sack the Appalachian towns and cities. Doing so would provide him new ghoul and mutant stock for his army, but would also serve the secondary objective of stopping the guerrilla raids on his forces. Which would be crucial before the eventual push to DC.

Morgantown, Charleston….one by one they would all fall.

Sammel ran a hand along where the shrapnel had embedded itself in his side during The Enclave attack. A piece of it still remained, a reminder of a debt that would need to be repaid to The Enclave. One way or another.

The Pitt

Cleveland

A lump formed in the back of O-Dog’s throat as he looked out over the mutant host that had now surrounded Cleveland. A sizable host of those damn blue mutants had appeared, almost out of nowhere, right within their back lines. How they had managed to slip past Vikia’s scouts, and what that meant for Vikia herself, was a big question. But the larger question now was what the fuck he was going to do.

He’d been expecting an attack eventually, but not of this size and not with the majority of The Pitt’s army deployed south at Ohio. Whatever it was that drove the mutants, led them or commanded them or just drove them on, it was more clever than they’d given it credit for. It -they- whatever-the-fuck it was, had cunning.

But O-Dog wasn’t without his own cards to play. Krenshaw had left him a small but tough-as-nails force to garrison the port. The Cleveland raiders were veterans of the Erie Stretch campaign - hardened and loyal fuckers all of em’. The mutants wouldn’t find an easy victory here - but they would find one eventually if he wasn't reinforced.

The grizzled raider commander turned to one of his officers, a raider woman in heavy metal armor,

“Send the last train out of here before they surround us. Get word to The Pitt. Let them know what’s happening and tell them to send whatever they can spare north - pronto. We’ll hold the city as long as we can. I’ll put a bullet in my brain before I surrender to these mutant psychos.”

Scribe Abaddon - The Pitt, Steelyard Supply Plant

Abaddon had worked tirelessly through the night. The old scribe fueled by a potent combination of chems, coffee, and sheer fucking spite to get The Institute’s device up and working as soon as possible. He hadn’t been completely irresponsible in its assembly - for all his faults the annoying Captain of The Guard did have a point - there was no telling WHAT precisely this thing would do exactly once it was turned on. Abaddon, at least, had ruled out any possibility of it being some sort of explosive device. Even an esoteric new kind of weapon would leave traces he could pick up on - things that would be obvious to anyone with even a basic grasp of pre and post-war weaponry. It had none of them.

This thing, whatever it was - was a transmitter at its core. Something meant to send and receive signals, nothing more. The overall technology at play here was still beyond him, but the fundamental principles behind them were certainly not.

When he was done, Abaddon hooked the device up to a dormant supply of power underneath The Steelyard and hoped for the best. He had received no signals before or since the package had arrived in Ashur Square so he assumed that The Institute was waiting for confirmation of this device’s activation before proceeding further.

Regardless of how or when it would do it, the device would undoubtedly ‘phone home’ once it was fully connected. That, he assumed, would be the signal.

With more trepidation than he was used to, Abaddon flipped the power switch and hoped for the best.

How Little We Know

The Pitt - Haven, Ashur Square

The appointed hour had come. Standing atop the steps of Haven Abaddon had been checking his old pre-war pocket watch constantly: it was now 12:55 - five minutes until the designated time that something was supposed to arrive. What that ‘something’ was exactly going to be was entirely unknown, but his hope was that the message sent in reply was an earnest one. No doubt The Institute had seen the attacks on both The Pitt and Enclave and knew the stakes. As the old saying went: United we stand….

“Abaddon - you mind telling me why I just cordoned off an entire section of Uptown?” Guard-Captain Harlock growled as he strode up to him in full armor. Abaddon had hoped to keep the perfidious young Captain of The Guard out of this, but it was ultimately futile: security of Haven fell squarely to him and his guardsmen. It was an annoying little detail that he hoped to be rid of one day.

“Don’t question me Harlock,” Abaddon sneered as he clicked the pocket watch closed, “You might be Lady Marie’s trusted guard-dog, but remember that I’ve served her family loyally since she was in diapers.”

“Can you at least give me a fucking idea of what’s about to happen then?”

Abaddon shook his head, “Noo…because I don’t even know myself. All I know is what was contained in the message sent to us. Something is coming. I have a rough idea of how it will be sent, but not what. ”

Behind him, Bone and her crew clutched at their weapons, their keen eyes trained on any possible movement. A number of snipers armed with Infiltrators had been perched in the nearby buildings, scopes zeroed in on Ashur square.

“You feel that?” Bone asked suddenly, voice unsteady. The blonde raider boss was clearly uneasy, “Like a charge in the air…”

“Just like a radstorm..” Captain Harlock added nervously, “Abaddon…”

“I don’t fucking know, just keep an eye out…” Abaddon reiterated, and he found his bony hand instinctively wrap around the double-barrel sawed-off holstered at his hip, “Electromagnetic energy…its starting…” He added.

Abaddon felt the few remaining wispy tips of his gray hair begin to stand on end. The energy in the atmosphere was unmistakable and powerful.

Suddenly there was a loud crack of energy which tore through the air in a bright blue flash. Abaddon and the raiders shielded their eyes from the bolt as it struck the ground. A faint burning ozone smell was left in the air, and cautiously Abaddon turned his head and reopened his eyes.

In the center of the square, mere footsteps away from the great steel statue of Lord Ashur sat a number of wood crates and a red metal footlocker in the exact spot the blue light had been seen. A few of Bone’s raider guards slowly began to approach the boxes with weapons raised.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!” Abaddon shouted as he quickly made his way down the steps of Haven, “None of your ingrates lay so much as a finger on any of those!”

The raiders dutifully backed off, and Abaddon approached the boxes, carefully and somewhat painfully, kneeling down next to them.

The old scribe took in an excited intake of breath and ran a finger along the top of the metal footlocker. To his surprise it wasn’t hot, it wasn’t even warm, and there was absolutely no visible damage. It was as if someone had gently dropped the boxes right at this spot.

“Incredible…” He mouthed, “Perfectly intact. Astounding…”

He opened the footlocker, examining the strange equipment within. All of it looked new and recently manufactured, unlike any pre-war tech he’d ever seen in his time within The Brotherhood or beyond.

A set of instructions and schematics appeared to be contained within, and he read through it quickly - growing more and more visibility excited with each passing second.

Finally he whipped his head around and pointed at Bone’s raider crew,

“Well? What are you idiots waiting for? Get over here and get this to my lab. Now! Come on come on, I haven’t got all night…”

“Hold it Abaddon,” Captain Harlock interrupted, striding forward with a number of his guardsmen at his back, “You’re not taking any of that shit into Haven. I won’t allow it.”

Abaddon stood up and sneered at the Captain of the Guard, “It's my prerogative what I bring or don’t bring into my laboratory, Captain.”

“Normally yes, but THAT is different,” Harlock retorted pointing to the boxes, “It all just appeared out of fucking nowhere and until you’ve studied it and can tell me with certainty that it ain’t just some kind of bomb….its going nowhere near Haven. Understood?”

Abaddon growled, “How dare you…Bone…get that equipment into my lab NOW!”

Harlock reached for the ripper at his side, drawing it forth. The guards following him did the same, drawing forth auto-axes and combat shotguns while more Haven guards began to approach from the direction of the gate - drawn by the sound of urgency in their Captain’s voice.

“Uh…Abbadon…” Bone hissed through gritted teeth as she studied the inscrutable faces of the heavily armored raider guards , “I know I owe you and all but…”

“This is ridiculous!” Abaddon sighed, throwing his hands up into the air, “Fine! Not to my lab. We’ll take it to the old plant in the Steelyard. Satisfied Captain?”

Harlock relaxed and his guardsmen all followed suit, lowering their weapons, “For now, yes - but my men will escort you through the utility tunnels all the way to the Steelyard. Agreed?”

“Fine! Fine!” Abaddon waved his hand dismissively at the Captain before turning back to Bone, “Well? Don't just stand there you fool! Get your crew moving! Let’s go!”

As Bone’s crew hastily moved towards the boxes, Abaddon flashed a glare towards the young Guard-Captain which Harlock gladly returned.

One day Harlock you’ll get yours, the old scribe thought hatefully.

How Little We Know

The Pitt

Abaddon - Abaddon’s Laboratory (Haven Lower Level)

HOLD THE FORT FOR WE ARE COMING. FIRST STAGE WILL BE DELIVERED TO AO AT 0500Z. RECOMMEND CLEARING SQUARE IN PREPARATION. INSTRUCTIONS INCLUDED. -YEARLING , C.

Abaddon studied the coded reply, a strong mixture of emotions - and more than a few recreational chems - swirling through his aged brain. Yearling: he hadn’t expected to see her name on the authorization signature. He’d greatly hoped that the insufferable bitch who had once been his superior in The Order of the Quill had met an ignominious end somewhere at the hands of Sutler’s goons, he would have gladly shook The Enclave dictator’s hand to thank him personally for that. Alas, it seemed Senior Scribe Charlotte Yearling had, most unfortunately, survived the fall of her order.

Charlotte had been one of many reasons why he’d turned Outcast. Rothschild’s promotion of the younger scribe over him had been egregious enough, but then having to deal with the arrogance of his former colleague as she lorded over him as Senior Scribe of The Quill had been too much to bear. It was the last straw that broke the camel’s back as it were, and so when he’d learned of The Pitt and Ashur’s army of raiders - Abbadon had seized an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Lord of The Pitt. He’d fled in the night and made his way north, never once looking back or second-guessing his decision to leave and pledge his service to Ishmael. It had been fortunately timed too as it was only days later The Enclave utterly routed The Brotherhood’s Knights at Adams.

His one and only regret was not being able to see the look on Charlotte’s face after she realized he’d ransacked The Archives. Copying everything and anything he could to serve as a bargaining chip with Ashur - one which had served him very, very well indeed. On the other hand though reprogramming that Sentry Bot to cause a little havoc in the A Wing had really just been for his own amusement.

He popped another round of Orange Mentats into his mouth and allowed the flavored chem to dissolve on his tongue. He felt the focused clarity wash over his body as his senses were enhanced and revitalized almost instantly. He loved the rush of mentats, they made him feel 30 years younger again each time he enjoyed them. That he was now utterly addicted to them now was a regrettable after-effect of his prolonged usage - but thankfully he was in one of the best places in the wasteland to indulge that particular vice.

The renewed focus from the Mentats pulled his attention back to the content of the message. What in Steel’s name could it mean? First stage to be delivered, clear the square? Was this some sort of prank or joke on the part of his old superior, perhaps something directed at him specifically? No that was impossible - Yearling couldn’t possibly know he was here and even if she did, that sort of behavior was certainly not in the dour Yearling’s repertoire.

Realization suddenly struck the old scribe, a dawning moment of clarity that no amount of mentats could possibly match.

“Unless….”

Frantically he stood up from his seat and shuffled over to the voluminous ancient stacks of crumbling books, old-pre war journals, and faded periodicals he’d been greedily collecting ever since he’d arrived here in The Pitt. He’d amassed a sizable library of pre-war literature, certainly one of the more extensive collections in the wastes . Every Pitt raider force that went out had standing orders to bring him any book or written scrap of information they happened upon no matter how minor or inconsequential it might seem to them. It was exactly one of those ‘inconsequential’ works he was looking for now.

His gnarled fingers flipped through a row of pre-war magazines, meticulously recorded and cataloged by himself. Dust and detritus flew into the air, causing him a coughing fit which forced him to pause his search momentarily.

Once he resumed, his pace increased frantically until he finally found what he was looking for:

“Tesla Science Magazine, Issue 218 - publishing date 2076…” He muttered with a relieved sighed, pulling apart the fragile pages with expert care.

He flipped through the worn magazine until landing on the article that had caught his attention when he’d first cataloged it - a piece from ‘Tom, Boston Mass.’

The Theoretical Science of Transport Over Long Distance via ‘Molecular Relay’

Abaddon devoured the article eagerly, pouring over its contents with several thorough readings. Established scientific ‘experts’ of the time had derided and mocked the article, even within the same issue, for what it contained and called the concepts described within it as ‘pure quackery’ but Abbadon knew better. The rumors of The Institute’s apparent ability to appear, and disappear, at will had fueled its shadowry reputation as The Commonwealth’s boogeyman - but perhaps they were not mere rumors after all.

“Incredible,” Abaddon excitedly muttered as he carried the article back into the lab, “They’ve figured it out - they’ve made Science Fiction into reality.”

Suddenly Abaddon snapped the magazine closed abruptly, and looked about his laboratory with paranoid suspicion. The implications of this technology was incredible...but also terrifying in its practical application. The Pitt would need to proceed cautiously…very cautiously indeed. Blind trust would get them nowhere - he would need to be sure.

He stole a glance over at the empty tin of mentats: for starters he’d certainly need more of those.

Abbadon walked over to the far corner of his lab, where his ‘research assistant’ had collapsed on the couch after an evening of chem-fuelled indulgence. A tall can of purified water sat nearby on the coffee table- which was otherwise covered with empty jet canisters, beer bottles, and cigarette butts. He picked up the water and splashed it on the half-naked raider woman’s face, immediately causing her to sit up and hurl a string of expletives at him.

“What the FUCK dude?”

“Get up Steph I have some actual work for you to do this time,” Abaddon chided as he handed her a hastily scribbled note, “Get dressed and give this to one of Lady Marie’s handmaids and then find Bone and tell her to bring me a full crew of her best raiders right fucking now. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

“Jeez fine fine, just let me…”

“NOW!” Abaddon barked.

“Okay! Shit Abbadon...dude...chill.”

“Oh! And that’s another thing...find your supplier, drag his ass out of whatever chem-den he's hiding in, and tell him to get me another goddamn crate of mentats within the hour, or I’ll have him and his whole crew tossed off the fucking bridge! Got it?”

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Don Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah

"I- In fact, many of our computers utilize the Unified Operating System, designed by Robert House!"

“Exactly,” Dominic said with a suggestive wink at Faye, “I need UOS experts, and who better than Vault Dwellers like yourselves?”

Dominic then listened calmly as Daniel raised his objections, or perhaps more accurately, concerns about the request. He let out a deep chuckle when the Vault Dweller had finished,

“HA! Now look at the cojones on Danny-boy here. Armed assaults on Securitrons - I like your guts my friend. I’m truly honored and appreciative of your willingness to fight for my family, that's a sincere mark of respect to us Omertas, but I assure you it won’t be necessary.”

Dominic leaned back in his chair and pulled out a finely decorated box of cigars. He offered one to Danny as well as the two sisters before carefully selecting one himself. He held it up as if he was plucking a prized flower, cut it, and placed it in his mouth before lighting it up.

A waft of smoke drew upwards in his office, appropriately christening this backroom deal just like he would any other transaction. Didn’t matter if it was selling guns or chems, hiring hot new ‘talent’ for Gomorrah, or orchestrating the fall of a faceless autocrat: every deal needed a cigar, or three, to be finalized.

“To your point Dany, no, if all goes well you won’t be putting any of your people in any kind of harm. I promise you. Think of yourselves only as….logistical support,” He said with a wide cigar-filled smile, “And if you help us, there’s a lot more in it for you than just water and soldiers. You’ll have a firm ally in Vegas, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the benefits that brings - think exclusive trade deals and your very own spot right here on the Strip for your company should you want it.”

“So I’ll ask one more time, are you up for it? Are you ready to make history in New Vegas with us?”

How Little We Know

The Pitt - Ohio River Crossing - Battle of The Ford

Mags Black

“Come on then you big green bastard! Get some!”

Thick mutant blood splattered across Mags’ face as her commander, Reddog, brought his heavy super-sledge down on the crippled mutant’s skull, shattering it into a ugly pulp before the green monster collapsed into the muddied ground of the Ohio River. She was nearly knocked down as the Pitt Raiders behind her surged up and out of their trenches, killing off the last wave of ferals and mutants that had managed to ford the river crossing. After the last of them had been brutally dispatched, the raiders retreated back behind the safety of their barricades to prepare for the next wave.

Mags gagged and retched as she wiped the foul smelling blood from her cheek; before rubbing her fingers clean against the chaps of her leather armor. The mutant’s blood didn’t even smell like a human’s - but like some kind of weird chemical shit. It was absolutely disgusting.

Reddog hopped down into the trench next to her, a grim look on his face,

“Hell they just keep coming,” He said through gritted teeth, pulling out a cigarette with his bloodied hands and lighting one up, “There ain’t no end to these assholes. It's just wave after fuckin’ wave.”

Mags slumped down against the trench wall, curling herself up and resting her head against her knees. Two full days on the front line had taken its toll on her and she felt her body starting to give out. The constant shelling, night attacks by ferals, and the always present sounds of FEV abominations wailing across the river reminding the raiders that there were yet more horrible things waiting to come: it was all too much.

“I’m so tired,” she moaned, “I can’t take this shit anymore.”

“We get rotated out to the back lines tomorrow,” Reddog growled, then roughly pulled Mags to her feet, “But until then, you fight like a soldier of Ashur damnit. Don’t be going weak on me bitch. You don’t wanna fight? Then the Foreman can always use more hands down in The Mill, I’d be happy to arrange that for you.”

Mags suddenly heard a shout and the crash of a limp body as one of the raiders lingering at the top of the trench was suddenly struck by a bullet and collapsed down in a heap. The sounds of gunfire echoed up and down the line, and the rear artillery batteries began opening up yet again.

“Another wave!” Someone shouted.

“Let’s fuckin’ go,” Reddog gritted his sharpened teeth and hefted up his super-sledged. He reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a syringe that he immediately injected into his arm. His eyes grew wide and his muscles pumped with whatever chem he’d just shot up with.

Mags shrunk back, clutching at her assault rifle like it was a childhood stuffed animal. She made up her mind there and then. The first chance she got - she was getting the hell out of here.

Lake Huron - Kingdom of Luth Ore Freighter “Ironheart”

Ellie de Blay stood upon the forward deck of the Ironheart as the large Great Lakes ore freighter plowed its way through the choppy waves of Lake Huron with ease. The rear coal-fired engine of the freighter sent great black plumes of smoke skyward as it churned the ship's propellers to full speed. Their haste was fully against the Captain’s wishes, the veteran mariner uncomfortable with pressing the vessel’s ancient engine so hard, but Ellie didn’t want to linger in these waters any longer than they needed to. With the outbreak of war, she needed to get back to Luth and inform her father what was happening in the south - and if the rumors were true mutants were already infesting the great lakes. She was quickly running out of time.

Her father’s partnership with The Pitt had been a fruitful one - wealth and weapons flowed from The Pitt back to Luth in exchange for the great quantity of Iron Ore than the Kingdom took from its mines at Hibbing. The exchange made sense, and mimicked the shipping routes of old that had once traversed the lakes to Clevand before the war.

Ellie’s concern now though was that it was this very same lucrative partnership that could make Luth the target of the mutant army. If The Pitt’s supply of ore could be severed, it could cripple their ability to make war in the long term. Luth’s army, the Sons of Iron, was an elite group of heavily armored warriors - but relatively small in number compared to places like The Pitt or Ronto. They were equipped to fight off tribals and smugglers - not wage total war.

A bosun’s whistle sounded from the raised pilothouse above her, and Ellie looked back to see the frantic motions of a lookout pointing towards something off in the distance,

“Starboard side! Its coming in fast!” She heard him shout.

Ellie immediately directed her gaze out to where the lookout was pointing, straining her eyes to see a small object approaching them from the distance - and rapidly closing. She motioned for one the nearby sailors to bring her a pair of binoculars, and when they did she focused in on the unknown object.

It was a small ship, a pre-war sport boat of some kind, and it looked to have had its engine heavily modified to push its speed well past what it was designed for. A mutant was steering the craft, its body wrapped in heavy chains and with strange symbols painted in red all over its body like an odd form of tattoo.

Ellie’s mouth fell open in horror as she saw what was piled around the mutant. She’d been around the Hibbing mines enough to recognize makeshift explosives when she saw them.

“Sound the alarm!” She shrieked, “All hands on deck! Open fire on that craft!”

The deck of the Ironheart became a buzz of activity as the Luthine marines aboard the ship manned their posts, aiming down the sights of their rifles and directing mounted swivel guns towards the approaching vessel. The waters of Lake Huron were lit up with an untold number of bullets, but the mutant suicider was quick and nimble as it closed the distance, while some sort of heavy plating protected its operator from any shots that found their mark.

Ellie’s heart sank as the ship drew closer, and she fully believed she was about to go down with the Ironheart and all crew aboard - until one of the marines brought up a missile launcher and aimed it downrange.

By luck or a steady hand, the missile hit home and triggered the explosives onboard the small ship. A massive explosion followed, violently shaking the Ironheart and sending Ellie flying to the deck behind her. Bits and pieces of shrapnel embedded in the explosives ripped through the hull and killed several of the unlucky Luthine sailors caught out in the open.

With ears ringing and unsteady feet, Ellie stood up back up and looked out at the empty smoke-covered water where the craft had been vaporized. It was completely gone, having been packed with enough explosives to level half a city.

“Get us out of here!” Ellie called up to the helmsman, her eyes filled with fear, “We need to make for Whitefish Point and radio Luth for help!”

Suddenly Ellie felt her legs give way underneath her, and she looked down to see a piece of shrapnel embedded in her thigh - shock and adrenaline having allowed her to ignore it until now. The last thing she saw before she passed out were a group of sailors rushing to her aid.

How Little We Know

The Pitt - Haven

High within the palace of Haven, Marie looked to the hastily assembled war-council before her consisting of Scribe Abbadon, Guard-Captain Harlock, and High-Priestess Lulu. Abbadon had been in constant communication the front along the Ohio and had been relaying back updates from Krenshaw’s forward command center. The line was holding, that much was clear, but for how long was completely unknown. The full complement of the mutant’s force had not yet been deployed, and how much of their strength they were holding in reserves was still very much in question.

But there was other good news to be had as well, and it was very welcome indeed.

Abaddon handed her the report, hand delivered from a courier direct from DC - the letterhead stamped with the Enclave’s seal. Marie read through it, unable to contain a small smile spreading across her face as she read through the summarized after-action report. Enclave aircraft had launched a massively successful surprise attack on the southern mutant column, and had dealt them a severe blow.

“Write back and address Supreme Commander Sutler directly,” Marie told Abbadon as she handed the report back to him, “Thank him for his soldier’s valor and congratulate him on their victory.”

“Of course my lady….” Abbadon replied with a respectful nod, “Though it may be a wasted sentiment. Sutler cares little for the opinions of anyone he considers non-human. Ourselves included.”

“A blasphemous view…” Lulu added cryptically.

“Maybe he’ll reconsider his view of humanity now that ten foot tall monsters are beating down his fucking door,” Captain Harlock sneered.

“My father once told me leaders speak in a language no-one else understands…,” Marie offered, folding her hands against the table they were all sitting around, “This is Sutler’s way of extending an olive branch to us, temporary or not, he’s looking for mutual cooperation against a larger threat. He wants an alliance.”

Abaddon rapped his bony fingers against the table, his wrinkled features contorted in annoyance, “The idea of working with The Enclave is…unpleasant…but I do have to admit that their technology is almost unparalleled in the wastes… and having air domination is nothing to sneeze at either.”

Lulu spoke up, the black-haired raider-priestess leaning her skull-topped totem against her shoulder,

“Lulu has heard tales from among the Children of Atom preachers that were driven out of Enclave territory - coming to The Holy Pitt for Sanctuary. They tell of great persecution at the hands of this…Sutler…any who do not bow to his great temple of old America are made examples of.”

“And how are we any different?” Captain Harlock countered, “Lulu how many of those same preachers did you have tossed in the Allegheny when they first began to arrive?”

A smile wormed across Lulu’s face, “Many. But that was due to…misunderstandings. We believed them to be heretics who denied the Godhood of Our Lady…however they are merely misguided. Like children lost in the dark, they need to be taken by the hand and led to the light…”

“My point,” Harlock interrupted, holding up a hand to prevent the high-priestess from launching into yet another sermon, “Is that The Enclave has their way of keeping control….and we got ours. Besides we’ve been trading steel and slaves with them for how long now? Organizing a proper fucking military response with them seems a completely reasonable step to take.”

“I’m loathe to admit it…but the Captain is right,” Abaddon sighed, “We should meet with Sutler. Formalize some sort of binding treaty to ensure that for however long this war goes on, we can rely on some sort of cooperation between our forces that's in both our interests. I would, however, go one step further…if I may…”

“Go on,” Marie urged, curious where the old scribe was going to go with this.

“The Enclave should not be the only group we establish formal communication with. Back when I was a member of The Brotherhood of Steel there were rumors of a secret society of scientists up north - a place called ‘The Institute. There was even an instance of their members visiting The Capital Wasteland at one point, traveling to what was then a prominent settlement allied to The Brotherhood.”

“I’ve heard of em’” Harlock nodded, “We’ve got vassal gangs that used to hit The Commonwealth region - before they were driven out. Always used to talk about them like they were fucking boogeymen.”

“I assure you they are real, and I have a very strong hunch that ex-members of The Brotherhood of Steel are among their ranks now,” Abbadon continued, “Brothers and Sisters who fled following the debacle at Adams Air Force Base.”

Harlock frowned, “And you think they’ll be willing to join in the war?”

“Do they really have a choice? Any alliance we form with either The Enclave or The Institute will be one of convenience anyway, nothing more, and for right now that needs to be enough for everyone involved.”

Marie stood up from the table, walking over to one of the many windows that looked out over The Pitt and its perpetual amber-hued skyline. Soot and grime crept in from the edges of the windows, forming a cloudy film across it.

She turned back to face her advisors,

“Abbadon, do you know of a way to contact them?”

“Directly? No. I don’t know if anyone in the wasteland does. But I have an idea - if we could get one of the tributary gangs that Harlock mentioned to broadcast a signal…I might be able to pique their interest. There were a number of coded distress signals used by Lyon’s Chapter of The Brotherhood back in DC. I could code one for a request for assistance against a mutant attack on a Brotherhood position - Pittsburgh of course - and sign the transmission with the authorization of a ranking Brotherhood member.”

Harlock raised an eyebrow, “Whose?”

Abbadon smiled, nodding towards Marie, “Paladin Ishmael Ashur of course. I’d use my own…but I didn’t exactly leave the Citadel on good terms, or rather, any terms that don’t involve a wall and a firing squad...probably best just to leave me out of it.”

Harlock sighed, “How do you know if any Brotherhood members in The Institute will even get the damn message?”

“I don’t, but I’d wager The Institute monitors any and all radio transmissions within a hundred miles of Boston…and knows the radio signature of a Brotherhood broadcast all too well. And anyone, or anything, listening in on the frequency that isn’t Eastern Brotherhood isn’t going to have a god-damn clue who’s trying to contact who and why - which, since we’re at war, seems like something we might want to consider, or am I wrong?”

Marie spoke up, halting any further debate,

“Get it done Abaddon and send the reply to Sutler as we agreed, informing him that we wish to meet to discuss joint-action against the mutants. We’ll see where things go from there.”