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Issac Jabsco - Talon Company, Enclave Operative Designation “ORION”
The Commonwealth
Issac’s long journey north was finally coming to an end. The broken highway beneath him had given way to wet marshlands some time ago, and it had been an increasingly difficult slog to make his way through the terrain of the southern Commonwealth. Wading through the disease-ridden quagmire had been bad enough, but evading the numerous mutated abominations that called it home had made it nigh intolerable. He’d seen more than enough Bloodbugs to last him a lifetime. If it wasn’t for the accompaniment of his Mr. Gusty escorts and a hazmat suit he doubted that he’d have made it.
Certainly marking that down as a potential obstacle for any military operations or trade missions here. Enclave ecological data needs a major update. He thought.
Issac had taken a rest tucked inside of a rocky outcropping, where at least he’d have solid ground to lay on while he waited for the scout he’d sent out to return. The three Mr. Gusty units that carried his supplies and now helped guard his position were spread out in the corners of the outcropping’s perimeter. The military robots, supplied by The Enclave, hovered motionless above the bog, silently scanning the area for signs of hostile life. Issac had come to rely heavily on the bots throughout the trek since they provided him much needed additional security and, at the same time, served as adequate pack mules.
Before long a soft electronic hum could be heard, and a floating eyebot meandered back to the makeshift shelter looking no worse for wear. Issac quickly pulled forth a pip-boy from a waterproof bag strapped to one of the Gutsy units and plugged it into the floating scout.
“Poseidon Energy...excellent,” Issac mumbled as he shifted through the data, “It’s perfect….just what I was looking for.”
----------------------
En route to the Poseidon Energy plant that the eyebot had identified, Issac took stock of his situation. In his time in Talon Company, he’d performed all manner and stripe of jobs: hits on well protected warlords and kingpins, sabotage, and espionage...he’d made himself a name in certain circles for being able to pull things off that most mercenaries would balk at. Yet despite this, it was his older brother, Joseph Jabsco, that had taken the reigns of power in the organization, eventually becoming Talon Company’s Commanding Officer. When that had happened, Issac had redoubled his efforts, performing nigh suicidal actions that made him the most sought after mercenary in the Capital Wastes. While he’d made quite a name for himself all on his own, he never quite managed to bring himself out from behind his brother’s shadow. And when Joseph was killed in action, Issac was passed up for the Commanding role.
It was shortly after that when The Enclave had rolled their gargantuan mobile base crawler to Megaton. In spite of the collective hopes of the region’s populace, The Brotherhood had finally been defeated at whatever climatic battle had heralded the end of the war. The Enclave had emerged triumphant, and The Capital Wasteland swiftly fell under their thumb.
Issac knew when he saw the base crawler which horse he intended to back. The Enclave had shown their technological and military might to any potential challenger and it was clear they were dominant over all. Through this Issac also saw a potential ticket to power of his own. He knew that despite their victory, The Enclave had been weakened by The Brotherhood and they’d no doubt have need of men such as himself: guns for hire willing to ply their skills to the highest bidder. He was right, they paid him well for his skill set and he’d netted himself a substantial sum of caps, weapons, chems, and ammo. His ill-gotten gains hardly appeased his appetite however, and he craved more. He wished for the one thing he yet been able to attain: citizenship.
Above all else, Issac wanted to join The Enclave as a full member and be given an officer’s commission. It was a lofty goal, to be sure. Issac was no fool, he understood that The Enclave looked down on wastelanders and very rarely hid that disdain. That feeling seemed particularly true for Supreme Commander Sutler. Yet he was certain if he proved his worth an exception might be made. Such a reward would indeed give him the prestige and power he craved so deeply. Visions swirled in his head of him being placed in command of Talon Company, lording over even The Commander and able to do as he saw fit with them. Perhaps, in time, he’d earn even greater accolades.
Yet there was much to do before he could hope to achieve such a prize. First thing first was to complete this current objective. He knew the lengths to which Supreme Commander Sutler would go for vengeance, and it seemed the best way to ingratiate himself with the Enclave leader. Bringing him the heads, or better yet still living bodies, of those who had wronged the Supreme Commander so deeply might just be enough to win Sutler’s gratitude, and in turn, perhaps his favor. That was the very reason he’d journeyed this far north to The Commonwealth. For one of the most sought after targets of Sutler’s was here.
The looming concrete facade of the Poseidon Energy plant finally came into view as Issac crested a small hillock. As the data had suggested, it was an excellent location from which he might start a forward operating base. Practical, defensible, well-intact with a large parking lot out front to provide a serviceable area for a potential vertibird landing, which if he succeeded in his mission would no doubt be required. It was also, surprisingly, uninhabited which Issac thought noteworthy given his own appraisal of the plant’s usefulness. It had to have been occupied at some point in the recent past.
His suspicions were confirmed when he stepped inside the plant’s doors and found evidence of human remains scattered about and clear signs of a struggle.
“Burnt clothing and bones,” He said, picking through the remnants, “Scorch marks on the walls….likely killed with laser weaponry.” His eyes then caught sight of something else on the ground, a metallic skeletal frame unlike anything he’d seen before.
“Synths,” He said, and drew his 10mm from its holster.
“Voice command module active, confirm,” Issac turned to the Gutsy bots behind him.
“Confirmed,” One of the Gutsy’s replied, “Ready for orders sir.”
“Sweep the building. Fall back if hostiles are encountered. Do NOT engage.”
“Well I guess it's the commies lucky day then! We’ll hold off on sending them to meet their maker for now!” With that the Gutsy units enthusiastically began clearing the plant room by room.
He doubted there were any Synths still lingering around, but if there was, he did not intend to commit to combat with them. He’d retreat if it came to that. From what he understood, The Institute wasn’t likely to just overlook an attack on their property without investigation.
“Don’t need to draw attention to myself this soon,” Issac muttered, and he followed the Gutsy bots deeper in to the building.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A couple hours later and the sweep was complete, there wasn’t much left in the plant but at least it was fully secure. Issac setup a temporary camp inside one of the pre-war offices and set his robots to guard the immediate area. He’d barricaded the front doors as well, and was confident that if anyone came sniffing around, he’d have adequate warning. For good measure, he’d set the eyebot to patrol the facility while he slept.
Before he laid down for the night however, Issac pulled a cylindrical object out of his backpack and set it down. He extended the object’s folded up tripod legs and then pulled the cylinder outwards to form a long antenna. With the press of a button on the base, a small dish expanded around the tip. That done, Issac plugged his pip-boy into the now fully extended portable deep range transmitter. The transmitter was an invaluable tool that he’d been given from his Enclave contact and apparently Sutler himself had approved its use in the field for the operation. It enabled a direct encrypted connection to EnclaveNet even from a great distance.
Issac logged his progress,
“<ESTABLISHED FOB IN COMMONWEALTH. TRANSMITTING COORDINATES AND SURVEILLANCE DATA. MISSION PROCEEDING AS PLANNED SUPREME COMMANDER.>”
The Commonwealth
Issac’s long journey north was finally coming to an end. The broken highway beneath him had given way to wet marshlands some time ago, and it had been an increasingly difficult slog to make his way through the terrain of the southern Commonwealth. Wading through the disease-ridden quagmire had been bad enough, but evading the numerous mutated abominations that called it home had made it nigh intolerable. He’d seen more than enough Bloodbugs to last him a lifetime. If it wasn’t for the accompaniment of his Mr. Gusty escorts and a hazmat suit he doubted that he’d have made it.
Certainly marking that down as a potential obstacle for any military operations or trade missions here. Enclave ecological data needs a major update. He thought.
Issac had taken a rest tucked inside of a rocky outcropping, where at least he’d have solid ground to lay on while he waited for the scout he’d sent out to return. The three Mr. Gusty units that carried his supplies and now helped guard his position were spread out in the corners of the outcropping’s perimeter. The military robots, supplied by The Enclave, hovered motionless above the bog, silently scanning the area for signs of hostile life. Issac had come to rely heavily on the bots throughout the trek since they provided him much needed additional security and, at the same time, served as adequate pack mules.
Before long a soft electronic hum could be heard, and a floating eyebot meandered back to the makeshift shelter looking no worse for wear. Issac quickly pulled forth a pip-boy from a waterproof bag strapped to one of the Gutsy units and plugged it into the floating scout.
“Poseidon Energy...excellent,” Issac mumbled as he shifted through the data, “It’s perfect….just what I was looking for.”
----------------------
En route to the Poseidon Energy plant that the eyebot had identified, Issac took stock of his situation. In his time in Talon Company, he’d performed all manner and stripe of jobs: hits on well protected warlords and kingpins, sabotage, and espionage...he’d made himself a name in certain circles for being able to pull things off that most mercenaries would balk at. Yet despite this, it was his older brother, Joseph Jabsco, that had taken the reigns of power in the organization, eventually becoming Talon Company’s Commanding Officer. When that had happened, Issac had redoubled his efforts, performing nigh suicidal actions that made him the most sought after mercenary in the Capital Wastes. While he’d made quite a name for himself all on his own, he never quite managed to bring himself out from behind his brother’s shadow. And when Joseph was killed in action, Issac was passed up for the Commanding role.
It was shortly after that when The Enclave had rolled their gargantuan mobile base crawler to Megaton. In spite of the collective hopes of the region’s populace, The Brotherhood had finally been defeated at whatever climatic battle had heralded the end of the war. The Enclave had emerged triumphant, and The Capital Wasteland swiftly fell under their thumb.
Issac knew when he saw the base crawler which horse he intended to back. The Enclave had shown their technological and military might to any potential challenger and it was clear they were dominant over all. Through this Issac also saw a potential ticket to power of his own. He knew that despite their victory, The Enclave had been weakened by The Brotherhood and they’d no doubt have need of men such as himself: guns for hire willing to ply their skills to the highest bidder. He was right, they paid him well for his skill set and he’d netted himself a substantial sum of caps, weapons, chems, and ammo. His ill-gotten gains hardly appeased his appetite however, and he craved more. He wished for the one thing he yet been able to attain: citizenship.
Above all else, Issac wanted to join The Enclave as a full member and be given an officer’s commission. It was a lofty goal, to be sure. Issac was no fool, he understood that The Enclave looked down on wastelanders and very rarely hid that disdain. That feeling seemed particularly true for Supreme Commander Sutler. Yet he was certain if he proved his worth an exception might be made. Such a reward would indeed give him the prestige and power he craved so deeply. Visions swirled in his head of him being placed in command of Talon Company, lording over even The Commander and able to do as he saw fit with them. Perhaps, in time, he’d earn even greater accolades.
Yet there was much to do before he could hope to achieve such a prize. First thing first was to complete this current objective. He knew the lengths to which Supreme Commander Sutler would go for vengeance, and it seemed the best way to ingratiate himself with the Enclave leader. Bringing him the heads, or better yet still living bodies, of those who had wronged the Supreme Commander so deeply might just be enough to win Sutler’s gratitude, and in turn, perhaps his favor. That was the very reason he’d journeyed this far north to The Commonwealth. For one of the most sought after targets of Sutler’s was here.
The looming concrete facade of the Poseidon Energy plant finally came into view as Issac crested a small hillock. As the data had suggested, it was an excellent location from which he might start a forward operating base. Practical, defensible, well-intact with a large parking lot out front to provide a serviceable area for a potential vertibird landing, which if he succeeded in his mission would no doubt be required. It was also, surprisingly, uninhabited which Issac thought noteworthy given his own appraisal of the plant’s usefulness. It had to have been occupied at some point in the recent past.
His suspicions were confirmed when he stepped inside the plant’s doors and found evidence of human remains scattered about and clear signs of a struggle.
“Burnt clothing and bones,” He said, picking through the remnants, “Scorch marks on the walls….likely killed with laser weaponry.” His eyes then caught sight of something else on the ground, a metallic skeletal frame unlike anything he’d seen before.
“Synths,” He said, and drew his 10mm from its holster.
“Voice command module active, confirm,” Issac turned to the Gutsy bots behind him.
“Confirmed,” One of the Gutsy’s replied, “Ready for orders sir.”
“Sweep the building. Fall back if hostiles are encountered. Do NOT engage.”
“Well I guess it's the commies lucky day then! We’ll hold off on sending them to meet their maker for now!” With that the Gutsy units enthusiastically began clearing the plant room by room.
He doubted there were any Synths still lingering around, but if there was, he did not intend to commit to combat with them. He’d retreat if it came to that. From what he understood, The Institute wasn’t likely to just overlook an attack on their property without investigation.
“Don’t need to draw attention to myself this soon,” Issac muttered, and he followed the Gutsy bots deeper in to the building.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A couple hours later and the sweep was complete, there wasn’t much left in the plant but at least it was fully secure. Issac setup a temporary camp inside one of the pre-war offices and set his robots to guard the immediate area. He’d barricaded the front doors as well, and was confident that if anyone came sniffing around, he’d have adequate warning. For good measure, he’d set the eyebot to patrol the facility while he slept.
Before he laid down for the night however, Issac pulled a cylindrical object out of his backpack and set it down. He extended the object’s folded up tripod legs and then pulled the cylinder outwards to form a long antenna. With the press of a button on the base, a small dish expanded around the tip. That done, Issac plugged his pip-boy into the now fully extended portable deep range transmitter. The transmitter was an invaluable tool that he’d been given from his Enclave contact and apparently Sutler himself had approved its use in the field for the operation. It enabled a direct encrypted connection to EnclaveNet even from a great distance.
Issac logged his progress,
“<ESTABLISHED FOB IN COMMONWEALTH. TRANSMITTING COORDINATES AND SURVEILLANCE DATA. MISSION PROCEEDING AS PLANNED SUPREME COMMANDER.>”
The Institute - Concourse Elevator
Dr. Xavier Morales eyed The Director of The Institute carefully as she strode down from the Advanced Systems lab towards him. Every step she took seemed to his mind to be laced with arrogance and pride. She felt superior to her colleagues in every manner not the least of which was intellect. She’d made little effort to hide these feelings even before she’d ascended to the Directorship, but now it was plain enough that even a child could see it on her face. Xavier despised her every move, her every word, but there was nothing he could do about that self-satisfied smug smile. Not yet anyway.
Walking alongside Director Madison Li were her ‘bodyguards’ which consisted of a trio of heavily armed and armored Gen-2 Synths that escorted her nearly everywhere she went within The Institute and beyond. They were clad head to toe in heavy Synth armor that had been painted a dark shade of blue for recognition and armed with modified Institute rifles. The armor itself was some advanced composite alloy that had just come out of Advanced Systems research that hadn’t yet made its way into full production. What little documentation Xavier had come across coupled with hearsay from a source he had within the lab indicated the armor was significantly stronger than the current model and was highly resistant to laser and ballistic weaponry. Madison hadn’t yet approved it for full use and it seemed unlikely that she would in the near future. She no doubt wanted to keep that sort of research strictly controlled or worse yet….only send it to the surface.
Xavier scoffed at the notion of some rag-tag farmer from The Commonwealth, a Minuteman, being clad in Institute military gear. On the face of it it’d be an amusing sight and would likely provide some valuable test data in live fire activities if nothing else. But the thought of what might come next was more harrowing, how long before Madison wanted every technology The Institute developed to be shared with those above ground? How long until The Institute was merely the research wing of a nation that strictly controlled and regulated them? How long before they were forced out of their home and up top to live amongst the monstrosities and misery of the wasteland?
He shuddered. No, that would not happen.
Madison approached him, no hint of a smile anywhere on her sullen face,
“Dr. Morales, I received your intel report. Overall it was satisfactory. A little less speculation on your part would be appreciated. When I ask for what the SSIB has on a particular location, I’m not looking for your personal thoughts.”
“Apologies Director,” Xavier replied, mustering up as much contrition as he could, “I’m afraid our pre-war archives are incomplete in this regard. I was able to turn up a number of references to the facility in military correspondence but unable to determine specifics as to the research and project goals.”
“Then that’s all you need to say. I don’t care to read three pages of fluff on things you have no hard data for.”
“Again, my apologies. I simply wanted to give you as wide a range of information as possible.”
“Hmmph. Indeed.” Madison stepped into the spiral elevator along with the three Synths.
“Anything I can assist with while you are on the surface Director?” Xavier asked, forcing a cheerful smile.
“Continue all current monitoring operations and give me a summary of it when I return. In other words, do your job...and that’ll be enough.”
“Of course Director, have a safe trip to the surface.”
With that one of the synths pressed a button and the door to the elevator closed, and it swiftly began ascending up through The Institute and towards the molecular relay control room. Once Madison and her synths passed through the upper ceiling layer, Xavier’s face dropped to a snarl.
“Speculation? If she had half the brain she thinks she does it’d be clear that my ‘speculation’ was based on reasonable inference and deduction. Hardly irrelevant.” He muttered, “Watch yourself you ungrateful…”
Xavier stopped himself and looked around. There was no-one in sight in the Concourse thankfully, owing to the early hour no doubt, but he chastised himself none-the-less for allowing his emotions to get the better of him. He knew better than most that it was best never to assume that there was no-one watching. All it took was a single slip-up and he could wind up exiled. What use would he be then?
Always polite, always dutiful. Always supportive of The Director. That’s who I am here. Remember. He thought, and walked away.
Diamond City - Council Chamber (Diamond City Mayor’s Office)
Mayor Becky Fallon rode the lift up to her office within Diamond City. Although nowadays with the formation of the CPG, it was hardly just ‘her’ office anymore. The Commonwealth Provisional Government Council met inside what used to be the Mayor’s personal office, while she herself had moved the Diamond City Mayoral office to one of the back rooms that McDonough had outfitted for his living space. Seeing as how she wasn’t going to be living here at all but instead would remain at her old house inside her ‘Fallon’s Basement’ shop, that new arrangement suited her just fine.
Becky stepped off the platform and strode up to the double doors leading to the Council chamber, she paused only a moment to adjust her dress suit and then opened them. As she’d expected, Madison Li was already seated with her Synth security detail fanned out around behind her.
“Director Li..” Becky said simply as she took her seat.
“Mayor Fallon..” Madison replied.
The pair sat in silence for a few moments, with Becky desperately wishing she was somewhere else. Her and Li always had a tough time conversing when it was only the two of them, and neither was particularly interested in much other than the business at hand. Fortunately Becky didn’t have to wait long before the rest of the Council began to trickle in.
The next to arrive was Kessler, leader of the Bunker Hill Caravaners,
“Glad I’m not late, I should hope we can wrap this up before too long. I need to get back to the Hill.”
“I’m not expecting a long meeting,” Li said, “Provided of course we don’t have unnecessary debate.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Becky added, eyeing Kessler. She knew full well it was Kessler who would likely be the primary opposition to what she assumed would be the wider Council opinion. The Caraveners had been some of the worst affected by The Mechanist’s rampage after all. Nothing less than the Mechanist’s head on a spike would probably convince them.
Kesller ignored the comments directed towards her and took her seat. Within a few minutes both Wiseman and General Ronnie Shaw of The Minutemen arrived at the council room. Ronnie sat down in her usual gruff manner without a word while Wiseman gave up his usual niceties,
“How’s everyone doing today?” Wiseman smiled broadly, “I think The Slog is going to have its largest crop of tarberries yet this….”
“Gunners on the move again. Lost an entire patrol squad last night to an ambush. Found their heads lined up nice and neat on a fence post outside Quincy,” Ronnie interrupted as she lit up a cigarette, “So my morning hasn’t exactly been peachy Wiseman.”
Wiseman’s smile immediately evaporated, “I’m...sorry to hear that.”
“General Shaw, could you refrain from smoking in the Council chambers?” Dr. Li asked.
“I could,” Ronnie replied.
“Ronnie…” Becky chastised as she glared at The Minutemen General.
“Fine,” Ronnie let the cigarette slip from her fingers and fall to the ground, where she promptly stomped it out, “Can we get started talking about this Mechanist then?”
“Yes...I received an intel report on the location mentioned in the holotape…” Li began.
“Director Li, not all members are present currently.” Becky interjected.
Li furrowed her brow, “Oh yes of course...my mistake. We’ll have to wait until Val...Mr. Valentine arrives I suppose.”
“No need,” Came a voice from the doorway, the Synth Detective entered the council chambers and removed his hat, placing it on the table in front of an empty seat, “Sorry for being tardy. I needed to stop by the office after I arrived back from Sanctuary this morning. It's doing well by the way.”
“Good. Then we can officially begin,” Li continued, “As I was saying, I received an intel report on the location specified by the holotape: The Robco Sales and Service Center. Information on the facility is scant at best but aside from the obvious front of being a robotics shop, we’ve found references in pre-war military correspondence pointing to the location as holding some sort of Department of the Army research lab: likely a black site of some sort given the senior level of the communique we uncovered.”
“So what were they doing down there, just creating killer bots?” Ronnie asked.
“That’s unknown at the moment but...yes some variation of that.” Li replied.
“I don’t suppose CIT was involved at all in this project was it?” Nick asked with an eye towards Dr. Li, “Natural to guess they might have been given the robotics angle.”
“No,” Li said firmly, “We extensively searched The Institute’s pre-war databanks for any connection to the Commonwealth Institute of Technology: student and graduate files, faculty and staff correspondence etc. We even searched through old career center postings at the University. Nothing. It's not impossible of course that some CIT students or graduates were working within the lab, I’d even go so far as to say it's likely, but if that’s the case there was no direct partnership with the University itself. Our pre-war records for CIT are virtually complete so I have no reason to suspect that we may have missing or corrupted data on this: it simply doesn’t exist.”
Nick sat back in his seat and folded his arms, “So, a hidden lab capable of building a literal army of murder-bots underneath a RobCo shop in Boston eh? Sounds like quite the mystery.”
“So what are we going to do about it then? We’re not seriously considering allowing this Mechanist to go free are we?” Kessler interrupted.
“Not free, no,” Becky said sternly, “Never free. I believe what this ‘Isabel’ girl says in that what she did was an accident, I truly do. She sounded genuine and indeed heartbroken that her actions caused so much death, and the robot attacks have ceased…” Becky paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, “But her actions are still inexcusable. Accident or not. She needs to face judgement in some manner.”
“Agreed,” Wiseman nodded, “She needs to answer for her crimes. I lost a good friend to one of those attacks.”
“I lost a lot more than that,” Kessler snapped, “I want her hanged.”
“We’re not going to execute her,” Dr. Li said firmly, “Get over it. If her holotape is correct, then she’s too valuable to simply be made an example of. Let her serve her sentence in other ways.”
“Like what exactly?” Ronnie raised an eyebrow.
“She has access to a massive trove of data and information within that facility. And she is likely very intelligent, a veritable genius in fact, if she was able to repair and restart production within the facility on her own. If she truly is genuine in her confession of guilt and remorse….then let's put her to work. Let her help to repair the damage she’s done by giving back to The Commonwealth.”
“I agree,” Nick said with a nod, “No need to kill her. She made a mistake, a massive one no doubt, but she had good intentions. We don’t need to string her up like a common criminal.”
“Let's make sure that’s the case then,” Kessler said, “I want to speak with her myself and see if I believe her. Send someone to the Sales Center and put her under arrest.”
“Fine. I’m not opposed to ensuring that she’s not going to cause further problems,” Li replied, “I propose we send a team to venture down into the lab and meet The Mechanist.”
“No Synths,” Ronnie grumbled, “None of your scientists either.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest it,” Li replied, “Instead my suggestion is that we send MacCready, a few Minutemen, and perhaps one of your people Kessler.”
“I’d like to go as well,” Nick said piping up, “Or would I be excluded under that ‘no-synth’ rule of yours?” He looked to Ronnie with a sly grin.
“Nah….guess I’ll make an exception in your case Detective.”
“Agreed.” Li said, “Any objections?”
The room was silent and Wiseman and Becky shook their heads in response,
“One condition,” Kessler said, “I want to interview her, alone, when she’s brought back. If I’m granted that, I’ll agree.”
Li nodded, “If that’s what it’ll take, I have no objections to that Kessler. Very well then, we’ve reached an accord. Let’s begin moving on this quickly, I want the team ready to go by tomorrow.”
Dr. Xavier Morales eyed The Director of The Institute carefully as she strode down from the Advanced Systems lab towards him. Every step she took seemed to his mind to be laced with arrogance and pride. She felt superior to her colleagues in every manner not the least of which was intellect. She’d made little effort to hide these feelings even before she’d ascended to the Directorship, but now it was plain enough that even a child could see it on her face. Xavier despised her every move, her every word, but there was nothing he could do about that self-satisfied smug smile. Not yet anyway.
Walking alongside Director Madison Li were her ‘bodyguards’ which consisted of a trio of heavily armed and armored Gen-2 Synths that escorted her nearly everywhere she went within The Institute and beyond. They were clad head to toe in heavy Synth armor that had been painted a dark shade of blue for recognition and armed with modified Institute rifles. The armor itself was some advanced composite alloy that had just come out of Advanced Systems research that hadn’t yet made its way into full production. What little documentation Xavier had come across coupled with hearsay from a source he had within the lab indicated the armor was significantly stronger than the current model and was highly resistant to laser and ballistic weaponry. Madison hadn’t yet approved it for full use and it seemed unlikely that she would in the near future. She no doubt wanted to keep that sort of research strictly controlled or worse yet….only send it to the surface.
Xavier scoffed at the notion of some rag-tag farmer from The Commonwealth, a Minuteman, being clad in Institute military gear. On the face of it it’d be an amusing sight and would likely provide some valuable test data in live fire activities if nothing else. But the thought of what might come next was more harrowing, how long before Madison wanted every technology The Institute developed to be shared with those above ground? How long until The Institute was merely the research wing of a nation that strictly controlled and regulated them? How long before they were forced out of their home and up top to live amongst the monstrosities and misery of the wasteland?
He shuddered. No, that would not happen.
Madison approached him, no hint of a smile anywhere on her sullen face,
“Dr. Morales, I received your intel report. Overall it was satisfactory. A little less speculation on your part would be appreciated. When I ask for what the SSIB has on a particular location, I’m not looking for your personal thoughts.”
“Apologies Director,” Xavier replied, mustering up as much contrition as he could, “I’m afraid our pre-war archives are incomplete in this regard. I was able to turn up a number of references to the facility in military correspondence but unable to determine specifics as to the research and project goals.”
“Then that’s all you need to say. I don’t care to read three pages of fluff on things you have no hard data for.”
“Again, my apologies. I simply wanted to give you as wide a range of information as possible.”
“Hmmph. Indeed.” Madison stepped into the spiral elevator along with the three Synths.
“Anything I can assist with while you are on the surface Director?” Xavier asked, forcing a cheerful smile.
“Continue all current monitoring operations and give me a summary of it when I return. In other words, do your job...and that’ll be enough.”
“Of course Director, have a safe trip to the surface.”
With that one of the synths pressed a button and the door to the elevator closed, and it swiftly began ascending up through The Institute and towards the molecular relay control room. Once Madison and her synths passed through the upper ceiling layer, Xavier’s face dropped to a snarl.
“Speculation? If she had half the brain she thinks she does it’d be clear that my ‘speculation’ was based on reasonable inference and deduction. Hardly irrelevant.” He muttered, “Watch yourself you ungrateful…”
Xavier stopped himself and looked around. There was no-one in sight in the Concourse thankfully, owing to the early hour no doubt, but he chastised himself none-the-less for allowing his emotions to get the better of him. He knew better than most that it was best never to assume that there was no-one watching. All it took was a single slip-up and he could wind up exiled. What use would he be then?
Always polite, always dutiful. Always supportive of The Director. That’s who I am here. Remember. He thought, and walked away.
Diamond City - Council Chamber (Diamond City Mayor’s Office)
Mayor Becky Fallon rode the lift up to her office within Diamond City. Although nowadays with the formation of the CPG, it was hardly just ‘her’ office anymore. The Commonwealth Provisional Government Council met inside what used to be the Mayor’s personal office, while she herself had moved the Diamond City Mayoral office to one of the back rooms that McDonough had outfitted for his living space. Seeing as how she wasn’t going to be living here at all but instead would remain at her old house inside her ‘Fallon’s Basement’ shop, that new arrangement suited her just fine.
Becky stepped off the platform and strode up to the double doors leading to the Council chamber, she paused only a moment to adjust her dress suit and then opened them. As she’d expected, Madison Li was already seated with her Synth security detail fanned out around behind her.
“Director Li..” Becky said simply as she took her seat.
“Mayor Fallon..” Madison replied.
The pair sat in silence for a few moments, with Becky desperately wishing she was somewhere else. Her and Li always had a tough time conversing when it was only the two of them, and neither was particularly interested in much other than the business at hand. Fortunately Becky didn’t have to wait long before the rest of the Council began to trickle in.
The next to arrive was Kessler, leader of the Bunker Hill Caravaners,
“Glad I’m not late, I should hope we can wrap this up before too long. I need to get back to the Hill.”
“I’m not expecting a long meeting,” Li said, “Provided of course we don’t have unnecessary debate.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Becky added, eyeing Kessler. She knew full well it was Kessler who would likely be the primary opposition to what she assumed would be the wider Council opinion. The Caraveners had been some of the worst affected by The Mechanist’s rampage after all. Nothing less than the Mechanist’s head on a spike would probably convince them.
Kesller ignored the comments directed towards her and took her seat. Within a few minutes both Wiseman and General Ronnie Shaw of The Minutemen arrived at the council room. Ronnie sat down in her usual gruff manner without a word while Wiseman gave up his usual niceties,
“How’s everyone doing today?” Wiseman smiled broadly, “I think The Slog is going to have its largest crop of tarberries yet this….”
“Gunners on the move again. Lost an entire patrol squad last night to an ambush. Found their heads lined up nice and neat on a fence post outside Quincy,” Ronnie interrupted as she lit up a cigarette, “So my morning hasn’t exactly been peachy Wiseman.”
Wiseman’s smile immediately evaporated, “I’m...sorry to hear that.”
“General Shaw, could you refrain from smoking in the Council chambers?” Dr. Li asked.
“I could,” Ronnie replied.
“Ronnie…” Becky chastised as she glared at The Minutemen General.
“Fine,” Ronnie let the cigarette slip from her fingers and fall to the ground, where she promptly stomped it out, “Can we get started talking about this Mechanist then?”
“Yes...I received an intel report on the location mentioned in the holotape…” Li began.
“Director Li, not all members are present currently.” Becky interjected.
Li furrowed her brow, “Oh yes of course...my mistake. We’ll have to wait until Val...Mr. Valentine arrives I suppose.”
“No need,” Came a voice from the doorway, the Synth Detective entered the council chambers and removed his hat, placing it on the table in front of an empty seat, “Sorry for being tardy. I needed to stop by the office after I arrived back from Sanctuary this morning. It's doing well by the way.”
“Good. Then we can officially begin,” Li continued, “As I was saying, I received an intel report on the location specified by the holotape: The Robco Sales and Service Center. Information on the facility is scant at best but aside from the obvious front of being a robotics shop, we’ve found references in pre-war military correspondence pointing to the location as holding some sort of Department of the Army research lab: likely a black site of some sort given the senior level of the communique we uncovered.”
“So what were they doing down there, just creating killer bots?” Ronnie asked.
“That’s unknown at the moment but...yes some variation of that.” Li replied.
“I don’t suppose CIT was involved at all in this project was it?” Nick asked with an eye towards Dr. Li, “Natural to guess they might have been given the robotics angle.”
“No,” Li said firmly, “We extensively searched The Institute’s pre-war databanks for any connection to the Commonwealth Institute of Technology: student and graduate files, faculty and staff correspondence etc. We even searched through old career center postings at the University. Nothing. It's not impossible of course that some CIT students or graduates were working within the lab, I’d even go so far as to say it's likely, but if that’s the case there was no direct partnership with the University itself. Our pre-war records for CIT are virtually complete so I have no reason to suspect that we may have missing or corrupted data on this: it simply doesn’t exist.”
Nick sat back in his seat and folded his arms, “So, a hidden lab capable of building a literal army of murder-bots underneath a RobCo shop in Boston eh? Sounds like quite the mystery.”
“So what are we going to do about it then? We’re not seriously considering allowing this Mechanist to go free are we?” Kessler interrupted.
“Not free, no,” Becky said sternly, “Never free. I believe what this ‘Isabel’ girl says in that what she did was an accident, I truly do. She sounded genuine and indeed heartbroken that her actions caused so much death, and the robot attacks have ceased…” Becky paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, “But her actions are still inexcusable. Accident or not. She needs to face judgement in some manner.”
“Agreed,” Wiseman nodded, “She needs to answer for her crimes. I lost a good friend to one of those attacks.”
“I lost a lot more than that,” Kessler snapped, “I want her hanged.”
“We’re not going to execute her,” Dr. Li said firmly, “Get over it. If her holotape is correct, then she’s too valuable to simply be made an example of. Let her serve her sentence in other ways.”
“Like what exactly?” Ronnie raised an eyebrow.
“She has access to a massive trove of data and information within that facility. And she is likely very intelligent, a veritable genius in fact, if she was able to repair and restart production within the facility on her own. If she truly is genuine in her confession of guilt and remorse….then let's put her to work. Let her help to repair the damage she’s done by giving back to The Commonwealth.”
“I agree,” Nick said with a nod, “No need to kill her. She made a mistake, a massive one no doubt, but she had good intentions. We don’t need to string her up like a common criminal.”
“Let's make sure that’s the case then,” Kessler said, “I want to speak with her myself and see if I believe her. Send someone to the Sales Center and put her under arrest.”
“Fine. I’m not opposed to ensuring that she’s not going to cause further problems,” Li replied, “I propose we send a team to venture down into the lab and meet The Mechanist.”
“No Synths,” Ronnie grumbled, “None of your scientists either.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest it,” Li replied, “Instead my suggestion is that we send MacCready, a few Minutemen, and perhaps one of your people Kessler.”
“I’d like to go as well,” Nick said piping up, “Or would I be excluded under that ‘no-synth’ rule of yours?” He looked to Ronnie with a sly grin.
“Nah….guess I’ll make an exception in your case Detective.”
“Agreed.” Li said, “Any objections?”
The room was silent and Wiseman and Becky shook their heads in response,
“One condition,” Kessler said, “I want to interview her, alone, when she’s brought back. If I’m granted that, I’ll agree.”
Li nodded, “If that’s what it’ll take, I have no objections to that Kessler. Very well then, we’ve reached an accord. Let’s begin moving on this quickly, I want the team ready to go by tomorrow.”
Nick Valentine, Sanctuary Hills
A cool breeze blew through the air, shifting the leaves ever so slightly in the tree above. Nick Valentine placed his hands in his trench coat pockets, as if bracing against the chill. Being a Synth he had no need to do so, but the mnemonic impressions of his human life, or rather a human life, still remained. He did things like that out of habit, he supposed, or maybe just because it allowed him a connection to a humanity he’d never truly have. All he did have were memories implanted from the real Detective Valentine and a personality that had been programmed into him.
Nick looked down at the pair of graves before him, nestled beneath a lonesome tree in the backyard of a house in Sanctuary Hills: their house. It’d been awhile since he’d last paid his respects here. In fact he hadn't come back since the burial. He'd thought to stay away because he had wondered if perhaps it wasn’t better to just let memories fade and wounds heal, but part of him knew that would probably never happen. The day he’d met Nathaniel, the sole survivor of Vault 111, was the day that things had changed forever: for him and for The Commonwealth. Nobody had really expected Nathaniel to actually reach The Institute or find his son. Yet despite all odds that's exactly what had happened. As a result of the tenacity of a father, The Commonwealth became an entirely different place. Nick knew he'd had to come back one more time, to say goodbye properly. He hadn't known what to think or say back then. Hell even standing here now he hadn't completely made up his mind how he should remember the man, but at least he could form the words.
“Wasn’t sure what would happen when we learned you’d joined with them,” Nick muttered to the grave before him, “I suppose you tried to do the right thing at least. I don't think I can ever forgive what you did to the synths, but I guess you were just trying to set things right in your own way. Keep The Commonwealth safe. But goddamn did you make it hard to trust you after that.”
Nick felt around in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. He pulled them out and with a flick of his wrist he lit up the cigarette before taking a drag,
“Look at me rambling again like an old bucket of bolts. What’s done is done. You set things in motion and brought The Institute to heel. That’s worth something. Just wish you’d stuck around a bit longer to keep it all together. We’re going to try our damnedest, but it's a tangle you've left us in.”
Valentine looked back up and stared out towards the rest of Sanctuary Hills. What used to be nothing more than the crumbling ruins of houses was now a thriving town. Caravans and traders flowed in and out of town under the watchful protection of Minutemen guards. The crops here grew tall fed by good soil and plenty of water purified directly from the stream nearby. Scavengers had begun to pick apart Vault 111 after the bodies within had been respectfully removed and re-interred elsewhere, and now the old Vault provided a unique source of trade goods and resources for the fledgling town. Nick felt a sense of pride in seeing that flag waving above it all. The flag of a nation just now beginning to form. The dream of a united Commonwealth made real.
“Well...maybe we’re on the right track at least,” Nick smiled, “Long road ahead though. Guess what I’m trying to say, badly, is...thanks for getting us on it.”
“Ayy Nicky!” The hoarse yell of the caravan guard brought Nick’s attention back to the town, “Tommy says we’re almost all loaded up. Just gotta figure out where to pack a couple more crates of those tatos. Anyways he told me to let you know we’ll be heading back to Diamond City soon. You finished with your business?”
“I am,” Nick replied as he took another puff of the cigarette, “I’ll meet you all at the gate.”
“Ok sounds good Nicky!”
Nick stared down at the grave one last time,
“I think this will be the last time I stop by here. Hope you finally found some measure of peace in the end. You deserve that if nothing else.” Nick dropped his cigarette and stamped it out in the yard. He gave one last look as he turned away,
“See ya around Nate.”
A cool breeze blew through the air, shifting the leaves ever so slightly in the tree above. Nick Valentine placed his hands in his trench coat pockets, as if bracing against the chill. Being a Synth he had no need to do so, but the mnemonic impressions of his human life, or rather a human life, still remained. He did things like that out of habit, he supposed, or maybe just because it allowed him a connection to a humanity he’d never truly have. All he did have were memories implanted from the real Detective Valentine and a personality that had been programmed into him.
Nick looked down at the pair of graves before him, nestled beneath a lonesome tree in the backyard of a house in Sanctuary Hills: their house. It’d been awhile since he’d last paid his respects here. In fact he hadn't come back since the burial. He'd thought to stay away because he had wondered if perhaps it wasn’t better to just let memories fade and wounds heal, but part of him knew that would probably never happen. The day he’d met Nathaniel, the sole survivor of Vault 111, was the day that things had changed forever: for him and for The Commonwealth. Nobody had really expected Nathaniel to actually reach The Institute or find his son. Yet despite all odds that's exactly what had happened. As a result of the tenacity of a father, The Commonwealth became an entirely different place. Nick knew he'd had to come back one more time, to say goodbye properly. He hadn't known what to think or say back then. Hell even standing here now he hadn't completely made up his mind how he should remember the man, but at least he could form the words.
“Wasn’t sure what would happen when we learned you’d joined with them,” Nick muttered to the grave before him, “I suppose you tried to do the right thing at least. I don't think I can ever forgive what you did to the synths, but I guess you were just trying to set things right in your own way. Keep The Commonwealth safe. But goddamn did you make it hard to trust you after that.”
Nick felt around in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. He pulled them out and with a flick of his wrist he lit up the cigarette before taking a drag,
“Look at me rambling again like an old bucket of bolts. What’s done is done. You set things in motion and brought The Institute to heel. That’s worth something. Just wish you’d stuck around a bit longer to keep it all together. We’re going to try our damnedest, but it's a tangle you've left us in.”
Valentine looked back up and stared out towards the rest of Sanctuary Hills. What used to be nothing more than the crumbling ruins of houses was now a thriving town. Caravans and traders flowed in and out of town under the watchful protection of Minutemen guards. The crops here grew tall fed by good soil and plenty of water purified directly from the stream nearby. Scavengers had begun to pick apart Vault 111 after the bodies within had been respectfully removed and re-interred elsewhere, and now the old Vault provided a unique source of trade goods and resources for the fledgling town. Nick felt a sense of pride in seeing that flag waving above it all. The flag of a nation just now beginning to form. The dream of a united Commonwealth made real.
“Well...maybe we’re on the right track at least,” Nick smiled, “Long road ahead though. Guess what I’m trying to say, badly, is...thanks for getting us on it.”
“Ayy Nicky!” The hoarse yell of the caravan guard brought Nick’s attention back to the town, “Tommy says we’re almost all loaded up. Just gotta figure out where to pack a couple more crates of those tatos. Anyways he told me to let you know we’ll be heading back to Diamond City soon. You finished with your business?”
“I am,” Nick replied as he took another puff of the cigarette, “I’ll meet you all at the gate.”
“Ok sounds good Nicky!”
Nick stared down at the grave one last time,
“I think this will be the last time I stop by here. Hope you finally found some measure of peace in the end. You deserve that if nothing else.” Nick dropped his cigarette and stamped it out in the yard. He gave one last look as he turned away,
“See ya around Nate.”
War Never Changes 2
Fallout Nation Roleplay
---------
Introduction :
---------
War, war never changes. Even after humanity blasted its own ashes across the surface of the Earth in the Great War of 2077, its cutthroat ambition did not die down. The year is now 2290, and humanity has once again opened a new chapter in its bloody history. While this chapter in history could never come close to the awesome destruction wrought by the atomic fire of the Great War, it nonetheless is auspicious. You must lead your nation through the aftermath of various post-apocalyptic conflicts and a seemingly futile fight against the hellscape that is the Wasteland itself. Will you lead your fair nation to economic and cultural prosperity, or repeat the actions of those before you, seizing that which is rightfully yours with overwhelming strength? The future is unclear for all and the present challenges humanity faces great. Perhaps humanity's greatest challenge yet is its own destructive nature after all…war never changes.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Setting:
-------------------
War Never Changes is a nation roleplay that takes place shortly after the main events of the primary games in the Fallout series and set largely in an alternative setting with various events or lore endings changed to provide interesting backdrops. You can take control of various lore factions based in the Fallout games or carve out a new faction created entirely by yourself (provided it fits within the setting and guidelines).
The respective endings are as follows thus far:
Fallout 1 and 2: Established lore endings are canon.
Fallout 3: Following the Brotherhood’s recapture of Project Purity, and under orders from a new commander, The Enclave retaliated in force and gained full control of The Purifier and much of The Capital Wasteland, forcing the remnants of The Brotherhood to flee to parts unknown...
Fallout New Vegas: House gained full control of an Independent New Vegas, ordering the withdrawal of the NCR from the region following the defeat of Caesar’s Legion at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.
Fallout 4: The Sole Survivor took control of The Institute and forced the organization to begin assisting the surface. All Gen-3 Synths were rounded up for “decommissioning” and the project cancelled. With the work of reforming The Institute and rebuilding the surface a long way from completion, the Sole Survivor tragically committed suicide, leaving Dr. Madision Li in charge of a disgruntled Institute and a Commonwealth only now starting to recover.
Fallout 76: The Vault Dweller of 76 helped develop a vaccine for the Scorched Plague using the knowledge of those that came before. Once the infestation was contained, they worked with their fellow 76’ers to begin rebuilding and repopulating Appalachia. Their efforts were assisted by a return of The Brotherhood of Steel to West Virginia and an influx of new settlers.
Fallout Tactics: The Warrior defeated and destroyed The Calculator. A greatly transformed Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel now controls parts of the Midwest.
Note: These are the “high level” events from the major games to set a baseline. Other events and endings (including DLC) are subject to development and agreement between the group as things progress.
---------------------------
Discord:
---------------------------
For quick and easy discussion, a discord server is available. The 'War Never Changes’' channel there is just for this RP. Please use that channel to discuss the RP at length with fellow members (we use the discord almost exclusively for discussion so its the best place to ask questions, give and receive feedback, and discuss what’s happening out of character).
discord.gg/qffrVDX
Update: New Link
---------------------------
Ruleset Reference For Inspiration To Design a Post-Apocalyptic Nation:
---------------------------
docs.google.com/document/d/1qsX_BCI9U…
---------------------------
Other Rules
---------------------------
1. Airpower is limited only to the nations capable of maintaining and producing such advanced technology. It should be considered a rarity. The same applies to naval power (any pre-war ships are derelict hulks and makeshift vessels are the norm).
2. Population: The NCR, being an extreme exception is around 1 million. The absolute max for nearly all non-lore nations will be around 500,000. But that is subject to proper justification and approval. As another example, the immediate area of the city of Boston has around 10,000 people.
3. Population for the continental United States by 2290 should be considered no more than around 15 million. Keep that in mind as you are designing your nation.
4.Conflict resolution is largely done by group consensus. The GM will step in as final arbiter if for any reason an agreement is unable to be reached. In all things though, be polite and a courteous roleplayer first and foremost. This is a cooperative story, not a competition.
----------------------------
General Faction/Nation Sheet Template-
----------------------------
Name:
Flag (picture or description):
Territory (picture or description) and Geography:
History (if using a pre-existing faction, recent history will due. The RP start date is 2290):
Population:
Government/Domestic Politics:
Notable People:
Military (Be realistic for your factions population):
Economy:
Culture and Technology (include any views towards slavery and mutants etc.):
Religion:
------------------------
Nation (or Region) and Roleplayer List So Far
------------------------
The NCR - MagnusTheRed
The 80s - Elgappa
The Institute/Commonwealth - Andronicus
The Enclave/Capital Wasteland - Mr. Enclave
Appalachia/Remnants of East Coast Brotherhood - Tiberius
Victoria - Yam I Am
Part of Texas - Crusader Lord
Part of Texas - Wampower
Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel - Crimson Paladin
Mr. House/New Vegas - Gingy
The Legion - Andreyich
(Many more in-lore and custom factions are available)
War Never Changes 2
Fallout Nation Roleplay
---------
Introduction :
---------
War, war never changes. Even after humanity blasted its own ashes across the surface of the Earth in the Great War of 2077, its cutthroat ambition did not die down. The year is now 2290, and humanity has once again opened a new chapter in its bloody history. While this chapter in history could never come close to the awesome destruction wrought by the atomic fire of the Great War, it nonetheless is auspicious. You must lead your nation through the aftermath of various post-apocalyptic conflicts and a seemingly futile fight against the hellscape that is the Wasteland itself. Will you lead your fair nation to economic and cultural prosperity, or repeat the actions of those before you, seizing that which is rightfully yours with overwhelming strength? The future is unclear for all and the present challenges humanity faces great. Perhaps humanity's greatest challenge yet is its own destructive nature after all…war never changes.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Setting:
-------------------
War Never Changes is a nation roleplay that takes place shortly after the main events of the primary games in the Fallout series and set largely in an alternative setting with various events or lore endings changed to provide interesting backdrops. You can take control of various lore factions based in the Fallout games or carve out a new faction created entirely by yourself (provided it fits within the setting and guidelines).
The respective endings are as follows thus far:
Fallout 1 and 2: Established lore endings are canon.
Fallout 3: Following the Brotherhood’s recapture of Project Purity, and under orders from a new commander, The Enclave retaliated in force and gained full control of The Purifier and much of The Capital Wasteland, forcing the remnants of The Brotherhood to flee to parts unknown...
Fallout New Vegas: House gained full control of an Independent New Vegas, ordering the withdrawal of the NCR from the region following the defeat of Caesar’s Legion at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.
Fallout 4: The Sole Survivor took control of The Institute and forced the organization to begin assisting the surface. All Gen-3 Synths were rounded up for “decommissioning” and the project cancelled. With the work of reforming The Institute and rebuilding the surface a long way from completion, the Sole Survivor tragically committed suicide, leaving Dr. Madision Li in charge of a disgruntled Institute and a Commonwealth only now starting to recover.
Fallout 76: The Vault Dweller of 76 helped develop a vaccine for the Scorched Plague using the knowledge of those that came before. Once the infestation was contained, they worked with their fellow 76’ers to begin rebuilding and repopulating Appalachia. Their efforts were assisted by a return of The Brotherhood of Steel to West Virginia and an influx of new settlers.
Fallout Tactics: The Warrior defeated and destroyed The Calculator. A greatly transformed Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel now controls parts of the Midwest.
Note: These are the “high level” events from the major games to set a baseline. Other events and endings (including DLC) are subject to development and agreement between the group as things progress.
---------------------------
Discord:
---------------------------
For quick and easy discussion, a discord server is available. The 'War Never Changes’' channel there is just for this RP. Please use that channel to discuss the RP at length with fellow members (we use the discord almost exclusively for discussion so its the best place to ask questions, give and receive feedback, and discuss what’s happening out of character).
discord.gg/cMvDWw
---------------------------
Ruleset Reference For Inspiration To Design a Post-Apocalyptic Nation:
---------------------------
docs.google.com/document/d/1qsX_BCI9U…
---------------------------
Other Rules
---------------------------
1. Airpower is limited only to the nations capable of maintaining and producing such advanced technology. It should be considered a rarity. The same applies to naval power (any pre-war ships are derelict hulks and makeshift vessels are the norm).
2. Population: The NCR, being an extreme exception is around 1 million. The absolute max for nearly all non-lore nations will be around 500,000. But that is subject to proper justification and approval. As another example, the immediate area of the city of Boston has around 10,000 people.
3. Population for the continental United States by 2290 should be considered no more than around 15 million. Keep that in mind as you are designing your nation.
4.Conflict resolution is largely done by group consensus. The GM will step in as final arbiter if for any reason an agreement is unable to be reached. In all things though, be polite and a courteous roleplayer first and foremost. This is a cooperative story, not a competition.
----------------------------
General Faction/Nation Sheet Template-
----------------------------
Name:
Flag (picture or description):
Territory (picture or description) and Geography:
History (if using a pre-existing faction, recent history will due. The RP start date is 2290):
Population:
Government/Domestic Politics:
Notable People:
Military (Be realistic for your factions population):
Economy:
Culture and Technology (include any views towards slavery and mutants etc.):
Religion:
------------------------
Nation (or Region) and Roleplayer List So Far
------------------------
The NCR - MagnusTheRed
The 80s - Elgappa
The Institute/Commonwealth - Andronicus
The Enclave/Capital Wasteland - Mr. Enclave
Appalachia/Remnants of East Coast Brotherhood - Tiberius
Victoria - Yam I Am
Part of Texas - Crusader Lord
Part of Texas - Wampower
Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel - Crimson Paladin
Mr. House/New Vegas - Gingy
The Legion - Andreyich
(Many more in-lore and custom factions are available)
Legate Aurelius - Brotherhood Command Operations Center
Alongside the Paladin-General, Legate Aurelius of Phoenix watched the feed from the Brotherhood’s device as it soared high above the scene of carnage below. It was destruction and death untold, Mars above..it was nothing less than total devastation: a type not seen since the likes of the Great Fire that had scourged the earth at the command of the God of War. Aurelius was torn between feelings of satisfaction at seeing his enemies so thoroughly burned and purified, and dread at understanding how woefully unprepared The Legion would be if such an action would ever be turned against them. He could tell Paladin-Wilson was facing the same sort of conundrum, understanding that the Western Brotherhood fought with them only at the behest of a likely desire to see their own ambitions realized. What happened when and if the Cult was defeated, and the shield of civilization cast aside by all...would those that held it instead take up new quarrels and disagreements between them? That distinct possibility weighed heavily on both their minds.
Here and now however, Aurelius would no longer question Lucius’s desire to see The Legion embrace the world beyond instead of shunning it. Here was ample proof that to ignore the world was to invite ruination. The Legion would have to embrace the new if it wished to survive, and The Brotherhood might just be willing and able to help them along that path. Aurelius was now determined more than ever to secure that alliance’s future, and in turn, The Legion’s.
"Legate", Wilson said, "You had recommended earlier that we resume the march on Columbus without waiting for the Western Order's ground troops to arrive. In light of the effects the Scourge of Columbus is having on the enemy, I believe this to be the best course of action. I propose we resume the advance Eastward immediately."
Aurelius nodded, “To that end I’ve already sent Legion Explorers ahead to scout the way alongside a vanguard of Recruits to clear a path for the army’s swift advance. They’ll scout out lines of advance and any chokepoints, garrison forward positions, and engage enemy forces only when practical.”
"Also", Wilson added, "We can fly additional troops into Dayton to reinforce the troops from the Southern column who have moved up there from Cincinnati."
“Very good. I will elect to provide a cohort of Legionaries to be deployed alongside Brotherhood troops should you wish it. However, understandably I will focus efforts on my legions’ drive to the east in force.”
Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle
Robert breathed a sigh of relief as the vertibird maneuvered into formation over the airfield. He’d never before had to perform a rocket-assisted takeoff. He’d almost requested that he’d be replaced as a pilot in this operation, in lieu of perhaps a more experienced Midwestern counterpart. That was until Lancer-Paladin Morgan had reassured him and moreover placed such unwavering faith in his abilities that Robert’s confidence had been renewed. He was glad it had worked out that way, he wanted to show that his former Order did not train poor verti-pilots, or cowards for that matter. And that he could be as adaptable as any of his Brothers and Sister in the Midwestern ranks. He wanted to carry Maxson’s banner high and proud, if only in spirit. Morgan had helped him achieve that, and he’d be eternally grateful for the Squadron Commander’s trust.
Robert looked out across the open sky as the vertibirds turned Northeast to follow their flight-path to Detroit. The danger ahead weighed on his mind, and the thought of what was to come...well...it unnerved him. He didn’t want to think how many of the men and women that made up this operation would die. Of course he understood that he could very well be among them. But if that was the case then so be it. At least he’d go down in service of something greater than himself. He’d outlived too many of his Brothers and Sisters already.
As he exhaled a heavy sigh, Robert felt a gnawing sensation come crawling in from the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right.
A scene flashed across his memory. A man in a white coat...and himself hooked up to some horrifying chair, implants or needles embedded into his spinal column.
Robert shook his head, trying to get the terrifying image out of his thoughts.
“Are you alright?” His co-pilot looked at him, mildly concerned.
“Nothing. Just about sneezed,” Robert chuckled. The co-pilot laughed. The thought….memory...whatever it had been. Faded as quickly as it had come. Robert soon couldn’t even recall what exactly he’d seen, but the feeling of unease did not disappear so easily.
Santa Fe - Capital of The Legion
Lucius sat at his desk inside his palace pouring over the reports that had come flooding in, both from Legate Aurelius in the east, and the situation in Utah. The Khan Empire, much to his frustration, seemed unable to stem the tide of raiders that now roamed unchecked and unchallenged up and down the old pre-war highways. Salt Lake City had been sacked and tribal raiders seemed to be moving south, perhaps intent on crossing into Legion territory. He’d already dispatched the Tenth Legion to reinforce the Third Legion stationed in the Utah province, but his hope was the Gaius Tranquillus could hold New Ravenna long enough for them to arrive in force. Gaius was a cunning leader, and an experienced commander. Typical of the Legion, his appointment as Military Governor had been earned through meritorious service, not political dealing. Whatever his faith in the abilities of the Governor however, the rapid deterioration of The Khanate’s control over its own territory meant only one thing: The Great Khan had greatly inflated his strength and obfuscated the fractured nature of his state, even more than he’d previously thought.
Lucius had no illusions that the Khans were ever as strong or united as they’d claimed to be, or that they’d be able to stop the tide of a Western Brotherhood or even NCR advance. But he’d counted on the Khanate as at least a reliable buffer state to the North. One that, while they’d been at odds in the past, he’d worked carefully and prudently to rebuild relations with since he’d been elevated to the crimson. The Khan’s failure to safeguard one of the richest and most populous cities under his control was an utter disgrace that now severed that last shred of hope Lucius had in counting on a strong allied state to his north. The fact that Lucius had even defended the Khan at the Santa Fe convention only served to infuriate him more. Lucius now looked the fool for having placed faith in an erstwhile ally turned collapsing nation-state. He knew he had taken a gamble with the Khanate and perhaps been overly optimistic about their chances to regain control, but it had been one he had been willing to risk if it meant ensuring future stability. A strong and friendly Khanate would have been immensely beneficial to him.
Still perhaps this turn of events could be salvaged in some way. Khan controlled Northern Utah had close ties with the Legion, and the New Canaanite presence in parts of it meant that they could count on at least some form of influence in dictating its future. He had not married Hannah because she was a New Canaanite or because she might provide political leverage with them, he’d married her because he’d fallen in love: something that had once been so foreign to him under Sallow. Yet he could not help but feel some measure of satisfaction in knowing that her presence meant a great deal to the New Canaanite people, and so long as she remained his wife and the mother of his children: the New Canaanite would prove a useful friend to his Legion. Aside from that, while the Khanate might have questionable political stability, none could deny that the warriors of the Great Khan were fearsome and skilled in equal measure. For some time now they’d served as auxiliaries in his legions in various campaigns, including the recent war with the NCR. They’d proved their worth time and time again on the battlefield. Perhaps the offer of steady pay, slaves, and lands of their own within Legion territory might tempt these foreign auxiliaries into loyal Legion vassals, from which he could draw a strong core of future legionaries from. If the Khanate collapsed fully, there would be no shortage of such wayward warriors in search of a banner to fight under.
He furrowed his brow then at the next thought that popped into his mind. One which he knew would make things complicated,
Gladstone.
Lucius sat back in his chair in contemplative thought. There was little doubt The Western Brotherhood leader had the same designs on Khanate territory, he’d made that abundantly clear at the Convention: even advocating for outright war to capture as much of the Khan’s territory as he could. He’d have to move carefully if he wished to intercept his supposed ally and prevent everything simply falling into Gladstone’s hands. Part of him hoped he could trust Gladstone as he trusted Barnaky, and worry little if the Khans did fall under Western Brotherhood sway. But the other part of him suspected that Gladstone had ambitions and plans that far outstripped his current means. He’d seen that sort of look many times before: in the eyes of Edward Sallow.
Lucius sighed, at the very least things in the east appeared to be progressing well. Aurelius had sent back news of Indianapolis’ swift capture, and the intent for the Brotherhood and Legion combined force to continue its push east. Aurelius was a rare commander: someone who, if given half the men and forces thought needed to take an objective, would do so without question and without hesitation. He, simply put, found a way to do what needed to be done, even when others might stamp their feet and think it impossible.
So he had given The Legate double the men he himself had thought required. With the eastern flank secured by his Midwestern Allies, the eastern legions were at Aurelius’s disposal. Lucius had utmost faith in his greatest general, and furthermore with the famed Vulpes Inculta at his side: so much was possible. Lucius knew too well however that the enemy they faced would not go down quietly: the end of the Cult would be a horrendous, blasphemous shriek of a death cry.
Caesar Lucius stood up and walked over to the window, observing the modest palace gardens below him, gardens that were tended dutifully by his wife and her handmaidens as a sort of hobby. The flowers there were lovely, perhaps not as grand as might be found in Vegas or even the NCR, but they contained a sort of wild beauty that was harnessed into something equal parts exotic and comforting. His Legion had come far indeed, farther than even Sallow had planned. Yet there was still much to do. As his wife tended the gardens below, he too had been tending the Legion, carefully growing its influence and power, and ensuring it would have deep roots to weather any coming storm. Sallow had laid its foundations, but neglected the structure above, caring not for what happened if he died and caused it all to come crumbling down. Lucius would build a Legion to last the ages. Joining the fight to defeat the Cult was one of many such ways he’d planned to make that happen.
The other was closer and more dear to him. He caught sight of Hannah, his wife, walking amongst the gardens as he knew she loved to do this time of day. She was beginning to show clear signs of her pregnancy, and she’d taken to wearing looser, more comfortable clothing as her belly began to grow. Soon the announcement would be made, and all would know that she was pregnant with his heir. The doctor, her personal physician and a New Canaanite besides, had assured them that she carried a boy. Lucius had been relieved at that. If he'd had only girls, he'd had fought for them to rule in his place, but he knew such a radical change for The Legion would be difficult indeed. A boy made things much simpler. Provided the child survived, he would have an heir to his Empire. A clear line of succession: the start of a dynasty.
Lucius smiled. A strong future for his family, and his people.
Alongside the Paladin-General, Legate Aurelius of Phoenix watched the feed from the Brotherhood’s device as it soared high above the scene of carnage below. It was destruction and death untold, Mars above..it was nothing less than total devastation: a type not seen since the likes of the Great Fire that had scourged the earth at the command of the God of War. Aurelius was torn between feelings of satisfaction at seeing his enemies so thoroughly burned and purified, and dread at understanding how woefully unprepared The Legion would be if such an action would ever be turned against them. He could tell Paladin-Wilson was facing the same sort of conundrum, understanding that the Western Brotherhood fought with them only at the behest of a likely desire to see their own ambitions realized. What happened when and if the Cult was defeated, and the shield of civilization cast aside by all...would those that held it instead take up new quarrels and disagreements between them? That distinct possibility weighed heavily on both their minds.
Here and now however, Aurelius would no longer question Lucius’s desire to see The Legion embrace the world beyond instead of shunning it. Here was ample proof that to ignore the world was to invite ruination. The Legion would have to embrace the new if it wished to survive, and The Brotherhood might just be willing and able to help them along that path. Aurelius was now determined more than ever to secure that alliance’s future, and in turn, The Legion’s.
"Legate", Wilson said, "You had recommended earlier that we resume the march on Columbus without waiting for the Western Order's ground troops to arrive. In light of the effects the Scourge of Columbus is having on the enemy, I believe this to be the best course of action. I propose we resume the advance Eastward immediately."
Aurelius nodded, “To that end I’ve already sent Legion Explorers ahead to scout the way alongside a vanguard of Recruits to clear a path for the army’s swift advance. They’ll scout out lines of advance and any chokepoints, garrison forward positions, and engage enemy forces only when practical.”
"Also", Wilson added, "We can fly additional troops into Dayton to reinforce the troops from the Southern column who have moved up there from Cincinnati."
“Very good. I will elect to provide a cohort of Legionaries to be deployed alongside Brotherhood troops should you wish it. However, understandably I will focus efforts on my legions’ drive to the east in force.”
Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle
Robert breathed a sigh of relief as the vertibird maneuvered into formation over the airfield. He’d never before had to perform a rocket-assisted takeoff. He’d almost requested that he’d be replaced as a pilot in this operation, in lieu of perhaps a more experienced Midwestern counterpart. That was until Lancer-Paladin Morgan had reassured him and moreover placed such unwavering faith in his abilities that Robert’s confidence had been renewed. He was glad it had worked out that way, he wanted to show that his former Order did not train poor verti-pilots, or cowards for that matter. And that he could be as adaptable as any of his Brothers and Sister in the Midwestern ranks. He wanted to carry Maxson’s banner high and proud, if only in spirit. Morgan had helped him achieve that, and he’d be eternally grateful for the Squadron Commander’s trust.
Robert looked out across the open sky as the vertibirds turned Northeast to follow their flight-path to Detroit. The danger ahead weighed on his mind, and the thought of what was to come...well...it unnerved him. He didn’t want to think how many of the men and women that made up this operation would die. Of course he understood that he could very well be among them. But if that was the case then so be it. At least he’d go down in service of something greater than himself. He’d outlived too many of his Brothers and Sisters already.
As he exhaled a heavy sigh, Robert felt a gnawing sensation come crawling in from the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right.
A scene flashed across his memory. A man in a white coat...and himself hooked up to some horrifying chair, implants or needles embedded into his spinal column.
Robert shook his head, trying to get the terrifying image out of his thoughts.
“Are you alright?” His co-pilot looked at him, mildly concerned.
“Nothing. Just about sneezed,” Robert chuckled. The co-pilot laughed. The thought….memory...whatever it had been. Faded as quickly as it had come. Robert soon couldn’t even recall what exactly he’d seen, but the feeling of unease did not disappear so easily.
Santa Fe - Capital of The Legion
Lucius sat at his desk inside his palace pouring over the reports that had come flooding in, both from Legate Aurelius in the east, and the situation in Utah. The Khan Empire, much to his frustration, seemed unable to stem the tide of raiders that now roamed unchecked and unchallenged up and down the old pre-war highways. Salt Lake City had been sacked and tribal raiders seemed to be moving south, perhaps intent on crossing into Legion territory. He’d already dispatched the Tenth Legion to reinforce the Third Legion stationed in the Utah province, but his hope was the Gaius Tranquillus could hold New Ravenna long enough for them to arrive in force. Gaius was a cunning leader, and an experienced commander. Typical of the Legion, his appointment as Military Governor had been earned through meritorious service, not political dealing. Whatever his faith in the abilities of the Governor however, the rapid deterioration of The Khanate’s control over its own territory meant only one thing: The Great Khan had greatly inflated his strength and obfuscated the fractured nature of his state, even more than he’d previously thought.
Lucius had no illusions that the Khans were ever as strong or united as they’d claimed to be, or that they’d be able to stop the tide of a Western Brotherhood or even NCR advance. But he’d counted on the Khanate as at least a reliable buffer state to the North. One that, while they’d been at odds in the past, he’d worked carefully and prudently to rebuild relations with since he’d been elevated to the crimson. The Khan’s failure to safeguard one of the richest and most populous cities under his control was an utter disgrace that now severed that last shred of hope Lucius had in counting on a strong allied state to his north. The fact that Lucius had even defended the Khan at the Santa Fe convention only served to infuriate him more. Lucius now looked the fool for having placed faith in an erstwhile ally turned collapsing nation-state. He knew he had taken a gamble with the Khanate and perhaps been overly optimistic about their chances to regain control, but it had been one he had been willing to risk if it meant ensuring future stability. A strong and friendly Khanate would have been immensely beneficial to him.
Still perhaps this turn of events could be salvaged in some way. Khan controlled Northern Utah had close ties with the Legion, and the New Canaanite presence in parts of it meant that they could count on at least some form of influence in dictating its future. He had not married Hannah because she was a New Canaanite or because she might provide political leverage with them, he’d married her because he’d fallen in love: something that had once been so foreign to him under Sallow. Yet he could not help but feel some measure of satisfaction in knowing that her presence meant a great deal to the New Canaanite people, and so long as she remained his wife and the mother of his children: the New Canaanite would prove a useful friend to his Legion. Aside from that, while the Khanate might have questionable political stability, none could deny that the warriors of the Great Khan were fearsome and skilled in equal measure. For some time now they’d served as auxiliaries in his legions in various campaigns, including the recent war with the NCR. They’d proved their worth time and time again on the battlefield. Perhaps the offer of steady pay, slaves, and lands of their own within Legion territory might tempt these foreign auxiliaries into loyal Legion vassals, from which he could draw a strong core of future legionaries from. If the Khanate collapsed fully, there would be no shortage of such wayward warriors in search of a banner to fight under.
He furrowed his brow then at the next thought that popped into his mind. One which he knew would make things complicated,
Gladstone.
Lucius sat back in his chair in contemplative thought. There was little doubt The Western Brotherhood leader had the same designs on Khanate territory, he’d made that abundantly clear at the Convention: even advocating for outright war to capture as much of the Khan’s territory as he could. He’d have to move carefully if he wished to intercept his supposed ally and prevent everything simply falling into Gladstone’s hands. Part of him hoped he could trust Gladstone as he trusted Barnaky, and worry little if the Khans did fall under Western Brotherhood sway. But the other part of him suspected that Gladstone had ambitions and plans that far outstripped his current means. He’d seen that sort of look many times before: in the eyes of Edward Sallow.
Lucius sighed, at the very least things in the east appeared to be progressing well. Aurelius had sent back news of Indianapolis’ swift capture, and the intent for the Brotherhood and Legion combined force to continue its push east. Aurelius was a rare commander: someone who, if given half the men and forces thought needed to take an objective, would do so without question and without hesitation. He, simply put, found a way to do what needed to be done, even when others might stamp their feet and think it impossible.
So he had given The Legate double the men he himself had thought required. With the eastern flank secured by his Midwestern Allies, the eastern legions were at Aurelius’s disposal. Lucius had utmost faith in his greatest general, and furthermore with the famed Vulpes Inculta at his side: so much was possible. Lucius knew too well however that the enemy they faced would not go down quietly: the end of the Cult would be a horrendous, blasphemous shriek of a death cry.
Caesar Lucius stood up and walked over to the window, observing the modest palace gardens below him, gardens that were tended dutifully by his wife and her handmaidens as a sort of hobby. The flowers there were lovely, perhaps not as grand as might be found in Vegas or even the NCR, but they contained a sort of wild beauty that was harnessed into something equal parts exotic and comforting. His Legion had come far indeed, farther than even Sallow had planned. Yet there was still much to do. As his wife tended the gardens below, he too had been tending the Legion, carefully growing its influence and power, and ensuring it would have deep roots to weather any coming storm. Sallow had laid its foundations, but neglected the structure above, caring not for what happened if he died and caused it all to come crumbling down. Lucius would build a Legion to last the ages. Joining the fight to defeat the Cult was one of many such ways he’d planned to make that happen.
The other was closer and more dear to him. He caught sight of Hannah, his wife, walking amongst the gardens as he knew she loved to do this time of day. She was beginning to show clear signs of her pregnancy, and she’d taken to wearing looser, more comfortable clothing as her belly began to grow. Soon the announcement would be made, and all would know that she was pregnant with his heir. The doctor, her personal physician and a New Canaanite besides, had assured them that she carried a boy. Lucius had been relieved at that. If he'd had only girls, he'd had fought for them to rule in his place, but he knew such a radical change for The Legion would be difficult indeed. A boy made things much simpler. Provided the child survived, he would have an heir to his Empire. A clear line of succession: the start of a dynasty.
Lucius smiled. A strong future for his family, and his people.
Boston Commons - The Commonwealth
Swan. Swan is swan. Swann is me. Me is swan.
Swan felt the cool water around him as he sat motionless in his pond. The water was still, and he could nearly feel every vibration that rippled through it. When a mongrel lapped up the water desperately in a feverish thirst, he could hear it. When a human dipped a toe in intent on grabbing some piece of flotsam for salvage: he could feel it. Many creatures wandered into the commons and though he could frequently hear their footsteps skirting his refuge; he would never emerge unless they disturbed his pond. He wanted quiet, he had to concentrate. Concentrate on something he knew he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be Swan. He had to remember: he was Swann.
Something was coming from far off now, he could feel the vibrations of the ground below him. A great rumbling was headed towards his pond. Hopefully the noise would go away. He didn’t want to fight now. He just wanted to rest and be Swan. Briefly the noise broke him from his almost meditative state, but he returned quickly enough to focus back.
Me is Swan. Swann. Swan.
You are Edgar Swann.
Swan opened his eyes. There was that voice again, gnawing like a worm at the back of his mind. Who was it? Why did it always bother him? A memory flashed across his mind, only briefly. He remembered being small: much smaller. The size of a human. He was sitting. Sitting in a bright room. His arm ached. He looked to where the pain was coming from, and something was in his arm. A sharp pain and something protruding from him. It was called a needle, he remembered.
The memory disappeared as quickly as it came.
Yes, me is Swan.
Swann.
“Swan,” Swan voiced, bubbles coming from his mouth as he breathed out the words. The rumbling was close now, it was coming towards him. He knew he’d have to fight. Swan would have to become a monster again: kill things so he could keep his pond safe. Swan didn’t like being a monster. Swan just wanted to be Swann.
There were voices now, many voices. Some of them sounded like humans, others sounded different. Swan would have to kill many things today to protect his pond. Why did they not just leave Swan alone?
Swan then felt as something touched his pond. Something had stepped into the water. Swan became angry. How dare they disturb his pond? Touch his water? He had to become a monster once more.
He burst forth from the water, raising his arm high. The heavy anchor he used as a weapon swinging down swiftly onto the thing that had stepped into the pond. It was pulverized instantly. Swan let out a great roar,
“SWAAAAAANNNN!”
-------
“Open fire!” X4-35 gave the order as the Behemoth smashed to pieces the Gen-1 Synth that had been sent in to lure him out.
Every Synth in the vicinity opened fire on Swan. Dozens of blue laser bolts tore through the air and burned scorch marks into the beasts hide and armor. Even under heavy fire the behemoth still rampaged through the commons, smashing Synths left and right. It sent some flying into the air with the force of the impact and others simply pulverized under its makeshift club's enormous weight. X4 looked on impassively as the Gen-1 and Gen-2 Synths fought helplessly against the creature.They were clearly outmatched, regardless of numbers, the Synths simply did not have the firepower to bring the beast down. It was time for a little more firepower. X4 gave a nod and a Gen-3 Synth trooper next to him dropped to her knee and aimed a missile launcher at the beast. An explosive missile burned its way through the air towards Swan, and only a chance defection with his makeshift paddle boat shield spared him the brunt of the projectile’s force. His shield exploded under the impact, and part of his hand was torn off. Swan roared in pain and clutched his wound.
The rebuilt pre-war IFV they’d been traveling alongside rotated its turret towards the Behemoth. X4 made a motion with his hand, and the turret opened up. A single 105mm round punched through the air and struck Swan’s abdomen, tearing into it. A great explosion ripped apart the creatures innards and sent it crashing to the ground, nearly blown in two.
“Swaaannn,” Swan shuddered as his lifeblood drained away rapidly, “Ed-gar...Swann.”
----
X4-35 stepped over a single one of Swan’s arms, even as a corpse the beast was formidable looking. He stared into the painted face of the abomination, it was a disturbing facsimile of a swan’s. X4 suppressed his disgust and opened a channel to the SRB,
“SRB, this is Task Force Aurora. Boston Commons is clear. ”
“Copy that X4. Continue sweep of the area. Secure the perimeter of the Massachusetts State House and surrounding buildings. Await reinforcement from other units.”
----
Inside his quarters Thomas watched watched the monitor array feed closely as legions of Synths battled their way through Boston. Block by block, inch by inch retaking the city from the degradation and decay that had infested it all these years. It would take weeks or even months to clear out the multitude of raiders and mutant warbands that inhabited it, and it would likely be years before the city could be fully scoured entirely of the likes of ghouls and other mutant aberrations. Still though, time was on his side, and he had no shortage of Synths that could be set to the task. For every synth lost, another simply walked off the production line to take its place. The Institute’s resources were expanding considerably each day that past as their operations on the surface increased and the amount of raw material, pre-war tech, and machinery came flooding in, along with the reignition of many pre-war manufacturing and industrial locations.
Visions of the future flooded his mind. Plans for the city and what he might do with all the wealth of technology at his disposal. He would build a new Boston, a true city of the future with The Institute at the helm. Thomas glanced over at the profiles SRB had sent, the ones they’d compiled from the New Vegas meetings.
Perhaps it was time to begin showing others just what that future might be.
Swan. Swan is swan. Swann is me. Me is swan.
Swan felt the cool water around him as he sat motionless in his pond. The water was still, and he could nearly feel every vibration that rippled through it. When a mongrel lapped up the water desperately in a feverish thirst, he could hear it. When a human dipped a toe in intent on grabbing some piece of flotsam for salvage: he could feel it. Many creatures wandered into the commons and though he could frequently hear their footsteps skirting his refuge; he would never emerge unless they disturbed his pond. He wanted quiet, he had to concentrate. Concentrate on something he knew he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be Swan. He had to remember: he was Swann.
Something was coming from far off now, he could feel the vibrations of the ground below him. A great rumbling was headed towards his pond. Hopefully the noise would go away. He didn’t want to fight now. He just wanted to rest and be Swan. Briefly the noise broke him from his almost meditative state, but he returned quickly enough to focus back.
Me is Swan. Swann. Swan.
You are Edgar Swann.
Swan opened his eyes. There was that voice again, gnawing like a worm at the back of his mind. Who was it? Why did it always bother him? A memory flashed across his mind, only briefly. He remembered being small: much smaller. The size of a human. He was sitting. Sitting in a bright room. His arm ached. He looked to where the pain was coming from, and something was in his arm. A sharp pain and something protruding from him. It was called a needle, he remembered.
The memory disappeared as quickly as it came.
Yes, me is Swan.
Swann.
“Swan,” Swan voiced, bubbles coming from his mouth as he breathed out the words. The rumbling was close now, it was coming towards him. He knew he’d have to fight. Swan would have to become a monster again: kill things so he could keep his pond safe. Swan didn’t like being a monster. Swan just wanted to be Swann.
There were voices now, many voices. Some of them sounded like humans, others sounded different. Swan would have to kill many things today to protect his pond. Why did they not just leave Swan alone?
Swan then felt as something touched his pond. Something had stepped into the water. Swan became angry. How dare they disturb his pond? Touch his water? He had to become a monster once more.
He burst forth from the water, raising his arm high. The heavy anchor he used as a weapon swinging down swiftly onto the thing that had stepped into the pond. It was pulverized instantly. Swan let out a great roar,
“SWAAAAAANNNN!”
-------
“Open fire!” X4-35 gave the order as the Behemoth smashed to pieces the Gen-1 Synth that had been sent in to lure him out.
Every Synth in the vicinity opened fire on Swan. Dozens of blue laser bolts tore through the air and burned scorch marks into the beasts hide and armor. Even under heavy fire the behemoth still rampaged through the commons, smashing Synths left and right. It sent some flying into the air with the force of the impact and others simply pulverized under its makeshift club's enormous weight. X4 looked on impassively as the Gen-1 and Gen-2 Synths fought helplessly against the creature.They were clearly outmatched, regardless of numbers, the Synths simply did not have the firepower to bring the beast down. It was time for a little more firepower. X4 gave a nod and a Gen-3 Synth trooper next to him dropped to her knee and aimed a missile launcher at the beast. An explosive missile burned its way through the air towards Swan, and only a chance defection with his makeshift paddle boat shield spared him the brunt of the projectile’s force. His shield exploded under the impact, and part of his hand was torn off. Swan roared in pain and clutched his wound.
The rebuilt pre-war IFV they’d been traveling alongside rotated its turret towards the Behemoth. X4 made a motion with his hand, and the turret opened up. A single 105mm round punched through the air and struck Swan’s abdomen, tearing into it. A great explosion ripped apart the creatures innards and sent it crashing to the ground, nearly blown in two.
“Swaaannn,” Swan shuddered as his lifeblood drained away rapidly, “Ed-gar...Swann.”
----
X4-35 stepped over a single one of Swan’s arms, even as a corpse the beast was formidable looking. He stared into the painted face of the abomination, it was a disturbing facsimile of a swan’s. X4 suppressed his disgust and opened a channel to the SRB,
“SRB, this is Task Force Aurora. Boston Commons is clear. ”
“Copy that X4. Continue sweep of the area. Secure the perimeter of the Massachusetts State House and surrounding buildings. Await reinforcement from other units.”
----
Inside his quarters Thomas watched watched the monitor array feed closely as legions of Synths battled their way through Boston. Block by block, inch by inch retaking the city from the degradation and decay that had infested it all these years. It would take weeks or even months to clear out the multitude of raiders and mutant warbands that inhabited it, and it would likely be years before the city could be fully scoured entirely of the likes of ghouls and other mutant aberrations. Still though, time was on his side, and he had no shortage of Synths that could be set to the task. For every synth lost, another simply walked off the production line to take its place. The Institute’s resources were expanding considerably each day that past as their operations on the surface increased and the amount of raw material, pre-war tech, and machinery came flooding in, along with the reignition of many pre-war manufacturing and industrial locations.
Visions of the future flooded his mind. Plans for the city and what he might do with all the wealth of technology at his disposal. He would build a new Boston, a true city of the future with The Institute at the helm. Thomas glanced over at the profiles SRB had sent, the ones they’d compiled from the New Vegas meetings.
Perhaps it was time to begin showing others just what that future might be.
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