Andronicus23

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Don Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah

“Exactly correct my dear. My, my: ravishingly beautiful AND intelligent - a potent combination. HA!” Dominic replied with a hearty chuckle, “But yes Mr. House is, was, a true genius in his time. Only a fool would deny it - he was a captain of industry beyond any other and its only because of him that New Vegas is here at all. I feel nothing but gratitude towards the man for what he did for us - indeed the Mojave itself owes him a great debt.”

“However…” Dominic continued, his voice lowering into a more somber tone, “While one cannot deny the inherent brilliance of the man, one also must acknowledge that his glory days are well and truly past. He’s a broken man now - the NCR crushed his last shred of pride and has reduced him to a shell of his former self. He no longer has the drive, or the will, to see his plans for New Vegas carried out. The man wallows in self pity in his literal ivory tower day after day, and never talks to anyone. The only interaction anyone, even his most loyal employees, has with him is through the silent monotonous protocols of his remaining Securitron police force.”

Dominic sighed, clasping his hands in front of him as his gaze shifted between all three of the Vault dwellers,

“And this is where I must ask for your help, and your discretion: as the Omertas newest friends and allies, I hope I can trust you on both accounts.”

“House must be removed from power,” Dominic said finally, exhaling a breath like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, “His not fit to rule Vegas anymore. The Three Families need to take over now, and ensure direct rule over Vegas. We’re pretty much doing that as is - but we lack the control over House’s systems and network that would allow us to ensure so much more is done for the people of Vegas.”

“For instance the flood that just recently wrecked so much devastation on Outer Vegas?” Dominic added with a sneer, “Do you know how much aid House gave or how many of his securitrons helped in the rescue efforts? None. 0. Zip. The families stepped up and did the work that House himself should have been coordinating. It's beyond inexcusable: as Chief Executive of New Vegas he should have been leading the charge and ensuring his people's well-being. Instead he did nothing.”

“Understand, I have no interest in killing House. Indeed I’d like to ensure the exact opposite - I want him to enjoy a peaceful retirement as he well should, free of the burdens of leadership that he obviously no longer has any interest in taking part in. But for that to happen - I need technological expertise that the Omertas simply don’t have, and I need the help of outsiders I can truly trust and rely on.”

“What do you say?” Dominic finished finally, looking at each of them in turn with a hopeful expression.

How Little We Know

The Unity

Nightkin Warlord Sammel - Near Clarkstown

Sammel heard them before he ever laid eyes on them. It began as a distant hum, which quickly evolved into a terrible roar as the rotors of the aircraft tore through the sky overhead. Sammel knew what was about to come, but he did not have time to issue orders to his overextended army. He could only watch with rage as the attack began all along the column.

Fire and death rained from the sky, as the vertibirds of The Enclave ripped through their ranks with heavy machine guns, missiles and a carpet bomb of mini-nukes. He saw limbs flying detached from torsos whilst blood and gore soaked the ground alongside the charred remains of his mutant kin. It was a slaughter, and the broken ground of the highway became a charnel house of mayhem and death.

“Find cover! Fire back! FIRE BACK!” Sammel roared over the chaotic din as he tried desperately to maintain order in his ranks.

Some of his most loyal mutants attempted to follow his command, some grabbing discarded missile launchers or manning heavy machine guns while others fired back with little more than hunting rifles in a desperate attempt to deal some sort of punishment against the attacking squadron. They fired haphazardly however, without proper coordination, and so their response was mostly ineffective - although the return fire did force the flying menaces into evasive maneuvers.

A 2nd Gen mutant next to Sammel raised his launcher after reloading to prepare to fire once more, but before he could pull the trigger an explosion from an incoming missile ripped the pale-green creature in half and sent Sammel flying a dozen feet to the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his side, and when we rolled over realized that a chunk of metal shrapnel was now firmly embedded in his torso: a fine gift from Sutler - he would need to repay it in kind.

Enraged beyond all reason by pain, Sammel raised himself to his feet and grabbed a missile launcher from another of his nearby kin. With a steady hand, he aimed squarely at the closet Vertibird giving it an appropriate lead.

He fired, and the missile streaked through the sky before it struck home: landing a hit on the right side of the craft.

That seemed to be enough for the squadron, one of their own being hit was like a signal to the entire attack to stop. They immediately began to retreat in formation with the stricken aircraft limping along behind like a bird with a broken wing.

Sammel smiled cruelly then winced with pain as he felt the sharp piece of metal twisting inside him.

“Have the scouts follow the trail of the wounded bird,” He barked to one of his nearby lieutenants - if it goes down, I want the crew taken alive.”

The Pitt

- Guns of The Ohio-

High atop a hill outside of East Steubenville, Krenshaw surveyed the opposite bank of the river through his binoculars, watching the approaching dust cloud in the distance growing ever closer. He likened it to watching the dark churning clouds of a storm rolling in on a clear wasteland day - a dire portent of what was about to come.

“Your tin-can boys ready?” Krenshaw remarked as he lowered the binoculars to look over to Paladin-Lord Traven, now armored fully in a set of painted T-60 resplendent in the Brotherhood’s livery.

“They’re ready to deal death to the mutant filth…” Traven replied through the speaker in his helmet, “I’m about to join them now.”

“If the mutants break through it’ll be here,” Krenshaw chuckled darkly as he looked over at the partially exposed riverbed, “The Ohio is at a low point here - gets strangled on its way south before it swells further downstream…..they can practically walk across it.”

“A natural choke point though..” Traven remarked, “Provided we hold.”

“Yeah - ‘provided we hold.’” Krenshaw echoed darkly as he looked over the ruined landscape on the opposite bank. The entire area had been cleared - buildings demolished, trees cut down - anything and everything that could possibly provide an inch of cover to the mutant host had been leveled. There would be no protection from the storm they were about to unleash.

“Get to your men m’Lord,” Krenshaw ordered, tossing the binoculars to a waiting Pitt officer before giving his Brotherhood counterpart a half-cocked salute, “Let’s fuck em’ up.”

Mags Black

Mags clutched her assault rifle as she took cover behind a trenchline that extended the length of the riverbank as far as she could see. Beyond her lay a deadly no-man’s land within the dried river-bed that was covered in traps, barbed-wire, and mines. Anyone who looked at such defenses would have rightly assumed that the mutants were going to be charging in to suicide - but the veteran Midwestern soldiers had grimly informed them that such deadly waves were in fact a favorite tactic of the mutants - sending forth hordes of ferals and enthralled humans to clear the way for the eventual mutant assault.

The former gang-leader of the Operators had to stop and take stock of how she’d ended up in this predicament. Forced out of her territory by the machinations of The Institute - now at the front line of some terrible continent-spanning war. Not even commanding troops as a gang-leader either, but slogging it out as a lowly foot grunt that was little more than a single cog in the industrial war-machine that was The Army of The Pitt.

She’d tried to join The Pitt because she hadn’t wanted to leave the raider life behind her and she believed herself tough enough to take on anything. But if she survived this war, she promised herself she’d give it all up the first chance she got. Settle down somewhere and live a quiet life like her parents in Diamond City had always wanted. They’d finally get their stupid wish.

Right now though survival was looking anything but likely.

“Yo Mags, can I bum a cig?” One of her crew mates, a young raider nicknamed ‘Dig’ asked as he slid down into the trench next to her.

Mags nodded, and fumbled at the half-crushed pack of cigarettes in her pocket before shakily handing one to him.

“I’m hearing it's about to start…those uglies won’t know what hit em’,” Dig replied with a smirk as he took the cigarette and lit it up. Mags grimmaced as she noted how fucking fearless the punk was. Whether it was bravery, a lack of experience, or just sheer stupidity she couldn’t say - but she pitied him regardless.

Mags peeked out over the top of the trench behind her, and saw that the mutant host was assembling directly opposite them - guns and heavy weapons at the ready along with whatever artillery of their own they’d dragged from Cincinnati. Things were about to go to shit real quick.

Suddenly there was a commotion within The Pitt’s lines, and Mags watched in awe as she saw The Pitt’s guns being uncovered from their hidden positions along the back hill line. There were hundreds of artillery pieces of varying sizes, some of them scavenged and repaired by The Pitt from pre-war national armories across their territory, others brought in by The Midwestern Brotherhood forces retreating east.

Somewhere upon the hill a flare was fired up into the air, and the signal was given. The bombardment began - shaking the ground with its fury and filling the air with a deafening roar that forced Mags to plug her ears. She smelled smoke and felt the teeth-chattering vibrations as a hailstorm of ordinance exploded upon the mutant lines. Raiders and Midwestern Brotherhood artillery crews continually fed their guns; loading shells and refiring with a practiced precision.

If the mutants hoped that the rain of shells would be short-lived, they were sorely mistaken. Troops of raiders and Brotherhood robots continuously ferried shells up from the rear lines where they were unloaded from waiting train cars fresh from The Pitt. The barrels of the guns themselves were more likely to melt before the Pitt would run out of ammo.

Everything moved like a hellish but well-oiled machine. Despite her fear, Mags couldn’t help but share in Dig’s enthusiasm as the mutants scrambled to return fire and take cover on the opposite bank.

“FUCK YEAH GIVE EM’ HELL!” He yelled.

Mags was about to join in herself when she felt the ground literally shake beneath her. A shadow passed overhead, and Mags and Dig both turned to their right to see a hulking robotic monstrosity moving up to the front a short distance down the line. The six-legged Midwestern Behemoth raised its head and aimed its quad .50 cal guns at a wave of approaching ferals who were charging down the opposite slope into the riverbed. It opened up on them, spraying a hail of bullets down range that tore through the ferals and ripped apart several mutants caught with them.

Mags sank back into the trench, stunned at the sheer firepower being brought to bear here. An all or nothing gambit had been thrown down.

Maybe there was a slim chance of survival after all.

How Little We Know

The UNITY

The Behemoth Lord

Braxton stood watching atop a hill watching the marching host before him. The army of The Behemoth Lord was on the move, carving a path of destruction through Midwestern lands - chasing after fleeing Midwestern civilians and soldiers alike in the wake of Cincinnati's fall. The former Brotherhood Knight turned Chosen no longer felt any kinship towards the humans that he was once sworn to protect. His memory was clouded and muddied, and although he retained some scant knowledge of his former life as a human, most of it was completely consumed by some unknowable presence which wormed his way into his thoughts like some great serpent. It was always there, never dominating or all-consuming, but always present never-the-less.

UNITY. UNITY. UNITY. It would chant endlessly.

There was no point in attempting to block it out, and indeed by this point Braxton welcomed the intrusion as a form of liberation. He was no longer alone - no longer an individual - but a part of a greater whole.

He would serve The Unity, from now until the end of his immortal life.

Braxton turned his head to see the great form of the Behemoth Lord striding into view, pushing aside trees as it made its way through a dense forest like it was passing through nothing more than tall grass. The massive hulking form of the behemoth warlord was awe inspiring. Old heavy car parts and pieces of metal roofing had been crudely crushed and shaped into armor around the Behemoth’s form, and in his left hand he wielded an uprooted power line that was studded with rebar stakes like some sort of large spiked bat. Behind him marched his own personal guard of four behemoths that were just as large as he, though not nearly as intelligent as their leader.

Braxton bowed before the giant mutant commander, waiting with some trepidation as to what the creature's next command would be. Braxton knew better than to speak first, he’d seen the Behemoth Lord smash mutants that displeased it into pulp with a single swing of its fist for no other reason than the whim struck him.

“Send. Scouts.” The Behemoth Lord said finally, its voice deep and hollow, “Find the enemy. We kill. For Unity.”

“Yes Lord, I’ll lead them myself,” Braxton nodded eagerly, “We will find them.”

The Ghoul Eater

The rising brackish waters of Lake Michigan lapped at Zant’s feet. The pale-green mutant stood like some freakish totem, covered in bones and the shriveled heads of decapitated ghouls. His stomach was delightfully full, he and his gruesome host having feasted on the scattered inhabitants of Mantiwoc for the better part of a week. His forces' denial at both Chicago and then Milwaukee had been bitter, and so they’d taken their frustrations out on the isolated port town.

The fact that the poor fisherman and tradespeople of the ruined town had nothing to do with the Midwestern Brotherhood or its military ploys had mattered little. They were all human, all meat - so they’d been dealt an appropriate, collective, punishment.

Now Zant, The Ghoul Eater, turned his gaze lakeward. Beyond the great waters before him lay the unspoiled port towns along the coasts of the Great Lakes, along with the promise of the wealthy trade cities of Ronto and Luth. He had no use for their money of course - but their flesh would do quite nicely. Some to be dipped, some to be roasted - but all destined to feed his army one way or another.

Zant turned to the makeshift ships hap-hazardly assembled by the mutant host. Calling them “ships” would be generous indeed, they were more like floating heaps of scrap, but that wouldn’t matter as long as the mutant host managed to make it across the water. His army had heavy weapons aplenty and miniguns and missile launchers made for effective weapons on the sea just as well as on land. If they encountered any Luth merchant ships or otherwise, the floating hulks would only need to get them in range: nothing more.

Seizing the Great Lakes region would be an immense victory for The Unity if it could be accomplished. It would cut off trade and communication between the lake nations and the world beyond, and most of all the valuable supply of raw ore to the forges of The Pitt. According to The Master’s integrated connections to the Vault Tec Network, there was also at least one large unspoiled Vault in the region of northern Michigan: a large new source of prime normals that could not be ignored.

The Master had commanded Zant to take this region, and he would accomplish its will.

“We are ready,” one of his mutant commanders said suddenly, walking up to him with a large complement of 1st Generation mutants.

“Each of you take a vessel,” Zant ordered, “Attack any ship in your path…seize what you can, send any prime specimens to the Great Procreator - eat the rest.”

The Pitt

Vikia

Vikia eyed the lumbering mutant in the cross-hairs of her scope as it strode through the undergrowth . The dim-witted creature wasn't as stealthy as it thought it was, and it was almost comical watching the mutant plodding alongside a group of ghoul slaves-soldiers hunched over and creeping like it actually thought it couldn't be seen. She almost had some pity for what was about to happen to it - almost.

Vikia let out a deep breath slowly, and felt her finger lightly squeeze the trigger. A shot from her .308 sniper rang out before a bullet tore through the mutants skull - taking part of its brain with it. The creature immediately collapsed and before the accompanying ghoul soldiers could even react to their slave-master and commander's untimely end, infiltrator shots followed up in quick succession from Vikia's hidden scouts, tearing through their ranks. In a matter of seconds it was over, and the entire patrol was wiped out. A few of the scouts made their way over to the clearing with rifles raised to ensure that the job was finished, and to loot whatever valuable intel the patrol happened to have on them. Rarely did they find anything worth their trouble though.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel..." one of Vikia's scouts, a gruff heavily mutated raider named Zachariah whistled as he reloaded his infiltrator with a fresh magazine. He and a small group of his kin had been made their way north to the Pitt from a place called 'Point Lookout' far to the south. The people there all apparently shared his mutations to one degree or another. Despite their appearance, they were all good fighters and unparalleled experts at living off the land making them natural scouts - their inclinations towards cannibalism not-with-standing.

"Its too fucking easy," Vikia growled as she looked up from where she was laying and surveyed the area, "These bumbling idiots can't be their vanguard. How dumb are these mutants?"

"Well whatever they is, if they keep sending em' we'll keep making mincemeat out of them, "Zachariah replied with a toothy grin.

"Something's not right..." Vikia continued, tightening her grip on her rifle. Her gut instinct was screaming that this situation was all wrong. She'd learned to listen to that gut feeling over the years, and it was the only reason she was still alive now.

As if in answer, Vikia suddenly heard shouts followed by several explosions from the area where the mutants had been downed. All she saw was smoke and fire in that direction, and immediately she knew what must have happened. They hadn't been any kind of vanguard at all, but walking bombs - their bodies had been booby-trapped with mines. They were nothing more than fodder.

Then Vikia heard the sound of a stealth field de-materializing, and her heart froze.

Vikia whipped around only to see a hulking blue mutant wildly swinging a two-handed bumper-sword towards her. She rolled away just in time to watch it slice its way into the ground before the mutant swiftly pulled it up and swung it again in an upwards strike. Another of Vikia's scouts was caught by the blade, and the raider did even have time to scream before he was sliced in half sending blood spraying all over her.

Zachariah, to his credit, reacted without hesitation raising up his infiltrator rifle and firing several shots at the mutant assassin. The unarmored mutant suddenly staggered back, only to immediately take more bullets from the surrounding raiders and collapsing to the ground.

To Vikia's horror, the creature was still alive though -and it reached for its blade once again in some vain attempt to get back up and fulfill its mission. Zachariah quickly ended that though, drawing forth a finely sharpened wood-axe and burying it in the Nightkin's skull.

"Holy shit..." Vikia muttered in shock, wiping blood from her face, "We didn't even hear that thing at all until it deactivated its stealth boy..."

"That thing came her for one reason and one reason only," Zachariah remarked with a grunt as he pulled his now bloodied axe out from the mutant's forehead and pointed it at Vikia, "To take that pretty little head of yours clean off Ms. Viky. I don't think they be as dumb as you think."

How Little We Know

Mags Black

Mags allowed the blood covered knife to slip from her hand and onto the broken gore-soaked ground of The Hole. The body of the Trog she’d just slain lay eviscerated in a heap at her feet, its sickly discolored blood running in rivulets through the soil . Exhausted beyond measure, Mags barely registered the voice of the announcer above the roaring sound of the crowd above: ‘ASHUR ASHUR ASHUR’ they chanted like a raucous chorus.

“And the Trog falls! Welcome Mags! Welcome to Ashur’s Army! You’ve earned it!”

She collapsed to her knees, triumphantly raising one hand. This was it, she thought to herself with a wide grin; she’d passed their test, she’d earned her place. Now she could work her way up: now she would finally get that audience with Lady Ashur.

From here on out, she would be in her element. Finally things might go her way.

---

“Inspection! Fall in for inspection you newbie bastards!”

Mags barely had time to wash the Trog’s blood off her before she’d been practically dragged into formation before her new Raid Boss: a tough one-eyed son of a bitch named ‘Reddog’ who wore super-sledge slung to the back of his spiked Gamma shield armor. There were at least fifty of her fellow raiders standing at loose attention before him as he passed back and forth, giving each of them a discerning look with his one good eye.

“Congratulations assholes, you’re all in Ashur’s Army now: The Army of The Pitt. But before you all get big heads and starting thinking some bullshit about how you’re special or ‘chosen’ let me make one thing straight to you bastards.”

Reddog raised a hand, his right ring finger was missing: chewed off at the knuckle by the same creature which had removed his eye. He held up his index and middle before them,

“This don’t make you shitheads special, all it means is two things, “1: You ain’t trog food and 2. You ain’t a slave.”

He looked right at Mags, his eye seemed to bore into her,

“And if that’s enough for you….then good you’ll fit right in here. But you want more? You gotta EARN it. Ain’t nobody got to the top of Ashur’s gang without going through hell. You all best remember that.”

Reddog paused, unsheathing his super-sledge and slamming it head-first to the ground in front of him,

“Alright for anyone looking for that chance….let me give you some good fuckin’ news. We’re headed to the Ohio River with the rest of the army, and guess what? Our crew gets the best assignment of all: we’re gonna be right at the fuckin’ front.

Mags tightened her grip on the R91 assault rifle she’d been issued; the weight of the heavy ammo bandolier she was wearing seemed to be trying to drag her quivering legs to the ground. She realized she was feeling true fear for the first time in a good long while.

“Move out scrum! Let’s go kick some mutant ass. For Ashur! For The Lady of The Pitt!”

---

Krenshaw - 10th Street Bridge Overlook

Standing atop one of the downtown high-rise buildings, Commander Krenshaw watched the army departing alongside Abaddon and the recently arrived ex-Paladin-Lord Hector Traven. It was like a surging tide, thousands of raiders marching across the tenth street bridge to be shipped by rail, barge, or long march to the forward defensive line. Things were in motion now, and all that was to come was the inevitable battle.

Krenshaw lit up a cigarette, exhaling a thin trail of smoke out into The Pitt’s perpetual twilight sky. He could practically feel the nervous tension oozing from the two former Brotherhood men next to him.

“Will your forces hold?” Abaddon asked bluntly, the aged scribe’s wrinkled face contorted with worry.

“My raiders will hold,” Krenshaw grimaced, taking another puff of his cigarette, “You just worry about those reprogrammed factory bots of yours.”

“This won’t be anything like they’ve ever faced before…” The now former Paladin-Lord of Cincinnati added. Traven was still wearing his Brotherhood robes, which unlike Abaddon’s red scribe robes were tinged the gold-orange of a ranking leader of the Midwestern Brotherhood.

Krenshaw gave Traven a side-glare, before flicking the half-finished cigarette off the roof,

“The fuck you know about what my soldiers have gone through?”

He strode up to Traven, looking him square in the eye. To the Paladin-Lord’s credit, he didn’t flinch in the slightest, meeting Krenshaw’s gaze with a glare of his own. Krenshaw grinned, encouraged to see that the latest Brotherhood deserter amongst The Pitt’s ranks had an actual backbone: unlike Abaddon. Good, he’d need it.

“Nothing,” Traven replied simply, “But I do know your enemy, and that you should be afraid.”

Krenshaw scoffed, “Can’t afford to be afraid. Either we win or we die. Fear ain’t a factor here,” Krenshaw then turned to look out over the marching army once more, letting out a deep breath, “Those deserters of yours ready to put up a fight Paladin-Lord?”

“Exiles,” Traven corrected, “They didn’t break any oaths…their honor is intact.”

“Unlike yourself, of course,” Krenshaw pointed out with a smirk.

“Indeed,” Traven nodded, clear shame evident in his eyes, “Two companies of Knights, three companies of C-27 bots, twenty pacification class robots, and one Behemoth class….” Traven rattled off, “They’ll do their duty, I assure you.”

“Well we’ll need em’,” Krenshaw grunted, as he pulled at the folds of his long coat jacket, “We’ve mobilized every soldier we got, called in all the favors we’ve ever had with every pissant gang from the Erie Stretch to The Commonwealth. Hell we’ve even got some of those Children of Atom zealots fighting with us. It's the largest force The Pitt has ever fielded - certainly the biggest fuckin’ army I’ve seen in my life.”

“Don’t assume numbers alone can win this fight,” Traven interrupted.

Abaddon gave a sadistic smile, “We’re not without our cards to play…we’ve got enough ordinance to level the entire Ohio river valley. The mutants will receive an artillery bombardment that will rival The Guns of Anchorage.”

“And I hope for all our sakes that its enough.”

“Cut it with the doom and gloom…let's get to work,” Krenshaw replied with a click of his tongue. He turned around and quickly brushed past Abaddon and Traven; giving Traven a hard slap on the back as he passed, “Best suit up Paladin-Lord, we’ve got an express train to Steubenville to catch.”

How Little We Know

Southbound Cleveland Express

Krenshaw sat in the rear observation car of the Cleveland Express train, which was barreling down towards The Pitt with all possible speed - her raider engineer coaxing as much steam power as he could from the ancient boiler. Meanwhile Krenshaw did his best to enjoy the ride, kicking his feet up on a footrest and leisurely relaxing in a comfortable chair. His body ached, as it always did, but he did his best to relieve it with a few swigs of a lukewarm bottle of beer. He was nearing his fifty-sixth year at this point - ridiculously old as far as raiders went. He himself had never believed he’d ever see life past forty.

“And to think I ended up outliving you in the end,” Krenshaw said as he lifted his bottle up as if in toast, “Here’s to you Lord Ashur. Bottoms up.”

The train suddenly shifted as it raced around a bend in the track, and Krenshaw nearly spilled his beer, clutching it tightly before taking another swig. He brushed off his overly-decorated uniform: an old pre-war Ohio National Guard officer long coat acquired from the looted Camp Garfield Arsenal, though hardly recognizable as such anymore. It was covered in raider insignia, various gaudy medals, as well as a black and yellow diagonal cross patch sewn onto the right chest.

Satisfied nothing had spilled on his always immaculate uniform, Krenshaw leaned back again and let out a deep sigh.

“I’m too damn old to be doing this…racing off to war..” He muttered.

He’d been with Ashur since the beginning, sworn loyalty to him the moment he’d climbed out of that pile of steel and rubble which had left him trapped and buried in his power armor. He’d never bought into Ashur’s godhood, not like the rest of his gang, but he’d always had absolute faith in Ashur’s ability to lead and forge a future for The Pitt. He’d never wavered in his loyalty, never doubted him for a moment - but now he was gone, and his daughter was in charge.

Krenshaw wanted to believe in Marie, wanted to trust her the same way he trusted her father: but the reality was that no matter how much Ashur had groomed her for leadership there was no amount of preparation that could replace hard experience. She was young, too damn young, barely a month beyond twenty. Ashur had never planned to die so early, he’d expected to have more time to ensure Marie was ready for the throne.

Shit happened though, as it always did in The Pitt, and now Marie was thrust into leadership: right before a war that was the greatest threat to The Pitt since Werhner’s rebellion. Krenshaw could only hope the new Lady of The Pitt was up to the task.

“Commander Krenshaw! Commander Krenshaw!”

Krenshaw looked up to see his female “secretary”, Emily, opening the door between the railcars and running towards him as quickly as she could in those high heels he’d given her to wear along with her suit and skirt: all completely necessary for her role of course.

The raider woman brushed aside her long hair and handed a manila folder to Krenshaw.

“This was just radio’d in as an encrypted message from The Pitt, I decrypted it myself. Apparently they wanted you to have it as quickly as possible.”

“From ol’ Abaddon I’m guessing…” Krenshaw said, furrowing his brow as he began looking over the page, then turned to look back at her, “Boy I’m sure fuckin’ glad we pulled your smart ass out of that Vault.”

Emily beamed with pride before Krenshaw continued reading down the page. Confusion quickly crossing his weathered features,

“Wait, what is this? ‘From the United States Secret Service'? The hell?”

“Well I believe it's a report received in from The Enclave sir…”

“The Enclave?” Krenshaw whistled, “Then I’d say shit must be really bad if they’re sending us intel. Normally we don’t get anything from Sutler’s boys beyond asking when the next steel shipment is due to arrive.”

Krenshaw quickly read through the intel report. Evidently whoever had sent it from The Pitt had greatly summarized its contents for brevity, which was no doubt the doing of The Pitt’s resident Scribe, but the meat of it was there. Details on mutant troop movements, apparent strategies employed by the mutant army, and the unfortunate confirmation that Cincinnati had indeed fallen. Much of it was already known to them either through interrogations of fleeing Brotherhood members or Vikia’s scouts, but there was still a good deal of new info as well.

“Looks like they’re expecting an attack on their territory as well…that’s good,” Krenshaw said with a relieved sigh.

Emily looked confused, “Sir?”

“It means we’re not alone in this fight, The Enclave has a reason to fight with us at least. Whatever our animosities - they know damn well just as well as we do that we’re all facing annihilation if these mutants get through.”

Krenshaw walked over and looked down at a map he’d been furiously notating on throughout the train ride. He ran a finger down along the length of the Ohio river as he snaked through Steubenville and all the way down into West Virginia. He’d already ordered the army to form a defensive line along part of its length. They’d attempt to stop any advance on The Pitt there dead cold. If the worst should occur or if a flank from the south seemed imminent, the next fall back point would be the Monongahela and The Pitt itself.

The problem was Cleveland, if the mutants instead went north to take the city, there was little enough to stop them. He couldn't position more forces north without risking The Pitt’s protective line: and that was unacceptable. He’d left his best Lieutenant, O-Dog, in charge of the cities defenses and told him to dig in and hold as long as possible if they came under siege. Krenshaw was confident O-Dog would do his job - and so he needed to do his as well. The Pitt had to be protected along with Marie, at any cost.

But there was still too much damn territory to effectively cover; sacrifices would need to be made somewhere. He looked over the map yet again, glaring at it as if he could change the situation just by sheer will alone,

“Fuck,” Krenshaw cursed, “I need more goddamn men.”

How Little We Know

Guard Captain Harlock - Haven Throne Room

Lady Ashur had called for her advisors immediately after the disturbing report from Vikia and her scouts had come through. Cincinnati was indeed overrun, and the Midwestern Paladin-Lord had apparently not been exaggerating the strength of the mutant host. Now Captain Harlock stood alongside Scribe Abbadon and Head Priestess Lulu before the seated Marie. Each one of them offering their own advice, whether solicited or not, on the matter in question. Though Harlock had his doubts about the quality of advice being so freely given by The Pitt's resident Scribe.

“I still think we should take this report with some measure of skepticism - while the mutant host might be confirmed the situation may not be as dire as Vikia’s report suggests. We should not act rashly without further intelligence.” Abaddon offered dryly.

Harlock glared spitefully at the old man's bullheaded stubbornness. The scribe had obviously just been pulled out of bed and it was a fucking miracle that whatever potent cocktail of jet and mentats he’d probably been habitually partaking in was allowing him to stand at all.

“Vikia and her scouts are the best in The Pitt,” Harlock countered, “And they ain’t the only ones reporting in. I’ve gotten word from our boys in Cleveland that the port of Chicago is gone - not taken - gone. The whole place is a crater.”

“What exactly are you implying Captain?” Abaddon interrupted with an annoyed huff.

“That the Midwestern Brotherhood might have done something drastic as a last resort: nuking their own city to deny the mutants a victory.”

Abaddon scoffed, “Nonsense. Deploying a nuclear weapon would be in direct violation of the Codex. Even those backwards heretics wouldn’t dare do something so abhorrent. Its inconceivable.”

“Either way it doesn’t matter,”Harlock growled, “Whatever happened to the city, it still means that there’s something larger going on here. The Paladin-Lord was right, this ain’t just one Brotherhood city under siege - it's a full scale invasion. The entire region is under attack, and we're likely next. It's a strategic fact - and it's about damn time we faced it.”

Lady Marie then turned to Abaddon, speaking softly with a tone of voice in which Harlock thought he could detect the slightest hint of fear, “Did you discover anything in your archives that might shed some light on the mutant army?”

“Well only one, potential, reference my Lady. The oldest my chapter retained in fact...” Abaddon cleared his throat, hesitating for a brief moment as if the chem-addled codger was reluctant to share this particular detail, “Roger Maxson, the founder of The Brotherhood, made reference to a source of FEV located at the Mariposa Military base. Meaning that while there have not been mutants known in the West before now...I do suppose it's possible that someone, or something, got its hands on the substance via Mariposa. However unlikely it would seem to be.”

“And used them to create an army…” Harlock continued, finishing the thought, before he then turned to Marie. Looking straight into her eyes, “Lady Ashur we should take this threat seriously. We need to be ready.”

Marie sat silently for a few moments, looking between the faces of each of her advisors before finally staring at the empty armor of her father that stood just off to her left. Harlock wondered fitfully what was going through her mind, and was desperate to do anything he could to help her make the right decision. Ultimately though, it was entirely up to her will.

Finally Marie turned to Lulu, projecting a well-rehearsed voice of confidence - one which could only have come from a lifetime of tutelage under her father.

“Lulu...take down my words and relay them as appropriate.”

“Yes my Lady,” the high-priestess nodded, bowing respectfully before the throne.

“Inform The Foreman at The Mill that production quotas are to be increased: we must ensure a steady supply of ordinance coming off the line. Furthermore, recall Commander Krenshaw from Cleveland: he’s to report to The Pitt at once to take command. The army is to be mobilized and made ready to fight as quickly as possible. ”

How Little We Know

UNITY

The blood red and sickly yellow radiation banners of the Unity flew outside the Cincinnati city hall building, once the Brotherhood’s citadel in the heart of the city: now headquarters of all Unity operations in the region. Inside the war room of his new headquarters, Sammel’s lidless gaze shifted between each of his mutant lieutenants, sizing them up carefully. He weighed their recent actions in the last battle, mentally dividing up spoils and punishment between them - great deeds equaled greater rewards, whilst cowardice and incompetence was to be met with demotion or death. More than one of his Lieutenants had become centaur food since the push from St. Louis, and a few more had joined them after the Siege of Cincinnati. More would no doubt follow as others took their places and the war continued - Sammel would tolerate no incompetence in The Master’s army.

Ghoul servants in heavy iron chains passed between each of the mutant commanders, offering up great trays of fresh bloodied meat taken from the corpses outside. Some of the mutants took the offer, but most abstained, seeking instead to focus on the large crude hand drawn map in front of them which had been etched into the wooden table with a knife.

Sammel’s fingers traced the map, pointing out the locations to which The Master’s great horde would be bound next.

“D-C,” Sammel said, his finger lingering on an area of the map that had been marked with a standing miniature pre-war flag, “The Master has said that a new source of the great procreator may be found there, along with fresh untainted prime normals led by a man named Sut-ler. We will turn them all, and they will join The Unity. Priority target.”

Sammel’s finger rolled up the coastline, landing on a spot far to the north denoted by a fusion cell placed on the table,

“Boston,” He sneered, “More of our kin are found there, meaning yet another potential source of the procreator. Traders we’ve captured mention a place of great science and technology called The Institute. We will crack this place of science open, and take their technology for The Master - use it to further The Unity. Priority Target.”

Finally his finger traced downard once more, landing on a location upon which sat a 5.56 shell,

“The Pitt,” He said, “A place of great industry. We will use it to arm ourselves - create more weapons and ammunition for the horde. The city is polluted- no prime normals, but the people there will make good strong slaves.” Sammel’s gaze landed on the chained ghoul nearest to him, and he chuckled a deep throaty laugh, “Priority target.”

“Our forces will begin moving,” He continued, “My legion will push straight through West Virginia towards D-C. And take it,” He reached over and knocked down the miniature pre-war flag with a snap of his finger.

“The behemoth lord’s forces will begin pushing towards The Pitt - a two prong assault,” with another snap of his finger he toppled the bullet and sent it rolling on the table.

“Finally,” He said, moving his hand up to the radiation symbol nearest the great lakes, “The ghoul-eater will cross the great lake and begin attacking from the north. Combined our onslaught will be unstoppable, and with the fresh captures we’ve taken our numbers alone will overwhelm them.”

The mutant lieutenants around him murmured their agreement, each of them eager to begin the final bloodletting - the war to end all wars that would finally see The Master in control of the entire breadth of the continent. Soon the remaining lands to the north and south would fall as well, and all of what was once North America would be under the firm control of The Unity. What lay beyond that inevitable triumph then? Only The Master could say.

“We will begin sending out advance forces to probe for weaknesses and scout the way ahead,” Sammel announced finally, “Talmok” he pointed to the hulking green first generation mutant who was his most trusted commander, “You will lead the vanguard.”

“Yes, my Nightkin.” The mutant replied with a bloodthirsty smile.

“Do not fail…ergh!” Sammel suddenly clutched his head in pain, and his surrounding commanders all did the same. A powerful, all consuming voice filled their thoughts and wormed its way into their conscious minds like a great serpent - leaving them unable to do anything but tremple in its presence.

“Its….him,” Sammel stuttered, a potent combination of fear and reverence taking hold of him.

He heard only one phrase uttered, it voice like the chorus of a thousand throats all screaming in unison,

“ATTACK. KILL. FOR UNITY.”

How Little We Know

Cincinnati - The Dam Breaks

UNITY

Sammel strode triumphantly through the broken remains of Cincinnati’s defenses. He sheathed his bumper sword, still slick and dripping with fresh blood, as he watched his mutants rampaging through the ruins of the last true stronghold of The Brotherhood of Steel. Screams of the dying filled the air intermingled the pleas of survivors being forcibly dragged from hiding places in the ruins and rubble of the destroyed city. Sammel forgave them for their ignorance, their feeble minds unable to comprehend the full glory of what they were about to experience - to join The Unity and become one with the master race. Soon they would understand though, all would know the everlasting peace which The Master had promised to bring.

Sammel and the cadre of Nightkin guards shadowing him halted their march in front of a long line of prisoners, each of the human's hands tightly bound behind their backs and their heads lowered in defeat. A mutant with a large spiked club patrolled the line, watching closely for any sign of rebellious intent and ready to tear flesh the bones of any foolish enough to test their restraints.

The mutant warlord sneered at the pathetic sight of those cowering before him. Such weakness was only to be expected from the humans, but he still found it detestable. No matter, it would soon be remedied.

“Your time of suffering is at an end,” Sammel began, stretching out his oversized arms before them, “For The Unity has finally come. The Master brings an end to all conflict, the struggles of survival in the wastes, and to the frailty of the human body and mind. Do not be afraid, for soon you will know the sublime perfection that of the super-mutant. The true next step in evolution.”

The prisoners collectively trembled in terror, knowing what came next.

“Bring forth the Vat!”

---

Braxton watched helplessly one after the other as his Brothers and Sisters were each lifted up by the small crane and then dropped feet first into the roiling green vat of FEV. A few went silently, simply staring out into space or gibbering quietly as the crane lifted them up, but most screamed or pleaded until the final moment their head was submerged.

No matter which way they went in though, they always came out the same. Their bodies grossly enlarged and dripping with FEV, with the shredded remains of their clothes clinging to their new green hulking bodies. All trace of their humanity completely gone, the new mutants would simply step out and fall in line behind the rest of their kin.

This continued one after the other, until it was his turn. Braxton said nothing, he didn’t beg or plead, but like an exhausted animal caught in a trap he simply went limp and gave up. He felt the strain on his arms as the crane lifted him skyward, and saw the glowing green of the liquid below him as it shimmered like some otherworldly substance.

There was a pause as the crane hovered over the vat. A silent stillness that felt like it could last forever.

Suddenly Braxton dropped and in only a moment he’d splashed into the abominable FEV, submerging him completely within its mutating grasp.

Braxton’s last conscious thought as a human was how warm the FEV felt against his skin: and then came the pain.

How Little We Know

Vikia - On The Road to Cincinnati

Vikia sat lounging within the Paladin-Lord’s large tent, picking her teeth with a broken sliver of bone taken from the radstag she’d hunted only a couple hours earlier. She watched Paladin-Lord Traven pacing his tent with growing frustration and stared at him with complete disdain. She got the distinct impression that these Brotherhood types didn’t like anything to fall outside of whatever tightly ordered structure they lived by, and any slight deviation from it made them nervous. That kind of thing got on her fucking nerves to no end.

“Your men are late,” Traven hissed as he continued his endless short patrol around the tent’s small interior.

“Relax your lordship, take a load off, ” Vikia mocked as she tossed her makeshift bone toothpick to the ground and then put her feet up on a nearby footlocker, “Bloodhound is my best scout. He and his boys will be back before sun-up. Until then, just chill the fuck out.”

“I should have never allowed this….” Traven mumbled to himself, “Using goddamn raiders for scout patrol. What the hell was I thinking?”

“Careful asshole,” Vikia growled, “You came to us. Remember? Besides my scouts could run circles around those tribals of yours. I’d love to see them track a pack of Trogs through the underground.”

Traven opened his mouth to retort when they both heard footsteps outside, followed by a flap to the tent opening. A short raider in light armor with an infiltrator rifle strapped around his shoulder entered the tent. The raider spat on the ground, and looked to Vikia first, “We saw it.”

“And?” Traven interrupted, stomping towards the scout.

Bloodhound glanced over at the Paladin-Lord with a sneer, then turned back to Vikia, “Whole cities fucked. Viky….I’ve seen some nasty shit in my time, but there’s a whole other level of fucked-up shit going on there. Must be thousands of those mutant things all over the place. I only caught glimpses of them through my scope, but what I seen was enough for me.”

“And the defenses?,” Traven barked impatiently, “Are the outer lines holding?”

Bloodhound turned and looked to the Paladin-Lord, as if finally recognizing he was there, “If by that you mean those smashed barricades. No. Looked to me like those mutant fuckers just broke through. Whole western side of the city looks like it got leveled.”

Traven collapsed into his chair, despondent, “Then it's over. The city is lost. The inner lines won’t hold,” the sadness etched on his face quickly turned to anger, “I told that savage Queen of yours it would be too late. She should have listened to me.”

“Watch it, that’s the second time you’ve mouthed off,” Vikia growled, getting to her feet, “Not gonna be a third time so if you want a bullet hole in your forehead keep on talking.”

Bloodhound leaned in and whispered to her, his voice slithering through the air like a venomous snake, “Let’s just gut the fucker and be done with it Viky. His tribal guards out there ain’t even armored. They probably got some decent enough loot between them for us to split. We can toss em’ in a ditch somewhere and say the muties got him - ain’t nobody gonna be the wiser.”

“No, Blood, we still got a job to do,” Vikia replied loud enough for the Paladin-Lord to hear as she brushed past Bloodhound to address Traven directly, “So what are you going to do now?”

“Me? Nothing.” Traven replied without missing a beat, looking Vikia straight in the eyes, “Run as far away from here as I can get maybe. I’ll be branded an outcast and put in front of a firing squad if I’m captured for abandoning my post, but at this point that’s a preferable alternative to being taken alive by The Unity. Once Cincinatti falls nothing will stop them.”

“Good. That makes this next part easy then,” Vikia smiled, drawing her sawed off shotgun from its holster and pointing the business end at Traven, “From here on out you can just consider yourself an honored guest of Lady Ashur.”

“Send word to The Pitt, tell them what’s happening at Cincinnati. We need to be ready.”

Mags Black - At the Gates of The Pitt

Mags wasn’t proud of her escape from Nuka World. The attack on the park was just as quick as it was brutal. Ostensibly it was just The Minutemen under that damned Colonel MacCready that had led it, but Mags knew that the precise well-oiled nature of the operation had The Institute’s fingerprints all over the place. Whatever defenses the gangs had managed to throw up had been overwhelmed in short order, and that just left The Overboss and a few holdouts at Fizztop Mountain. Mags knew the game was up long before then, Fizztop was no fortress - and so she’d split with her Operators and turned tail, escaping through a tunnel dug underneath the park’s wall.

After that it’d been total chaos. All she knew now was that William was dead and the remnants of her gang were either captured, killed, or scattered. She was a gang leader without a gang - but she had a plan - just as she always did. The Nuka World raiders had long been doing business with a place known as ‘The Pitt’ which they bartered slaves with in exchange for guns and ammo. It was a city of raiders, apparently, a place someone like herself could no doubt take advantage of. So she’d made her way there, confident she’d be back on top in no time.

Mags had smelled the city before she’d ever laid eyes on it. It was unmistakable, the stench of heavy industry filling the air for miles and miles around. When she finally rounded a hill and laid eyes on the city proper, it looked like a fiery wound in the earth, tearing through the landscape and sky around it. She could see great plumes of fire from the stacks and pillars of black smoke spreading out in all directions underneath the sickly orange hue of a smog choked sky. Mags knew the wasteland very well, understood its miseries and hardships: but this was different - there had to be a new term invented for the blasted landscape that surrounded the ruins of Pittsburgh.

Her gaze was finally torn from the distant sight by the bellowing of a steam engine whistle, and she looked down at the bottom of the blasted hillside to see a ramshackle black steam engine barreling down a set of tracks leading towards The Pitt. The words “DC Express” had been crudely painted along the side of the coal-car hitched to the engine. Raiders armed with scoped assault rifles sat perched atop the tops of the cars, or manned light machine-gun turrets mounted at different points along the train's length. Most of the train's many cars were filled with shackled slaves, while the last few flatbeds were stacked high with 50 gallon drums stamped with a strange symbol and the words ‘Augustus Autumn Water Treatment Center.”

Mags hesitated, fearful of just what she was getting herself involved in, before she made her way down the hill.

---

The bridge leading to The Pitt was packed tightly with traders, slavers, and all manner of cutthroats looking to ply their various trades within the city. Mags was only one of many seeking entrance to The Pitt, and the first gate to pass was just up ahead: a large fortified steel gate that completely blocked the entrance to the bridge. Pitt soldiers patrolled its parapets and ensured that anyone attempting to pass through it was properly searched and vetted: sometimes turning people back for one reason or another. It was a strangely well-ordered operation.

Of course the fact that occasionally someone would end up tossed over the side into the ungodly filth of the polluted river below was reason enough to ensure compliance.

Mags thought she knew how to handle this situation though. She just needed to be brash, confident and always make it seem like she knew something that everyone else didn’t. It had worked in Nuka World with Colter quite well - it would work here too.

When it finally came to be her time, Mags stepped up and addressed the two guards who had just allowed in a brahmin rancher driving in some of his herd to sell.

“I’m Mags black,” She said proudly, a wry smile spreading across her face, “Leader of the Operators gang of Nuka World…I’m sure you’ve no doubt heard of us through your trade network. I request an immediate audience with your leader Marie..mmpppfff!”

Mags buckled over as one of the hulking raider guards knocked the wind out of her by smashing her stomach with the butt of his assault rifle.

“You don’t speak the name of the Lady of The Pitt outsider… you request nothing, you demand nothing, you ARE nothing,” He sneered.

“I…just want to….to join up,” She gasped out through sucking breaths.

“Heheh did that bitch just say she’s a raider? Don’t look like much,” The other guard chuckled darkly, opening his mouth in a crooked grin to reveal a set of filed yellow teeth, “She’s a real pretty one though…nice smooth skin and lovely hair. Is that a blue bow in her pony-tail? Aww how cute. You know, she’d be a great addition to the Second Circle…The Madam is always looking for new talent to make her some caps. Maybe she could put those pretty red lips of hers to good use…”

Mags snarled and got up to her feet, throwing a punch at the raider and giving a confident yell as she swung. She caught him off balance and knocked him square in the jaw, sending a couple of his nasty yellow teeth flying to the pavement below.

“FUCK!” The raider shouted while clutching his jaw, “The bitch just hit me!”

In a flash, the hulking guard was on her, pinning her up against the side rail of the bridge and holding her hands behind her back in a vice grip. Mags felt him tie a rope around her wrists tightly and then she felt herself being lifted up and over the railing.

“Beg Ashur’s Mercy you die quickly. You don’t want to know what happens to those who survive the plunge.”

“Stop!”

Mags heard someone call out behind her, and the raider guard set her back down and turned to the origin of the voice. A raider woman with dark hair and heavily tattooed skin approached, a large caliber scoped revolver holstered at her hip.

“Bridge Captain Sulpha - this wretch attacked Zero. She should be thrown from the bridge as punishment,” the large raider protested.

“Yeah knocked out three of my teeth too…fuggin bitch,” the skinny yellow-toothed raider added.

“And I’ll knock out a few myself if you don’t stop whining,” the raider captain, Sulpha, snarled hatefully, “So are you two idiots in charge of recruitment now? Did Lady Ashur anoint you as judge over her?”

“N-n-no Captain Sulpha but….I mean just look at her she ain’t no raider.”

“Shut up. Are you so stupid that you think Our Lady would deny any fighter the chance to join her army? This woman wants to join up…well she can and prove herself in The Hole just like the rest. If Ashur deems her worthy…he’ll grant her victory. If not….” Sulpha smiled, a cruel grin spreading across her features, “Well…the Trogs need to eat too don’t they?”

How Little We Know

Haven - Sealed Upper Story Quarters

Marie stood at the door, the large bar which normally secured it had been pushed aside. She felt her hand faltering with hesitation as she balled her fist and reached it forward to knock. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do this, but knew she needed to. She knocked twice, just as she always did, then let herself in.

“Hello?” She asked, to the darkened room beyond.

She heard a rustling in the darkness, and a shadowy figure crossed through a small corner of sickly pale light streaming in from a nearby window. She stood there for what seemed like hours, waiting, watching, until a voice called back,

“Marie?”

A hunched, robed figure stepped forward into her view. The creature's face was covered in lesions, and the skin around its mouth was pulled back in a rictus grin. Marie stared at the half-trog thing, and lowered her head, unable to meet its terrifying gaze,

“Yes Mom,” She said, whimpering, “It's me.”

The thing that was once Sandra Kundanika stared at her with eyes that were filled with recognition, but still unable to fully comprehend her surroundings. Her mother shifted back and forth between states of awareness - but she always seemed to regain it briefly whenever Marie was around.

“Dad is dead,” Marie said simply, not wanting to draw it out any more than she needed to, “Your husband…..Ishmael…is dead.”

Sandra cocked her head, as if confused by the words, “Deeead?” She hissed, her voice hollow and unnatural. Its tone sent shivers down Marie’s spine.

“Yes,” Marie nodded, “He’s gone mom.”

Sandra slunk back into the darkness, a pained groan emanating from her, “Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Leave….bring meat,” the thing snarled.

“I’ll send up one of the guards with a bucket of brahmin meat for you,” Marie replied, fighting back tears. She was gone again, Marie knew it, and so she slipped herself out of her mother’s room and barricaded the door once more.

Her mother had given everything, quite literally, to see the cure for the TDC completed. A sacrifice that had ultimately led to her own infection with the disease. Her father had tried and struggled in vain to see the cure completed quickly once Sandra became unable to work on it...but by the time he and the newly arrived Abaddon finished her work it was already too late. The vaccine could prevent TDC infection, even reverse its effects to a degree: but it could not cure it completely. Once someone was on the way to becoming a Trog - it was too late.

Her father, and now Marie, had been unable to end it - to give Sandra the peace she deserved. Perhaps they both hoped vainly that, one day, a full cure for the Trog condition could be found. Maybe that was true, but more than likely it wasn’t.

Marie fell down in a heap against the door to Sandra's room sobbing. How could she possibly do this by herself?

Uriel Abaddon - Haven Laboratory

Abaddon threw open the double doors to his lab located on the basement floor of the Haven tower. Two yellow painted steelyard factory protectrons beeped in cheerful salute as he strode past them and into the lab proper. Abaddon never liked to trust the Haven guard to his own protection, and so he’d ensured that he would have his own, personal, robotic guardians to defend him if needed. It had been all but trivial to override the bots’ old programming in the steelyard to serve at his command and there were many other such robots in rest of the ruined city.

“Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel..hmph indeed. Bunch of tribal-fucking traitors,” He growled as he strode up to a long table with a variety of jars, vials, tubes, and various other lab equipment splayed out on top. He grabbed one of the jars, half full of some unknown green liquid, and prepared to toss it against the wall in anger.

He stopped himself and looked at the jar, thought better of it, and set it back down. He then grabbed an empty Nuka cola bottle and tossed it instead. It hit the wall with a loud thud, but didn’t shatter as he'd intended.

“The fuck is your problem dude?” A half-dressed raider woman with the left side of her hair buzzed off stumbled out of the nearby doorway that led to his bedroom. She was clutching a nearly empty bottle of beer in her right hand and took a swig of it as she leaned against the doorframe.

“My problem is that I’m the resident expert here on The Brotherhood of Steel and nobody here seems to recognize that!’

“Ugh what now?”

Abaddon continued his rant breathlessly, “At least I convinced Marie to act more cautiously...but she should have just ignored that idiot Paladin-Lord all together. I’d trust that heretical gaggle of fools even less than I trust that rat bastard Sutler. Vikia and her scouts could be walking into a trap for all she knows!”

“Dude…what the fuck are you on about,” The raider woman replied, clutching her head in pain as she nursed an obvious hangover, “You want some Jet or something? Take the edge off?”

“Not now!” Abaddon snarled, then added more quietly, “Later...maybe.”

“Well come back to bed at least and calm the fuck dow-”

“It's that Guard Captain Harlock, he’s poisoned her against me,” Abaddon interrupted, “He’s going to become a problem in the future. Oh yes, don’t think I don’t see it. Young, brash captain of the guard…oh yes…he’s playing the long game. He thinks he’ll be able to take Ashur’s place - usurp Marie and have me exiled when he’s Lord of The Pitt well I’m the one who plays kingmaker around here!” Abaddon shouted, practically frothing with rage.

“Man I’m waaay too hungover for this bullshit…” the raider girl mumbled, turning around and stumbling back into the bedroom.

“Don’t forget who pulled your ass out of scav duty in the Steelyard and got you reassigned here!” He called after her, only to be met by a middle finger jutting back out from the doorway.

Abaddon sneered and then turned back to his lab equipment, looking thoughtfully at one of the terminals which was connected to a large row of data banks that lined the entire far wall of his lab,

“Unity…” He said mumbling to himself under his breath, “What an odd name..perhaps there is something in my archives that could shed some light on it.“