Antlers
wintersoldier
Mixtape Ghost N
TrippyNightmare
Charley
Shu
Marik
Shoopuf
Lime
Archazen
“ - This 2050, be one of twenty families to win an all exclusive trip, courtesy of RobCo to the Aloha Islands. Aloha, where paradise meets pleasure - “
“ - of chinese submarines have been spotted off the coast of Maui-”
“- will not give into foreign aggression. The peace of the American people - “
“ - a refreshing burst of tropica life with Nuka Colada -”
“ - protests have erupted in response to occupation of burial grounds by military -”
“ - claims of internment camps are entirely unsubstantained and dare I say, communist - “
“ - Don’t take a chance with nuclear catastrophe and take a chance with Vault-Tec’s islander lottery for Vault 50! This message is not approved by -”
“ ….PLEASE ENTER YOUR NEAREST FALLOUT SHELTER. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL. PLEASE ENTER YOUR - “
“ I am King Kamehameha, the tide bringer, he who was born in the eve of the Black Cauldron - “
“ - If you are receiving this message, the votes from Redding have just arrived in. With all six states, we have our first president of the New California Republic, Tandi -”
“ This is Enclave Radio. Poseidon Oil Rig has fallen. Some of us are regrouping at Navarro. We’re heading out west. See if we can take our chances at Pearl Harbor. God Bless America.”
“ We move to new lands, not to the east, but to the west, past the Cauldron. May Steel guide us, brothers.”
“ - President Kimball has resigned from his office following the retreat of the NCR army from Hoover Dam - “
“ - Commonwealth Provisional Government. The shadow of the Institute will haunt us no longer - “
“ - One fond embrace, until we meet again…….”
“ - of chinese submarines have been spotted off the coast of Maui-”
“- will not give into foreign aggression. The peace of the American people - “
“ - a refreshing burst of tropica life with Nuka Colada -”
“ - protests have erupted in response to occupation of burial grounds by military -”
“ - claims of internment camps are entirely unsubstantained and dare I say, communist - “
“ - Don’t take a chance with nuclear catastrophe and take a chance with Vault-Tec’s islander lottery for Vault 50! This message is not approved by -”
“ ….PLEASE ENTER YOUR NEAREST FALLOUT SHELTER. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL. PLEASE ENTER YOUR - “
“ I am King Kamehameha, the tide bringer, he who was born in the eve of the Black Cauldron - “
“ - If you are receiving this message, the votes from Redding have just arrived in. With all six states, we have our first president of the New California Republic, Tandi -”
“ This is Enclave Radio. Poseidon Oil Rig has fallen. Some of us are regrouping at Navarro. We’re heading out west. See if we can take our chances at Pearl Harbor. God Bless America.”
“ We move to new lands, not to the east, but to the west, past the Cauldron. May Steel guide us, brothers.”
“ - President Kimball has resigned from his office following the retreat of the NCR army from Hoover Dam - “
“ - Commonwealth Provisional Government. The shadow of the Institute will haunt us no longer - “
“ - One fond embrace, until we meet again…….”
Episode 0 - TOURIST TRAP
The Hub, New California Republic
2282, November 6th
01:45 AM
Gerald Westin woke up at moonlight to the glint of a chrome silencer pointed in between his eyes.
For a moment, he thought it was just a nightmare. His mind still swam from the moonshine Governor LaBearn offered him during one of their dinners. When the barrel failed to fade away from his vision, the governor’s breath hitched and then, choked as the fingers around his throat tightened like a vice. Beads of sweat fell down is forehead as his s eyes swiveled to where his N99 was. It was on the night-table, a family piece he inherited from his father and grandfather before him. The brown oak grip glistened in the dusklight. If he could just grab ahold of it, there was still a chance he could -
“ Don’t. ,” The whisper chilled him to the bone. “ Don’t scream. You’ll make this worst if you do.”
Westin’s eyes focused away from the barrel. Remember what your father said. Calm heads prevailed over rashness. The bite of adrenaline soon faded from his nerves as the gears of his mind turned, thinking about what step was next. The countenance that had made him prevail over bottom feeder caravan cartels and gung-ho politicians return on his face, cool and candid. His eyes wavered from the barrel to the figure in front of him.
“ I know what you’re thinking right now, Westin,” The person spoke again, their voice cut apart by the harsh static of the helmet’s receiver. The barrel swayed side from side tauntingly. “ How many caps can I pay this feller? How much can I afford to lose to save my worthless piece-of-shit molerat hide?” She jabbed the barrel at his head, causing him to flinch. “ Tell me, what price are you willing to pay to protect that pretty face of yours?”
“ Everyone has their price,” Gerald gritted out. “ Whatever your employers are paying you, I swear I can double it. ”
The silence that followed after made Gerald regret his words. The pistol stopped swaying and the assassin lowered their pistol. The pressure on his throat lightened and a sign of relief escaped him. His hand came up to rub against his aching throat. He wondered if this meant the assassin was having second thoughts.
He was too busy breathing to react to the punch. It came at the side of his head in a blur and Westin's world spun in a spray of teeth and iron on his lips.
“ Don’t try acting like you’re hot shit, Westin. It’s embarassing. I’m not here on your terms. You’re here on mine, Westin. Understand? You try saying my conscience can be paid off with caps and I’ll fuckin’ make you piss caps out your cockhole. Capiche?"
Westin nodded, wiping a smear of blood from his nose.
“ Good.” The assassin leaned back to shake her head with a derisive snort “ Can’t believe it was you who helped get Killian killed. She was a good woman. Far better than your fuckin’ merchant pals.”
“ I didn’t -,”
The second punch caved in his nose this time. Black stars danced in his eyes as the assassin spoke again tauntingly.
“ Did I say you killed her? Nah, a ghoul’s got more balls than you and you didn’t even need to get baked in the Glow to lose yours. I’m saying you helped her.” The assassin then reached behind her back with her empty left hand and took out a cherry-red inhaler that seemed to glimmer in the night. “ Do you know what this is, Gerald?”
“ Sn’jet.”
“ Good boy. Back before the Followers figured out a way to make Fixer, the Mordino family back in New Reno used to make the good stuff. I mean, one puff and you’d skitter ‘round like a bloatfly. Tandi banned production back in 2245. Everything you see on the streets now is cheap crap. Twice as expensive and half the bang.”
Without warning, the assassin crushed it in between their palm with a snap, rubbing their fingers through the mess before letting it drop to the floor in a pile of plastic scrap.
“ Now, here’s what got me and a couple of other people interested in you brahmin baron folk. You see, it’s said that the Mordinos used to make this crap out of Brahmin shit. Don’t ask me ‘bout howthe science works. rahmins cost too much nowadays for us regular folk to buy thanks to you lot.”
They then lifted a finger.
“ But, hear me out. Brahmin barons like you are scattered throughout all of California, each with your own ranches. That’s a lot of brahmin, get what I mean.”
“ I don’t what like you’re implying - “
“ Did you say that to Killian before you blew her brains out? Hell, you were probably terrified of her. Trailblazer from Redding, believing in tales of the Vault Dweller and the Chosen One, righting a wrong when she saw it. Her neighborhood was full of Jet addicts and she wanted to institute formal drug legislation and regulation. Make it so that rehabilitation would be made avaliable and Jet publicly available to drive black market prices down.” The assassin breathing was now heavy and ragged as they hissed their next words in a snarl of static. “ It would have saved a lot of people. All you fuckers saw was a threat to your bottom line.”
Gerald's face was pale white now. The assassin's hand trembled on the trigger guard of the pistol and he wanted to close his eyes. Better to not see it coming than see the flash of gunpowder and nothing after. The next time the assassin spoke, it was in an air of finality, of patience wrung from certainty.
" So, you'll make it right. Where's the fucking Poppy, Westin? Where's the goddamn Poppy?"
It is dawn.
The sun rises in the smoky clouds of the Atlantic, a boiled red scar against the gray sky. The dappled crimson light bleeds into the ocean, flowing through the waves and tides of the churning ocean. Amidst to the east of the pacific is a fuming basin of ash and obsidian, heaving clouds that desperately claw up in fits of lightning and screams of thunder. It is the Black Cauldron, the labyrinth that excites adrenaline junkies and frightens experienced captains. The electromagnetic interference in the storm is said to shred silicon chips and wires into scrap and those who survive passing through it are blessed with cankerous blistering sores. Scientists and scholars have posited that the creation of the Black Cauldron is a result of a nuclear detonation which occured near an active faultline in the waning days of hte Great War. Philosophers have attempted to espouse the Black Cauldron as an example of mankind’s folly. Sailors simply say that the Black Cauldron is fucking bullshit.
Everyone considers a trip through the Black Cauldron to be extremely ‘unhealthy’.
The clouds part to reveal a hulking mass. Strips of green paint peel off its surfaceand the 10-inch thick carbon-steel hull is pitted with dents. It cuts through the stormy waters like a knife, shearing through it and leaving a wake of bubbling motor fluid and grease. It inches mile by mile towards a new horizon. A green horizon.
It is dawn. A thousand and thirty souls are onboard, young, hungry, rich, poor, dreamers, the desperate.
Only 14 will survive.
The Green Horizon, Upper Decks
Starring….
@Randomguy as Clive, a lucky vault dweller, [@Megyschan] as Akane, a tribal of the Salt, @Butteryicarus as Helene, a scavenger of the past, @EmpressDesu as Rebecca, a stateswoman, @Starlance as Vigil, the dreamer, @Ezekiel as Inessa, the woman of many masks and @Theyra as Malcolm, a man in search of his faith.
Sam Gallagher, intrepid intern newscaster of Calfornia Channel 89, wondered how the hell he’d arrived here in the first place. His crew had been assigned to the Green Horizon as a strategic move by 89 to secure corporate relations with Gold Galleon Incorporated. A two-week cruise sounded like the perfect vacation for him and his crew to shack up and relax, maybe even take some time off from that Baja fiasco the studio was dealing with. Ever since they’d aired that footage of an NCR veteran ranger shooting some tribal five-year-old in broad daylight, senators had blacklisted the channel from the airwaves. The company was in the red and Gold Galleon had thrown them a veritable lifeline. He had expected a peaceful vacation amongst the ocean as he delved into the treasures of the cocktail bar, one alcoholic binge at a time.
Word of the Green Horizon’s soon-to-be arrival had spread around the ship like wildfire. The Aloha Isles were barely indistinguishable in the featureless grey ocean of the Atlantic. The baking heat of the midday sun made it ebb like a candle flame in the distance.
Thronging masses of people screamed at the fore, locked arms against one another, scrambling to get a glimpse of the green paradise that had been popularized in pre-war brochures and turned into legend over time.The passengers of the Green Horizon had been liberally soaked in a miasma of slick impatience and dreariness for the last fortnight and now, they had been set alight. The guards, prevented by Gold Galleon from harming their customers, tried to control the crowd as best as they could but even their hefty paychecks weren’t expensive enough to cover the costs of being trampled over by dozens of tourists. Rival newscasters from other channels lugged oversized cameras cybernetically mounted to their sternum or used eye-bots mounted with video recorders to get an edge up on their competition.
Sam was at his wit’s end to try and at least get one usable interview until he spotted a lone figure standing on the deck aftside, far away from the crowd. He motioned to his cameraman and brushed his waxed black toupee. Clearing his voice, he silently mouthed for the cameraman to begin recording.
“ This is California Channel 89, reporting live from the Atlantic. We’re nearing the end of our 15 day voyage and I’ve just received word from the captain that we are soon to dock at Kahui Port in three hours. Today is a historic day for the Aloha Isles and the Hawaiian Chiefdom. Once shroud in myth, the island paradise has now thrown open its gates to travellers, immigrants and tourists alike in the past year. Queen Lilua, in a formal decree, has stated that . In a brief press release announced yesterday, Gold Galleon Incorporated assures the citizens of the New California Republic that this cruise will be the first in a new enterprise to build trade and travel relations between the New California Republic and this once fledgeling island nation……”
Sam sidled to the right, directing his cameraman to lug his oversized Codac S4500 to the right where a haggard man in a trenchcoat was leaning over the guard rail. He shoved his microphone into the man’s face as though he was a pest, forcing the man to look at the camera with a stinkeye.
“ Dozens of californians such as this gentleman today we’re interviewing will be one of the lucky few to arrive on the Aloha Isles for the first time. What will you be doing at the Aloha Isles, sir?”
There was a pause. The man scratched his unkept chin before a stoic expression of realisation dawned wearily in his eyes. He dipped into his pockets and produced a tin canteen. The newscaster’s curdled his nose at the smell as the man leaned his head back to take in a deep draught. He then wiped his chin, spat on the floor of the deck and finally spoke.
“Drinking. Getting laid. More drinking,” the trenchcoated man waved his bottle invitingly. “ Want one?”
“ Uh, no, fuck, thank - I mean, I don’t really need it,” The newcaster coughed awkwardly, tugging on his red cravat. He felt strange here in the middle of the Atlantic, standing next to a drunkard who smelt like molerat piss and vinegar whilst he was dressed in a silk suit that had been handcrafted and tailored by an army of orphan children in Boneyard sweatshops.
“ Is that all you want to do?”
The man blood-streaked eyes widened, the newscaster regretting his words, as he stumbled towards him in a delirious sprint. The drunkard grabbed ahold of the newscaster’s collar and spat flecks of brown saliva with every word he spoke.
“ My wife broke up with me on this cruise! We were together for years. Years!” The man sobbed and leaned onto the newscaster, holding the newscaster hostage with the strength of thirty vodka shots that had been taken over the course of several hours. “ You tell me something! What does a fuckin’ protectron have over me? Was I just not good enough for her? I helped out, you see. I helped out with the mortgage. I paid my fair share! That bucket of bolts never did anything but just lie in the basement but noooooo, she says that it’s got more personality than me. Me? Me….” The drunk stranger continued to beat his fists onto Sam’s chest until he slumped over into a alcohol-fueled nap.
“ Right,then,” Sam stepped away from the drunkard before turning back to the camera. “ As I was saying, today marks a historic moment and as we can see from today’s commotion, everyone is clearly excited about the chance to step foot on a hidden nation thought long lost from the world.”
Sam motioned his cameraman to move away from the huge crowd of people occupying the front of the deck to the back where people were scattered around. His approach was guided by general fatigue and a lack of interest from passengers who seemed more concerned with catching a glance of the islands rather than being interviewed. His tongue felt numb as he continued repeating the same sentence again and again, hoping that he could catch a brief sentence, hell, even a word at this point.
“ Hi, Sam from California Channel 89! We’re broadcasting live to California now. If you don’t mind, could you tell our viewers at home about what made you come onto the Aloha Isles?”
The Green Horizon, Lower Decks
Starring…..
@Abstract Proxy as Gallina, the Bostonian Russian, @Peik as Hog, the Super Mutant, @spicykvnt as Kinsley, the Wandering Doctor, @Thayr as John Doe, the Mr Handy, @DeadDrop as Kroger, the Ex-Slaver and @Letter Bee as Andrew, a soldier fighting for a lost cause.
@Abstract Proxy as Gallina, the Bostonian Russian, @Peik as Hog, the Super Mutant, @spicykvnt as Kinsley, the Wandering Doctor, @Thayr as John Doe, the Mr Handy, @DeadDrop as Kroger, the Ex-Slaver and @Letter Bee as Andrew, a soldier fighting for a lost cause.
Deep in the lower guts of the Green Horizon, who were unable to afford the steep price of 5000 caps for a room on the upper decks were consigned to the former maintenance hallways of the cruise ship. Ramshackle welders and mechanics had turned the jungle of corroded steel pipes and rust coated footpaths into a shanty town. Hammocks made from patchwork curtains and blankets were tied onto the pipes whilst cladding had been torn out of the hull to serve as makeshift bedding. It had taken three days for the Psycho and Jet dealers to begin plying their trade and five days for impromptu caravan and bonebrick gambling rings to form amongst the lower deck passengers.
Two common unspoken rules had formed amongst the passengers of the Lower Decks. All crime was legally permissible as long as you didn’t get caught. If you did get caught, then, your rights as a living being would be forfeit and your only remaining choice in life was to determine your choice of death. The second was to keep your noses to yourself. Everyone’s own business for going to the island was private and they didn’t need anyone interfering with their own business. These two sacred rules maintained order in the lawlessness of the lower decks. It was on the 15th final day that Kahana Mika, islander scout of Squad 4, forget the last rule as he desperately tried to fulfill the requirements of the Youth Assistant Badge.
The little islander, no taller than a overgrown molerat, walked around. He was dressed in a denim buttoned shirt, tactical bandoliers and pockets hanging off every nook and cranny of his body. A large belt adorned with a rainbow ensemble of badges sewn delicately from scratch was hung onto his shoulder. A T-51b helmet covered his face as he jumped up and down from an empty nuka-cola crate to gain the attention of passerbys.
“ HELLO. I AM KAHANA OF LEAPER LODGE, SQUAD 4. I AM HERE TO ASSIST YOU WITH ALL YOUR NEEDS. MAY I ASSIST YOU WITH ANYTHING?”
“ Fuck off, you upstart little shite,” A one-eyed trader said, dragging his cart of squid ball sticks behind him.
“ WELL, THAT WAS RUDE. HELLO, DO ANY OF YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE? I WOULD BE GLAD TO HELP YOU. I CAN HELP WALK YOUR MOLERAT, SKIN A LEATHERBACK AND FEND OFF RAIDERS. I AM SKILLED IN ALL USES OF MAN-PORTABLE ARTILLERY AND HANDHELD KNIVES. ON MY HONOUR AS AN ISLANDER SCOUT, I SWEAR TO DO NO - “
“ Say there, little fella. That’s a nice lookin’ helmet you got there.” Kahana Mika looked up and began to tremble slightly as a group of men and women came over. Their faces were gaunt but the smiles on them seem to stretch the skin of their cheeks in a worn grimace. Brown leather hats resembling tricorns adorned their heads while they wore salvaged lifevests that were painfully bright orange. The leader was a brute of a man, hands the size of garbage lid cans and whorled tattoos dotting his body from his arms to his neck. “ Shame if something were to happen to it.”
“ APOLOGIES, SIR, BUT THIS HELMET IS NOT FOR SALE. I PERSONALLY SALVAGED IT FROM THE WRECK OF THE U.S.S CONSERVATOR. DID YOU KNOW THAT THE U.S.S CONSERVATOR WAS ARMED WITH THREE PLASMA - WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING.”
The men and wome n behind the leader started pulling out weapons, chains, bats, hurtful things. The leader, meanwhile, took out a wooden flail with a series of bricks chained onto the end. “ We’re gonna fucking shut your scrawny ass up, that’s what gonna happen, and then, I’m gonna pawn that helmet over on the island. Me and the boys need some good spending money after all.”
Kahana breathed a prayer and drew his knife out, its edge glinting in the dark. Five against one. He faced worst odds before.