The Capital Wasteland: A Struggle for Survival

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The Capital Wasteland: A Struggle for Survival; A Fallout 3/post-nuclear-apocalypse RP
Tweet Topic Started: Oct 19 2009, 02:41 PM (1,582 Views)
Rhapsody~	Oct 19 2009, 02:41 PM Post #1
Get lost in the... wait do I HAVE to change it?! D: Posts: 651 Group: S Rank Knight Member #10,242 Joined: August 13, 2009	War. War never changes. The Great War began and ended on October 23rd, 2077--the day that would be remembered as the end of civilized society for all of time. The Great War began with a collection of international tension and conflict known as the Resource Wars. The Middle East raised oil prices significantly an indeterminate number of years before 2077, and the European Commonwealth responded with military action. China invaded Alaska for oil, and the US annexed Canada for the same reason. As the United Nations attempted to keep peace, nations began pulling out, only their own interests at heart. Within two months, the United Nations disbanded. Smaller nations went bankrupt. International relations were built and destroyed. But on October 23rd, 2077, the Resource Wars ended and gave birth to a new war, a war of epic proportions; a nuclear war. The Great War. It began and ended that very day. Nuclear weapons were launched by all capable nations (namely the USSR, United States of America, and the People's Republic of China), putting the world into nuclear holocaust. The West Coast of America was hit first, and the bombs swept over the nation. News traveled fast and residents on the East Coast were able to enter Vault-Tec nuclear fallout shelters before the bombs hit. At least, those deemed worthy of entry did. Within two hours, the war was over, the geography of the planet changed significantly. Entire mountain ranges were created as the plates buckled and shifted under the strain of cataclysmic pressure. Bodies of water around the world were contaminated with radioactive fallout and the climate changed horrifically to one permanent season: Scorching desert summer. Despite the global destruction, many areas remained habitable. Humans were, in some areas, able to continue living in the ruins, establishing communities and even cities. Some major cities were not completely destroyed in the explosions, and areas such as Washington DC held intact buildings. Of course, there was still little to be salvaged. Technology remained in the Vault-Tec Vaults, and in sheltered areas; caverns inhabited pre-war, metro tunnels, still-standing buildings, et cetera. Surprisingly, much technology was left behind; from guns to electric lighting to fully automated and functional security systems. Running water also worked throughout much of the wastes, though irradiated. Animals became mutated--with the lone exception of dogs; cows became the two-headed, hideous Brahmin. Bears became the ferocious Yao Guai. Scorpions became the giant Radscorpions, roaches became the huge Radroaches, crabs the dangerous, armored Mirelurks. Humans were no exception. Humans exposed to radiation and other mysterious variables became the dominating, powerful, barley intelligent Super Mutants--capable of basic speech, understanding, and manipulation of weapons. Humans exposed to "ungodly amounts of radiation" became Ghouls, flesh-rotted human beings that maintained speech and understanding but became hideously ugly, and apparently immortal (as "pre-war" Ghouls survive to this day that can recollect pre-war events, and the day of the Great War). And so, life formed under these ungodly conditions. The story we tell today begins two hundred years later in the Capital Wasteland, the ruins of the former nation's capital, Washington D.C. The deadly wastes were rich with radiation, raiders, and powerful creatures. However, the area was well-preserved compared to some other areas in America; monuments and other buildings managed to survive through the nuclear fire, and cities formed by survivors in the ruins that remained. Here is where our heroes' story begins... RULES/OTHER INFO Arrgh. I haven't made an RP in a looong time so forgive me for it being so sloppy. D: Anyway, this RP is presented in a stylized anime format. Just so it makes sense when things go over the top and so it gives you a picture in your head. ^^; -You may start in any city, or if you wish to embrace the cliche, you may be a Vault escapee (ONLY from the functioning Vault 101, that means no Vault 12 or non-functioning Vault survivor weirdos). Since we all may start in different places, I ask that you simply put your location a couple lines above each post (Ex. Megaton -Enter- -Enter- ~Insert text here~... okay bad example shut up) -You do not have to keep track of your ammo or your weapon's condition, but I ask that you try and be realistic. You shouldn't have ridiculous amounts of ammo nor should your gun be invincible, so try and be a good RPer and have to search for ammo or repair your gun every now and again. -You may start with low-level armor, up to four guns, two melee weapons, along with a limited amount of various Chems, food, up to 300 caps and other "etc." equipment like custom weapon components and various useless "junk" found in the wasteland. Your guns should make sense and comply with weight limits. For example, you can have two small guns and one large gun, or four small guns, or two big guns. Melee weapons don't factor into this. For weapons and armor, it does not HAVE to be official Fallout 3 items, though this is preferable. If it's not official, it must comply with the post-apocalyptic, World War II style theme. -BE FAIR. -You do not need to have played Fallout to be in the RP, but if you have, all the better. If not, I recommend you visit the Fallout Wiki. -Please apply using this profile VIA PM: Name: (Your character's name) Age: (Please try to have your character be 18+) Skills: (Pick four from this list: Small Guns, Big Guns, Energy Weapons, Unarmed, Melee Weapons, Explosives, Medicine, Sneak, Lockpick, Science, Repair, Barter. These all affect how your character fights or interacts with the world. If you'd like more explanation of any skill PM me) Appearance: (Physical appearance, build, height, weight, etc.) Faction: (Former Raider, Regulator, Wastelander, Peacekeeper, etc.) Armor: (Remember: Low-level armor only; nothing too advanced) Weapons: (Remember the rule; see above) Other Inventory: (Healing items, misc. items) Town of Origin: (Remember to use ONLY real Fallout 3 locations) Other Information: (Ghoul or human? What's your backstory? Tell us whatever else here) -PM ME TO APPLY My Profile Name: Alexander Collins Age: 18 Skills: Small Guns, Sneak, Lockpick, Repair. Appearance: A tall, slightly muscular male with a golden tanned complexion and messy dirty blond hair. He wears a Wasteland Wanderer Outfit, a basic hooded shirt and shorts with protective boots. Faction: Wastelander. No real motivation to help or destroy the wasteland. Armor: N/A, only wears Wastelander clothing. Weapons: Carries an N99 10mm Pistol, a .32 Hunting Rifle, and a Drum-Magazine Combat Shotgun. Other Inventory: Stimpak x3, Nuka-Cola x1, Dirty Water x1, Bobby Pin x10, Caps x100 Town of Origin: Megaton Other Information: Searches the wastes for profit. Runs a small business out of Megaton selling whatever stuff he can find. ~RP WILL START ONCE I ACCEPT THREE ACCEPTED APPLICATIONS, REMEMBER TO PM ME!!!~ Edited by Rhapsody~, Oct 25 2009, 08:54 AM.
	dusk. updates sundays and thursdays. Spoiler: click to toggle


Deleted User	Oct 21 2009, 10:58 AM Post #2
Deleted User	Name: Ignatio Lykor Age: 22 Skills: Sneak, Small Guns, Science, Lockpick Appearance: Ignatio is rather thin, and looks almost underfed, although he's not. He claims its because he needs to 'keep in shape', since he tends to be a sniper, therefore a thin figure helps him sneak. He's very pale, because he rarely removes his Eyebot Helmet and Metal Armor, even while sleeping, but despite this he bears the visible skin problems of a Pitt citizen. His hair has been bleached white, and he has green eyes. No facial hair(excluding Eyebrows). He's about 6 feet tall. Faction: Mercenary of The Ravaging Plague Merc co. Armor: Metal Armor, Eyebot Helmet Weapon: Infiltrator assault rifle, Sniper Rifle Other Inventory: Nuka-Cola +3, Stimpak +5, Bobby Pin +10, Caps +200 Town of Origin: The Pitt Other Information: Ignatio was born in The Pitt, one of the few infants to survive without becoming a Trog. He's not immune to the radiation of his hometown, but it affects him slower(Thus why he didn't become a Trog). He left the city before he had received enough rads to mutate. He's got the trademark skin problems of a Pitt citizen. Upon fleeing The Pitt, he arrived in the Capital Wasteland, where he moved to Canterbury Commons for a while, so he could prepare for future ventures into the Wastes. He bought a Sniper Rifle from a traveling merchant, and set off on his way, his lucky Infiltrator from Home with him as well. He became a skilled sharpshooter, and lived in a broken down house in the former settlement of Grayditch for a while, as well. He ran into Rich, who was being attacked by a band of Raiders, and helped him take them down. Afterwards, they became friends, and traveling companions. He now lives in Rich's Megaton base with his Boss, and Virgil, working as the sniper of their Mercenary company. A while ago, they raided an Enclave encampment and hijacked a Vertibird, now owning one as a method of transportation. The weapons systems are broken, so it can only be used for transportation purposes. They also acquired a Mr. Gutsy, reprogramming it to be a Butler, like the Mr. Handy units.
Deleted User


RabidChoco	Oct 22 2009, 07:48 PM Post #3
Sandopolis Act 2 Posts: 2,402 Group: S Rank Hero Member #6,608 Joined: March 11, 2008 Gender: Male Country: Belgium 3DS Friend Code: 1521-5016-9168 Steam ID: RabidChoco Game Currently Playing: Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth	Name: Darrin Maxwell Age: 21 Skills: Barter, Repair, Small Guns, Energy Weapons Appearance: Darrin is a tad on the short and stocky side, with, for some reason, deeply tanned skin. He also sports black hair just shy of shoulder-length, and hazel eyes. Faction: Wastelander, though many might think he's ex-Talon. Armor: Talon Combat Armor Weapons: Railway Rifle, Assault Rifle, 2x Chinese Pistol Other Inventory: Pressure Cooker, Crutch, 3x Cram, 2x Stimpak, 50 caps Town of Origin: Rivet City. Other Information: Is familiar with the layout of the Metro tunnels around the Ruins. Often builds makeshift weaponry such as the railway rifle or the shishkebab and sells them to Wastelanders with Flak and Shrapnel as his middlemen.
	Indeed, there is nothing more repulsive than these monsters that defy nature and are known by the name of witcher, as they are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives. They have no place amongst decent and honest folk.


Mezzo	Oct 27 2009, 02:59 PM Post #4
Angel Island Act 2 Posts: 61 Group: D Rank Adventurer Member #10,286 Joined: August 25, 2009	Name: Allison Simolian Age: 23 Skills: Melee Weapons, Medicine, Lockpick, Repair. Appearance: A silightly taller than average girl with shoulder length blond hair. Her eyes are a deep blue. Her skin is pale, and never seems to burn or tan. Faction: Peacekeeper Armor: Wasteland Settler Weapons: N99 Silenced, Trench Knife, Sawed-Off Shotgun Other Inventory: StimPakx5; Food Sanitizer; Capsx175; Teddy Bear Town of Origin: Rivet City Other Information: Alli is selfless, helping opthers before herself. She's very generous, and a bit too trusting for her own good. After living for 16 years in Rivet, she got the idea to help the less-fortunate people who made thier ways in the Capital Wastes. She wanders the area, serving as a sort of traveling doctor, picking up any medical relics she can find. The only thing she every buys from the occasional town is food and ammunition if she ever has a run-in with a mutant predator. The Teddy Bear is a gift she received in Rivet, and she keeps it to remind her of home.
	~Current Stories~ Vengeance 3% Infection 0% Frag/ment\ation 5% Saga of the Steel Blur 20% Metaknight's Revenge Redux 30%


Rhapsody~	Oct 27 2009, 03:56 PM Post #5
Get lost in the... wait do I HAVE to change it?! D: Posts: 651 Group: S Rank Knight Member #10,242 Joined: August 13, 2009	"Wounded!" The Super Mutant cried stupidly, throwing his hunting rifle to the ground and clutching his head with both hands. Alexander saw his chance and quickly holstered his N99 10mm Pistol, diving over the sandbags before him. He rolled across the harsh pavement, scraping up his back a bit--but the pain was negligible. He sprung forward, snatching the hunting rifle. He fired the round that the Super Mutant had just loaded--directly into it's big ugly green head. Blood splashed from the back of his head, and he hit the ground with a loud thud. Alex tossed the hunting rifle to the side and drew his N99, carefully observing the area. "Clear," he mumbled to himself. He crouched, took the .32 caliber rounds from the Super Mutant's body--only eight, pathetic--and stood up. The mid-day sun burned down on the abandoned streets, south-west of Megaton, and Alex sure felt it. His already golden skin began to red in some areas on his face, and it was only... he observed the sky, must have been about one PM. He wiped sweat from his brow, pocketed the ammo, holstered his gun and moved back to the sandbags. He kicked away the dismembered head of a Super Mutant he had killed, and retrieved his equipment. He slung his hunting rifle over his shoulder, awkwardly holstered the drum-magazine combat shotgun at his hip, and headed back towards Megaton. "Not much of a pull today," he thought with a sigh. Some ammo, and he fixed up his hunting rifle, but that was it. He hoped to see a roving party of Raiders... at least they actually carried things of value. Super Mutants just carried around whatever weapons and ammo they needed. Primitive, primitive things... A glint from the ruins of a pre-war residence caught his eye... Soda! He happily dashed to the building, snatched up a warm Nuka Cola, and chugged it. It was terribly warm, and flat, but it tasted great and made him feel a hell of a lot better. He checked the stove, half-buried in rubble, and found a pilot light and a box of Sugar Bombs. He pocketed the pilot light--should get him ten caps or so. He slid his finger under the tab of the box, peeled it open, and snacked on the cereal as he headed north-east, back towards the settlement of Megaton.
	dusk. updates sundays and thursdays. Spoiler: click to toggle


Deleted User	Oct 27 2009, 05:05 PM Post #6
Deleted User	In the city of Megaton, there was one building that stood apart from all the others. It was built in a more...dark area of the city, so the building was always shaded over. It also bore a sign, a rather menacing one at that, on the outside. It had a symbol on it- a Club, with a skull and crossbones on it. Written on the three 'leaves' of the club, were the letters 'T. R. G.', and beneath the symbol itself, 'Mercenaries'. --- Inside the building, a man, an eyebot helmet on his head, metal armor on his body, was slumped in a chair, snoring softly, an Infiltrator in his lap, and an emptied beer in his hand. Nearby, laying back against the wall, was a man clad in a suit of Tesla Armor. He too, was fast asleep, although you could barely tell, as he made no sounds, nor could you see him breathing through the armor. In fact, to the untrained eye, it might appear to be an empty suit of armor. Suddenly there was a sharp CRACK, and with a jolt and a cry of "GAH!", the man with the eyebot helmet sat up, looking around wildly, whilst the Tesla-armored guy just casually looked up and turned his head. Standing before them was their leader, Richard Saber, dressed in his suit of Tribal power armor. "Alright, you lazy bums," He shouted, dropping the 10mm pistol he'd fired to awaken his comrades, "Get up. We've got work to do." A grey Mr. Gutsy with bright red eyes suddenly hovered in from the other room. "THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, SOLDIER?" He roared. "FIRING A GUN AT YOUR COMRADES?" Suddenly, his voice changed from a gruff, drill-sergeant voice, to a british-accented, butler voice. "Dear me, was that really called for, Master?" He asked. "Maybe not. But who cares, whats done is done. Now go put my gun away, Lars." Richard grunted. The robot sighed, picked up the 10mm, and hovered back up the stairs. "Virgil." Richard said, turning to the one in Tesla armor, "Grab your gatling laser. We've got a job to do, and we need to leave by YESTERDAY." Virgil nodded once, and silently trudged into another room to grab his gun. "Ignatio," Richard then said, turning to the one wearing the eyebot helm, "We need you to go sell some of the loot we've got lying around here to Moira up in Craterside Supply. We're running a bit low on caps, and we can't have that." "Got it, boss." Ignatio said, getting up and retrieving his sniper rifle from the nearby locker. "But how're you two going to get where you're going? I didn't teach you how to fly the Vertibird." "We'll figure it out." Richard shrugged. "I remember the instructions, and YOU picked it up pretty quick, how hard can it be?" "Well, okay, I guess..." Ignatio said, uneasily. "Well, good luck, guys." "We don't need luck." Richard grinned, "After all, we're the best of the best." Virgil came back into the room, wielding his deadly laser. "Ready to go, sir." He grunted. "Excellent. Men, move out!" Richard turned and headed out the door, Virgil following close behind. Ignatio watched them go. "Okay then, I guess I'd better get to work." He said, and walked off to grab their merchandise.
Deleted User


RabidChoco	Oct 28 2009, 04:15 AM Post #7
Sandopolis Act 2 Posts: 2,402 Group: S Rank Hero Member #6,608 Joined: March 11, 2008 Gender: Male Country: Belgium 3DS Friend Code: 1521-5016-9168 Steam ID: RabidChoco Game Currently Playing: Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth	Lying in wait at the entrance to the Anacostia Crossing Metro station was a squadron of Talon Mercenaries. Darrin Maxwell was just inside the tunnels, listening to their conversation. "God, this is boring. You sure the client knows where this guy comes out?" "No, retard. But he's been sighted coming to and leaving Rivet City a lot more often than most scavengers. And this affords the clearest run there." Max craned his neck, to look up the stairwell. He thought he could see one of them pacing at the top of the stairs. "Huh?" "See something?" "Like that ***wad scavvie?" "Thought I did... guess not." The merc resumed his pacing. Five, four, three, two, one...* Darrin crawled into a spot he'd get a clear shot at the pacing merc through the links of the fence, and fired his railway rifle with a pop and whistle. The spike tore through the mercenary's head, removing it entirely, his body slumping to the pavement. "Damn! He's here!" "Get 'im!" Maxwell dove for cover as the Talons came through the gate in the fence, and mowed them down with his assault rifle. As he took what he could from the mercs, armor, ammo, weaponry (he whistled, he'd got himself an AER9 laser rifle. Nice. And he'd finally have that laser pistol in his room in decent working order, too.) and a bunch of chems he'd probably sell to Dr. Preston or the Cantarellis once he got back aboard the carrier. In a few minutes, he was already trudging across the bridge onto the carrier past the surly security guard, Harkness. Edited by RabidChoco, Oct 28 2009, 02:37 PM.
	Indeed, there is nothing more repulsive than these monsters that defy nature and are known by the name of witcher, as they are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives. They have no place amongst decent and honest folk.


Ricochet	Nov 1 2009, 11:09 AM Post #8
Angel Island Act 1 Posts: 43 Group: E Rank Adventurer Member #10,446 Joined: October 29, 2009	Name: Ricochet. Age: 25 Skills: Small Guns, Repair, Melee Weapons, Sneak. Appearance: He is five feet and eleven inches tall, of willowy build with compact, work worn muscles. He has a sharp face with a long nose and very dark eyes (having, in fact, no irises, only large pupils). He has no hair; instead radiation has caused a group of tentacles to grow from his head. From a distance they look like dreadlocks. His skin is also mutated; being scaly and slightly yellow, not as deeply coloured as a Super Mutant, but obviously not of human skin tone. He wears very basic, sleeveless leather armoured vest and trousers, and biker goggles and a pair of good, sturdy brown boots. In addition he wears fingerless gloves. Faction: Wastelander. Armor: Leather armour. Weapons: Knife. Hunting rifle. 2x Frag mine. 2x Frag grenade. Other Inventory: 4x Stimpak. 3x Pork N' beans. 2x Dirty water. 4x Rad-x. 1x Radaway. 28x Caps. 34x .32 rounds. Town of Origin: The Republic of Dave. Other Information: Ricochet is the son of a wandering Trader, though he doesn't know which one or even if he's still alive today. He was taken in by the residents of Dave in order to "keep him safe" for his father. Ricochet grew up as a hunter and forager, a decent citizen of Dave, though he always seemed to lack the fervour of the other inhabitants. In truth he despised the place, and especially the tyrant Dave and his ridiculous parading as leader, but he felt the place to be home so never opened his mouth to criticise. One day when hunting he was discovered by a Super Mutant hunting party; he ran, ditching his weapons for speed, and eventually hid from them in a water-filled hole, staying there for four hours until darkness gave him the opportunity to escape. After returning to Dave he was hospitalised and, over nine bedridden days, his current mutations appeared to disfigure him. Tentacles replaced hair and his skin became tinged yellow, scaled like a snake's. He lost body weight - mysteriously at first, until it was discovered that his bones had become hollow and his muscles altered subtly (developing far more fast twitch fibres, similar to a bird's) - and for a few days the residents feared for his life. His final mutation manifested as his irises disappeared, swallowed by his pupils, and once his transformation was complete and his health restored he was exiled from Dave forever. On the one hand it wasn't as bad as it might seem; he had hated the way of life in the Republic for a long time, but on the other hand it hurt him deeply, as these people and this place were the only ones he had ever called family and home. Nevertheless he left dutifully, taking only a knife, a rifle, and a few smaller provisions to be on his way. A new hatred for Super Mutants burned inside him, but he had no plans for revenge then, not until much later. First he planned to go south, to try and find a settlement, and sort out his life from there. His travels have taken him as far south as the DC ruins to date. -- Location: D.C. Ruins -- A .32 round spanged off the chassis of a car as he zigged around it. Others, a mixture of 10mm and .32, spakked from the tarmac and took fist-sized chunks out of the yard-wall he dove behind. Dust showered onto his head. "Behind wall," he heard grunted. Another grunt: "Frag him." Though he didn't rate the aiming quality of a Super Mutant he was unwilling to bet his life; Ricochet got to his knees and slid his hunting rifle through a gap in the wall, taking aim, and let fly a round at the brute about to hurl a grenade at him. He ducked back down hastily as the wall he was taking cover behind began to be chewed away by accurate, determined fire. One of his attackers was the proud owner of a minigun, it seemed. A loud boom echoed around the street. The grenade had gone off, probably still in its owner's hand. Squeals of pain and roars of anger rose from the Super Mutants. Ricochet used the distraction to prop himself against the wall. He glanced out into the street. Two large, bulky yellow-skinned figures in leather armour, each carrying a long wooden rifle, were standing in the street waving their arms around. Another, carrying a smoking minigun, stood further away. He took his chances; threw himself into a sprint, zagging from side to side in an attempt to make himself a harder target. Seconds later .32 rounds whizzed past him, snicking as they bounced off the floor at acute angles, domming against a letterbox, thokking something close by that he couldn't identify right then. The light-footed Wastelander threw himself behind a wall, fished out a mine, primed it, dropped it, and began crawling. Luckily those Super Mutants weren't very fast on their feet. About forty paces down the street he took refuge behind a rusting car, resting his hunting rifle against the bonnet, and waited patiently. He kept his sights trained on where he guessed to be roughly Super Mutant head-height; about seven feet from the ground, and tried to slow his breathing. One of the brutes came into view, moving slowly, traversing its head like a gun turret in search of its prey. Ricochet held fire. He adjusted his aim upwards a fraction. The first Super Mutant triggered the frag mine, disappearing in a cone of fire and smoke. Ricochet heard the gratifying sound of a monster in pain. The second Mutant approached with more caution, ignoring the cries of its comrade, and actually took advantage of the cover to hide itself from his sniper's viewpoint. Ricochet whispered a curse. Now what? he asked himself. Still that guy and one more to go. Can't take chances with a minigun. Gotta try and lure him out, or change position. The Wastelander dropped to all fours and began crawling across the street, keeping as low as possible to avoid being seen. The rifle he held in one hand, being careful not to bash it against anything, and he kept his body tense, ready to react at any moment if he should come under fire or be otherwise discovered. He made it across the street and tucked himself into a small yard fronting a dark, wrecked building. Peering over the wall he could see he still needed to move right to bring the enemy into view. He did so, and slid his rifle carefully into a hole the size of a dinner plate that gave him a good view of the ruins. Ricochet eased his breathing, settled the sights on the Super's head, and squeezed the trigger. A spark ignited on the wall against which it was leaning. A miss! The Super Mutant looked around wildly, clutching its rifle to its shoulder in preparation to fire. He reloaded, ejecting the spent casing and priming another with the bolt action. Again he took aim, this time lower, at the Mutant's vast body, and this time he was awarded with a hit. Blood exploded from a wound that had ripped off most of the meat of its shoulder, though it wasn't enough to drop the beast. Spotting his muzzle flash it staggered to its feet and lumbered towards him, wielding its hunting rifle in one hand like a club. Ricochet's magazine was out of ammunition. Fine! he thought. Come get it, you bastard. He dropped his rifle and slid his kitchen knife from his belt; twelve centimetres of dulled, razor-sharp steel that sat in his fist like a promise. Abandoning all stealth he hopped up onto the wall with ease and took his stance, crouched, the knife held out away from his body with his free hand pointed palm-out at the enemy. As the Mutant came within striking range it swung its makeshift club with a roar of effort. The wooden stock shattered against the wall. Ricochet landed on its shoulders, a foot on each. His free hand pushed at the brute's forehead, angling its head back, and the fist holding the knife flashed forward, embedding it in the Super's eye socket up to half its length. Goop and blood squirted, spraying Ricochet, who ignored it and twisted the knife savagely, and all the while the Super Mutant screamed a deep bellow of mortal agony. At last it realised it was dead, and it fell to the floor. Richochet stumbled onto his knees and remained there for a moment, gasping, and wondered just why he had the feeling he'd forgotten something important. He hated this feeling at the best of times. A burst of 10mm rounds chewed up the tarmac right in front of him, and their mag-brothers began eating their way towards him. Stray shots, wide of the mark, actually impacted around him; one nicked his leg, sending spikes of pain shooting up his thigh. Adrenaline and survival instinct threw him into a sidewards roll that took him behind the wreck of a car, which began to shudder under the impacts of roughly a thousand minigun rounds hitting it in the side. What now, genius? he asked himself. Sweat made his tentacles itch. He'd left his rifle in a yard which was now about twenty paces away over open ground, and at some point he'd dropped his knife. Ricochet searched the ground for it and realised after a few seconds of frantic searching that it was still embedded in the dead Mutant's eye. So much for that, as if a kitchen knife could beat a minigun anyway. The wreck began to shudder anew. Obviously his enemy had reloaded. Ricochet kicked himself for missing a golden opportunity to run and wondered what the hell he could do to survive this. And then he heard a noise he really, really could have done without hearing. A crackling, popping sound, close, but with a hint of metallic echo. The engine of the car he was sheltering behind had caught fire. Which meant he had a matter of seconds to act before being reduced to radioactive ash. Measured against that, death by minigun seemed like a good choice. Ricochet abandoned his cover and ran, hell for leather, straight away from the vehicle. The Super Mutant must have been surprised at his sudden break from cover, for it took the beast a few seconds to realign its aim and begin spraying rounds in his direction. As his lungs burned and his muscles began to ache he felt sharp stinging in his left arm, in his hip, and in his lower torso. He kept running. And then he was thrown forwards violently by a warm and brutal wind, the hell-breath of a nuclear exhalation that vapourised the last remaining healthy Super Mutant, the knife-ridden corpse, and the still-screaming amputee. He was flung forward with such ferocity that he was unable to cushion his fall; he cracked his head off a chunk of rubble and collapsed into unconsciousness, feeling the pain fade even as tendrils of darkness crept into his vision from every angle, submerging him first in the shallows before dragging him down into the depths of oblivion. Edited by Ricochet, Nov 1 2009, 12:18 PM.



Mezzo	Nov 4 2009, 05:58 PM Post #9
Angel Island Act 2 Posts: 61 Group: D Rank Adventurer Member #10,286 Joined: August 25, 2009	(I definitely didn't blow this off to the last minute... nope.) BANG Blood sprayed across the rocks, as the Brahmin, probably mad by the looks of it, cried out in pain as 4 or so shot fragments buried into its heads. It faltered in its step, but decided to go all for it and kept on running. Damn... why do they always make me kill them... All rose her gun again, took a micro-second to aim, and pulled the trigger again, sending her second shot dead-on into the Brahmin's right head. Staggering, it fell to the ground, and convulsed until it finally died. Alli held her Trench knife in her left hand, ready to stab it if it somehow survived the dual-impact. Accepting its death, she sighed, and lowered the knife. "Well, one less thing to worry about..." She hastily re-loaded her sawn-off, then kept on walking across the sand. Rising over a small hill, Alli put her hands over her eyes and glanced about the area. Her Sawn-off was gripped lightly at her waist, as well as an old, dirty knapsack holding her other supplies. She glanced about, looking dismayed, but then caught something glinting in the distance. Finally... I thought I'd never get here. Through the rocks and sand, a small part of Megaton's frontal entrance peeked out. It was a god-send, one of the most populated places in the madness of the Wasteland, not to mention one of the safest. Alli smiled, then set off again, down the other side of the hill towards Megaton.
	~Current Stories~ Vengeance 3% Infection 0% Frag/ment\ation 5% Saga of the Steel Blur 20% Metaknight's Revenge Redux 30%


Ricochet	Nov 7 2009, 02:18 PM Post #10
Angel Island Act 1 Posts: 43 Group: E Rank Adventurer Member #10,446 Joined: October 29, 2009	Ricochet woke up and tasted blood. Groaning, he pushed himself to his knees and immediately regretted doing so as his world began to tilt and spin crazily. He dry-heaved once, his chest and throat constricting, then followed up with some content, spilling his guts quite literally onto the concrete below. His perspective still lolled about dizzyingly, but he could see blood in his vomit, and he managed to push himself to the left as his arms gave way beneath him; instead of falling onto his own sick he fell to the side. He passed out, his vision fading. He woke again three seconds later. This time he didn't repeat his mistake of moving. Instead he reached down to his belt and unlatched one of his four stimpaks, placed it against the skin of his forearm, on top of a vein, and applied pressure to the needle until it sank in. Applying his thumb to the piston, he sighed as the healing drugs shot through his system, knitting together his torn flesh and fixing his probable concussion. Once more his world made sense as his vision stabilised and strength flowed into his muscles. Ricochet pushed himself onto his knees for the second time. This time he stayed up. Rad-damn it, he thought. I wonder if there's anything left of my kit. He got up to find out, giving the destroyed and still burning car a wide berth. He had no rad-counter but after an explosion like that he didn't fancy getting too close: any further mutations and normal folks would probably start shooting first, on the assumption that he was a variant Super Mutant, and probably wouldn't even bother asking questions later. Besides, he already had enough hassle when visiting the settlements. The rifle was a write-off. Its barrel was melted, distorted, and its wooden stock was charred. He didn't pick it up. The knife had probably gone the same way; he examined the messy corpse of the Super Mutant he'd killed in hand-to-hand combat and couldn't tell where the thick skull and yellow skin ended and the knife began, it was all melted into one disgusting heap of... stuff. Damn lucky that I didn't end up the same way, Ricochet told himself, stroking his scalp-tentacles. But what the hell am I going to do now? The D.C. Ruins aren't the kind of place you want to stroll around without a gun. Wait... what about that first Super? He was thinking of the beast that had tried to hurl a grenade at him. Still avoiding the wrecked car, Ricochet retraced his steps along the street and came upon the corpse of the first Super Mutant he'd killed. He looted the corpse, trying to ignore the mess and the buzzing of flies feeding on the exposed innards, and came out with a 10mm pistol. The barrel looked okay, the casing was a bit scuffed, but overall it had promise. Just to make sure, Ricochet exposed the chamber and held it there, angling the weapon to try and peer down the inside of the barrel with one eye. He threw the pistol at the floor in disgust. The damned barrel looked perfect from the outside, but there was an obstruction inside! Repairing it would be easy enough if he had the parts, but he didn't. He had nothing. Absolutely rad bloody all! Ricochet closed his eyes and breathed deeply, working out his frustration for a few moments, then opened his eyes and retrieved the useless weapon. It was light, and it would be good for a few caps once sold to Flak and Shrapnel in Rivet City. If he made it at all. Stuffing the weapon into his belt, he began searching the street for something he could use to defend himself. He'd search for an hour or two, then grab a few hours sleep in some secure cranny out of the wind, then, at daybreak, he'd head south. It was as good a plan as any. Edited by Ricochet, Nov 7 2009, 02:20 PM.



Rhapsody~	Nov 8 2009, 07:38 PM Post #11
Get lost in the... wait do I HAVE to change it?! D: Posts: 651 Group: S Rank Knight Member #10,242 Joined: August 13, 2009	Alexander walked down the shattered road, his hand floating close to the pistol holstered at his side. He was on edge--understandably. He hated walking the wastes. He heard rumors of giant Deathclaws ripping people limb from limb, Super Mutants literally devouring travelers (of course there were always a lucky few to tell the story), slavers capturing scavengers, mysterious soldiers in devil-reminiscent Power Armor destroying even the Brotherhood of Steel with ease; the worst that's happened to him were bullet holes and broken limbs, but still. He was constantly on guard for any of these threats, no matter how uncommon some of them may be. Mole Rats and the occasional Raider or stray Protectron were all he had to worry about around here, but these were nothing but target practice anyway. A few 10mm rounds and they were all just another notch on the belt. Nothing to worry a-- Suddenly, he blacked out and his ears rang for just a moment. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, the air escaping his lungs, and he fought to breathe as he rolled over and faced the Mole Rat on top of him. It chomped onto his cheek and reared back for another bite. Alex was on top of his pistol, his left hand was under his back, leaving the shotgun impossible to reach, and his hunting rifle was strapped to his back. The rat landed another bite on his head, dizzying him, and he managed to land a solid punch to its jaw, slicing open his knuckles on it's ugly teeth. He cursed under his breath, punched it again and again and again, and finally pushed it off of him. He sprung to his feet, stumbled, drew his pistol, and fired four shots--two of them hitting its head, the other two missing terribly. The creature whined its last breath and fell over clumsily, its head lazily spurting blood, rolling on its shoulders. Alex sighed a shaky sigh, a little startled, but not all too injured. He blinked hard and long, closing his eyes tight. When he opened them, he felt dizzy and his vision blurred. The god-damn Mole Rat knocked him down pretty hard, plus the bites to his head didn't help. He hesitantly reached for the small box at his belt and carefully drew a Stimpak needle. He flexed his arm, injected it into the first vein he saw, and closed his eyes as the drug flowed through his body. His vision slowly cleared and the gashes, cuts and scrapes on him numbed and the skin formed together. He shook his head, regained his bearings, kicked the corpse of the Mole Rat spitefully, and was back on his way towards Megaton. Just another notch on the belt. (Here's hoping we all meet up before page four I suggest we start moving towards a singular location; I'll make it sort of a "quest" in my next post after all of you post. Also sorry this post was a little rushed because I'm tired and I knew I needed to post... badly. ;______;)
	dusk. updates sundays and thursdays. Spoiler: click to toggle


Deleted User	Nov 9 2009, 02:45 PM Post #12
Deleted User	Ignatio strolled out of Craterside Supply, slamming the door and cutting off Moira midsentence as she said 'Good Hunting'. "God I hate that woman," He muttered, shaking his head. "So. Damn. Annoying." He sighed and looked up at the sky, briefly wondering where his comrades were at the moment. Wherever it was it was likely more fun than being stuck HERE. Ignatio resolved to take the day off, since he had no idea how long Richard and Virgil would be gone. Nodding to himself briefly, he drew his Infiltrator and headed out the doors of Megaton. --- Ignatio looked around outside, standing on a cliff overlooking Springvale. He briefly noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and raised the scope of his Infiltrator to his eye. He realized it was merely one of those random wandering Wastelanders. Ignatio briefly considered shooting the Wastelander, then shook his head. "Naaah. Those idiots never have any good loot." As soon as he lowered the rifle, he heard a roar, and he whipped his head around in time to see a Yao Guai leaping at him. "CRAP!" He shouted, diving out of the way. The mutated bear landed precariously close to the edge, barely stopping itself, as it turned its head to roar at Ignatio again. As soon as it did, a sniper rifle bullet shot through the roof of its open mouth and nailed it straight in the brain, blowing off the top off its head. The bear let out a gurgle, and slumped over off the edge of the cliff. "F***ing Guai's." Muttered Ignatio as he put away his sniper rifle. "Never hear the damn things coming until it's almost too late." He shook his head.
Deleted User


Rhapsody~	Nov 9 2009, 03:09 PM Post #13
Get lost in the... wait do I HAVE to change it?! D: Posts: 651 Group: S Rank Knight Member #10,242 Joined: August 13, 2009	(This takes place when the Enclave begins to invade, though there is no Project Purity involved, just to clear it up. Sorry for not explaining ^^; anyway, waiting for everyone else to post before I advance anything.)
	dusk. updates sundays and thursdays. Spoiler: click to toggle


Ricochet	Nov 10 2009, 10:41 AM Post #14
Angel Island Act 1 Posts: 43 Group: E Rank Adventurer Member #10,446 Joined: October 29, 2009	"Wake up." Ricochet opened his eyes. The barrel of a rifle loomed large in front of him, a mere inch or so from his forehead. It was the first thing he saw that day, and it was not a welcome sight. The next was even more unwelcome. A man, with a tall cock's comb of green-red hair, scowling at him. He was wearing patches of spiky leather armour tethered to his scrawny frame with belts and ropes. "Get up, feck head," said the man. Ricochet glanced left. Glanced right. The barrel of the rifle darted forward, colliding with his forehead in a sharp, painful clash. He cried out and raised his hands to his head, blood pouring through his fingers. It began to drip into his eyes, stinging, obscuring his vision. "I said get up," the man growled. A fist grabbed Ricochet's shirtfront and lifted him, an easy task - his hollow bones made him supremely light. Like a bird, he weighed practically nothing despite his size - to set him on his feet. Ricochet felt a cloth pushed into his hands. "Come on, you mutie bastard, we're moving. Clean yourself up, can't be watching every step you take. You're the property of the Mezz Head Raiders now. Do as you're told and you'll live. Feck us about and you die. You get me?" "I got you," Ricochet mumbled. Not a lot else he could say, really. - OOC: Ok, I'm good to end up in any location now. Just let me know where and I'll engineer an escape, or one of you guys can help me, or whatever you like. Edited by Ricochet, Nov 10 2009, 11:04 AM.



RabidChoco	Nov 13 2009, 07:16 AM Post #15
Sandopolis Act 2 Posts: 2,402 Group: S Rank Hero Member #6,608 Joined: March 11, 2008 Gender: Male Country: Belgium 3DS Friend Code: 1521-5016-9168 Steam ID: RabidChoco Game Currently Playing: Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth	Rivet City, Preston's 'clinic' "You're lucky to not be in much worse shape than you left last time," Dr. Preston said, checking over him. "Superficial lacerations, mild symptoms of rad-poisoning onset--" "But who isn't living on the edge of that?" Dr. Preston ignored Darrin's interruption. "The gash on your arm seems a bit wide to have been a stray bullet. Where did you say you went this time?" "Falls Church, maybe Marigold. Lot of rubble, broken glass and metal, that sort of thing." "Then there were the raiders who struck nearby shortly before you got back. Looks like they captured someone." "Raiders? I was ambushed by Talon mercs, not raiders..." Darrin got up, though Preston moved to block the door out of the clinic. "Sit down, Darrin, we're still not done!" "You said I wasn't in much worse shape than when I left! I'll be fine!" Preston relented, and Darrin Maxwell was sprinting through the corridors to the outside of the carrier. Jefferson Memorial vicinity Harkness said the raiders he saw earlier were heading this direction. There's something off about him, I can't even see* the carrier from here,* Darrin thought as he trudged past the Jefferson Memorial, a relic of an impossible past.
	Indeed, there is nothing more repulsive than these monsters that defy nature and are known by the name of witcher, as they are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives. They have no place amongst decent and honest folk.


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